I remember the day the East and West Germans began dismantling the Berlin wall. My husband and I watched it on the BBC news in our tiny apartment in Tokyo where we'd been teaching English. The best part of the whole operation was when people on either side of the wall crossed over and met those on the other side face to face.
This memory sprang to mind as a result of an encounter not long ago. I was attending a computer workshop. The instructor had given the class a 10-minute break and some participants were using it to surf. The person next to me was browsing a news website comment page, scowling the whole time. He turned to me, pointed at a comment and said, "This guy's right. Everyone hates us but they all want to move here."
I didn't have to ask him what he meant by everyone; I've heard the sentiment often enough. In my mid-20s when I worked as a refugee resettlement caseworker for Catholic Charities Refugee Services in Dallas, TX, people I met at conferences, parties and the gym said this all the time. At that age I felt compelled to correct them: no, many refugees don't want to leave their home countries but it's preferable to being shot by a firing squad or starving to death. I could have told my fellow student this, or point out that now that Vietnam is safe, many former refugees are moving back to help rebuild their country.
Over time, however, I've learned that debate usually doesn't change a thing when I encounter sweeping generalizations that reinforce prejudice and vilify strangers. What does seem to be effective is telling stories about my personal experiences with strangers-turned-friends. Countering "Everyone hates us" with "Oh, I don't know - when we lived in Japan, people were friendly and helpful" or "I've never seen that in the (fill in nationality) I've met" puts my reply in the realm of personal experience. And personal experience is more credible than unverified rumors.
This technique works not only with racially motivated statements but in any circumstance where a conversation partner makes generalizations I know aren't true. Last January one acquaintance made such a comment about police officers. After I pointed out to her that a mutual friend of ours is a retired cop and he's nothing like the stereotype she was describing, she realized what she'd been doing.
When sharing a face-to-face anecdote it's crucial to keep a neutral tone - you're telling a personal story, not debating or lecturing. We all indulge in prejudices. I found myself making assumptions about my fellow workshop participant: I bet he's never been out of Clark County, let alone visited a different country. He's probably never met anyone from Vietnam, Mexico or India. No wonder he assumed I'd agree with him - he probably believes all Americans think alike. And so on. I had to remind myself that I have plenty of friends on the other side of my own political fence - and they're wonderful people. I know they're wonderful because I've met them face to face, have had some challenging but mutually enlightening dialogues, and received numerous acts of kindness from them.
Maybe it's human nature to mentally divide the people we meet into Them and Us. But as Captain Jean-Luc Picard once said (I forgot which movie), being human means that we can always become better than we are. If we settle for the excuse "it's just human nature," we're not being all we can be. We're demeaning ourselves.
The world's problems are so overwhelming that a simple solution isn't possible. But I think that every time any of us consciously practices seeing the people we meet as individuals rather than components in a faceless group, and inviting those people into our lives if only for a single encounter, walls will be dismantled one brick at a time.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
And Here's to Moms Who Can't Be There
Thirteen years ago (I calculate this by Noel's age - he was 6 then) I received a call from our next door neighbor Laurie, the single mother of a 6-month old baby. She worked as a food server at one of Vancouver's then-premier restaurants, one that offered a Mother's Day brunch and would certainly be booked up. Her request: would I be willing to babysit her daughter Anna that day, and take the baby to the restaurant during Laurie's lunch break so she could spend 30 minutes with her child?
Laurie's lunch break conflicted with plans our household had made for that day. Nonetheless, I had no problem telling Laurie that we - my entire household - would be delighted to help her. After all, she not only had to work on Mothers Day, she didn't have a partner with whom to collaborate arrangements.
I remember that particular day being a little more rushed than it would have been if Laurie hadn't called us, but whatever we did for her (and the details have gotten hazy in my mind), it didn't impinge on our plans to any significant degree. And we were able to help someone who otherwise would not have been able to spend any part of a culturally significant day with her daughter.
I wasn't being totally altruistic when I told our neighbor that we could help her. I was operating from the memory of what it had been like for me when Noel was 9 months old and I had to work 50 hours a week throughout the Christmas holiday season. I hated every minute that I was away from him, but as the only employed adult in the household during a recession, I didn't see much choice. The memory of that December is what drove me to offer Laurie our help, and it has driven me ever since.
