Do I Have To?

I’ve had two amazing experiences lately for all the wrong reasons.

I went to a parent orientation for the school year at our church. Our amazing DRE led us in a meditative prayer, as she does every year. Those few minutes of quiet consciousness redirected my night, restored my energy, and calmed me.

And I went to an exercise class a friend started. It ended up being a blast! Fun friends, fun music, and dancing! I laughed so much and I left feeling energized, restored, loose. (Yes, this is the Cize class I mentioned in my last blog!)

Looking at my mindset before and after both these intensely positive experiences, I got a bit of a reality check. I went to both because of obligations I felt—taking care of my kids’ activities, helping out a friend. I left realizing I’d been missing something from life, something I didn’t know I missed until a little came back to me. I went as a duty and found a pleasure I’ve lost.

Of course, it reminded me of this quote that goes around the internet periodically. I have no earthly idea if it’s correctly attributed. For the purposes of this discussion, let’s just call it part of our collective wisdom. So I’ve danced a little lately (at exercise class) and I felt some sweet silence recently (at the meeting). I’ve even sung a bit (as I drive to pick up the kids).

So, out of duty, I’ve stumbled across a bit of the joy of life. I realize I miss it. Why did I have to find it by force? Why don’t meditation, singing, and dancing make it on my list of things to do?*

I blame the Puritans. Sort of. As much as I blame anybody, because I’m not really into that. In all honesty, though, I think we Americans have taken a good thing too far. The principles that made America great are fantastic. Hard work, perseverance, and thrift will get things done. Self-sacrifice can accomplish amazing feats. Those means have brought about some amazing ends over the course of history.

When we work hard and sacrifice everything as an end unto itself, however, we’ve gone off the rails.

I can remember my friends comparing how much time they spent on homework in high school and college. “I spent four hours on that!” or “I was up until three this morning!” It sounded like complaining, but also like an accomplishment. Now I hear adults doing the adult equivalent. “I didn’t leave work until eight!” or “I’ve barely seen my husband this week.”

And, yes, I do it, too. And if I ask myself why—and answer honestly—I’d say that I do it because it’s respected. If I say no to something because I’m swamped or overworked or exhausted, people give it credence. Even…status. Would I get as much respect if I say, “No, thanks. I need a lazy Saturday” or “Not today. I plan to have dinner with my family and dance around to eighties music afterward”? I’ve never had the guts to find out!

If others’ experiences track with mine, then we have to ask why we, as a society, give more status to working ourselves to death than to enjoying life. C. S. Lewis said that “Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art, like the universe itself (for God did not need to create). It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.”

Do we just want to prove that we have lots of what it takes to survive or do we want to live a life with value?

I’d like to add some enjoyment back into my life. Maybe I can start with a simple, concrete talisman. Maybe my “To Do” list should become a “To Enjoy” list. Maybe then those truly valuable experiences will find their way back into my days.

*Notice that I didn’t mention being enchanted by stories recently. That’s kind of tragic for me, since losing myself in the world of a story has always been my greatest pleasure. It restores and revives me like nothing else can. It’s also an entirely solitary pleasure and therefore even harder for me to “justify” compared to singing, dancing, and silence. It’s definitely on my list of things “To Enjoy.”

A Fresh Start

So, I ran today. Today begins the Florida running season—at least for me.

I know plenty of runners go year-round here in sunny Florida, but not me. If it’s before dawn and I am still hating life, the humidity, and the rising temperatures, then it’s not time for me to run. This morning was a balmy 73 at 6am, so off I went!

And it felt fantastic! I loved it! I wanted to run ALL THE MILES!!!

I ran one mile.

Why? Well, this is part of my new revolution in thinking. I’m truly over punishing my body. I grew up in the old school gym mentality that rewards natural athletes and judges clumsy kids as less than. I really internalized those categories. I’ve spent my whole life thinking some people rock at athletics and everyone else sucks, but if the sucky people try really hard to be like the people who rock, they can at least hold their heads up.

It’s been a long journey to get from there to here.

It started when, at seventeen, I finally got my coordination. My body synced up during my senior year in high school. So I had reflexes at that point, but still a twisted point of view. I thought of all exercise as something that hurts, humiliates, and bores me. Naturally, I did none of it in college!

At twenty-seven, I finally had the financial stability and opportunity to try martial arts, something I’d always wanted to do. I loved it! I learned to value doing better than I did yesterday and forget everyone else. I learned I could practice to meet goals of my own.

We got a new sensai when I was about halfway to earning my black belt. And I’ll never forget our first workout with him. At the end of class, he said something like, “I don’t see any natural athletes in here. That’s okay. Natural athletes aren’t always the best martial artists because they pick things up easily. You all already know how to keep going when things don’t come easily. That’s what makes a martial artist.”

