Sit

I try every Sunday to hike the Culver City stairs.

There are about 300 stairs on a steep incline. Once upon a time, I would walk up, but my knees are no longer what they used to be, so I walk the trail that goes in a loop around. Because of the incline, it is a short, good workout for me. 
When I go up, huffing and puffing, I usually see people going up and down multiple times. That, in itself, is a lesson in humility. 

One Sunday, as I was getting to the end of the trail, I reached the point where there was one more small flight of stairs that you must take to get to the top part with the panoramic view of the city below. 

A little boy sat down in a very inappropriate place and said, 

“I can't go anymore.” He looked at his mom with big eyes and said, “Mama, I need to sit. I can't go on. ” His mom laughed, gently picked him up, and moved him aside so people wouldn't step on him. 

He then pointed at passersby and commented on everyone walking by him. “Wow, that guy is going fast.”
“Geez, you're sweating a lot.”
“Oh my gosh, you lost all your breath!!”
Leave it to a little boy to just say it as it is. 

His mom said, “Okay, buddy, are you ready to go?” He looked at her and said, “Mom, leave me alone. I just need to sit.”  I walked by and laughed.

I've been thinking about sitting lately. 

Doing nothing. Just sitting. We are all so busy.  We're busy doing, going, bringing, taking. 

What would happen if we chose actually to sit when our body told us it needed to? How funny would it be if we directly commented on people around us or we were simply honest about what we saw? I have also been thinking of breaking points. 

Of that feeling the little boy articulated, “Mama, I can’t.”

What do we do when we feel like we can’t anymore? I hear this from my students repeatedly, and, honestly, I have felt it more than once that I can't, when it all feels like it is simply too much.

How do we know when to push through? 

How do we know it's okay to sit?

A wise, wise mentor of mine once said to me,

“It is always, always good to sit and take a breath. Just do not get too comfortable so that you do not want to get up again.”

In a class where we discussed how difficult change is, a student said, 

“Ms., it's all too much, ya know, doing the things. The life things – going, paying, showing up, fighting to get it right. I’m fucking tired! It's too much. It's too much.”

I talk a lot with my students about things being temporary, that you need to walk through the tough stuff and then it gets easier.

But one smart student told me, “That's true, Ms. Ya know, when one hard gets over, then another hard comes and fucking hits you in the face. So, what's the point?”
“Hey man,” another student said. “That's the point. You go from hard to hard. That's life, getting through the hard, knowing you did it and NOT taking the shortcuts. And, Mija, when you sit between the hard, you can look around and say, I am doing this! I got this! That should give you the strength and the motivation to continue. Life is a ladder of hard, but you go up and up, and, man, it is worth it.”

One person piped up, “Well, it's better than the alternative, and it sure as fucking hell is better than being locked up.”

They nod in agreement. I look at these beautiful students of mine who are working so hard to do better and be better, who climb that ladder of life and teach me every day that change is possible and so much harder than what we imagine.

I think of the hard things in my life and the need to be still. 

I remember that I should not be still for too long so that getting up does not become impossible.

I think about going from hard to hard, and I think about honesty and saying things how they are—simple, straight, and to the point.

“Ms., you ever feel like it isn't worth it?” he asks me.

“Sometimes,” I tell him.

“What you mean?” He pushes.

“Well, sometimes you do not see the top, and from where you are, all you want to do is sit.” I tell him about the boy I saw at the Culver City stairs.

“Did he make it to the top?” he asks me.

“Oh, yes, he did!” I told him.

After the boy sat for about 10 minutes and talked to everyone, he picked himself up, hopped up the last 20 stairs, and squealed with delight when he could see the ocean far off on the horizon.

“Mama,” he said, "it's a good thing I rested, so I could see the sea.”

His mom smiled.

The boy laughed and said again, “See the sea. That's funny, Mama!”

He turned around and started to run down the stairs as if it had been no problem at all to climb them.

“Ms., you see. If you rest a little, you get to see beyond the hard, and that's where the not so hard is-- just beyond the hard.”

“Yes, it is,” I say. “Be patient with the hard. Figure out how to power through it. Rest. Do what you need to do, because there is something better than the hard hiding right behind it.”