We rounded the bend and came to a sudden halt. The tractor inched down the intersecting trail, breaking the rhythm of our run and the calmness we had found. I grew impatient and frustrated as the tractor plodded and sputtered. I stopped my watch; the metaphorical foot tapping in my head in grew louder.
Katie and I had been out on an easy run at our local trail system on the Brewster River in Jeffersonville, VT. A rolling combination of single and double track, these trails were a refuge for us, a moment away from parenting and life’s concerns. But here life and technology and waiting were thrust at us. But then, just as suddenly, I realized what I was frustrated at. I had to stop, sure, but the tractor was hauling dirt and rocks to help improve the trails I was running on. More importantly, this momentary interruption was giving me a few extra quiet moments in the forest, a few more moments with the
person adult I love most in this world (cause love for your kid is on a completely different plain).
Why the hell am I frustrated at this?
Too often we grumble and complain about a momentary interruption that is really a chance for quiet, for surprise, for engagement, for taking a breath. The next time you find yourself faced with an interruption take a breath and ask yourself “Why am I frustrated at this?” I’ll bet that