Quiet Moments that Matter

As a 10 year old my Grandpa Anderson challenged me to commit this poem to memory. He even incentivized me with a $20 bill. (That’s a lot of money for a 10 year old). I never did in fact memorize it until 16 years later after his passing I recommitted to memorizing the poem again. Now memorized, I find myself reflecting on various phrases/stanzas. Even today I rehearsed the first stanza when an unfortunate circumstance had left me quite discouraged at work. The corporate nuances of work can find oneself easily tangled up in the grapevine of gossip. Frustrated with the low measures taken by those posturing and positioning themselves for next big promotion or recognition (often at the expense of friendship or integrity/honesty), I sat in my office and quietly gazed out the window over the downtown skyline. I felt calm and quiet inside when the first stanza of this poem came to mind. After reciting the words I found myself refreshed and ready to roll with the punches -- not wasting another minute dwelling on things I cannot control. I imagined Grandpa proud to know his challenge to memorize this poem made a lasting impression on his grandson. A gift worth infinitely more than any $20 bill.


IF

If you can keep your head when all about you   
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;   
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;   
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,   
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!


                -Rudyard Kiplinger