When I was a child, the world looked a lot less complicated than it does today. The “rules” were a lot easier to navigate.

Share with others. Say “please” and “thank you”. Take turns.

I was having an interesting spiritual conversation the other day. The discussion leader, a good fiend of mine, made the point that we need a common language if we are going to understand each other. There was a lot of talk around the nature of establishing “rules” for a society, and at one point, we came to a playground analogy.

We were discussing how, on the playground, children don’t jockey for position, and most aren’t bullies. In fact the ones that bully at a young age were either raised to be bullies, or they just haven’t learned how to interact with others yet. At which point my friend made the following statement.

“Before we can come to the playground, we have to be taught how to interact properly. We have to be taught how to share, say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, and to take turns.”

It would seem that so much of what sets us up for our new testament is founded in the ‘rules’ that govern the old testament of our lives.

Richard Rohr, in his book, “Falling Upward” makes the case that the first “half” of our life (our old testament) is all about creating the box, the container that defines who we are. We learn rules, strive to achieve recognition, hold status, make friends, build our networks, and then bank on all of that as who we are. Not as symbols of who we are, but as our actual measure of worth in the world.

The second ‘half’ of life (our new testament) is all about finding what goes into that container. The meaning of all those elements. It’s realizing that the stuff of our existence is just “stuff”, but our existence is where the real value, the real meaning lies.

Before I get too existential, I bring this up because we can’t figure out the meaning until we quantify the stuff. There’s a very necessary order to all of this. We have to learn the rules, the structures, the bits and pieces of our society so we can figure out how to operate in that world. Like a set of monkey bars on the playground, there has to be a solid structure to build upon. If those bars were all loosey-goosey, you couldn’t hang upside down, walk across the top, or do other feats of daring and fancy. You need structure to support your magnificence.

Yesterday, we talked about recognizing the “limitations” set on your life. The so-called structures that found who you have been in your old testament. You’ve been building the monkey bars on the playground. Before you start doing your feats of magnificence on them, you’d better make sure the structure is the way you want it to be.

What beliefs and core values have not been serving you to fully live according to your True Self? What ‘structures’ have you allowed to be crated in and around your existence that prevent your True Self from fully manifesting?

Michael Bernard Beckwith, founder of Agape International Spiritual Center and creator of the Life Visioning Process talks about asking ourself better questions in order to transform our situations. My favorite two questions are these:

“What is God’s idea of itself for my life?” 

“What must I become in order for this to happen?”

These questions cause us to look at what we have, where we are, and where our True Self is showing up in our current existence. These questions empower us to magnify and enlarge that magnificence according to our own abilities in the moment. They do not require what we do not already possess. They force us, to borrow from Victor Frankl, to meet ourselves where we are at on our journey.

So before you come to the playground, ask yourself: What have you built everything on?

“A four year old constantly asks “why?” in order to understand. What’s stopping us from doing the same?”

- Simon Sinek

When I read this quote, I was sent reeling into my childhood, where I constantly asked ‘why’ in ways that would drive even the most patient of parents bonkers (and mine were not the most patient of parents). I couldn’t get enough reasons, answers, and constantly searched for meaning in everything. When I saw that quote, I saw a piece that had been missing from my adult life. I stopped questioning. I started accepting everything that came to me as truth and started building my monkey bars with those materials.

Some of those “truths” were indeed structurally sound. They have not wavered in decades of testing. Others seem to crumble at the slightest examination. I’m recognizing that my constant interrogating was an in-born utility that allowed me to build the safest, most solid set of monkey bars for my own personal brand of magnificence. When I stopped questioning, I essentially allowed mediocrity to reign in my life.

Well guess what? Now I want to get on with the cool tricks and awesome stunts that can only be performed on my perfect set of monkey bars. I’m watching other people around me, who methodically tested and built their own sets, now walking across the tops, swinging and flinging themselves in death-defying acts of magnificence, while I sit there tearing apart my own creation, feeling as if I’m beginning again.

And I guess in some ways I am. A new testament doesn’t come without some re-tracing of steps and reexamining the old. But my own set of bars is much bigger, higher, and more magnificent than what others have built for themselves. All the more reason I need to test this thing out with intensity. Lest the whole thing collapse on me in mid-flight from one rung to another.

