Hi there,
There is another side to the patience and ambition coin.
Last week I wrote about kinetic and potential energy using the metaphor of an archer (here). Even as I was writing it I could see the holes in my logic—the idea itself feels naive, even as it feels comforting. Parts of me were shouting, “you don’t even know if you want to hit that target that you think you want!” The metaphor doesn’t allow for you to change your final destination or to simply not have one.
That’s what I want to explore today.
Before I go any further — lets do the housekeeping.
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Okay — back to it.
Full transparency: there is a reason that I started with the archery metaphor—thinking about this part scares me.
If you aren’t shooting towards a target, what are you doing? That is an exciting (and terrifying) question, and I think that it’s time to ditch the archery metaphor. Let’s talk about a garden path instead.
I want you to picture yourself in a garden so large that you cannot see its boundaries. Carving through it is a path. Maybe this path is laid with brick or cobblestones or maybe it is as simple dirt or gravel pathway. From where you stand, you can see it curving through the garden. I want you to look around at the garden and take in the plants right around you. Imagine taking a deep breath and taking in the smells of this garden. This is presence. This is mindfulness.
I start with this because so often I get obsessed with the pathway and wanting to know where it leads that I fail to acknowledge what is currently around me. You and I have both spent some time walking down this path. Notice that I didn’t have you start at the garden gates? I actually don’t know where the garden gates lie in my metaphor. I think that it is at the start of your education, though perhaps it is from the moment you choose what you want to study and begin imagining where that garden path might lead. It could start with your first job, or your first job that feels like a it has the potential to become your career. Wherever you started, you are no longer there.
When I was in third grade, Hannah Montana released the song “The Climb”. I hated it. It wasn’t a bad song—I would probably listen to it today, truthfully—but that year, every time it came on the radio, my mom would crank up the volume and look pointedly at me. She would quote it back to me when I was getting frustrated over something that seemed inconsequential. She would find it on our iPod and blast it when I was freaking out about not being good enough at gymnastics or math or making friends. It was well intentioned, but not super empathetic. It is not easy to accept being told to slow down and enjoy the process when you are desperate to be anywhere but where you are right now. I get it. It doesn’t mean that it isn’t important though, so slow down and smell the garden air.
Ok, we can move now. Imagine yourself walking forward along the path. As you do, you begin to see more of it and more of the garden. Ahead, you see a smaller path that drifts away from the main path. As you approach it, you must decide: do you follow the main path or see where this other path goes?
The whole garden is like this, with little paths that veer off of the main one. Some of them don’t go very far, so you make your way back to the main path, others go further and seem interesting. Those are the scary paths for me. They are the ones that make you consider truly abandoning the main path. They might be more interesting. They might smell better. They were not the original plan.
When you think about patience/ambition, I think you also have to consider direction. Sometimes I am plagued by directionless ambition—a desire not just to check out every garden path but to get to the end of the best one. Not sometimes. Most of the time? All of the time? It makes me not the best person to write about direction (or patience). Clearly, I don’t let that stop me.
There is one rule on the garden path: you cannot go back. There isn’t a way to choose a best path. The path that you started on, the one that seems like the way you are meant by the gardener to follow, might seem the obvious choice. But what if there is an obstacle on that path, like a snake or tree branch? What if you hear someone calling for help down a different path? What if you hear the voice of your lover down a different path? Or of your family? I can’t make that decision for you.
That is why the garden path scares me.
When we think about our arrow metaphor from last week, we think about all of that potential energy that we are being imbued with by the universe. That doesn’t exist on the garden path. You are not being given more power to go forward because of the decisions that you made or the things that you learn. They are just memories that you cary with you on the path.
On the garden path, it is really about the journey. You don’t know what is at the end of your path. It likely isn’t that esoteric feeling of contentment or a book deal or a C-suite position or lots of money. The best thing that you can do is be present while you are on the path.
My mom, sitting in the front of the minivan and blasting Hannah Montana, knows that this isn’t my strong suit, but if you try, I’ll try.
Best,
Zoe
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