In an ideal economy & society all parents, whether moms or dads, can get adequate maternity or paternity leave when the child is born or adopted, have a humane weekly work schedule that allows them to connect with their kids and still earn enough to support the family, and get time off to enjoy special days with their children. But we don't live in an ideal society. As a result, many parents are faced with the choice of either spending time connecting with family or keeping a job.
It shouldn't be this way. But it is. Many of the customer service staff waiting tables on Mothers' Day or Christmas or Easter are themselves parents. What separates them from the customers sitting at the tables isn't necessarily brains or education or career savvy. It's luck. I know it's au currant to believe that we create our own reality (New Age), pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps (American tradition) or can pray our way to success (Prosperity Protestantism) but for me, the fact is that random events like economic downturns and the actions of family members exert enormous influence. Blaming Laurie for her situation would have been like telling an 11-year old rape victim that she shouldn't have worn shorts on a 95-degree August day.
So on that Mothers' Day more than a decade ago, I decided to help our neighbor even though I can't say I was enthusiastic about it. My luck with jobs had been good that year, but I knew that it could just have easily been otherwise.
Today I enjoyed the best possible Mothers' Day that I could have now that Noel is grown & living on his own: I was able to sing with my friends in a beautiful setting, for an ever-changing audience of moms and their families. Now that I'm past the age that requires attendance at child-driven festivities, I can help other parents enjoy their special day.
I hope that if there were any moms like Laurie in the crowd, they received special blessings that will carry them through the times that they can't "be there." Sometimes the seemingly random actions of a stranger or the reluctant help of a busy neighbor are the very thing that ferries you over the rapids into safety.
Laurie's lunch break conflicted with plans our household had made for that day. Nonetheless, I had no problem telling Laurie that we - my entire household - would be delighted to help her. After all, she not only had to work on Mothers Day, she didn't have a partner with whom to collaborate arrangements.
I remember that particular day being a little more rushed than it would have been if Laurie hadn't called us, but whatever we did for her (and the details have gotten hazy in my mind), it didn't impinge on our plans to any significant degree. And we were able to help someone who otherwise would not have been able to spend any part of a culturally significant day with her daughter.
I wasn't being totally altruistic when I told our neighbor that we could help her. I was operating from the memory of what it had been like for me when Noel was 9 months old and I had to work 50 hours a week throughout the Christmas holiday season. I hated every minute that I was away from him, but as the only employed adult in the household during a recession, I didn't see much choice. The memory of that December is what drove me to offer Laurie our help, and it has driven me ever since.
In an ideal economy & society all parents, whether moms or dads, can get adequate maternity or paternity leave when the child is born or adopted, have a humane weekly work schedule that allows them to connect with their kids and still earn enough to support the family, and get time off to enjoy special days with their children. But we don't live in an ideal society. As a result, many parents are faced with the choice of either spending time connecting with family or keeping a job.
It shouldn't be this way. But it is. Many of the customer service staff waiting tables on Mothers' Day or Christmas or Easter are themselves parents. What separates them from the customers sitting at the tables isn't necessarily brains or education or career savvy. It's luck. I know it's au currant to believe that we create our own reality (New Age), pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps (American tradition) or can pray our way to success (Prosperity Protestantism) but for me, the fact is that random events like economic downturns and the actions of family members exert enormous influence. Blaming Laurie for her situation would have been like telling an 11-year old rape victim that she shouldn't have worn shorts on a 95-degree August day.
So on that Mothers' Day more than a decade ago, I decided to help our neighbor even though I can't say I was enthusiastic about it. My luck with jobs had been good that year, but I knew that it could just have easily been otherwise.
Today I enjoyed the best possible Mothers' Day that I could have now that Noel is grown & living on his own: I was able to sing with my friends in a beautiful setting, for an ever-changing audience of moms and their families. Now that I'm past the age that requires attendance at child-driven festivities, I can help other parents enjoy their special day.
