My daughter, Katy Brady, my first guest blogger here at the Winepress, shares a remarkable and wise lesson that could change your life. It has already changed mine.
This has become a reminding phrase between my husband and I. It started on the day we took our first family bike ride down the nearby wash trail once our youngest son, Will, was ready to be on his own. It was an exciting day! After several years of waiting and teaching the kids one-by-one to master their bikes, they were ready. Now for the next milestone . . . solo trail rides!
As we headed to our favorite spot, fondly called “The Enchanted Forest,” full of huge, overgrown desert trees for climbing and where imaginations can run wild, we hit the last spot of our ride. This slightly steep, downhill section of trail bottoms out in a sandy area right next to the Enchanted Forest.
The older girls were already experts at controlling their speed and gliding gently into the sand to park their bikes for a rest and a brief adventure in the hidden suburban woods. As Will crested the hill, we warned him to slow his speed gently and stay in the center of the trail. Dan and I went ahead of him to show him the way and waited at the bottom for his first descent.
What Will must have heard was, “There’s a sign post at the bottom of the trail. Watch out for the post.” In fact, at the very bottom and just to the left of the trail is a sign warning that this is a flash flood area. The post is in the sand, off the trail, and on either side of it there are at least 20 yards of soft sand to get stuck in.
Out of 40 yards of clear space, this four-inch post captured my newly riding son’s focus. He could not look away.
“Will! Don’t look at the post! Look at your path!” My husband and I watched in agony as Will careened straight at the singular post just off the path. It was a direct hit. Fortunately for all involved, he was wearing his helmet, his tire hit the post, and he did not fly off of his bike. There was no injury beyond his pride, and he played in the forest and rode the rest of the way home without further event. But the memory of this occasion has struck us.
You will end up exactly where you focus all of your attention.
Will had endless sand and a paved trail directly in front of him. He could have landed safely in any other direction than this one signpost. But he had completely zeroed in on that cold reality and that became his ultimate destination.
Now, this doesn’t mean that the obstacle wasn’t there. It was a true and real danger. And it doesn’t even mean that we should necessarily ignore the obstacles. The signpost was fairly obvious, but there was so much space surrounding it. We told him how to safely navigate himself to his destination, but he was the only one capable of steering his own course.
When we “fix our eyes” on the obstacle, we will usually run directly into it. See the cold, hard signpost, but don’t keep staring at it.
And so, when I find myself staring at my current obstacles and all of my energy and attention seems fixated on it, I try to remind myself gently: I’m staring at the post. Look at the path. Re-route your course as necessary.
And above all, as Will taught me, for the times when you do crash into the post, get back up and enjoy the Enchanted Forest.
With thanks to Hege for the use of the artistic photo above. The original can be viewed at:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/104815519@N08/
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