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Decisions, Decisions

Michael Kroth • August 9, 2019

Why Am I Carrying This Chair?

Decisions, Decisions. Profound Living. Michael Kroth.

Visiting our son Shane in Portland is nearly always an adventure. The family is engaged in multiple activities and has multiple interests and it is hard to anticipate what might be happening when a parent/grandparent plans to visit. This week, Shane was helping friends with a trail race in Forest Park. Though I’d been to this beautiful area before, I discovered this trip that it has “5,100 wooded acres making it the largest, forested natural area within city limits in the United States ”. My italics. I had no idea.

The. Largest. In. The. Country.

It’s July 30th, hot and hot. I walk – it’s not a hike, but a walk – up Leif Erikson Drive. It’s well before the race and Shane is running somewhere. I decide to make my way up the road far enough to sit and contemplate – to just breathe in and out the beauty of the moment – and to get past all the busyness of the race preparations that would soon occur.

I carry a day pack and a portable chair to sit in so, if the muse strikes, I will be able to write a bit or, more likely, to relax into this inner city woodland. A problem becomes evident after just a mile. I have to decide how far to carry that heavy chair before sitting in it. This isn't an ultralight hiking chair, it is a camping chair. The lane extends forever – it might go as far as Olathe, Kansas or Iowa City, Iowa as far as I knew – and the trees straddling it are so thick I can’t find an off-road spot to park my rear end.

Eventually, I just decide to sit. I write in my journal:

“I don’t know where to stop…If one has not passed a way before the unknown causes poor decision making. If I go just one more curve in the road will beautiful Portland open up before me? If I leave my chair here, will I wish I had it then? The possibilities for making a less favorable decision are here. Mosquitoes surround regardless.”

How far to haul that heavy chair? A couple walk by, older – she with a wide-brimmed sun hat. They are headed downhill, not riding a bike, so I don’t feel intrusive asking about the route ahead.

“It just keeps going,” the gray-haired gentleman says.

I know that already.

“Mile marker 2 is a good place to turn around,” the woman, slender, with dark hair adds more helpfully.

I check. I’ve walked 1.11 miles so far. I can make it with my chair another point-eight-nine mile. I pack up and head toward mile marker 2.

There is nothing exceptional at mile marker 2. It is a fine location but no better place than where I was before. Sure, it is as fine a spot to reverse course as any but, as far as I am concerned, it is an equally-less-than-completely-satisfying location as mile marker 1 ¾ or any other bittaroad along the way.

Decisions, decisions. I shifted the chair from one arm and then to the other and then to the other, all the while slogging up the gravelly path. Do I stop here? Go back? Chuck the chair just to come upon a spectacular ridge overlooking Portland , sans chaise ?

Sure, I can sit on a log or the ground or a rock, but now I have an investment in that chair. I carried it this far. If I don’t use it, all that hefting will be wasted. Somehow the concept of “sunk cost”, learned in my finance course 30 years earlier, escapes me here.

I walk, chair in hand, and then in the other hand, and then the other, uphill.

Step, step, step, step. Up, up, and up. Onward, upward, inward. Four young women, chatting away, pass me easily. One bike rider after another passes by, slowly.

Finally, at mile 2 ½ I dump the chair. My tired arms make the decision for me. The verdict my mind could not make rationally, my muscles and wrists and fingers resolve for me. There is no overlook in sight. No Clift of More or Less. No pastoral scene. No tumbling brook or waterfall. I drop the chair behind the mile marker. Much lighter, my feet fairly leap, now hiking-esque, up the road.

I find the four women at mile marker three. They are taking a break before turning around. Each gives me a friendly smile and a knowing, sympathetic look. Younger kindly observes older, secure in vibrant youngerness. They gaily head back, now continuously downward, out of sight, not seen again.

I too turn back. I realize the race will start soon. I need to be at the starting line when it does. I didn’t come to Leif Erikson Drive to carry a chair five miles, I came to watch a race. I came to see my son.

The chair awaits at mile marker 2 ½. I hustle down Leif Erickson. Time passes. Soon I alternate running and walking, chair bouncing in one hand or the other. Bikes, now heading down, whizz by. Solo, two men, a family of riders, one woman. All in fancy biking clothes branded every inch with this or that. Except the family in shorts and tees. I, how rare , catch up to a person walking here, another one there. I pass the occasional ambler but serious runners overtake me, effortlessly prancing down the path like ponies passing peccaries.

Just seven minutes to the starting gun. Now six. I hurry on. Now three.

I am knackered.

I’m anxious. Missing the start would be like going to the theater and missing the opening curtain. Not good. Barbaric. Uncivilized. Gauche. Bad taste.

There. One person walking around. Two. I still have time. To get to the finish line.

There it is.

