Leaning In

Tuesday I pulled on mud boots to head to run errands. The temperature had climbed into the fifties and the warmer sun began to melt the skim off the top of the road, enough so that there were deep ruts to navigate. As I drove through downtown I noticed a few people wearing shorts, they were running to their destinations because it was fifty not eighty, but they looked pretty dang cool running. Being pretty cool myself, I had put on a vest instead of a full-on winter coat.

Thursday night the temperature dipped below zero: no more shorts (save those diehards and we all know them). Friday morning we woke to snow coming down hard. It continued throughout the day and only stopped that evening after we had received well over a foot. February.

Winter, especially the waning months of winter is, for many, the season of discontent. People begin to experience “cabin fever.” Which is exactly what it sounds like, people tired of their four walls. The isolation from Covid has not helped this phenomenon. Being an observer, I notice this playing out in several ways; my sheep, confined to a winter paddock and heavy with winter wool, begin to ram each other for space at the feeders, simply tired of vying for space They stand at the fence and look longingly toward freedom and greener, or any green, pastures. My chickens poke their heads out of the coop to see if they can gingerly step down their ladder to the snowy ground below. If that prospect doesn’t look hopeful, they turn around and stay inside under the warmth of the heat lamps. However, once inside, everybody decides they want one nest and sometimes pile one on top of each other to lay their eggs in the most coveted spot. Often, while cleaning out shavings I will find an egg seemingly dropped on the floor as if it was just simply too hard to wait.

It is the time of year I hear cello students voicing their concern about the amount of time they have been working on a piece or how long they have been studying and wondering if they are making the progress they should be.

One of the greatest difficulties in learning something is having the patience to lean into the process, for as long as that take for each person or hen. I remember working on a movement of a cello sonata. I broke it apart; got the notes and rhythm but just could not make it say something. I couldn’t explain why the soul of the piece was eluding me, but each time I would play it, there was nothing. This went on for months. And as hard as I was working on the music, I worked on being patient. I leaned my proverbial shoulder into the process and kept the pressure on. Nothing. I closed my eyes to the frustration and kept leaning. There were times when I would shake my fists, bang my music stand and swear like the sailor I am inside. Nothing. Then, on day two thousand and three, it happened. I sat down and something had changed, I moved my bow in a way that I hadn’t before and suddenly the elusive part of the piece opened up for and to me.

In learning anything, there no shortcuts. The right kind and amount of effort is essential; but you cannot shortcut time by putting in even more effort. Our brains need the repetition and the time to digest and process information.

One of my tells in knowing if a student can go the distance is what happens when they hit their wall. And they will hit that wall. Some people listen, absorb and lean in: they respect and understand the process. Some people become frustrated, angry and try to muscle the process. And then the process muscles back and they quit. Soon they move on to the next challenge only to find themselves in the same loop of disappointment because there has been no learning.

Sitting next to the wood stove, three border collies splayed out on the rug near me in a sleeping pile, watching more snow fall as March roars in like the lion.

Patience and Perseverance- my second two favorite PP words.

Melissa Perley