Begin Here

The human condition is such that we seem to have to learn lessons over and over again. Sometimes it gets easier and other times it seems like I am learning it again for the first time. For me I often get stuck because I cannot see how I could reach the end. To pervert an old saying “I don’t start the journey, because I cannot take the first step.”

As I approach a new task the nagging voice comes again. “Why start if you can’t possibly finish?” “You do not know what you’re doing give up now instead of wasting time.” “Who are you to think that you can accomplish this. Quit while you’re ahead.” The negative recordings installed over time play and replay keeping me stuck in place.

My ability to overcome some of this talk came from an unexpected source. It was a book that was popular in the 70s–Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig. I picked up the book out of idle curiosity. I was not interested in Zen Buddhism or maintaining motorcycles, but the title was provocative and the yellow cover attracted my eye. Little did I know what was in store for me.

As I read I became fascinated with the storyline of the father and son on a seventeen-day road trip and the philosophical musings of the author. As compelling as the story is what changed my life was a specific scene where Pirsig visits a motorcycle shop. He notices that the shop is quiet. Every other shop he had entered had music playing and other distractions. This shop was nearly silent. This led to a digression on Pirsig’s view of how Zen helped him learn to maintain his bike.

What I took away from his digression was a new way of looking at any project. No longer did I look to the end result, and feeling overwhelmed by the prospect of getting there, give up before I began. Instead, at my best, I could look at a project and break it down into discrete tasks. While the overall project might seem impossible each individual task was less intimidating.

One of the best examples of how it affected my life happened in the late 90s. At that time I heard about a challenge to raise money for AIDS services. The event was called the Philadelphia->DC AIDS Ride. It seemed like an important way to help raise money for organizations helping those suffering from the AIDS pandemic. But the catch was twofold. One a participant had to raise at least $2,000 in pledges. I hate fundraising, and asking people for money to help people with a disease that had lots of stigma attached added to the challenge. Second, I had to commit to bicycling 250 miles from Philly to DC on a hot June weekend. While i enjoyed riding my bike I had never ridden more than 10 miles; how could I possibly ride 250?

For both challenges I was able to reach back to the lessons from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. I broke down both tasks into smaller tasks. I did not have to raise $2,000 just $100 then $500 and so forth. I did not need one big donor, but lots of small donors. I looked to my church community, family, friends and co-workers and asked for $25. Of course, some would give more and some would give less and some would give nothing at all. But by tracking my progress to smaller goals the task felt manageable.

Biking was harder. I had to set up a training schedule not really knowing what I was up to. I set a goal of riding 80 miles in one day. I figured if I could ride 80 I could ride farther if needed. I worked back from the weekend of the ride setting daily and weekly goals. Each Saturday was the long ride and each week it would get a little longer so that by the week before I would hit the goal of 80.

The weekend of the ride would be the big challenge. The distance was intimidating, The terrain was different (more hills, argh). I also worried if I was able to keep up with the other riders. But I fell back on my “Zen” and mentally set a goal of fifteen miles. That was the average distance between rest stops. All I had to do was ride fifteen miles. I would get a drink and a snack and ride another fifteen. By breaking it down in that way I was able to reach camp on Friday after riding 100 miles, then Saturday after riding 90 miles, and the finish line after riding 60 miles.

Not only did I discover I could do this “impossible” task, but I was able to do it well. If it had been a race I would have lost, but as it was a ride, I learned I was in the top ten percent of the riders. Not bad for a guy who was never an athlete.

Yes, every journey begins with one step, but oftentimes it is taking the first step that is the hardest. It takes beginning in order to succeed regardless of the task. Even when one beginning falters there are other beginnings, other dreams, other goals that may beckon us even in our failure.

Take the first step without regard for the impossibility of the end result. There is no telling what may be revealed about yourself and your life along the way.