Examine your own structures. Build from a place of empowerment and strength. Start where you are with what you have. Don’t borrow someone else’s structural elements. Or at least, don’t take it for granted that their elements will serve you. Challenge what you’re building and test your structures. When you step into your new testament, it needs to stand firm so you don’t need to worry about the structure anymore.

Then, you’ll be able to pour your passion into the artistry and magnificence that your True Self is craving to bring into the world through you. What must you become to make that happen?

I live in a house full of testosterone. Two boys (three, if you count my husband) can really push you to your limits sometimes. They’re “all boy” and sometimes a bit too competitive. My sons were born about 10 years apart, tho, which makes some of the competition rather comical.

Take my youngest, for example. He’s been wanting to ride a “big boy bike” for years now. And I’m not talking about a 10-speed. He wants a motorcycle. Why? Because my teenager does, of course.

They both are enamored with going fast. They have yet to learn about the juicer analogy I mentioned the other day. And as young kids, I think that’s okay. Give ‘em a taste of “fast” and slow, so they can decide for themselves which path to take in life.

But I also have to keep reminding them that there’s a process to these things. A natural order, if you will.

A six-year old doesn’t walk into the dealership and drive a crotch rocket off the lot. And frankly, much to my teenager’s chagrin, very few 15 year-olds do it either.

First, you get on the tricycle. Then, maybe a scooter (which is where my baby is right now – and he zooms!), then a bike…

… with training wheels.

I remember hating training wheels. To me, it was a mark of immaturity, incompetence, and I couldn’t wait to get those things off my bike. The sooner the better, baby. I was made for speed and these extra wheels were holding me back!

Yep. Apples don’t fall far from the tree, do they?

I remember hiking up those wheels every chance I could. I’d ride out, fall over, re-adjust them back down, and ride some more. I practiced and practiced my balancing, my turning. Looking where I wanted the bike to go, and guiding the handle bars gently, without over compensating, in that direction.

Eventually, I didn’t have to put my foot down when I turned a corner. It was almost graceful.

I inched up those wheels again.. and it felt like it wasn’t enough. So I’d hike ‘em up a little higher.

And I’d fall again.

So I’d adjust the wheels and keep practicing.

“If you wait until you’re sure, you’ll never take of the training wheels.” – Anonymous

Eventually, the wheels came off, and I felt like I was flying.

“Look at me! No extra wheels!”

And then, came driver’s training. Riding the brake. Idling everywhere on the range.

“Come on! When are we going to put some speed on? When do we actually get to use the accelerator?”

Forward-backward zigzag. I still don’t know why we learned that one. Three point turns, angle parking, parallel parking.

All at idle speed. And if we dared to hit the accelerator…

“Car twelve, pull over. Brake-brake-park and secure the vehicle!”

Not that I ever did that, mind you. I was too much of a brown nose to break the rules when people were watching!

There was a process. If we managed to successfully navigate the driving range, then we got to try our hand on the open road.

And then the freeway.

So I watch my children jockeying for “what’s next” before they’re ready for where they’re currently at and I have to chuckle. Because I see so much of myself in them.

Now dear teenager, when you’ve mastered backing out of the drive way at idle speed, then we’ll talk about letting you put the car in “drive”. Once you’ve got your license, then we can talk about a motorcycle (which requires another driving course, by the way).

And to you, dear six year old, before you get so enthusiastic about hopping on a motorbike, let’s get you to balance properly on the scooter you race to school every day. It’s easy to beat Mom when she’s walking. Her feet have no wheels on them!

To myself (and to you), there are times when following the rules isn’t a bad thing. There is a natural order to some activities that require a learning curve. And NO amount of rushing through it will make it come along any faster. It takes time to learn something new. The more you try to speed through it, the more likely you are to need stitches and have to start over again. Appreciate the process, enjoy the journey, and stop trying to shortcut your learning.

Because training wheels are also a symbol of safety, encouragement, and building a solid foundation. They are a metaphor for helping hands when we really need them. They keep us from falling and hurting ourselves unnecessarily. Pains are bound to happen anyway, why invite them in when it’s not necessary?

“Life comes with training wheels. The trick is not to take them off too soon or too late.”

