The man ran along the winding path through trees quilted in color. He breathed in the fall air tinged with cold and listened as the wind lifted the uncut field next to him. His feet rhythmically pounded that trail and his breathing synced with every footfall.
His dog, an Australian shepherd with marble eyes, bounded ahead, chasing birds and lying in cold streams in wait for the man to catch up. The trail ran away from the busy sounds of humanity and into the chatter of pre-winter woods.
Usually, the man would listen to music as he ran, or at least a downloaded book, but that day he wanted to hear only quiet, he wanted to hear only the soft sounds of the country trail. He talked to his dog a bit here and there, alternating between urging the dog forward and calling the dog back to him. Three miles into his route, he felt the comfort of isolation, the freedom that comes with being alone.
He looked ahead and took note of the path framed by the field on one side and tall trees on the other and in front. As the trail turned ahead, the most impressive woods formed a colorful backdrop. The shepherd was still in front of him but had stopped. The dog had found a small animal carcass in the middle of the path and, like dogs do, sniffed at it.
Just then, a herd of about 20 deer quietly passed across the trail in front of him. A few does and several fawns led the way as a large buck trailed nonchalantly. The deer barely rustled a leaf as they melted into the woods. The dog never looked up. He simply wallowed in whatever waste he had found.
The man's mind drifted into the meditation that comes with quiet and rhythm. Just a few days earlier, he'd had a conversation with a 30-year-old friend about the friend's pregnant wife. They chatted about the life-changing aspects of fatherhood, and how time and money will forever be in short supply but responsibility and pride will overflow.
The man asked if the child was a boy or a girl, and the younger man answered that he didn't know; the young couple decided not to find out. The man smiled and nodded. He and his own wife had done that, he explained. They had decided that life's greatest secrets lie in the areas where they exert no control.
Today, the lure of reveal parties or clever ways to announce a baby's gender populate social media. There's nothing wrong with that at all, the man thought as he ran, but in the information age, sometimes the best feeling is not knowing. That's what led him to this trail in the first place. That's what led him to the quiet of the woods.
He had told the younger man the best advice he had received as a young father. He explained that someone had once told him fatherhood is a lot like marriage--there are wonderful peaks to reach, but then the valleys invariably come. When the valleys come, that's when you hold on the tightest. That's when you allow yourself to look ahead and will yourself to climb.
With every foot forward, the climb back to the top ensues. Sometimes those feet move only due to sheer will, genuine determination not to wallow, not to lie in the ruins. But then, the peak materializes again.
This is not science, this is not complex, the man said. You already know this. But hearing it spoken aloud makes it real.
Not knowing what the future holds can be cause for anxiety. But allowing yourself to enjoy the climb, to take pride in the process, to understand that mistakes are nothing but tinder to fuel the movement forward allows any success to become sustainable. The young man opted for the excitement of the unknown future.
The man continued his run through the trail and revisited his own life's peaks and valleys. He tried to remember himself as a 30-year-old, and silently shook his head at some of his shortcomings back then.
But he remembered another important piece of advice. He remembered that stopping to sniff carcasses, no matter how small, prevents one from seeing the beauty crossing right in front you.
It prevents you from standing in awe at the forward motion so close at hand.
The man whispered a quiet prayer of thanks for the children who gave him so much pride, for the wife who made him so much better. He whispered thanks for valleys that helped him realize how high the peaks could become. He whispered thanks for the times his will embraced the unknown and overcame the lure of probing past faults.
The man ran on with the simple but powerful feeling of thanksgiving.
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Steve Straessle, whose column appears every other Saturday, is the principal of Little Rock Catholic High School for Boys. You can reach him at sstraessle@lrchs.org.
Editorial on 11/17/2018