So what's occurring the world of Sarah?
Well last week saw me start the first of two years training to be a teacher in the adult education sector.
So that's got my mind busy, and eyes focused on where I plan to go next professionally. It's slow, like all courses when they first start, with a bunch of admin stuff that needs be squared away but once we get going it should be fun.
I'm gonna be teaching .......(drum roll)... Human biology for access to HE. (with a side order of management to mix it up a little)
I've got the syllabus and it sounds cool. I'm looking forward to it, although i'm gonna have to get my head back in a few books so I can tell my Vas deferen's from my Vesicles again, cos its been a while since I delved in quite so formally.
So thaaaat's nice.
The new bike business stuff has started slowly via people who know me and also funnily enough many people cycle into where I'm gonna be studying so .. mebbe that'll help.
You tube and all the philosophical stuff has been a tad neglected as has this blog since "real world shit" kinda had my attention for these past few weeks.
Which brings me to the point of this update.
Tree's, woods and details
Sometimes we humans get lost in the detail of a situation. Constantly looking for meaning instead of letting things be as they are. For someone like me who unceasingly asks "why" that can occasionally take one to places that can get a little weird. It certainly has recently.
Particularly when attempting to understand another persons viewpoint, and why they hold it.
In wheel building there is a term called "chasing the bend" Once you get a wheel true and straight to a certain point where its ridable.. say within 0.1 of a mm, occasionally one can get stuck in the detail of chasing the bend beyond this point. Usually in an attempt to get it "perfect".
The bend really doesn't make any appreciable difference at this stage and were you to take the wheel out the jig and spin it by hand, the naked eye wouldn't even see it.
But... being so focused in on the process, so intent of the detail, one can occasionally pay more attention to things being "right" than whether the wheel will actually do what it needs to do.
So it is with life on occasion. The things we see, the things we wish for and strive to reach can be right there, in front of our nose, but we keep "chasing the bend".
Disease called More.
I watched a few videos from a guy called Wayne Dyer a few years back. Psychology type. A phrase he coined for this is being afflicted by a disease called "more"
Always wanting "more" leads to not appreciating what one has, and that points one's actions towards beleiving what "is" to be "not enough"
I did that alot in my former life. for a variety of reasons, some more valid than others.
On pondering all of that this morning whilst out on Jonny 5 (my trusty T130) I once again recalled the words of Bruce Lee. "water is shapeless, formless, it can crash or it can flow"
Water is a powerful thing, if given enough time. It'll carve great chasms out the earth and wear even the biggest stone to sand.
When under enough pressure it can even cut a wheel's surface to a "perfect" finish. Yet one cannot grasp water. One has to be slow, gentle and controlled to hold water in the palm of ones hand.
So perhaps it's time to stop "chasing the bend" The wheel is already good. Time to learn the patience of water, and the gentleness needed to be able to hold it.
To do otherwise risks destroying what 'is" when it's already more than enough.
Sand and Pebbles
I love the coast. Quiet beaches. I can spend ages sat quietly staring out to sea. Sadly I get massively sea sick so boats and me aint a good mix, but the vastness of that expanse of water is somehow engaging.
Constantly moving. Doing what it does. Shifting creatures, pebbles and sand alike.
My kitchen is full of little piles of interesting water sculpted rocks that my daughter and I have picked up during our visits to coasts and rivers. They look quite arty in a way...
But despite the ever growing collection, the beaches we visit haven't gotten any smaller. I'm sure there are many other kitchens with similar little piles. Piles that in and of themselves are just rocks. But each one holds a memory. Of a smile, a chuckle, a joke, or even someone falling in the sea and getting far too wet.
It's not collecting the rocks or pebbles that makes these little piles of stone special. It's knowing why we did so.
But some pebbles have to be left on a beach. Sometimes the sea hasn't quite finished molding them. Without them there would be no place for the other pebbles to go, and maybe get found by some little girl doing cartwheels. Or anyone who collects pebbles for that matter.
Which is good. Because it means I can still occasionally visit, sit quietly and stare out at that vast sea.
There is always another wave behind the one that just crashed ashore.
And who knows what it brings with it. Maybe a pebble that wasn't quite ready might wash up twice.
I'll keep my eyes open.
have a great day
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