Strolling between the gum trees on a winter’s morning with Nora and Quinn, my fingers painful with the cold, I meet Matilda. I smile and stop. So do my dogs. They thrust their grinning heads into the undergrowth, happy to sniff up all the smells of the bush while I exchange a few words with my next-door neighbour. We talk about the extra-cold weather and how she’s thinking of moving somewhere warmer. But if Matilda goes north, will she miss the birds and animals living in the bush surrounding our homes?
We chat about the superb fairy wrens, flitting in and out of our bushes and the huge kangaroo that we sometimes see nibbling grass in the front garden of our across-the-road neighbour.
Matilda asks me if I’ve seen the mob of kangaroos that’s recently moved into the bush next to our houses. And she mentions the wombat that’s dug a hole from the bush under her fence into her garden.
I tell Matilda how all the birds and animals disappeared after the 2019/2020 bushfire. (My neighbour lived elsewhere at that time.) I describe the eerily silent burnt-black bush. It was many months before life returned.
“Before the fires, we saw kangaroos all the time,” I say. “I used to run with my girls every morning as soon as the sun rose, and we’d see kangaroos on the playing fields.” Sometimes, they’d also hop out from between the trees onto the bush tracks in front of us. That excited the dogs.
Standing still, Matilda and I are getting cold, so we say goodbye and resume our walks along different tracks.
I think about kangaroos and running with my daughters as I head down the main fire trail. There was something very special about getting up early and working hard together each morning. While others were still in their beds, we were out in the beautiful bush, listening to the kookaburras’ laughter, catching awe-filled glimpses of kangaroos, and enjoying the fire-red sun rising over the gum trees.
Of course, it wasn’t all delightful. Getting up early was hard, especially in winter when we were reluctant to leave our warm beds and head out into the biting wind. We ran on frosty ground, our noses and fingers burning with the cold. We pushed our legs to run a long way, and our muscles would protest. And as we climbed the last steep hill, gasping for breath, we often wondered: are we stupid? Why are we doing this? Why didn’t we stay in bed like everyone else?
But on our short stroll home, we’d grin. We’d done it! A satisfying feeling chased away the pain. We were brave. We were gritty. We were the Elvis Team.
Our running team shrank, one person at a time, as my girls began working, until a day arrived when I headed out for a run on my own. I ran solo for a while. But then, on a freezing winter’s morning, as I ran against a bitter wind, I again wondered: am I stupid? What am I doing? Why aren’t I still in bed? And this time, there was no one to say, “Hey, Mum, you’ll feel good when you finish!” There was no one to notice if I ran or not. So I stopped.
But today, I suddenly want to run again. But why?
Do I once again want to run through the bush with the wind in my hair as the sun comes up, feeling like I could run forever?
Do I want to stir things up by exchanging my current exercise routine for a running challenge?
Or do I just want to boast, “I’m a runner!” and have people who might not push themselves to get out of bed and work their legs hard, day after day, to admire me for what I do?
We often do things to impress other people, don’t we? But will we gain something by spending lots of effort trying to build impressive lives? Will our impressiveness help other people?
The other day, I heard these words in a Rosary podcast meditation, The Way to Win at Life:
It turns out that being impressive actually doesn’t do anybody else any good.
Your impressive achievements don’t necessarily make anyone else’s life better. Your impressive house doesn’t help anyone else. And if you’re concerned about making your kids “impressive,” you’ll make your poor kids miserable. And, actually, these impressive things don’t really help you.
Worrying about being impressive makes you not enjoy stuff. You can’t enjoy your house if you’re worried about how other folks will see it. Trying to build an “impressive” empire will actually prevent you from doing the stuff you’re actually interested in, and that you actually think is important because your being impressive doesn’t make anybody like you. It may make them envious of you. It may make them insecure and defensive around you. It may make them think about the different ways they can use you.
In other words, making it your goal to be impressive, to “distinguish yourself,” actually hurts your relationships as it did when James and John’s (the apostle’s) ambition started the apostles quarreling among themselves.
So why would you waste time trying to be impressive?
Yes, doing things to impress other people is a waste of time. It isn’t satisfying or fulfilling. It doesn’t do us or anyone else any good.
But even though we realise this deep down, we continue trying to impress. I wonder why. Maybe we all yearn for people to tell us we’re doing a great job. We find it difficult to let go of the idea that if we do impressive things, we’ll convince others that we’re excellent parents, wonderful people, successful. We haven’t discovered what will truly make us win at life.
Walking home with Nora and Quinn, I decide I won’t return to running, at least not for now. I’m happy exercising inside where it’s warm.
So next time I meet Matilda out in the bush, I won’t be wearing my running gear instead of my coat. I won’t sail past her, hoping she’ll notice my fast speed. I won’t announce with pride in my voice to anyone who’ll listen, “I’m a runner!”
I won’t have an opportunity to impress. And that’s okay, isn’t it? There’s something far more important than impressing. We must do good for others.
Dr Mike Scherlschligt says towards the end of his Rosary meditation:
People are so misguided when they try to impress other people, which, as James and John found, actually leads to other people not liking you.
Of course, the goal is to serve people. To do real, concrete, ordinary good for the people in your life. And that’s not going to get you a Wikipedia page. It’s not going to impress people. But it will make other people like you. And it will make you feel blessed to have so many good folks in your life who are happy to be around you. And it means when you die, you will know your life wasn’t wasted on meaningless vain show. It was well spent.
Yes, we need to serve instead of trying to impress if we want to spend our time well.
We must love.
Some Extra Stories
Here’s a running story:
Although Andy was joking, I’m sure many people might take his words seriously. Perhaps they would indeed think I am a mean mother because what other explanation is there? Surely four girls wouldn’t choose to get up early, pull on their running gear and head out the door when they could stay in bed?
And here’s a story about how I tried to impress my friends with a spotless, tidy house.
Every day, I mopped my kitchen floor with care. Sometimes I mopped it more than once. I guarded it from dirt and spills, which wasn’t always easy because I had young children who were inclined to drop food crumbs and slosh milk. Whenever I found a little-person-trail upon my tiles, I’d frown and say, “How did that happen? You’ll have to learn to be more careful!”
How you can help
Please consider treating me to a coffee, making a small PayPal donation or buying one of my books. Your support helps keep my blog online!
I’m wondering
Do you ever pressured to have impressive kids? Do your kids choose to do difficult things? Perhaps your family works hard at something together? And what animals do you see where you live?
