Have you ever read something and mocked it for its simpleness, only to return to it later after realizing how significant it is? That has just happened to me.
Each month, the calendar that hangs in our kitchen offers a different quote. The quote for the month of April is from a man I have never heard of, Bruce Barton. It reads: "The most important thing about getting somewhere is starting right where we are."
When I first read it, I thought how silly, how simpleton. No duh! But my perspective of this quote changed after reading Real Live Preacher’s post on his current struggle with depression. Knowing how cognizant and caring he is of the worshipers in his congregation and of his fellow bloggers, this saddened me.
I reflected on my own struggles, not just from depression but also from operations, illness, the death of loved ones, and experiences that have tested my sense of self-worth.
We really are fragile creatures at the heart of us. Life is a landscape of valleys and mountains, smooth times and trying times. Sometimes, we fall of the path and land in a dark, ugly pit. For me, sitting in that dark pit, I become so despondent that I slowly shut down and become dysfunctional. I forget about everything and everyone except myself and my problems.
I’ve realized the key to overcoming this and crawling out of the pit is first and foremost to realize where I am. Only then can I plot how to climb out of the pit.
I’ve learned through my own ups and downs that there are many new beginnings, grand opportunities to refocus yourself toward a better life or a better horizon. I don’t use the word "failure" because of that adage that "if at first you don’t succeed, try and try again."
Consider this experience: When I was twenty-six years old, lumbars 4 and 5 in my lower back herniated. I couldn’t stand straight. I was shorter than my wife. I was in so much pain that I was on constant pain medication. Mentally, I felt like a freak. I hated going out in public. I felt old and robbed of youth.
Going into the operating room, the doctor told me that depending on the extent of the damage, there might not be a chance that I would be able to walk. I prepared myself for that possible fate. But the operation was successful.
Two mornings later, I awoke early and was watching television. I came upon a channel that was airing excerpts of the Pioneer Day Marathon in Salt Lake City, Utah. I recall watching the front runner, who went on to win the race. The reporter talked about how this runner was too ill the previous year to run any race. He decided that he would not let this setback ruin his love for running. He chose to eat better, train better, and live better. Lying in the hospital bed, I was a witness of his success.
That very morning I told myself out loud that I was going to run the Pioneer Day 10k the next year. I started that very day plotting a strategy to prepare for that race. Preparing for the race, at first was literally taking baby steps toward that goal. After two weeks, however, I had worked myself up to walking four miles in one walk. After six months, I was running 2 miles. One year later, I ran that 10k in a time of 46 minutes. Thirteen months after the operation, I ran my first marathon in a decent time of 4 hours and 19 minutes.
I have had to start over many other times. I have to battle the effects of rheumatoid arthritis and am currently controlling it by applying this same method–when I get an attack, I have to pick myself back up, start from where I am, and move on.
I like to read Tamar Ricardo, the astrologist over at Kabbalah.com. He had the most fascinating advice at the end of last month in regards to starting over and letting go of your burdens. It was right in line for the starting of Passover. These are the days, he explained, that we can prepare to pick ourselves up and get ourselves out of our personal Egypt.
I can’t sum up my sentiments any better than that.
4:18:30 PM  | |
|