I hope that if there were any moms like Laurie in the crowd, they received special blessings that will carry them through the times that they can't "be there." Sometimes the seemingly random actions of a stranger or the reluctant help of a busy neighbor are the very thing that ferries you over the rapids into safety.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Here's to Mothers and Mothers-In-Spirit
It's always seemed to me that instead of observing separate Mothers' & Fathers' days, we should perhaps hold an annual Honor-the-Caretakers day. This would be a more realistic reflection of how life seems to work.
My own mom died when I was 14, after years of battling cancer. She did what she could for me and my five younger siblings but towards the end, she couldn't do much. However, all six of us were cared for by various adults. I was fortunate to have had 6 or 7 mother figures in my life.
One "mother" was my Aunt Marge who, with my Uncle John, took in my four youngest siblings. They already had two kids of their own and a third on the way. Another of my "mothers" was a woman who'd known my mom, and with whose family my brother and I lived so that we could remain in Seattle and graduate from the high school we'd been attending. A woman for whom I babysat turned out to be yet another "mother." My best friend's mom (now my brother's mother-in-law) also felt like a sort of mother. And so on.
Over the decades, in fact, I've known numerous women who have felt like temporary mothers, ersatz aunts and the older sister I always wish I'd had. Some of them have never had biological children of their own. Some have never been married or partnered. One, in fact, is a nun. And one of the most nurturing friends I've ever had was a gay guy who lived down the hall from me in our rooming house on Capitol Hill in Seattle; when I was sick with an awful cold, he brought over a pot of his amazing homemade chicken soup.
In my mind this doesn't make them any less "mother" than the women who have had children. Motherly & Fatherly energy or spirit has very little to do with actually giving birth. It's possible to have a dozen kids and never quite connect with the spirit of caretaking. This spirit can develop in someone after she or he has had a child, but some people have it in abundance no matter what their life circumstances. For those with children, this parental spirit is an energy that extends beyond their own biological children to include the children of others. In some people, this spirit encompasses all kids. Mother Teresa must have been one of those people.
This has made me realize that even though my own child rearing years seem to be mostly over, I can keep an eye out for kids or young people who might need a dose of mom energy. And since sometimes even adults can use a shot of it, I need to give adequate time and attention to friends who are mutually supportive.
By now everyone's familiar with the saying "It takes a village to raise a child." In the case of me and my sibs, it sometimes took an entire metropolis. The village nature of our upbringing became clear to me once I recognized all the people who helped me reach adulthood. And it reminds me that the village continues to need me now that I'm on my way to becoming an elder.
Happy Mothers' Day to moms, aunts, sisters, grandmas, foster moms, caretakers, guardians, "big sisters" & mentors, and all those who mother!
My own mom died when I was 14, after years of battling cancer. She did what she could for me and my five younger siblings but towards the end, she couldn't do much. However, all six of us were cared for by various adults. I was fortunate to have had 6 or 7 mother figures in my life.
One "mother" was my Aunt Marge who, with my Uncle John, took in my four youngest siblings. They already had two kids of their own and a third on the way. Another of my "mothers" was a woman who'd known my mom, and with whose family my brother and I lived so that we could remain in Seattle and graduate from the high school we'd been attending. A woman for whom I babysat turned out to be yet another "mother." My best friend's mom (now my brother's mother-in-law) also felt like a sort of mother. And so on.
Over the decades, in fact, I've known numerous women who have felt like temporary mothers, ersatz aunts and the older sister I always wish I'd had. Some of them have never had biological children of their own. Some have never been married or partnered. One, in fact, is a nun. And one of the most nurturing friends I've ever had was a gay guy who lived down the hall from me in our rooming house on Capitol Hill in Seattle; when I was sick with an awful cold, he brought over a pot of his amazing homemade chicken soup.
In my mind this doesn't make them any less "mother" than the women who have had children. Motherly & Fatherly energy or spirit has very little to do with actually giving birth. It's possible to have a dozen kids and never quite connect with the spirit of caretaking. This spirit can develop in someone after she or he has had a child, but some people have it in abundance no matter what their life circumstances. For those with children, this parental spirit is an energy that extends beyond their own biological children to include the children of others. In some people, this spirit encompasses all kids. Mother Teresa must have been one of those people.
