It's no secret that I love books.
But a few months ago, I realized something about my reading habits. Namely, that I tend to read the same types of books all the time. So, while I do read a lot, there is little variety in what I read, which, as an aspiring author is kind of dumb. As such, I decided to make a definitive effort to read more books that I don't historically read -- namely, contemporary fiction (most of the fiction I read is Christian fiction or the classics).
One of the first books I ended up picking up was Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the book, this is the Amazon synopsis:
Nine-year-old Oskar Schell has embarked on an urgent, secret mission that will take him through the five boroughs of New York. His goal is to find the lock that matches a mysterious key that belonged to his father, who died in the World Trade Center on the morning of September 11. This seemingly impossible task will bring Oskar into contact with survivors of all sorts on an exhilirating, affecting, often hilarious, and ultimately healing journey.It's very unique in its storytelling, as the narrative unfolds in a combination of first-person narrative from Oskar, as well as letters written by his father, his grandfather, and his grandmother.
At one point in the book, Oskar recounts an evening when his father came in to his room as he was getting ready for bed. His father asks him the question, "What would happen if you moved one grain of sand in the Sahara desert one millimeter?"
Oskar gives a few snarky answers before his dad finally gets to the point. Which is, it doesn't matter how little you move one grain of sand in the Sahara desert. If you move it, you have changed something that has literally existed for thousands of years.
Several hours after I finished reading the particular chapter where this encounter happens, I found myself still thinking about it, thinking about the idea that, even if it's only one grain of sand one millimeter, you still have the ability to change something as vast as the Sahara desert.
As I continued to reflect on this, I realized how much this translates to my own life.
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I'm not exactly the most patient person. Anyone who knows me can tell you that. It's something I'm definitely working on, but on most days I lean much closer to the "impatient" than "patient" side of things.
I've written before about how I'm learning to balance things and that I can't always so ALL THE THINGS at one time.
Because of these two parts of my personality, I like to see results and I like to see them fast.
I become easily frustrated with a workout routine and healthy eating habits or my career as a writer or the growth I'm making as a believer because I don't see that much change from week to week. I feel like I'm trying so hard so much of the time, but all I'm doing is moving one grain of sand one millimeter.
That can be disheartening. It can cause frustration and disenchantment, impatience and anger. It can make you feel like you're doing something wrong or that you're all alone because you're not moving forward when you feel like everyone else is.
But you know what? You are making progress.
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I'm training for my second 5k at the moment and my older sister somehow convinced me that we should do a half-marathon next year.
When I think about that half-marathon I'll be running next February (thankfully, I have plenty of time to train), I can almost feel my body aching already. I'm not a runner. I've never found it super enjoyable and when it comes to physical activity, I'd much rather dance or swim.
I think about the fact that, right now, it takes me about 40 minutes to run a 5k. And when I say "run" a 5k, I mean that it takes me about 40 minutes to run and walk it because I can barely run a full mile right now.
But you know what? That's better than the first time I ran.
And even though it sometimes feels like I'll never get there, by next February, I'll be able to run 13.1 miles without stopping. And while in the middle, it might seem like I'm making any progress, I'll look back at my running logs from right now (thanks Nike+ Running App!) and compare them to what I'll be able to do next February and realize how much progress I've made.
Most of us aren't very good at being patient about results, but giving up too soon is a disservice to you as a person.
I'm learning that progress is slow and it might not seem like it's happening. I might feel like I'll never lose the weight, I'll never make it as a writer, I'll never become the kind of Christian woman I want to be and I'll never be able to run that
I might still not have made it as a writer and I might still not have lost the weight and I can pretty much guarantee I still won't be the kind of Christian woman I want to be and I might still not feel like a runner (even though I will run those 13.1 miles!), but there's one thing I know for sure, I definitely won't do any of those things if I give up because all I see are grains of sand moving one millimeter at a time.
One grain of sand one millimeter isn't much. But one grain of sand one millimeter a bunch of times amounts to something, possibly something great.
So remember this: One grain of sand one millimeter at a time. That's all it takes.
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