For the first time, I saw a positive in my physical nature. In at least one way, I was not a “less than” striving to be equal. I might actually have a “more than” quality.

I’ve written a lot about how training for and completing the Tough Mudder affected me—just go back to Fall 2012 on the menu!—but one moment of the event stands out more than anything. In the middle of climbing a thirty-foot wall with nothing but a rope and a tiny toehold every five feet or so, I had a clear, distinctly worded thought, “I can do this. My body’s not broken!”

For the first time ever, I felt I had a whole body, not a lemon. I felt equal, not less than. If I put in the effort, I will get the result. My body works! That moment should have changed my life.

It didn’t, though, because I chose the wrong path leading away from that moment. I chose to prove that my body works—to others. And THAT didn’t work at all. I tried to train for a half marathon. I tried to plan for another event—a bigger, harder, showier event. And I couldn’t do it. My motivation decreased week by week…because I was doing it to prove I belonged in the club. To prove to the elusive “them” that I am equal, not less than.

Then about a year ago, I discovered the body love movement. I had an outrageously hard time with that. And when I say I had a hard time with that, I mean I could write several months of blogs on what a hard time I had getting my mind around the concept.

For anyone who doesn’t know, the basic premise of body love is exactly that—loving your body as it is, no apologies or modifications required. Many, many philosophies, groups, and schools of thought fall under that umbrella. I don’t know them all and certainly am not issuing a blanket endorsement, but…

And really, that’s the key word here: but. I read all these beautiful essays about moving because it feels good and eating because you enjoy it and loving the shape that gives you and I said, “But!”

I read these beautiful, loving thoughts over and over, saying, “But…” over and over until the science hit me. The Epiphany of SCI-ENCE!!! (Read that with reverb, in a Bill Nye voice. ‘Kay? Thanks!)

What kills modern Americans? Stress, for crying out loud!

How can it be healthy if I’m losing sleep to participate in a grueling physical activity that leaves me feeling exhausted and beat up so I can change my body into something it can never be (because there’s always another goal to meet if you’re proving you’re as good as Insert Name Here) and still hating myself? That’s pretty much the opposite of health, if you ask me.

So, I quit exercising this summer. Oh, I walked the dog a mile or two every day, but my only goal this summer was to sleep more. And I made that a loose, Hmm, let’s pay attention to this kind of goal, not a demand. I ate whatever I wanted. I ignored everything else.

Strangely enough, my food cravings backed off. My two-year weight climb paused. Huh. How ‘bout that?

When school started a month ago, I nervously resumed my three days a week of exercise class. To my total delight, they ended up being a perfect mix—live PiYo, cardio kickboxing, and live Cize. I’m not trying to pitch PiYo and Cize here (they are Beachbody products), but holy cow they’re good and fun! And that’s the point—they’re fun! I felt good moving—moving seems more like a treat than a punishment. My new goals are to stretch, work off my tension, and move. That’s all. That’s everything.

And that brings us to today. I ran for fun. I set a boundary—one mile—so I’d stop before I got to the body-punishing, soul-crushing “Let’s see how good I really am” state of mind. I didn’t want to test myself. I just felt like running. For fun.

I had so much fun that I can’t wait to run again!

Fish Out of Water

I am the happiest fish out of water that you’ll ever meet.

Last night, I felt like a stranger in my own home. Left out of two separate conversations, I beamed as I went about my work. I knew I was living my dream.

This year, my daughter voluntarily and even with intense excitement, “gets” to take pre-Algebra. She took the test to join the class because she wanted to, she waited eagerly for the results, and she celebrated when she got in.

Last night, she needed help with her homework—help I had no real chance of offering. Lucky for her, her dad, the math major, was right there for her. As I listened to them talk, I had the same sensation I felt when she started her current school.

There she goes. She’s taking paths I’ll never walk.

This year, my son decided to start piano lessons. We’ve been working up to it for a while, but he decided when. Last night, at about his seventh lesson, he started sight-reading his new piece, a simplified version of “Chim Chim Cher-ee.” As his teacher corrected him gently, using terms I recognize, but don’t fully understand, I felt it again.

There he goes. He’s taking paths I’ll never walk.

Those words, though the easiest part of the experience to convey, form only a fraction of what I felt. I love to witness mastery, to witness true flow, to witness joy in action, in any form. When that beauty occurs within our children, born of our love and my body, my own joy soars.

Nearly a day later, I bask in gratitude. I give thanks for the opportunity to live my dream—and to know it. I am one lucky fish out of water.

Teaching Fishing

My husband and I have always worried about spoiling our children. We love them profoundly and we want to give them everything we can. We are pretty capable people, so we can give them a lot. It creates dilemmas.

