A few minutes after I got up this morning I settled into my favorite chair, opened my computer and a soap smell wafted up from my hands. After weeks of thinking, with some resistance, ‘I should wash my hands,’ this morning I did it by reflex, with no conscious thought and thus importantly no resistance. COVID – 19 forced me to develop a habit I should have settled into long ago.
This noodling landed me on a quote I had put in my notebook yesterday from one of my favorite writers, Robert D. Kaplan. In a terrific book on Romania and the impact of travel on personal development, In Europe’s Shadow, Kaplan says the following about growing up.
You don’t grow up gradually. You grow up in short bursts at pivotal moments, by suddenly realizing how ignorant and immature you are.
How do these “short bursts at pivotal” moments work? The formation of habit is at play, as suggested by my mind linking the recognition that hand washing had become a ‘thoughtless’ routine, with Kaplan’s quote. Forks in the road are at work too, as in the most famous lines repeated below from Robert Frost’s most famous poem, The Road Not Taken.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
I’ve needed a lot of growing up so there have been many short bursts that included forks and habits but the following one sticks out..
It was the summer of 1965, I was 15 and in my first real job at Baskin Robbins in the Bettendorf, Iowa Duck Creek Plaza Mall. Wendall Ginsberg was my boss and the first words he said to me the first day of a two week probationary period were “Paul, wherever I am in the store I can see you.” Over and over I practiced scooping ice cream so as to form a perfect 2.5 oz scoop.
55 years later I cannot walk into Decorah’s Sugar Bowl without judging the quality of the scoops and whether the tubs of ice cream are layered properly. Mr. Ginsberg’s constant gaze forced me to develop the habit of doing scoops correctly and this carried over to other tasks.
What about the fork? In the summer of ’64 I had started and then quit a life guard course. In the winter of ’65 I had started and then quit a youth umpire school. Baskin Robbins comes along a few months later offering another challenge and I stick it out. A definite growing-up burst forward.
An addition to this story involves my first teaching job in the winter of 1973 at St. Johns Catholic Elementary School in Burlington, Iowa. I started December 1 because the teacher I was hired to replace was driven into early retirement by a notoriously difficult 6th grade class that as I recall numbered 44. Like most teachers in their first year I really had no clue about how to discipline this group. I remember in my mind quitting every night that first year. I stuck it out, learned a few good habits, mostly from strong women who wore habits, and until I wrote the paragraphs above did not realize the path I was traveling was chosen years earlier.
Growing up involves habit, decision, and mystery. Once habit is formed, a path chosen, the world somehow helps nudge one toward maturity. Therein lies the mystery.
Do you have a growing up story?
