Stopping to Measure
During the fifth season of the sitcom Mad About You, filmmaker Paul Buchman visits his childhood home with his father Burt. As an artifact of his maturation, Paul notices that the marks his father made measuring Paul's height are still evident. Adult Paul asks his dad why the measurement stopped at age 9, and his dad confesses that it is difficult to measure someone who is always moving.
I suspect we fail to steadily measure progress, our own or someone else's, for similar reasons. To commemorate incremental progress seems artificial. We fear to inflame the ego. We hesitate to impede progress toward the next more obvious marker of achievement or stature. Tempted to stop someone else and help them make a note of progress, we are turned aside. Just like Burt may have decided that Paul already knew he was taller without being measured and marked off, so we assume that other people already know they are growing. Opportunities to affirm that and leave the affirmation for future reflection are lost.
Big-hearted as he is, Burt takes the time in the show's present to tell Paul that his son will be a better marker of progress than Burt was. As a filmmaker, Paul is wired for it, but so is our age. We have more tools than ever to be better markers of progress, and to speak up when we notice it. The same principle which can cast social media as ominous, that nothing is ever truly forgotten, can allow us to reflect back with some objectivity in ways our parents or grandparents could not. Mining my blog entries, I can experience what I perceived my motivation on my previous job to be, even when that chapter closed on terms I wish were different. The notch is still in the wall, so to speak, to show that I grew in my capacity to handle what would have been previously stressful with cheerfulness. Subsequent to my dismissal, I can also look back and affirm that I became a better marker of God's provision and identification with me outside of the context of a particular job. Where have you become a better marker of your own incremental advancement, and of God's face shining upon you (Numbers 6:25) at each step of the way?
The technology and narrative inclinations of our age also make it easier for us to incorporate the rhythms of affirming others into daily life. I don't need a stamp to endorse the increasing patient I saw in someone yesterday, although using one to snail mail a letter might be so different as to make a lasting impression. I don't need to ration out the expense of a long-distance call or the dwindling of cell phone minutes as I decide whether to mark off the fact that my friend has grown an inch in kindness since the last time I measured. Instruments and instances for quantifying and recording are so nearly ubiquitous that we dragoon them for complaints in the moment or to bemoan how far we have to go to reach some ultimate, elusive goal. The same tools, it seems, can serve a more lasting, validating purpose.
I suspect we fail to steadily measure progress, our own or someone else's, for similar reasons. To commemorate incremental progress seems artificial. We fear to inflame the ego. We hesitate to impede progress toward the next more obvious marker of achievement or stature. Tempted to stop someone else and help them make a note of progress, we are turned aside. Just like Burt may have decided that Paul already knew he was taller without being measured and marked off, so we assume that other people already know they are growing. Opportunities to affirm that and leave the affirmation for future reflection are lost.
Big-hearted as he is, Burt takes the time in the show's present to tell Paul that his son will be a better marker of progress than Burt was. As a filmmaker, Paul is wired for it, but so is our age. We have more tools than ever to be better markers of progress, and to speak up when we notice it. The same principle which can cast social media as ominous, that nothing is ever truly forgotten, can allow us to reflect back with some objectivity in ways our parents or grandparents could not. Mining my blog entries, I can experience what I perceived my motivation on my previous job to be, even when that chapter closed on terms I wish were different. The notch is still in the wall, so to speak, to show that I grew in my capacity to handle what would have been previously stressful with cheerfulness. Subsequent to my dismissal, I can also look back and affirm that I became a better marker of God's provision and identification with me outside of the context of a particular job. Where have you become a better marker of your own incremental advancement, and of God's face shining upon you (Numbers 6:25) at each step of the way?
The technology and narrative inclinations of our age also make it easier for us to incorporate the rhythms of affirming others into daily life. I don't need a stamp to endorse the increasing patient I saw in someone yesterday, although using one to snail mail a letter might be so different as to make a lasting impression. I don't need to ration out the expense of a long-distance call or the dwindling of cell phone minutes as I decide whether to mark off the fact that my friend has grown an inch in kindness since the last time I measured. Instruments and instances for quantifying and recording are so nearly ubiquitous that we dragoon them for complaints in the moment or to bemoan how far we have to go to reach some ultimate, elusive goal. The same tools, it seems, can serve a more lasting, validating purpose.
Comments
Post a Comment