For example, I know my strengths grew from my most difficult times. I most certainly do not want my children to experience those difficult times--ever. And if life does send them trials, I will be there for them, one hundred percent. Yet I do want my children to be strong. So how do we begin that? How do we prepare them for what comes, whether it's challenging or not?

Well...by not spoiling them?

So, when the kids were little, I offered my husband this measure: as long as the kids appreciate what they have, they're not spoiled. I am still not sure if that worked completely for him, but it gave me a guideline. If they work hard (mostly) at their activities, then they appreciate them. If they take care of their belongings (mostly), they appreciate them. If they treat the people in their lives well (mostly), then they appreciate them.

I'm not going to go into details here--it's not relevant-- but over the first half of the summer I noticed a disturbing and growing lack of Appreciation* in our house. And I don't mean that in the sense that I didn't feel appreciated. I mean that my dearly loved children were losing their Appreciation for the blessings in their lives, the Appreciation that brings true happiness. It showed in countless little ways, adding up to a pervasive message of "I don't care."

Maybe it is just a stage. Maybe every kid goes through it. I don't know.

One morning last week, as I tried to talk to them about what we would do that day--and I had in mind a pleasant mix of our normal Chore Day and some fun treats--I realized I was exerting all my willpower to get them to let me give them a good day.

Life will not do that for them.

By striving to do so much for my children, I was failing them. If I kept that up, they would learn to expect, to lean on, and to live within a false reality. School will not struggle against apathy to give them good grades. Jobs will not fix up the results of consistent laziness to pay them. Happiness will not knock their doors down and invite itself to stay. As an adult, I know that. As a parent, I need to teach my children that.

Yes, we make those efforts for babies and toddlers. We do for them what they cannot do for themselves. Amen! I believe in unconditional love and nurture for all children. Yet the expression of that unconditional love has to change as the children show themselves capable of more.

My children's amazing (really--they're impressive!) ability to resist my efforts to give them good stuff was a wakeup call. I thought, If they can do this, what else can they do? I mentally created a checklist of a lot of things that they can do—things that, unfortunately, I had been doing for them. I'm ashamed to admit it, but you know why...because it's easier/faster/less stressful to do it myself.

I had to do the hardest thing any parent does--let them see the natural consequences of their choices. So that day, I didn't force them to do anything. I didn't cajole, order, request, persuade, or remind. I let them do as they chose.

They managed okay until dinner time. When I didn't spend hours tracking their screen time, calling them to help with the meal, asking them to sit down at the table, they noticed. After the surprise, they came to the table--literally and figuratively.

We talked about how while we, as their parents, love them and support them, it's time they started investing in their lives and Appreciating their blessings. We talked about examples. We went to bed on a good note.

It was by no means the end of this lesson. We will be working on this one for a while! I will be constantly striving to remember that my goals is to teach these humans I've been blessed to know--that I want them to learn how to fish for all the good stuff in life, even though it's easier to just hand it to them.

In all, the day I decided to stop giving them fish may be one of the hardest days I've had. I felt like I took a huge risk--though what I risked, I'm not sure. It exhausted me emotionally. I would have loved to find a better way. Maybe, for us, that was the way. Who knows?

I do know that I believe true Appreciation is the foundation for contentment, resilience, and happiness. I know I could never have made it through that day if I didn't love them with every molecule of my being. I wish I knew instantly if it worked, but I don't. Even when you invest fully in your goals, results don’t come that easily.

That's life!

*Appreciation with a capital "A" refers not only to the traditional definition, but also to the ideas Dan Baker discusses in his book, What Happy People Know.

mosaicist

Here's a little scrap of verse I came up with while weeding--in January 2007. With S. at a little over two years old, getting the image down on paper felt like a triumph. My work from that period lacks polish, but that's what it is!

A sticky-fingered mosaicist, I

stealing moments

pasting affinite fragments

into a whole

taking tag-ends of time

to jot, to journal

to think

Ah, to think….

I clutch each slick, slippery subject

slicing my fingertips

on sharp points

but holding on, holding

Until, at last, release!

Pen meets paper

Memory relieved

My notion is noted

My inner artist sated

Poetry set in paper stone

Acts of Service

I planned to say that this blog marks the first in a series about how I don't know what I'm doing as a parent and I'm making it all up as I go along. But my whole blog kind of falls into that series, so... 

Just don't take it too seriously--I'm guessing here! 

Someone recently reminded me of Gary Chapman’s “love languages” and that got me thinking.

 

In case you missed the love language fad in the mid1990s, Chapman uses the term to describe the various ways people express love to each other. We all have languages that mean more to us—ones that we tend to use more often to show love and believe more easily when a loved one uses them to show affection for us. They are:

gifts

quality time

words of affirmation

acts of service

physical touch

I can tell you without hesitation that my primary love language is acts of service, with words of affirmation coming in second. But I have hang-ups—because after forty plus years on this earth, I just do—and so I’m not good at compliments. “That was a nice dinner” makes me uncomfortable. “Thanks for making dinner” makes me glow. Weird, aren’t I?

