Lessons from a mailman
“Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.” Day in, day out, he personifies this creed in the streets of our town. His name is Moun (Moo͞n).
Almost daily, I see him, sometimes on the busy sidewalk, across the crowded parking lot, or leaning into his small mail truck. If we’re early, I may glimpse him through the plate-glass window of the office, slipping the day’s mail into the box just outside the door. And without fail, it always comes.
A smile of a million watts bathes his face in light. One arm shoots high in the air, and he waves with such happy abandon that you nearly cast a glance over a shoulder to see if he’s waving at royalty. But no. It’s only us.
Recently, he stepped into the office to deliver a large batch of mail. Curious, I asked him a question. “How many miles a day do you walk on your route?” Close by, my husband was listening.
“I did not know,” he said, “until a substitute carrier tracked it once and told me. I walk eleven miles.”
We were stunned. Eleven miles! “You’re ready to run a marathon,” I exclaimed.
He grinned. No, no plans to run in Boston. As we listened, however, I saw that he was, in fact, running a different kind of marathon, this one in pursuit of a dream.
His face beamed, eyes shining as he explained it. He was going back to school to pursue a master’s degree in creative writing. While he loves to write fiction, the story that he told us was anything but, and it captured my heart and attention.
He grew up in Morocco, coming to America at the age of sixteen. In Morocco, he said, there were no libraries. His first act, upon arriving here, was to find a library. Oh, how he longed for a precious card and the access it would grant him to books. Listening, I could nearly smell the books, see the shelves, recall the hush, and feel the anticipation of finding a wonderful story to fall into, a privilege I’d enjoyed my entire life.
Moun is forty-seven. He told us that in his home country, it would be impossible for him to go back to school at his age, for such opportunity is not available in Morocco. It must be done when young or not at all. Today, his dream is to teach and to write novels. He is taking steps to make that dream a reality.
For days, I’ve been thinking about his inspiring story. There are several lessons it can teach us, and the first one is this—that it’s never too late to pursue a dream. For instance, Col. Sanders began his Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise when he was sixty-two. Ray Kroc, founder of McDonald’s, got his start at 52. Actor Samuel L. Jackson was forty-six when he had his first big hit, Pulp Fiction. Age does not need to stop us from pursuing what we love.
Second, as Moun pursues his dream, he gives himself, heart and soul, to his current situation, delivering our mail. Rather than being sullen or discontented, he performs his duties with such happiness and good cheer that leaves everyone on his circuit feeling better. In the monotony of his postal route, he still finds joy, and he spreads it.
Seasons of monotony and routine can grow us. In the daily grind, we find countless opportunities to practice fortitude, looking for ways to bless and enrich the lives of other people right where we are. This is a choice we must make over and over again.
We cannot wait to be a blessing until we’re doing what we love. We cannot wait to be happy until we’re doing what we love, for such happiness (read, joy) springs from a deeper well. It is not situational or circumstantial. If we are unhappy now, we shall be unhappy later. Discontentment now heralds discontentment later. All of it speaks to our character and our choices.
Thirdly, some people freeze at the start line. The path to success looks hard and impossible from where they stand. The fear of failure raises its hideous head. “What if I can’t make it?” is the soundtrack that plays on a loop, and so they give way to paralysis.
All-or-nothing thinking is a factor here. If there’s no guarantee of full success, the paralyzed don’t even want to try. Thus, failure is guaranteed.
What if we don’t have to choose all-or-nothing? What if we begin by taking just one step? I call this a “small something.”
How does that look? For Moun, it means taking the next class. He doesn’t have the luxury of pursuing his degree full time, so he takes it bit by bit, i.e., a “small something.” By doing this, his dream will come to fruition one day. He will walk the stage when they call his name and receive his precious diploma.
The choice, as always, is ours. We can move from dreaming to doing, no matter what our age. Though it may take time, we can give ourselves gladly to the work at hand, growing in contentment and every other grace as we work toward our goals.
Fear need not derail us. We can move from paralysis to action. Like a marathon runner, we cannot reach the finish line in a single leap (all or nothing), but we can take a step at a time (a small something). This is how our dreams can come true. What are you waiting for?