“One and done” might be our hope in our personal and professional lives, but it rarely proves to be so. In my 64 years, I’ve learned that almost everything is like the pencils we got in first grade: you use it, then you sharpen it. Repeat!
Another highlight of first grade was kissing Dale Benerofe on the nose and running away before she hit me. Boy, was that a risk!
After Dale calmed down, I think I returned to the classroom and sharpened my pencil to practice my capital and lowercase letters. This was done over and over until resharpening was needed. No “over and done” there.
It is true that some lessons only needed to be learned once (like learning a guitar chord or trying to outrun Dale), but shifting that initial lesson into long term memory required repetition or what psychologists call “rehearsal.” And making the fingers strong and supple to keep playing that chord throughout life? That’s a lifelong thing, especially now since arthritis has entered the picture.
Most of us aren’t guitarists, so think about your ABCs. Can you still sing the song? Repetition is what made it stick. I thank God and the teacher who came up with the idea of using “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” to help children remember them forever.
In my present, I wish that one PT session or a pill would make my sciatica go away. Failing that, couldn’t it disappear after a month of twice a day stretching? Nope. According to my therapist and my pain doctor, this is likely a lifelong practice for yours truly. Arthritis (another name for aging) is the culprit.
When I was in seventh grade, our science teacher, Mr. Michelini, would hold up his crooked fingers and shout, “You see these hand? That’s arthritis!”
It has taken until now to understand that what Mr. Michelini was probably saying was “Growing old is a fucking nightmare!” but he couldn’t say that and keep his job. I’m still not sure why complaining to 20 twelve year olds was helpful, but last week I did hear myself say to a group of students who were complaining, “I’m 64 and I have more energy than all of you combined!” My choir teacher said that on occasion.
I’m rambling a bit in this post, so let me wrap it up before I have to drive home from yet one more doctor’s appointment.
We keep learning and some lessons get repeated. Eventually, we try to accept that pain is inevitable and suffering is optional. That’s the gig. We’re not over and done until the end.