This has made me realize that even though my own child rearing years seem to be mostly over, I can keep an eye out for kids or young people who might need a dose of mom energy. And since sometimes even adults can use a shot of it, I need to give adequate time and attention to friends who are mutually supportive.
By now everyone's familiar with the saying "It takes a village to raise a child." In the case of me and my sibs, it sometimes took an entire metropolis. The village nature of our upbringing became clear to me once I recognized all the people who helped me reach adulthood. And it reminds me that the village continues to need me now that I'm on my way to becoming an elder.
Happy Mothers' Day to moms, aunts, sisters, grandmas, foster moms, caretakers, guardians, "big sisters" & mentors, and all those who mother!
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Taking Retirement in Installments
One of my favorite lines from a fictional character came from mystery writer John MacDonald's Travis Magee: "I'm taking my retirement in installments." Magee was explaining his dedication to fishing & other fun stuff, but even for those of us who don't require frequent getaways, Magee's philosophy is probably more applicable today than we realize.
If you're under 55, it's a good bet that you won't be able to retire at age 65, unlike your parents. There are several reasons for this. First, there's a chance that the official retirement age for social security might be raised to 68 or 70. Second, workplace pensions are becoming less common than they were several decades ago, so many young workers will have to rely on their own savings or IRAs plus social security. Finally, it's just plain harder to save now, period. Many younger Boomers, Gen Xers and Millenials will likely need to work into their late 60s -70s.
Another possibility, one I haven't seen discussed much, is that members of younger generations may not live as long as their parents. Even those who do everything "right" - don't smoke, exercise, stick to a healthy diet - still need access to affordable health care. Without this, conditions that are treatable may go undiagnosed.
If there were a book about this, it would be called Not Your Parents' Retirement. This isn't something to stress about; after all, throughout most of human history, people have performed some sort of work in their families, clans or communities until the day they died. It simply means that each of us needs to stop postponing activities that give us joy or fulfill our purpose in life.
There are a lot of ways to take retirement in installments, depending on your situation and how much you're working now. Here are a few:
If you're under 55, it's a good bet that you won't be able to retire at age 65, unlike your parents. There are several reasons for this. First, there's a chance that the official retirement age for social security might be raised to 68 or 70. Second, workplace pensions are becoming less common than they were several decades ago, so many young workers will have to rely on their own savings or IRAs plus social security. Finally, it's just plain harder to save now, period. Many younger Boomers, Gen Xers and Millenials will likely need to work into their late 60s -70s.
Another possibility, one I haven't seen discussed much, is that members of younger generations may not live as long as their parents. Even those who do everything "right" - don't smoke, exercise, stick to a healthy diet - still need access to affordable health care. Without this, conditions that are treatable may go undiagnosed.
If there were a book about this, it would be called Not Your Parents' Retirement. This isn't something to stress about; after all, throughout most of human history, people have performed some sort of work in their families, clans or communities until the day they died. It simply means that each of us needs to stop postponing activities that give us joy or fulfill our purpose in life.
There are a lot of ways to take retirement in installments, depending on your situation and how much you're working now. Here are a few:
- Limit the amount of overtime you're willing to do. With some employers there may not be a choice. However, in the places I've worked, I've noticed that people who set boundaries at the beginning are less likely to get pressed to do OT than those who don't.
- Take your allotted vacation time. Most Americans don't.
- Set aside one of your weekly days off for working on your projects and passions, spending time with family and friends, taking a brief getaway or just resting. Take care of tedious chores the evening before so that you're free on your special day.
- Above all, if you have a strong sense of life purpose or mission, take it seriously. This is especially true if your purpose and your day job seem completely unconnected or if you must do your most meaningful work "after hours." Give it the respect it deserves. Once you're clear about priorities, it's amazing how much easier scheduling decisions become.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
For Something New, Try Something Old - A Letter
During the past month or so, circumstances were making me feel somewhat disconnected from people and activities important to me. Work pulled me away from gatherings, friends seemed to be dropping off the face of the earth, and my book group disbanded. It seemed as though everyone was struggling just to stay afloat at work & at home; we just couldn't make time to get together. A few especially inundated friends didn't even have time to check personal email.
