Silent Musings For Grown Children

FEAR!

I have been exchanging emails with an acquaintance from high school which started with his sharing a writing excerpt about a first crush.  In return I shared something similar, which included a bit of a description of how I felt I was treated.  It is interesting to me how kids in high school are willing to accept that their friends sometimes treat them badly.  Especially the girls.  How do they all survive?  This adult man responded to my response... (an 18 email thread, to date, so I started a new one), and then I responded back.  Here is a bit of that:

"Fortunately I don't feel like it sucks to have been mistreated.  I live my life believing that every experience we each have is a good one.  Well, not good exactly.  Good and bad are just labels that are given to things, which are colored by our experiences and outlook on life.  Any experience that one has can be labeled as good or bad, but if we look more closely, it is probably more accurate to say that every experience has both positive and negative components.  If a label must be given, why not choose the positive label?  For example, yesterday I was swimming with/supervising a toddler and practicing safety skills; learning when it is and isn't safe to get a toy from the water and practicing swimming distances which require either a breath or a back float.  After gradually increasing the distance jumping from the wall and swimming to the stairs, he got far enough away from the stairs that a breath was needed, and he lifted his head and took a breath and kept going.  He reached me and was so confident and thrilled and excited!   "Me did it, me did it!"  His enthusiasm and success brought me to tears.  His very next jump required that I get him.  In my clothes.  Now it was his turn to have tears.  It was time for us to go, but clearly it was important for us to stay (in my wet clothes) and have fun and leave on a successful note.  This little two year old was so tired after 2 1/2 hours of swimming.  Was this a good or bad experience.  Most people, including the two year old, would say good.  Some might look at the scary part as bad.  I don't.  He learned, he overcame a short lived fear, he continued growing trust.  Excellent.
 
Back to sucky mistreatment.  That doesn't suck.  In fact, even at the time it wasn't bad to me.  I was able to learn more about what is acceptable to me in my closest relationships.  Even at the point I was cheated on, that wasn't sucky for me because it wasn't about me.  If someone chooses to cheat, even after just a short time, that is their own character at issue.  In my case, not yet 18 (I didn't turn 18 until after entering college), a very close friendship became diminished in importance because I choose certain boundaries for how I will be treated.  It was all part of experiences that I can choose to label as good or bad, but more important than a label is my own understanding that through my experiences I can live joyfully in all moments.  Sometimes with happiness and laughter through tears.  How lucky to have learned how I want to be treated at such a young age. 
 
You said, " "A guy at work came up to me and told me that so-and-so isn't really trying to act like an asshole.  I think he simply just IS one."  And of course that is funny and amusing.  I say stuff like your friend says. Anyway, I tend to say things like, "He can't help it, he's an idiot."  Very respectful, don't ya think? But really, the guy isn't a bad guy.  He is good and bad and if he is acting particularly bad for an extended period of time, he has learned that it works for him or, more likely, he lives in fear.  Fear makes so many negative actions in people."

Fear, fear, fear.  How I wish I could eliminate fear from the lives of my children.  How I hate that they will experience challenges and sadness and pain and fear.  And yet, I am so glad that they will have the opportunity to climb their own mountains and experience success and failure.  I am so glad that they will overcome sadness. 

How I hope that they will learn quickly that their own fears are the things that they will struggle with.  If they can at least recognize where the struggle comes from, perhaps that would make it easier to overcome.

How often, especially in younger life, have I altered my behavior so that people would like me.  I have hidden parts of myself.  By hiding part of who I am, I didn't validate my own worth.  Nobody else can tell me how valuable I am.  That comes from within.  So why would I hide parts of myself just so that people would like me?  Fear!  Fear of not having friends.  Fear of how I would react if somebody was angry at me.

And there are more fears we all tend to live with.  Anger is fear.  How many fights start with fear?  How many wives get angry with their husbands for leaving socks and underwear around and the toilet seat up?  Are these justifiable angers?  Maybe.  But what is the root?  Are we afraid of our homes being messy and why?  Are we afraid of how others will judge us?  Or are we feeling disrespected?  Are we afraid of minor disrespect spiralling into major disrespect?

How many times do we not start a project that we want to do?  Why is that?  Maybe we don't have enough money or time or help.  Or maybe we are afraid of not being able to bring to fruition the idea that resides inside us.  Why be afraid to try?  Why create obstacles instead of looking for ways around them.  There are no obstacles which cannot be overcome, only choices of how to manage the obstacle.

Are people afraid of their own greatness?  Could we actually be as powerful and great as other people are?  If we are great, if we accept our own greatness and power and value in our world, yet we are so tiny and sometimes unable to succeed, is that scary?  When we are tiny little people, are parents are our safety and our heroes.  When we learn that they aren't perfect, do we become disillusioned?  If they started as the center of our world, and they aren't perfect, how could we possibly be perfect?  WE CAN'T BE PERFECT.  We can be great.  We are valuable.  We have so much power it is scary.  If only we could each believe in our own greatness.  If we could limit our fearful thinking of abandonment, hurt, isolation, scarcity...

