- Witnessing Failure. An amazing thing that being a mom has taught me is about failure. Kids fail all the time. They fail at crawling, walking, feeding themselves, pronouncing words, catching a ball, drinking without spilling, hitting a ball with a bat, writing legibly, spelling, oh my does this list go on forever. Kids are always trying new things so they are bound to fail. A lot. Then they start figuring out how to do things in a way that works for them. The hard part of being a parent is letting them fail. - Witnessing their Failures - It goes against my grain. I would REALLY like to put those socks on my son, the right way, in 10 seconds, and move on with the day. But, witnessing his failure, patiently letting him figure it out, is the way he will be able to do it himself. And have pride in doing it himself. And have confidence in being able to do hard things. Building comfort with witnessing failure in my kids has allowed me to (more) comfortably witness failure in myself. And being comfortable witnessing failure in myself in turn allows me to (more) comfortably witness failure in others. For some reason I never wanted to see others try and fail. But now I realize it is a gift, to be indulgent in the witnessing of failure in others - and myself.
- High School Musical. Okay, I'm ashamed to admit it, but I love these movies. They are ridiculously cute and MUSICAL! And who doesn't want to be young and beautiful - and musical - and looking forward to a life still brimming with possibility?! One of the more trying parts of my job is working nights and weekends. After hours, there are less staff all around, so everyone working is covering more duties, dealing with more random problems, and moving faster than they normally would. Just like me. Sometimes (often) one person's priority list does not match up with mine. And, due to lack of appreciation for all the priority lists I deal with, a sense of antagonism can develop and creep into their interactions. My usual response is snark and sarcasm. Which has never helped me out. Never. Not once. When, instead, I think of the High School Musical (oh, yeah) ditty "We're all in this Together," it is easier to change MY tone and usually everyone's around me. We ARE all in this together. Reminding myself, and often others, to keep it High School Musical makes my night/weekend duties so much more enjoyable. It makes this place friendlier and less lonely. More... together.
- Associating. Ever since I was a child, I used forms of dissociation to deal with stress. I remember hiding away from violence in a bedroom closet with a book. I would pretend my life was a weird novel and I was just passively observing it to narrate the story later. When I was a teenager I dis-associated from my family by running away from home. When friendships got sticky, they ended. When jobs got boring, I quit. When people's drama gets intense, I pretend I'm watching it on a sit-com, where it's sad but abstract and absurdly funny. Even now, most days contain at least a few moments where I wish with all my heart that I could crawl into a dark quiet place and disappear from my reality. Dis-associating is a fine way to deal with stress, but it's not considered a "mature" coping technique. And it's not very evolved to continue dealing with grown-up stressors in the same child-like manner that didn't work when I was 8. Associating with myself and my surroundings, Being Present, is such a difficult practice. It is so easy to tune out, especially with my ubiquitous smartphone and all its offerings! One of my favorite yoga teachers would always say, "Practice doesn't make perfect. Practice makes permanent." I think of that when, for the 10,000th time in a day, I remember to bring myself back to NOW. To associate. I'm practicing.
- The Village. Last random unprocessed food-for-thought. When my first child was young, actually before he was born, I was shocked by the bombardment of opinions and advice proffered by strangers. A lot of random people were interested in telling me how to do things right. At some point - I think I was shopping wearing my babe and some woman was explaining to me how the child-carrier I was wearing was going to result in chronic back pain for my infant - I just had this thought that the crazy baby-carrier-obsessed woman in front of me was part of my son's Village. The Village that it takes to raise a child. If I hadn't dis-associated so successfully from my family, I would probably have some crazy great-aunt lecturing me with as much fervor about the value of feeding my infant honey before putting him to bed on his stomach on fluffy pillows next to razor blades. Seeing the random stranger commentary (and as my kids grow, less random teacher and caretaker commentary) as the chorus of voices making up his Village makes the crazy sound so sweet and tender. What once seemed like a brood nosy busy-bodied strangers now is clearly the circle of people looking out for my child's welfare. They are helping me out. Look, I don't have to agree with everyone in the kid's village. But thank goodness they speak up. We ARE all in this together!
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