But, on the day I happened to think of love languages for the first time in decades, one question kept popping up in my mind: Is “acts of service” as a love language an advantage or disadvantage when you’re a parent?

It’s pretty easy to see how it would help. Primary caretakers perform many, many acts of service. It’s nice to be able to see them as expressions of love instead of sheer drudgery. It’s also a bit of a fairy tale—I don’t manage it all day, every day. But I definitely think it gives me an edge.

It also probably explains why I’d rather fold laundry or pack lunches than do my three MDC’s (Most Dreaded Chores): clean the oven, scrub the shower floor, do yard work. It’s really hard to turn those into an “I love you.”

Anyway, while performing my parental task of driving kids to activities (I love you, honey!) and then waiting to take them home, I overheard two parents deploring a video game (rhymes with Spineshaft) and how it’s too dark, it’s too awful, and it’s ruining kids today. I did the internal sigh/chuckle you do when you disagree, but secretly wonder if you’re ruining your kids by letting them play it.

Then, as we all left the building after the activity, I held the door for my kids. Now, I’ll hold the door for anybody. It’s an awesome act of service that makes me feel good to give and receive. It’s a moment to say, “Here you go” or “Oh, thanks for that” and smile. A moment to see someone as a person.

On this particular day, it was pouring rain, Florida-style. In buckets. I held the door for my kids while getting soaked and preparing to dash to my car. Guess what? Both the video-game-hating parents and their kids wandered through the door, too—without hurrying, without saying anything, without attempting to take it from me, without even looking at me.

You know me, so you can guess what I did. I didn’t let the door slam in their kids’ faces. But I did sigh/chuckle again.

I don’t think the problem is Spineshaft, people. Maybe, in the end, good, old-fashioned acts of service will do more for my children than a video game can take away. I hope!

Dog Days of Summer

No, not what you think. THIS blog is the way the dog days of summer are looking in Florida this year…from Bruno’s point of view. I think.

Something hits the den hard. Attack! The top of the den is collapsing! Then water slides down the see-through places. It’s just more rain. Up, humans! Okay, so maybe this wasn’t an attack, but don’t you hear anything?

Human Mom sits up in her bed really fast. Good! She should have walked me an hour ago, even though it’s still pretty dark. I gotta go!

H.M. (Human Mom) says, “You gotta go, puppy?”

Duh. I just said that. I mean, why else am I contorting my body so that every possible bit is pressed up against the door of your special den? By the way, when can I finally sleep in the special den?

H.M. says, “It’s coming down too hard. I’m gonna shower first, puppy. Hang in there.”

Wait, what?!?!?! You do know that I can’t actually cross my legs, right? And you’re going to go into the inside rain? Why, for the love of kibble? There’s rain OUTSIDE.

I have to admit, the rain changes while she’s getting wet inside—it’s more like the boy pouring the water can on me than the time I accidentally walked in front of the hose.

“Hang in there, puppy. You’re doing great. Let me get ready.”

I know how this goes…she puts on the slick fur that makes water drip off. I put on my leash. She puts on her foot covers. We get the sacred receptacle for my offerings—she always calls them “poop bags” for some reason. This time we get the giant stick that turns into a mushroom. It keeps her head out of the rain, but I don’t see why, since her hair is still wet. And the water always slides off the mushroom thingy onto me.

“Okay. All ready? Good job! Here we go!” She finally opens the door.

Yeah, here we go all right—just watch me go! So I post a comment on the neighbors’ grass. That’s the only good thing about the rain. Normally I’m not allowed to pee there. I mean, what’s the point in peeing on your own grass?

“C’mon. Let’s get back inside!” H.M. doesn’t look happy.

I don’t know what’s bugging her—I’m the one getting all the extra water from the mushroom thingy all over my back!

Finally, we‘re safe, nice and cozy between the car and garage wall. Time to shake!

“Oh, Bruno! Do you HAVE to? There’s a towel ten steps away!”

Oops. Yeah, she hates it when I shake next to her, especially after she goes into the inside rain—the shower thing. I don’t know why she doesn’t just shake off, too. It works for me!

But the towel…Oh yeah, man. Why do I always forget the towel? That thing is awesome. Just not—hey! not my feet. Off the feet. Not that one either. All four? Are you insane, woman?

And then she makes me breakfast, which is cool—she’s good like that—but if she thinks I’m going to eat while all that water’s attacking, she’s got another think coming. Nobody appreciates how hard I work to guard this den.


Well, that was a short, stupid walk, but there’s probably no good pee-mail today anyway.

I hope H.M. knows we’re going to have to take a solid walk soon. And by solid, I mean…well, she’s gonna need those sacred receptacles.