On how the little things count
Finding a rudder, a poem, and a batch of daily things
“It’s all we have—that little rudder,” writes Lynn Ungar in the poem “Choice.”
We might not have control or certainty about many things, but we can find something to help steer our days.
A rudder might be a habit, but it can also be a feeling. In How to Do Great Work, Paul Graham writes:
“There's a kind of excited curiosity that’s both the engine and the rudder of great work. It will not only drive you, but if you let it have its way, will also show you what to work on.”
If we can’t find the rudder—if we are in a period of transition or navigating a rut—maybe we can look for something even smaller. I’m reminded of Buckminster Fuller’s headstone, which reads: “Call me trim tab.”
A trim tab is like a miniature rudder that builds a low pressure and helps stabilise a ship or aircraft, and it’s a metaphor for how one individual can have an impact:
“Society thinks it’s going right by you, that it’s left you altogether. But if you’re doing dynamic things mentally, the fact is that you can just put your foot out like that and the whole big ship of state is going to go.”
To be a trim tab, we begin with ourselves. With the things that help us grasp the day, with our private joys, with the next most necessary thing. As Fuller said:
“…I’m positive that what you do with yourself, just the little things you do yourself, these are the things that count. To be a real trim tab, you’ve got to start with yourself, and soon you’ll feel that low pressure, and suddenly things begin to work in a beautiful way.”
The trick, I think, is to remain flexible. There will be times we change our mind, or learn something that impacts the direction we wish to take. To return to the poem by Ungar, “Things will always happen / that you can’t foresee”—and sometimes the only choice we have is to be delighted by this, rather than stifled.
Choice
by Lynn Ungar
There isn’t a right answer.
There just isn’t. The game show
where the bells ring and the points
go up and the confetti falls
because you got the answer
is a lie. The preacher who would assure you
of how to attain salvation
is making it all up. The doctor
who knows just how to fix
what ails you will be sure
of something else tomorrow.
Every choice will
wound someone, heal someone,
build a wall and open a conversation.
Things will always happen
that you can’t foresee.
But you have to choose.
It’s all we have—that little rudder
that we employ in the midst
of all the eddies and rapids,
the current that pulls us
inexorably toward the sea.
The fact that you are swept along
by the river is no excuse.
Watch where you are going.
Lean in toward what you love.
When in doubt, tell the truth.
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