By Icy Frantz
We all know the wonderful fable about the tortoise and the hare. In it, the speedy and competent hare gets a little too cocky and takes a nap in the middle of a running race, and loses to the slow, yet persistent tortoise.
When I first heard it as a child, I strongly identified with the hare. It seemed unrealistic that the hare would actually take a nap in the middle of a race. Who does that? I also thought that it was pretty ridiculous for the tortoise to even consider engaging in a running race against the hare.
So, my young self rewrote the famous fable in my mind, and in it the hare wins by a mile. No nap. That seemed to make perfect sense. But, as I have lived my life, experience and life have shown me the value in “slow and steady wins the race.” I have witnessed the cocky hare in myself and in others, and I have gained a new appreciation for the big, clunky, slow, methodical tortoise. I have also watched a more mature hare be a little humbler, and I can envision a race in which the hare and the tortoise work together sharing their strengths and supporting their weaknesses to cross the finish line side by side, but mostly these days, I am rooting for the tortoise.
One of my favorite annual events takes place in May, right in my own neighborhood. When our boys were young, my husband and I would gather them up and head over to the Riverside school to participate in the Riverside Run. No matter what the weather, the entire community seemed to be there to run, hand out water or just eat Dunkin Munchkins.
The youngest would jockey for position in front and, at the start, sprint out fast, happy to be in first place even for a moment. But, inevitably, their energy waned, and a sprint would turn into a jog, then a fast walk and then into something resembling a wounded animal. We tried in vain to prepare our boys, “Don’t sprint. Take it easy. Slow and steady.” But, no matter, each year was the same. They were simply too excited.
They couldn’t help themselves. And although they never actually took a nap in the streets of Riverside like our friend the hare, they were also never out in front at the end.
It’s graduation season and for many newly minted college graduates there seems to be a collective perception that all must be figured out the morning following the ceremony. It’s as if a magic wand has swept over the undergraduates turning them from “no clue” to “got this.” Many seem to believe in the necessity of a game plan set in place, a job at some coveted firm secured, or a life plan realized. This may be the way for some, but for most of us, we need time. We need trial and error, and we need experience to guide us. Grabbing the first job offered is a financial necessity, but honoring what makes you happy and what makes you tick will take time. Life is long, or at least that’s the goal, and adopting a thoughtful process is important. Col. Sanders didn’t create Kentucky Fried Chicken until the age of 65. He prepared and planned for his dream job. Your passion may not be chicken, but it’s out there and worth searching and fighting for. Great dreams are rarely realized in a day. In this season of Carpe Diem, I encourage graduates to Sumeret Tempus Tuam (take your time).
A few years before we married, I joined Scott on a climb. At the time, he was training to climb Mount Everest, and although I was not, I was game for an adventure. We arrived at the foot of Kilimanjaro the evening before we would start our ascent and stayed at a small bed and breakfast operated by an older woman. She made us tea and dinner and told us what to expect on the mountain. She offered advice in Swahili, “Pole Pole,” which is to say, in English, “Slow Slow.” Once on the mountain, we took our time. The climb was not technical, but, at 19,241 feet, Mount Kilimanjaro is the highest mountain in Africa, and we needed to give our bodies time to adjust to the diminishing oxygen. A group of robust and jolly Germans cruised by us on our second day.
We continued our “Slow Slow” ascent, taking an extra day to acclimatize at 12,000 feet. The morning before we were to summit, the German party passed us, heading down. Eager to hear about their experience we asked them how it went. They hadn’t made it. In their rush to ascent, they had not been prepared for the altitude. We summited and watched the sun rise from the peak. It was an incredible moment. “Pole Pole.”
In March, our daughter tried out for an athletic team. It was two weekends of stress and worry. She wanted to make the “A” team. She hadn’t played as well as she would have liked and she fell short of her goal. She felt defeated. She made the “B” team and she was bummed. And, I was bummed for her. It is always hard to watch a child fail to reach a goal.
But, throughout the team’s season, among other things, we have learned that there is so much beauty in the “B” team. Last year, she sat on the bench of the “A” team. This year she is playing. It’s a lot more fun to be an active part of a team. I have watched as she has improved. In fact, the whole team has improved. A lot. She feels encouraged. Her confidence has grown. She is happy. She is where she is supposed to be, for now. And I have come to realize what already might be obvious to others, that a team placement in the 6th grade does not determine a future. I love the story about a D1 recruited athlete from Greenwich who won a NCAA championship in college and spent his entire youth on the “B” team, where he, too, was likely playing and improving. We develop and grow at different rates. We are born with different abilities. For now, I am rooting for the persistent tortoise that may be slower out of the gait but never gives up and keeps on moving forward to the finish line. It’s a long race.
The spring is always about new beginnings and, in that vain, last weekend we planted. Gardening is not my area of expertise, but someone once told me to plant around Mother’s Day, so that is what I do. My family plants what we eat which is nothing fancy, just lettuce, basil, rosemary, mint, squash and tomatoes. I am pretty sure that most of these grow like weeds, without much assistance from me. Low maintenance is my mantra. However, the crown jewel of our little garden, the tomato, takes a little more finesse. Staking, watering, protecting, and picking just at the right moment all come into play. And, we wait.
In early July, the basil and mint arrive first and there is nothing like fresh pesto and lemonade with a sprig of mint. And, we wait, and we wait and somewhere deep into August our tomatoes arrive in abundance, taking the longest, but stealing our little vegetable show. They are worth the wait and the work and the care and the love and we enjoy them in every possible way. The fact that the tomato does not arrive as early as our other plantings doesn’t make it a failure.
It is with the same enthusiasm that we cheer on the persistent tortoise as it crosses the finish line that we eagerly and expectantly cheer on the green buds as they slowly turn a beautiful red.
