My grandfather on my mother’s side was a good man. He was a WWII veteran who loved his family and, as far as I can tell, always tried to do right by the people in his life. We called him Poppie.
I’m not sure why I was thinking about Poppie today. It might’ve been the recent anniversary of the attacks on Pearl Harbor, which always reminds me of how he choked up when I shared photos from my visit to the military base. Or maybe because our family is navigating tumultuous times, and I like to remember the simplicity of his steadiness in chaos.
Or maybe it was for no real reason other than a wandering mind sifting in and out of the exhaustion that comes with a newborn baby.
Anyway, I thought of Poppie as I slipped into my sneakers this morning. Specifically, of one hectic morning during my elementary years, rushing and scrambling to make it to the bus stop in time for a ride to school. I was maybe 8 or 9, and Poppie was there, awake with us in the morning during one of his many overnight visits with my grandmother.
I was an energetic, impatient kid - Just generally. I loved to run around, climb as high as I could, and I typically wanted to get everything done as quickly as possible. I was always rushing, always on to the next.
As such, I hardly ever untied my shoes. I kicked them off at the end of the day and crammed my feet back into them in the morning. Lacing and unlacing sneakers? I mean, who has time for that? Not this kid, that’s for sure.
So that morning, as my mom shouted to hurry up and my siblings ran around me, I was standing in the hallway trying my best to shove my feet into my shoes, despite the tightly tied laces from days past. I pushed and pushed, bracing myself against the wall, but my heel would just not get past the now-crushed back of my sneaker.
Poppie came over to me and crouched down to pull my foot out of the shoe. He untied my laces and helped me put my sneakers on properly, tying them again once they were on my feet. He wasn’t angry. I didn’t feel defensive.
He explained that in trying to save a minute, I was actually taking longer and struggling harder than if I had just untied the shoes to begin with. Taking the time to untie and then relace my sneakers, in the end, would have been quicker and more efficient than the shortcut I thought I was taking.
This is simple advice. It’s not complex. I don’t know why I still remember it. But I do.
When I was a kid, it convinced me to stop cramming my feet into my sneakers - Most of the time, anyway. I started untying them at night and retying them in the morning. I distinctly remember being shocked at how right he was that the regular way truly was faster.
As an adult, I see his advice as a metaphor for bigger things. Taking the time to do things right - to prepare, to think it through, to slow down - saves you time and frustration in the long run. Stop cramming your foot into a sneaker tied for some other day. Slow down. Breathe. Do it right.
I try to carry that with me. The easy-way-out not only yields lower-quality results, it’s often not even so “easy” after all.
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