Another Friday. Another long run. This time mommy ran with a group of people comprised of what she calls "real runners." You know, the serious hardcore athletes with 0 percent body fat, who look good in spandex and sport brightly colored, highly technical clothing that makes them svelte and swift.
Those people. The uber runners with whom mommy cannot keep up. And today she did not even try. After last week's psychologically devastating run, she decided she needed a new strategy, nay, a new theme: March to the beat of your own drummer (to borrow and paraphrase a quote from Thoreau). Yes so instead of keeping up with the crowd, mommy listened to her "inner drummer" setting her own pace for the run, which was much slower than most of the group. But it was maintainable. Whew. Psyche restored!
But with all that time to think (you have nothing else to do when you run for three hours), mommy came up with a lesson for me: I too must march to the beat of my own drummer. I must try to find my own rhythm. Sometimes it is hard because your own inner drummer voice might be drowned out by all the noise of the world's cadences telling you what you should do and at what age you should be doing it. But tapping into your own rhythm is key - therein lies our endurance to run the race of life, the race set out for us individually. To reach out and grab objects. To roll over. To sit up. To crawl. Later to walk and then last, talk.
Right now, rolling is my rhythm. I am rolling like a snowball down a mountain - faster and picking up dangerous speed. I am no longer to be left for one nano second on a dangerous height without supervision. I mean, just a few weeks ago I learned that my arms could defy gravity and reach up to smack something. And now my whole body is following the arms and legs into new, happy contortions.
We can change our own rhythm, we can speed it up as we strive to do more. Or we can slow it down as we listen to our circumstances craving slowness or rest. But it is my own inner drum I have to find. And then, I shall bravely sing "Little Drummer Boy" with Angela from The Office!
In the meantime, my own training has been successful, to an extent. My inner drummer tells me there is only one way to eat. However, mommy, since I've eschewed all other options, is training me to drink from a cup. Yes, a bona-fide real (plastic) cup. Not sippy, not straw, not bottle. A real deal cup. And I successfully, albeit messily, did so - I drank a rice cereal shake! Only problem is this: as good as these shakes may be, I still prefer my lattes. So I just waited patiently for lunch until mommy got back from the long run.
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But with all that time to think (you have nothing else to do when you run for three hours), mommy came up with a lesson for me: I too must march to the beat of my own drummer. I must try to find my own rhythm. Sometimes it is hard because your own inner drummer voice might be drowned out by all the noise of the world's cadences telling you what you should do and at what age you should be doing it. But tapping into your own rhythm is key - therein lies our endurance to run the race of life, the race set out for us individually. To reach out and grab objects. To roll over. To sit up. To crawl. Later to walk and then last, talk.
Right now, rolling is my rhythm. I am rolling like a snowball down a mountain - faster and picking up dangerous speed. I am no longer to be left for one nano second on a dangerous height without supervision. I mean, just a few weeks ago I learned that my arms could defy gravity and reach up to smack something. And now my whole body is following the arms and legs into new, happy contortions.
We can change our own rhythm, we can speed it up as we strive to do more. Or we can slow it down as we listen to our circumstances craving slowness or rest. But it is my own inner drum I have to find. And then, I shall bravely sing "Little Drummer Boy" with Angela from The Office!
In the meantime, my own training has been successful, to an extent. My inner drummer tells me there is only one way to eat. However, mommy, since I've eschewed all other options, is training me to drink from a cup. Yes, a bona-fide real (plastic) cup. Not sippy, not straw, not bottle. A real deal cup. And I successfully, albeit messily, did so - I drank a rice cereal shake! Only problem is this: as good as these shakes may be, I still prefer my lattes. So I just waited patiently for lunch until mommy got back from the long run.
Nicole, this is so much fun to read. I love seeing Daniel's new pics, he's getting cuter all the time! I miss you guys. Give Daniel a big kiss from me. XXX Meytal
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