I drop my chair and plop my butt into it just before the start. I kick off my shoes and take off my socks. Then I savor the sitting and the watching as folks ready themselves to scurry up the trail. I drink a cup of lemonade.

I write a haiku while sitting:


One hundred-fifty run

I sit in my chair, emptied.

Alone, surrounded.


In my journal, “A peaceful me as many runners and helpers get ready to start a four mile plus race. Oasis of quiet. Empty. Pure observation.”

The race starts. Race organizers and others stand around. Friends and family and their pups sit where they can, on curbs or dirt or Leif Erikson Drive, if they wish to sit.

I rest comfortably, notebook in lap, pen and lemonade in hand, relaxed.

I am tickled that I brought a chair.

Decisions, Decisions. Michael Kroth. Profound Living

For further reading about Forest Park , check out Forest Park Conservancy , which provides valuable support for this oasis in the city.

Photo Credits:

Leif Erikson Drive: Joe Mabel [CC BY-SA 3.0 ( https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0 )]

Foot: Photo by Michael Kroth (The Ansel Adams of dirty feet)


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I opened that letter on December 21st, and I don’t mind sharing excerpts of what I wrote. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1-15-2024 Prologue to 2024 Michael Kroth To the Divine Ground, to the Great Vastness, and to the Inner LastingNess, May this be a year of Elegancing, of winnowing out the chaff, and keeping – reverencing – the grain. The elegant solution is the simplest, nothing extra, nothing missing. “Take More Time, Cover Less Ground,” a song by Carrie Newcomer, is my theme song. It reminds me of Evelyn Underhill. She would pick one retreat for a year, and give that retreat several times. Rather than giving many retreats. Cultivating Spirituality in Later Life is my topic. This means knowing about gerontology, spirituality, and lifelong learning Healthwise is my approach – not worrying about length of life as much as quality of life for as long as I live. 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Michael Kroth, Student of Life ------------------------------------------------------------------------- That’s what I wrote, and as I sit here on December 30 th 2024 these still are values and approaches that I want to continue to build into myself and my life through 2025 and beyond. I like what I wrote then – it fits where I am and where I want to go. But, have I made much progress? But, have I made much progress? What have I learned about elegancing and myself this past year? Looking back over the year I’ve done pretty well on some of these and on some have I have not. One area in which I have not made much progress is in personal financial management. I've made little steps, but it does not come naturally for me. I just don't think about money much, and not nearly so much as I ought to. I'll have to do better in 2025 as retirement hurdles forward me. Regarding the big four metapractices 2 – spiritual learning, embodied learning, cognitive learning, and socio-emotional learning – elegancing underlies them all. That is, I’m working to go more deeply, more synergistically, and in a less scattered way with each of them, and all of them interacting with each other. Carrie Newcomer’s words, Take More Time, Cover Less Ground 3 , is what Duhigg calls a “keystone habit,” and applies to all of these. “Some habits,” Duhigg says, “matter more than others in remaking businesses and lives.” 4 Focusing more, and what is likely to make the most difference, seems like a good strategy. It is probably self-evident, but my curiosity is a strength and a vulnerability. As one who is interested in learning about many things, it is easy to jump from one fascinating topic to another. To wit, over the last few weeks, I’ve started to learn how to use AI. And it is helping me to learn conversational Spanish. Those are two big topics themselves. 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More than a fashion choice, elegance applies to advanced technology, design (of all sorts), sports, science, software, and beyond. That’s knowledge, which is good. Practicing until one becomes, until one is be-ing elegant, that’s better. These practices start with the smallest, often the most tenuous, of steps. I feel like 2024 has been a time of taking my first steps toward elegancifying the way I approach the world. Elegancifying . I like it. Maybe that will be my word for 2025. How about you? What will your word be for 2025? Your song? Your desired experience? This elegancing thing might take me a while. Like maybe the rest of my life. Sources and Resources 1 Covey, S. R. (1989). The seven habits of highly effective people: restoring the character ethic. Simon and Schuster. 2 For a more in-depth look at the processes of lifelong formation, see Kroth, M., Carr‐Chellman, D. J., & Rogers‐Shaw, C. (2022). Formation as an organizing framework for the processes of lifelong learning. New Horizons in Adult Education and Human Resource Development , 34(1), 26-36. 3 Carrie Newcomer, Take More Time, Cover Less Ground. https://carrienewcomer.substack.com/p/take-more-time-cover-less-ground-10e 4 Duhigg, C. (2014). Power of habit: why we do what we do in life and business (Random House Trade Paperback Edition ed.), p. 100. 5 Carrie Newcomer, You Can Do this Hard Thing. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PRGnftH_g4I Retreat Information To sign up for Judith’s January 11 th retreat, check it out here: Writing the Prologue to Your New Year
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