A tiny bit of tidiness
Whatever land you have, you can cultivate to your liking. (Image by falco)
In the film The Miracle Worker, there’s an intense scene in which Helen Keller (played by Anna “Patty” Duke) and Anne Sullivan (played by Anne Bancroft) have a battle over breakfast.
The deaf-blind Helen, having received no education or training, is resistant to the efforts of her young teacher, Miss Sullivan, to instruct and guide her. Put bluntly, she’s spoiled. Miss Sullivan is intent on getting Helen to sit at the table, eat off of a plate, and use a utensil instead of her hands.
After a long, very physical, mostly nonverbal scene in which the determined teacher and her stubborn pupil fight it out, Miss Sullivan goes out to check in with Helen’s mother. The young woman informs her employer that Helen not only ate her breakfast with a spoon off of her own plate, she folded her napkin.
“My Helen folded her napkin,” Mrs. Keller repeats, marveling at the words. It is the moment when she begins to see that her daughter might be capable of more than she had imagined.
Anne Sullivan is one of my role models as an educator, both the version of her portrayed in the film and the actual person. While I’ve never experienced such a dramatic battle of wills with a student as the one I saw in that breakfast scene, I appreciate the folded napkin as a symbol of civility in a room with dishes strewn all over the floor, chairs askew, and bits of food everywhere. It matters because of the growth and learning that it represents. It’s a tiny bit of tidiness that indicates a future for a child who wasn’t thought to have one. It’s a victory flag planted — a win for Miss Sullivan, but also a win for Helen in spite of herself.
These are the wins I seek for myself, too, in navigating the chaos of my life. It’s chaotic because I struggle with executive function, particularly outside of my work. It’s been important, over the years, to celebrate what’s working, no matter how insignificant it seems — the little bit of spit polish that shows that a person was here, and they cared enough not to give up.
Last year was a rough one financially. I invested thousands of dollars and spent several months working full time in a business that was closing. I don’t regret the decision, but I knew it would cost me. I held on tight as the waves of expenses rocked my little boat, one after another.
The other day, surveying the wreckage, I took the tiny step of actually looking up the minimum balance required on each of my bank accounts to avoid fees. I didn’t know — and now I know. How satisfying. I moved some dollars around accordingly, grateful to once again be in a position to do so.
Is it too little, too late? Of course not. The $12 I save here or there will add up, but more important is the sense of peace and order I got from noticing a nagging problem, identifying the solution, and implementing it. It’s a reminder that I am capable. It’s shows that I’m not going to give up. I’m not helpless or hopeless.
Sometimes life feels relentless, like the wind that rattled my little house the other night as the temperature dropped to 18 below zero. You have to look for whatever spark of hope you can find and protect it from being snuffed out. It may seem futile. It may seem like it isn’t going to matter in the scheme of things. You get to decide that it does.
