At around 7 months, B began to start identifying objects he wanted to reach for and to move towards them. It was intriguing to watch, as he would often end up moving in the opposite direction to which he intended to travel.
This very much reminded me of a common pattern when we are learning something new. So often, we identify a target: a new technique, a method or even a grade. But the process to achieving our goal is so often littered with frustration and confusion. Our journey is not one of linear progression.
Philippa Perry, a notable psychoanalytic therapist and bestselling author describes childhood tantrums as most likely to occur when the child is ever so close to achieving their goals, but is not quite able to yet.
What an interesting thought: the biggest breakthroughs come after a great deal of confusion, frustration and very much feeling like you are heading (sometimes literally) in the wrong direction.
So, what’s the difference between the frustration and confusion before a breakthrough, and well, not doing very well? The answer is: probably not very much.
The word ‘patience’ is an abstract noun derived from the Latin adjective patientem, meaning ‘suffering’, or ‘permitting’ but also ‘firm’ or ‘unyielding.’
To be patient is therefore to suffer and yet to remain steadfast, to permit one’s situation but also to be unyielding to it.
To live in such tension when we are struggling to find a way forward is to live in a shadow land. We crave certainty: the ‘correct’ method or the ‘right’ path, to achieve our goal, but instead we find doubt, fear and uncertainty.
The Arthurian legend of the Holy Grail, a myth of searching and longing for a mysterious, sacred object of great power is one of enduring appeal, but also one in which we can find a metaphor for our learning journey, and the wider journey of understanding oneself.
In it, a young man, Parsifal sets out to become a knight of great renown. His travels take him to the castle of the sick Grail King who can only be cured by an unknown knight asking him a question. But Parsifal’s mother taught him that to ask questions is rude, and so he does not ask. He is cast out into the wilderness, which he must wander for many years, until he has learned enough, through the trials and losses of life, to ask the right questions. In doing so, Parsifal heals the sick Grail King and becomes the sacred grail’s wielder and protector.
Out in the wilderness, Parsifal must learn patience: to suffer and yet be unyielding; to accept the situation he finds himself in, in order to move past it.
In Chretien de Troyes’ 12th century version, the question Parsifal must ask is ‘Lord, whom does the grail serve?’ This poem remained unfinished but inspired Wolfram von Eschenbach’s 13th century epic ‘Parzival’ whose titular character posed a different question: ‘Lord, what ails you?’
And so, when we are in our own wildernesses, (educational or otherwise) when we are certain only that we, like Parsifal, have missed an opportunity or that our aims seem out of reach, we must learn to turn inwards and ask: what is it within myself that is preventing from reaching my goals? But also: what value do our aims hold? Who do they benefit?
The asking of these questions may yield a painful understanding of our limitations, but only through acknowledging our shortcomings can we move past them.
To go on this quest is to hold in our hearts the very foundations upon which this school was built: ‘In Spe Laboramus.’
We work, we suffer, we toil, but always with hope in our hearts, just like the pilgrim of our school’s hymn. On our journeys, we will of course experience doubt, but by not yielding to our suffering, we shall not let it define us. In the words of the mystic, feminist and reformer, Theresa D’Avila: patience attains all things.
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