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Training wheels make it safe for us to make “mistakes”. They encourage us to keep trying, strengthen our resolve to go faster, dream bigger, and make more of the life we’re meant to live. Training wheels give us freedom and courage.

And who couldn’t use a little more of that?

So when you’re looking around in your life, and you’re begrudging those training wheels, ask yourself for a minute what freedom you have because of those training wheels? How are those training wheels giving you courage to be your True Self in this moment? Maybe you won’t be in such a hurry to rip them off your axles.

Then again, maybe it’s time to take off the training wheels. Maybe they’ve served their purpose for you, and it’s time to let your True Self step on the pedal and go-go-go!

Above all, just listen. Listen to what your True Self is telling you. If you’re like me, you’ll err on the side of taking them off too soon. Just remember that you can always put them back on if you really need to. Others I know seem to never want to take them off. Just remember that you’ll never look foolish with them on, but there comes a point in time where they do more holding back than letting you zoom off into the sunset.

Every week day, my son and I make the three-quarter mile hike to his afternoon Kindergarten classroom. The way our house is situated, we can either walk “through the neighborhood” or take a “short cut” out the back yard, thereby saving about a quarter mile on the journey.

Since I make this round trip twice a day, sometimes it’s nice to take the short cut. Especially if my son wants to ride his scooter, in which case I have to nearly run to keep up (and I’m not a runner, in case you were wondering).

But when the weather’s nice, or when my son is feeling ambitious, we take the long way.

And it makes all the difference. 

Because when I take the short route, it’s a straight shot from our house, down the road, to the school. It’s a busy street, with lots of noise and traffic. My son talks about the noise pollution and the air pollution, and how all these cars are making it stinky. But hey, it’s efficient. It’s a nice jaunt that’s easy to ride your scooter down. The sidewalk’s fairly even, and there’s even a traffic light to make crossing the street easier.

When we take the long way, through the ‘hood, I get to experiences the “surprises”. These are the elements of a walk that aren’t always typical. Like the potholes and muddy patches that make it rough for a scooter to wheel through (“Surprise!” I say to my son. “Didn’t know THAT was there, did ya?”)

I’m also surprised by wonderful visuals. Like the face on the tree:

This is some resident’s attempt at humor. At one time, there were faces hung all around the tree, but over the years, I guess, the other faces have lost some of their parts and pieces. Or how about my favorite, the mushroom growing on the side of a tree that I SWEAR looks like the starship Enterprise from Star Trek:

It’s been on that tree since we moved into the neighborhood. And there are other sights that I just don’t see on that busy stretch of road:

spring blossoms

colorful yard art

symbols of passion

symbols of faith

The funny thing about this “other path” is that it also leads me to the school. It also takes me right where I need to go. It ties into that busy road, where the traffic light waits to take us safely from one side of the street to the other.

“I took the road less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.” - Robert Frost

Frost doesn’t say “the road less traveled” is good or bad. Think on that for a minute.

Frost doesn’t say that one road is better than the other. He almost goes out of the way to avoid telling us which road to take in his reknowned poem. He says he’ll mark the other path to take another day, because they both look equally appealing. He also notes that he probably will never get back to that “other” path, because of the nature of the way paths often meander.

No. Frost chose the road less travelled. He doesn’t tell us if it’s shorter or longer, wider or narrower. Frost doesn’t even tell us if his life is “better” because of it.

Just that the path he chose made all the difference.

For me, there are still days when the “straight shot” is valuable to me. Efficiency can be a beautiful thing when you’re over-scheduled, tired, or just needing a quick and easy way to accomplish something.

But there are times when I enjoy the craziness of my neighborhood. I like seeing the creativity of my neighbors, the kids playing outside, and generally enjoying the space in which I live.

So too, is the way of your True Self. It becomes easier, quicker to take the shortcuts. Over time, a new path is beaten in a different direction from the one where our True Self calls out to us.

Quick and easy? Or a bit longer?

Which one is worth more to you?

Both paths will get you there, one will have more to see and enjoy, the other is shorter. Which path is better for you? Which path are you putting off for later (that you’ll probably never get back to if you do put it off)?

Only your True Self knows for certain. Listen for the clues.

For me, the path less traveled by is not a short cut. And I am practicing walking it more frequently – both in my neighborhood, and in my life and business.