Lately I’ve been thinking about The Long Game. In terms of business, Amazon is playing a long game. That is, they’re not in a hurry; they’re not going anywhere fast. This is why their prices are so competitive; they don’t have to make a profit right this very minute (although they probably are). I’ve been thinking there are a lot of advantages to The Long Game, to not being in a rush or not being a fly-by-night operation. Take this blog project, for instance. Because I consistently do a little bit at a time, over time it adds up to a lot–a lot of words, a lot of sentences, a lot of paragraphs.

A lot of damn navel-gazing, if you want to know the truth.

The Long Game has been on my mind because I’ve recently undertaken a number of projects that can’t–no way, no how–be completed in a day, a week, or even a month. For example, rehab-ing the knee I injured three months ago–that’s a six-month project at least. Or running a half marathon, a goal I initially set a year and a half ago before I got so sick and then the knee thing happened and have just this last week recommitted to–that’ll take some time to get ready for, especially since I haven’t jogged in months and have never run more than eight miles (like Eminem).

This afternoon I went to the gym and did the elliptical. While bouncing up and down, my long hair kept getting in my face. This afternoon while my chiropractor was doing ultrasound on my neck (I apparently have a pinched nerve–yippee), he gave me a ponytail holder to pull my hair back. And whereas I appreciated the thought, my hair isn’t quite long enough for a ponytail. Or maybe I just don’t know how to bunch everything right. Anyway, while on the elliptical I kept thinking about cutting all my hair off. But then I remembered The Long Game, that in just another month or two it won’t be so awkward and I can pull it back if I want to.

I’ve been saying for a while that most everything takes time. More than trying to convince you of this fact, dear reader, I’m trying to convince myself. Thankfully, it’s sinking in. This evening I taught a dance lesson at my friends Todd and Bonnie’s house. It was for a couple getting married in a few months. Tonight was their second lesson. And whereas they’re catching on quickly and doing well, learning to dance doesn’t happen in an hour. It doesn’t (really) happen in a hundred hours. It takes thousands. It’s a long game. If you truly want to do it, at some point you have to get okay with that fact.

After the dance lesson, Bonnie helped me finish my first official knitting project–a potholder that says HI. I sort of  finished it last week, but I didn’t know how to “bind off” or wrap up the last row. Anyway, Bonnie taught me tonight, and now it’s done, kind of. Bonnie said there was ONE MORE step–blocking, which means soaking the project in warm, slightly soapy water, then letting it air dry in order to get the “waves” or unevenness out. Here’s a picture of the warm-water-soaking.

Here’s a picture of the air-drying, which is what’s happening as we speak (don’t you feel included?).

I’ve blogged before about making a few mistakes while working on this project, about how they sort of drove me crazy. However, as I finished tonight, I fell in love with my mistakes. After all, this is my first knitting project. It’s like my first child. I’m a proud papa. I think my kid is beautiful. (Don’t make fun of his birthmarks, or I’ll kick your ass.) But seriously, I think those mistakes are like the scars on my knee. They tell a story. Also, like the mistakes my dance students made this evening, they’re an important part of the learning process.

Bonnie says my next project should probably be a beanie, a cap. For sure, I’m excited to get started and to get finished. However, I really am getting okay with The Long Game, the idea that most things worth doing–working out, learning to dance, learning to knit, um, sorting out your past or healing your body–take committed and sustained effort. Not that you have to do whatever it is every day, every damn day (this blog even by my standards is excessive), but you do have to keep showing up. That and, I think, give yourself more time than you think you need. Say, I’m going to take a year, maybe two, to do this–get myself in shape, learn a new skill, write a book. Tell yourself, I’m going to play The Long Game.