Twenty-five years ago, I'd write letters (on paper!) to friends I missed or wanted to catch up, and counted myself fortunate when I received 2-3 letters a week in return. Now I wonder what's happened whenever a FB friend doesn't post something daily. The snail mail letters were a treat, something to anticipate upon coming home after a long day of work. I don't feel the same way about email or social media, even when I use it to chat with friends rather than for business.
I realized that one way to thank friends for their friendship, offer support during hard times and share things we'd both enjoy would be to start sending letters again. Unlike during my teens & 20s, the ability to send email for mundane purposes means that letter writing can be saved for special circumstances. Also, the fact that so few of us get anything in our mailboxes anymore apart from junk mail means that a letter in an envelope addressed in handwriting will stand out.
Out of curiosity I did web research on the general state of letter writing in 2011, and found several organizations that link writers up with pen pals. Email is an option but many participants prefer postal mail and - surprisingly, to me - not all of them are my age & older. One of them reports a recent resurgence in membership, perhaps reflecting a renewed interest in the lost art of letter-writing.
I then looked through the library's catalog for materials on letter-writing and found several recent (within the last 5 years) how-to books that covered various social and business situations as well as simple friendship letters. In one of them New York designer Kate Spade wrote in her 2004 book Manners that she didn't bother with a cell phone or at-home email until she had a child in day care, and that she still prefers letters to email. And a host of online mail order businesses offer quality paper, pens and even ink for those who like to use fountain pens.
So. The art of letter-writing isn't dead after all. It's just sort of gone underground, like other "retro" activities such as cocktail parties. I'll add my small effort to the revival by digging out my old Cross pen, finding a decent piece of paper and writing to someone this week.
Twenty-five years ago, I'd write letters (on paper!) to friends I missed or wanted to catch up, and counted myself fortunate when I received 2-3 letters a week in return. Now I wonder what's happened whenever a FB friend doesn't post something daily. The snail mail letters were a treat, something to anticipate upon coming home after a long day of work. I don't feel the same way about email or social media, even when I use it to chat with friends rather than for business.
I realized that one way to thank friends for their friendship, offer support during hard times and share things we'd both enjoy would be to start sending letters again. Unlike during my teens & 20s, the ability to send email for mundane purposes means that letter writing can be saved for special circumstances. Also, the fact that so few of us get anything in our mailboxes anymore apart from junk mail means that a letter in an envelope addressed in handwriting will stand out.
Out of curiosity I did web research on the general state of letter writing in 2011, and found several organizations that link writers up with pen pals. Email is an option but many participants prefer postal mail and - surprisingly, to me - not all of them are my age & older. One of them reports a recent resurgence in membership, perhaps reflecting a renewed interest in the lost art of letter-writing.
I then looked through the library's catalog for materials on letter-writing and found several recent (within the last 5 years) how-to books that covered various social and business situations as well as simple friendship letters. In one of them New York designer Kate Spade wrote in her 2004 book Manners that she didn't bother with a cell phone or at-home email until she had a child in day care, and that she still prefers letters to email. And a host of online mail order businesses offer quality paper, pens and even ink for those who like to use fountain pens.
So. The art of letter-writing isn't dead after all. It's just sort of gone underground, like other "retro" activities such as cocktail parties. I'll add my small effort to the revival by digging out my old Cross pen, finding a decent piece of paper and writing to someone this week.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
The Fine Art of Speaking Up
I'm a middle-of-the-road person, inclined towards a live & let live philosophy. Much of the reason for this is because getting whipped up about things takes energy, and I'd rather spend energy doing something like making music or planting roses. Even when engaged in things that I hope will make the world a better place to live, I've habitually gravitated towards feel-good activities.
