Patience and the Joys of Learning
As we roll into February, I find myself thinking about the Bill Murray film Groundhog Day, in which cynical, selfish television weatherman Phil Connors is sent from his station in Pittsburgh to Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, to report on whether the famous groundhog—also named Phil—would see his shadow on February 2. Murray’s character gets caught in a time loop and relives the same Groundhog Day over and over again. He greets this fate by first indulging his appetites, then sinking into despair before finally trying to make each repeated day as purposeful as possible. I won’t spoil the ending of a 31-year-old movie, but it doesn’t fail to give the viewer a little bit of a Hollywood finish.
Because of the movie, the term “Groundhog Day” is now used to describe the perceived recurrence of bad or unwelcome things in our lives. A seventh consecutive day of rain, social plans being consistently dashed, or our favorite sports team falling short in the playoffs all elicit a moaned “It’s like Groundhog Day, isn’t it?”
However, the film has more to offer than that. One of its charming elements is how Phil Connors changes as endless Groundhog Days pass. (The internet is alive with speculation that the one day lasts from eight to almost 34 years). He picks up significant skills becoming a masterful pianist, quoting poetry in the original French, and carving magnificent ice sculptures. He also sheds his cynicism and commits to a series of heroic acts during his endlessly looping day: Performing the Heimlich maneuver, changing a tire for a stranded driver, catching a child who falls from a tree, and so on. As Phil grows in his learning, and acquires senses of community and ethical purpose, his endless day actually takes on meaning, and becomes something he wants to do well for its own sake. The lesson we learn is that doing anything worthwhile can take a long, uncertain period of time.
Skill acquisition, personal growth, and social development are what we champion at Browning, so of course I celebrate the film as a metaphor for the virtues of education. But what I also appreciate is not just Phil’s growth, but just how long and how difficult that growth must have been.
We live in a world that enables the opportunity to immediately gratify our desires and hopes with a life hack, a quickly-delivered package, or a customized and curated experience. The force of our need-it-now culture tempts us into believing that learning and growing should be quicker than they actually are. We may be impatient as our sons learn to read, or how to write, or when to apply the scientific method, or how to demonstrate senses of responsibility or selflessness or ethical judgment. Exciting new technologies and teaching approaches can augment our inquiry and even occasionally supercharge our efforts, but if we are to accomplish anything significant—like learning French poetry, ice sculpture, or the piano, or how to live with honesty, curiosity, dignity, and purpose—we cannot outsource our learning, delegate our thinking, or shortcut our work. Real learning is the product not only of passion and enthusiasm, but also patience and dedication.
By focusing not only on the time loop but how Phil spends his time, we can look past the popular notion of a dreaded “Groundhog Day” and instead recognize what the movie reveals about the intrinsic value and joys of learning, and—crucially and inevitably—the time and care it takes to realize such value and joys.