Showing Up
Woody Allen famously said that eighty percent of success is showing up; I would put that number even higher. Appearing when and where you said you would seems to me to be, in many cases, all that matters.
As a parent, for instance, simply being available to the kid, for whatever odd and convoluted reason he or she needs you, is basically the whole thing. (That’s why I found myself standing in sub-freezing temperatures at 9:00 yesterday morning watching a 10 and under girls’ soccer game and why I did the same Wednesday night in drenching rain and chilly darkness.)
As a teacher, the main thing my students require of me is a kind of consistency—that I’m there every class period, at least making the attempt to open the doors of learning to them. (That’s why I’m out of bed by 5:11 every morning this quarter and in the classroom writing outcomes on the board at times that, were it summer, I’d still be sipping coffee in my pajamas.)
And that’s why—the showing up thing, that is—I crawled my slightly hungover self from under the warm covers at 7:30 this morning to bike downtown through snow flurries and sideways sleet, just to show up for a planned .83 breakfast ride, one which would feature bloody marys, hash browns, bacon for those who like their sulfites with pig, fake sausages for those who prefer to ingest their daily ration of artificial hickory flavorings on processed soy beans.
Unfortunately, (or maybe in the end, as the weather turned wetter and windier later in the morning, fortunately) the vast preponderance of my fellow hobo cycle gang mates chose not to abide by Woody’s admonition and had the good sense to stay abed rather than face the elements so early in the dismal day.
Ultimately, only four hardy souls (including me) showed up; a quartet may be enough to comprise a group, but hardly seems to qualify as a gang.
As a parent, for instance, simply being available to the kid, for whatever odd and convoluted reason he or she needs you, is basically the whole thing. (That’s why I found myself standing in sub-freezing temperatures at 9:00 yesterday morning watching a 10 and under girls’ soccer game and why I did the same Wednesday night in drenching rain and chilly darkness.)
As a teacher, the main thing my students require of me is a kind of consistency—that I’m there every class period, at least making the attempt to open the doors of learning to them. (That’s why I’m out of bed by 5:11 every morning this quarter and in the classroom writing outcomes on the board at times that, were it summer, I’d still be sipping coffee in my pajamas.)
And that’s why—the showing up thing, that is—I crawled my slightly hungover self from under the warm covers at 7:30 this morning to bike downtown through snow flurries and sideways sleet, just to show up for a planned .83 breakfast ride, one which would feature bloody marys, hash browns, bacon for those who like their sulfites with pig, fake sausages for those who prefer to ingest their daily ration of artificial hickory flavorings on processed soy beans.
Unfortunately, (or maybe in the end, as the weather turned wetter and windier later in the morning, fortunately) the vast preponderance of my fellow hobo cycle gang mates chose not to abide by Woody’s admonition and had the good sense to stay abed rather than face the elements so early in the dismal day.
Ultimately, only four hardy souls (including me) showed up; a quartet may be enough to comprise a group, but hardly seems to qualify as a gang.
posted by Professor Dave at 5:13 PM
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