I've noticed that many middle-roaders share certain characteristics. Temperamentally we're moderate, even laid-back. We distrust drama and may be adverse to conflict even when it's justified. Given the choice between spending a sunny Saturday afternoon agitating for anything, even something we deeply believe in, and sitting in the garden catching up on news with our neighbors, we prefer the latter. I have to confess that I find firecracker personalities both fascinating and puzzling; where do they get all that snap, crackle & pop?
Sometimes live & let live works, especially when a problem is small enough to let it pass. Sometimes, though, a failure to speak up is a cop-out Choosing to do the right thing might cause momentary discomfort. I had one of those moments not long ago when someone I was with made a mean-spirited comment about the people from a certain country. He tossed off the comment in an almost innocent manner; I had the impression that he simply assumed I agreed with him.
What to do? Someone who relishes heated debate (I have friends and family who do) would jump into the ring with fists swinging. I'm not one of those people. But this guy's remark was offensive and untrue. If I let it pass, he'd get the message that it was OK.
I decided to approach it the same way I would with kids. In a neutral tone I said something like "Oh, I know some people from (country). They don't seem like that at all." Then I reminded him of the task at hand, and we slid back into work mode. Since then he hasn't made any more such remarks when we work together. I don't believe for a moment that his opinion of this group of people has changed, but at least he knows that I won't go along with the stereotyping
More than that, he's aware that someone he actually likes and respects, at least on a professional level, doesn't see eye to eye with him This was a remarkable discovery when I made it for myself years ago - I can thoroughly disagree with someone in the political and religious arena but still feel great affection for him or her It's an opportunity that those who only hang with their "own kind" never get to experience.
Sometimes in order to grow, we need to do uncomfortable work. I find that during high-growth times, life often presents me with certain recurring situations, thereby giving me plenty of opportunity to practice the skills needed during the next phase of life. During this past year, the recurring theme has been Speaking Up.
I've learned a few things during the process of practicing disagreement without being disagreeable:
I've noticed that many middle-roaders share certain characteristics. Temperamentally we're moderate, even laid-back. We distrust drama and may be adverse to conflict even when it's justified. Given the choice between spending a sunny Saturday afternoon agitating for anything, even something we deeply believe in, and sitting in the garden catching up on news with our neighbors, we prefer the latter. I have to confess that I find firecracker personalities both fascinating and puzzling; where do they get all that snap, crackle & pop?
Sometimes live & let live works, especially when a problem is small enough to let it pass. Sometimes, though, a failure to speak up is a cop-out Choosing to do the right thing might cause momentary discomfort. I had one of those moments not long ago when someone I was with made a mean-spirited comment about the people from a certain country. He tossed off the comment in an almost innocent manner; I had the impression that he simply assumed I agreed with him.
What to do? Someone who relishes heated debate (I have friends and family who do) would jump into the ring with fists swinging. I'm not one of those people. But this guy's remark was offensive and untrue. If I let it pass, he'd get the message that it was OK.
I decided to approach it the same way I would with kids. In a neutral tone I said something like "Oh, I know some people from (country). They don't seem like that at all." Then I reminded him of the task at hand, and we slid back into work mode. Since then he hasn't made any more such remarks when we work together. I don't believe for a moment that his opinion of this group of people has changed, but at least he knows that I won't go along with the stereotyping
More than that, he's aware that someone he actually likes and respects, at least on a professional level, doesn't see eye to eye with him This was a remarkable discovery when I made it for myself years ago - I can thoroughly disagree with someone in the political and religious arena but still feel great affection for him or her It's an opportunity that those who only hang with their "own kind" never get to experience.
Sometimes in order to grow, we need to do uncomfortable work. I find that during high-growth times, life often presents me with certain recurring situations, thereby giving me plenty of opportunity to practice the skills needed during the next phase of life. During this past year, the recurring theme has been Speaking Up.
I've learned a few things during the process of practicing disagreement without being disagreeable:
- The key to busting stereotypes is to see people as individuals, not merely as components of a group. Read the comment threads on news websites and you'll see some scary examples of how "-ists" and "-ism" language is used to nurture divisions and fear. I call it "Otherizing." Once someone becomes a part of The Other, it's easy to justify villifying him. We are all much more than a sum of our beliefs and associations.
