Not One Less

Tenacity can strike in the most unusual ways. As tunnel vision sets in, perspective flies out the window. 

A few years back I was on a trip with my brother on the Oregon coast. He had left early for a jog and was late coming back, too late. He hadn’t been doing well, hence the trip, and the further I searched for him along the beach, the more I was convinced he was not okay. I arrived at a vast boulder field and because it was now high tide I was cut off from the beach beyond, so the only way to get past it was to go through. Driven by fear, I clambered over those rocks for a long time. Neither pain nor logic held any sway with me as I continued on. 

It was despair that finally stopped me in my tracks and sat me down. Slowly as my head cleared I realized that the chance of him being on the other side of the field was pretty slim and there must be a better explanation. I had a lot of time to think about tenacity while I picked my way back across those rocks and along the beach. Such powerful driving emotion had shut down my rational thinking and had replaced it with blind determination. He was at the room when I got there and was fine, but had gone running along the highway and ran too far before turning back.

That’s a long story just to make a connection to a film, but when I watched it, I was back on those rocks as the young teacher searched for her student. I kept thinking what she was doing was folly and that there was no way she would accomplish her task, but sometimes tenacity is perfect in its foolheartedness.

I never told my brother what I’d done, because I didn’t want to add to his sadness and was more than embarrassed by my foolishness. I did learn something about the capacity of my heart that day though and watching the film today and the love and determination of the teacher reminded me that a heart, as illogical as it is, holds its own kind of perfection too.

Thank you Martin for the beautiful film.