Learning Mode

Expanding mind and body in a new year

It is a brilliant, crystalline day here in Minnesota. The sun is bright, the air a brisk 4 degrees Fahrenheit. My body is sore. In my mind spin words and phrases like da drüben or ich möchte ein Bier or fun-to-pronouce words like Speisekarte.

I am a restless human in both body and mind. Sitting still for me is restorative, but temporary. Always forward. Always. I’ve come to accept this.

So, in this new season, I am leaning into new things. In this case, German, and Nordic skiing. I suppose this could be predictable, living here in the North Star State. Each scratches a very different itch, but I’ve noticed cognitive similarities.

The other day, while focusing intensely on not falling on my face in a slippery downhill track on skis, it struck me that the physical balance required for skiing is not terribly different from the physical adjustments you must make with your mouth to pronouce such phrases as da drüben or ich möchte or groß.

Spanish is a bit easier, at least for me, with only the tricky tilde, the trilled “r” (carrrrrne asada…), and the language’s lack of dipthongs: You pronounce both the “e” and the “u” in Europa, for example. If you want to get good at it, you have to train your mouth (Yes, my mind went there, too. I am basically still a teenager 🫠).

It can all be boiled down to this: Learning keeps us wide awake in body, mind — and heart.

These past three years have been a master class in emotional growth. I’ve learned more about myself, and, more importantly, learned more about empathy and care and the vital need for space and stillness that everyone requires to keep moving forward. Think of that space and stillness as recovery from emotional workouts.

Adults tend to stop learning for lots of reasons. Often, we are simply good at what we’re good at, and that is enough. Sometimes we stop learning simply because life has us pinned. Kids. Work. Aging parents. A marriage that needs tending or a family that feels like it might fly apart if you ever stopped holding it together. When you’re worn thin, it makes sense that the couch wins. I get that now in a way I didn’t three years ago.

Comfort is seductive. It promises often much-needed rest. But if we stay there too long, it slowly starts to narrow our world. Not all at once — more like fog gathering at the edges of a meadow. Before you know it, the spaces you used to roam are smaller, tighter, duller. And while I enjoy being cozy as much as the next person, I know that comfort cannot be life’s goal, at least not for me. There has to be something more.

This is why I left a good career to run Hunter Angler Gardener Cook full time, all those years ago. It’s why I went back into kitchens, why I chose to return to commercial fishing a few years ago, why I dove into Mexico and learning Spanish. I have long ago become comfortable being uncomfortable.

I am not alone. Some people push through their ambient life noise. They’re voracious readers. Or like me, they’re in a lifelong study of a foreign language. Or they take classes in pottery or learn a game like bocce ball or, well, cross country skiing.

Staying sharp physically, mentally, and yes, emotionally, opens us all up to possibility. Yes, I am only barely competent on Nordic skis right now — I’m having a tough time with downhills still — but even now I am dreaming of completing the Birkebeiner in Wisconsin, the greatest cross country ski race in America.

I’ve known about this race since I was a marathoner at UW-Madison in the early 1990s. Most of my colleagues stopped running in winter, switched to skis, trained for the Birkie, then came back to running in spring. They seemed to never get injured. I want that.

Armed with at least conversational German, I imagine myself wandering through Germany or Austria, eating my way through that region — if only to prove to my fellow Americans that the food there isn’t just sausages and kraut… although I am a sucker for good sauerkraut.

I can hear you: Where’s the time? Yes, fatigue is real. We cannot do everything everywhere all at once. Even for me, a man who has been described more than once as a lean, hungry, perpetual motion machine (which I view as a compliment), I get tired. Physically, at my age recovery is more important than the workouts; otherwise I break down and lose momentum.

The same is true mentally. Beware of streaks (except maybe for Wordle). Sometimes you find yourself running ragged, managing others, work or family obligations, you name it. The last thing you want to do is classwork, or bench pressing your weight or running 10 miles or sitting down to a two-hour language class. On those moments, give yourself grace. Exhale.

All of this is to say that as this new year unfolds, I hope you leave a little room for growth, even if it’s just baby steps. Learn something small. Stretch one muscle. Let just one part of you expand. Or two.

Your future self will thank you. And more importantly, your present self will feel more alive.