- People say and do things because it makes sense to them at the time. I have to remind myself of this constantly. No matter how outrageous the belief seems to me, the person expressing it thinks it's true.
- A simple statement delivered in a matter-of-fact, drama-free manner can be surprisingly effective. So can referring to personal experience. Last week when a member of a group I'm in made a negative comment about a certain profession, I told her "I know someone who used to be a (job title) and he's a great guy. You'd like him." It put a human face on a divisive issue.
- When all else fails, I use a tactic that my husband and I taught our son: agree to disagree. I think of it as A2D. Simply saying, "We'll have to agree to disagree on that one" gets the message across perfectly. It tells the debater that you don't agree with him but you're not going to fight about it. On the rare occasion that a debate is truly an exchange of ideas, I don't mind sharing and listening. but in my experience, it's more often about power. If I refuse to enter the ring, there's no fight.
Sometimes - on rare occasions - the person with whom I'm dealing isn't interested in seeing me or anyone else as a person, and simply wants to slug away. If the issue is important, I'll accept the challenge, although not without a feeling of annoyance. But I'm finding that most people I encounter don't go that far. Once most of us can see the Other as a human being with a face, a name, a family, hopes and dreams, it's awfully hard to deliver the first punch.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Hanging Over the Cliff
"As soon as there is life, there is danger." Ralph Waldo Emerson
One of my most vivid memories as a parent is of the day that a visibly shaken stranger knocked on the front door, and when I answered, told me that she'd almost hit our younger son as he crossed the street. "Within inches," she said.
After thanking her for telling me and giving my son an earful, I sat down and thought about what had just happened. My mind spun an entire story: the ambulance, a long hospital stay (if he lived!), endless therapy...the mental movie went on.
What can any of us do when we're faced with the realization that we've just escaped a brush with death, or with the end of life as we know it? We can prepare for every contingency under the sun but we never totally escape the possibility of finding ourselves hanging over the cliff for a few breathless minutes.
Since that afternoon there have been other close calls: the time our older boy went swimming in the river with friends, in an isolated location with strong currents; the school swimming class where an aggressive classmate held our younger boy's head under water; chase scenes on bikes in the middle of the street; midnight walks home when the cell phone died; my husband's close encounter with a falling boulder while climbing...when I consider these incidents and then think about some of my own youthful experiences, I marvel that we're all alive today.
Young people think they're invincible but in the course of normal development, most adults realize by age 25 or so that this is an illusion. If nothing else, our daily news sources remind us that some people don't survive close calls.
Because I have a number of family members whose work required frequent flying, a spouse who climbs mountains, a son who talks about joining the Marines and a lot of friends who bike & walk city streets at all hours, I think about danger and its possible outcomes frequently. I've never found a way to be comfortable with it.
There are no guarantees. But then, that's part of being a parent, spouse or friend.
With kids we can take reasonable precautions.There's a reason why car seats and bike helmets for kids are mandatory; statistically they're proven life-savers.
But there's a down side to all the precautions. When I was a staff assistant in the schools, I was sometimes dismayed at the number of playground activities that were forbidden simply because something might happen. No playing in the piles of autumn leaves - someone might get dust in his eye. No frisbee tossing - someone might get hit. Rain = indoor recess. And so on. When I think about my own free-range childhood, I don't envy kids now. They don't have access to the same opportunities to explore, grow and discover that my friends and I did.
Could this hypercaution be partly responsible for the "failure to launch" phenomenon? What's more detrimental to young lives, a greater chance of danger or greater chance of staying stuck? What would I have done 30 years ago if I were confronted with the same built-in boundaries that the average middle class 16-21 year old faces today? Go crazy?
What am I going to do if my 19-year old son enlists, especially during a time that we as a country seem to be embroiled in every conflict on the planet, whether we can afford it or not? Can I blame him for wanting to challenge himself, just as I did at his age?
People need to grow, especially as they mature into adulthood, and that means taking chances. With every risk there's the possibility of failure. For some choices such as college, this only means that the risk-taker will need to retake the class if he fails the first time. For other choices, such as enlisting in the military, it could mean not living long enough to use the rewards that comes after the tour of duty.
