May 29, 2023
Greetings from the grounded,
There is one aspect of living that I could probably use more practice with. There may be a few of you rushing with suggestions here with a long list of potential improvements, and yes you are probably right. But this week I had time to consider just the one.
Humility. I suppose if I said I was really good at it, this would be a pretty short essay.
Years ago I wrote a note to myself: It takes humility to talk to a baby. I don’t know why it sat in the corner collecting dust, but it surfaced this week unbidden.
I was reading a book with my granddaughter Ila, who is three, and I was doing my best to be enthusiastic and encouraging, even though the plot was a little shallow.
Me: See, Ila, it’s a lion.
Ila: That’s a lion.
Me: Look Ila, it’s a turtle!
Ila: That’s not a turtle, Anda.
Me: (confused look)
Ila: That’s a tortoise.
I laughed so hard I couldn’t keep reading. When I finally settled down, we went back to the book, but now she was testing me. She would point at an animal and ask me: “What’s this Anda?” And I would answer, and she would tell me I was right. Which was most of the time.
I learned my lesson. Well, no. A few days later, I pointed to a little stuffed animal and said “Ila, look at the monkey!” and without any punishing sarcasm told me “That’s not a monkey, Anda, it’s a gorilla.”
The idea that you need humility to talk to babies, or dogs, is that you have to be willing to set aside your grown-up face, and not take yourself too seriously. It turns out you also need to be willing to be corrected by a three-year-old.
Some weeks ago, I was out running trails, intending to run 26 miles. Around sixteen miles my legs pointed out that they would rather be doing something else. Ordinarily, I would be sympathetic, but at the time I was still eight miles from my car. My viewpoint on the matter was not relevant. I began the long walk back to the parking lot. After a mile or so I released the frustration and disappointment and accepted this new thing.
I passed a young couple coming along the path and asked them what the best part of their day was. They both said at the same time: “Right now.” We all laughed and went on our way but a moment later the woman hollered: “What about you? What was your best part?”
I hadn’t intended to say it, but it just came out; “Humility.”
Not embarrassment. Not shame. Not humiliation. Not failure. Humility. Setting aside the pride, remembering that even when I am at my best, I am a flawed, fragile human being. It is a balance, considering I also am amazed at what incredible creations we all are, and what we are capable of.
Humility is introduced by acts of service. By pushing yourself beyond your normal boundaries, and respecting the limits. Making mistakes. It is also acknowledging weaknesses without making them your mantra.
There is another place I intersect with humility. It is awe.
This week we were on a beach in Carlsbad watching my brother-in-life Bill teach Tim how to surf. Bill walked up out of the waves and brought me a gift from the sea. It was a tiny jellyfish, called Velella-velella. There were hundreds of them washed up on shore but we never would have noticed what they were.
The remarkable thing about these creatures is that they ride on the surface of the water, and they have a curved ‘sail’ on their back that catches the wind. And this is how they travel the world, from some wide unseen space beyond the horizon, to this little strand of beach where we met them.
Perhaps this is easy to take for granted, but it was as amazing to me as the sunrise, or the limitless ocean of stars above us. This tiny bit of creation, about as simple as a living thing can be, but built into it an amazing complexity, reminded me of my humble place in the world.
I suppose I will never be a poster boy for humility, but perhaps some of my adventures will remind me that I am far from invincible. And maybe as long as I remain aware of the fantastic creation around me, and keep Ila close by, I can edge myself closer to the balance I need.
Hope this finds you not thinking less of yourself, but thinking of yourself less,
David
Copyright © 2023 David Smith
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