What do we do when the roads that lead to growth for loved ones are the same roads that might take them away from us?
I'm reaching the conclusion (a work in progress) that the only possible response to the resultant uncertainty is to really be with people when we're with them, and entrust them to whatever benevolent power we might believe in when they leave. There isn't any other way. As much as I'd like to believe in happy endings, I haven't received any hand-delivered evidence that things "work out" if we have faith or good intentions, or if we work hard enough. No matter how good we are or how well we manage our lives, there are no guarantees.
However, we do have the moments that our loved ones are with us. Those moments are the ones we need to seize. As the saying goes, Be Here Now.
One of my most vivid memories as a parent is of the day that a visibly shaken stranger knocked on the front door, and when I answered, told me that she'd almost hit our younger son as he crossed the street. "Within inches," she said.
After thanking her for telling me and giving my son an earful, I sat down and thought about what had just happened. My mind spun an entire story: the ambulance, a long hospital stay (if he lived!), endless therapy...the mental movie went on.
What can any of us do when we're faced with the realization that we've just escaped a brush with death, or with the end of life as we know it? We can prepare for every contingency under the sun but we never totally escape the possibility of finding ourselves hanging over the cliff for a few breathless minutes.
Since that afternoon there have been other close calls: the time our older boy went swimming in the river with friends, in an isolated location with strong currents; the school swimming class where an aggressive classmate held our younger boy's head under water; chase scenes on bikes in the middle of the street; midnight walks home when the cell phone died; my husband's close encounter with a falling boulder while climbing...when I consider these incidents and then think about some of my own youthful experiences, I marvel that we're all alive today.
Young people think they're invincible but in the course of normal development, most adults realize by age 25 or so that this is an illusion. If nothing else, our daily news sources remind us that some people don't survive close calls.
Because I have a number of family members whose work required frequent flying, a spouse who climbs mountains, a son who talks about joining the Marines and a lot of friends who bike & walk city streets at all hours, I think about danger and its possible outcomes frequently. I've never found a way to be comfortable with it.
There are no guarantees. But then, that's part of being a parent, spouse or friend.
With kids we can take reasonable precautions.There's a reason why car seats and bike helmets for kids are mandatory; statistically they're proven life-savers.
But there's a down side to all the precautions. When I was a staff assistant in the schools, I was sometimes dismayed at the number of playground activities that were forbidden simply because something might happen. No playing in the piles of autumn leaves - someone might get dust in his eye. No frisbee tossing - someone might get hit. Rain = indoor recess. And so on. When I think about my own free-range childhood, I don't envy kids now. They don't have access to the same opportunities to explore, grow and discover that my friends and I did.
Could this hypercaution be partly responsible for the "failure to launch" phenomenon? What's more detrimental to young lives, a greater chance of danger or greater chance of staying stuck? What would I have done 30 years ago if I were confronted with the same built-in boundaries that the average middle class 16-21 year old faces today? Go crazy?
What am I going to do if my 19-year old son enlists, especially during a time that we as a country seem to be embroiled in every conflict on the planet, whether we can afford it or not? Can I blame him for wanting to challenge himself, just as I did at his age?
People need to grow, especially as they mature into adulthood, and that means taking chances. With every risk there's the possibility of failure. For some choices such as college, this only means that the risk-taker will need to retake the class if he fails the first time. For other choices, such as enlisting in the military, it could mean not living long enough to use the rewards that comes after the tour of duty.
What do we do when the roads that lead to growth for loved ones are the same roads that might take them away from us?
I'm reaching the conclusion (a work in progress) that the only possible response to the resultant uncertainty is to really be with people when we're with them, and entrust them to whatever benevolent power we might believe in when they leave. There isn't any other way. As much as I'd like to believe in happy endings, I haven't received any hand-delivered evidence that things "work out" if we have faith or good intentions, or if we work hard enough. No matter how good we are or how well we manage our lives, there are no guarantees.
However, we do have the moments that our loved ones are with us. Those moments are the ones we need to seize. As the saying goes, Be Here Now.
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