When we come across people who are acting badly, if we could remember that they are afraid of something, perhaps we could learn to understand that their bad actions are not a reflection of who we are.  When people are acting badly, if we could respond with compassion for their fear, because we have been there too.  What if we could learn compassion for ourselves and forgive ourselves for our own misdeeds.  Would we have to continue acting badly if we could accept our own recognition of our own fears, rather than rationalizing why our behavior is justified?

Can we recognize our own fears?  Are we afraid of being lonely or judged or hungry or scared or displaced or unloveable or unknowable?  Today I will go out into the world and will do my best to make no choices based on fear.

Of Hair and High School and Crushes

 

This blog is primarily for me to vent to my children, with them not having to actually hear my venting.  However, over the past weekend an old acquaintance from high school got me to thinking more about writing for a bigger audience.  Perhaps I will strive to do so.  Today I will reminisce a bit.

This acquaintance from high school was not someone I knew well.  Yet he was willing to share some of his own writing.  Writing he felt hesitant to share.  An excerpt of his writing included the story of a first crush.  I suspect that in the theme of this blog, first crushes might be relevant.  I will share a story.  Perhaps not exactly about a first crush, but all of those high school "firsts" become intermingled stories of who we become.

I begin.

Sophomore year.  Three young men stand out.  One was tall, with dark wavy hair, a consistent smile and a laugh I can still hear in my head.  I remember him specifically standing with a friend of his at a disco like place for teens.  Did I mention he was tall?  A tall boy.  Did we have those in junior high?  And another, a little quiet, so cute with dimples and a quiet manner.  He was always a favorite, even as I had grown up.  Somehow I have no specific memories of him as a young man.  Just that he was a favorite.  I wasn't a favorite of his, but that didn't seem to matter.  And a third, one who became a wonderful friend and then at the end of senior year became a boyfriend for about two weeks.  The first two might have been crushes for a short time during sophomore year, but my memory fails me.  I don't recall any fluttering.  I don't recall that excitement in my stomach when I was lucky enough to chat with them on the phone that was attached to my ear.  However, something must have attracted me to them.  Were these crushes?  One I know as an adult 30 years later, and it is inconceivable to me that I would have ever had a crush on him, or romantic feelings, or teenage yearnings.  But the third; that wonderful friendship, those embarrassing moments...

"Hey, you have little sideburns," he said as we walked up the steep ramp to a water slide.  My hair was wet and tucked behind my ears.  This friend, whom I loved, noticed something negative.

Rewind a few years.  I am in my parents’ bathroom changing into or out of my swimsuit.  Two junior high school boys spent most of the summer at my house, mostly because I was grounded much of the summer.  They rode their bikes some incomprehensible number of miles to my home every day.  There I am in all my glory changing clothes AND THEY WALK INTO THE BATHROOM.  As anyone of any age would do, I quickly covered up.  One said, "Look at all that hair!"  Wait, what does that mean?  Am I different?  Am I unappealing?  Hair, other than luxuriously coiffed on one's head, is very unacceptable in women.  But I am beautiful.  I have always been told so.  My wonderful boobs may not be as big as others.  My hair is dark, not blond like the boys' seemed to like.  My smile is not big enough, teeth not white enough, but I have always known myself to be beautiful.  But I now have "all that hair".  That can't be good.

Back to high school, now I have SIDEBURNS.  Again, something odd enough to mention.  By a boy I can't wait to see.  A boy I have made into my best friend.  A boy who was cute, but not the cutest.  Not really a smart boy.  Not really a good boy or a bad boy.  Not particularly nice to me.  But a boy I would have done anything to make happy.  Perhaps not a crush, because he was too well known by me to be labeled as something so unattainable and dreamlike as a crush.  There were no blurry edges of dreams in our friendship.  Unrequited love?  No.  I am certain he loved me - as a friend.  There was nothing special about him.  I was driven to be near him and be his friend because of some unknown force.  Not hormones, because that was too common.  Everybody I knew had hormones which drove them to make ridiculous decisions.  Were we meant to be together, were there pheromones at work?  Clearly not, because I have sideburns.  Gross, misplaced hair on my otherwise beautiful self.

Was there more wrong with me?  This silly boy somehow recognized that I was wonderful, surely, otherwise why would he have chosen me as a friend.  We didn't have common friends, or activities in common, or similar families and backgrounds, and still we connected.  Where did he go first thing when he bought his first car?  Not a buddies house, no, he came to me.  I was important.  But clearly not good enough.  He didn't want me as a girlfriend.  Although we did end up after years of friendship trying our hand at dating.  He cheated.  After two weeks!  He cried when I confronted him.  No longer a crush, but a trusted and dear and long time friend.  I could understand his cheating on his previous random girlfriends - but on me???  His best friend of three years?  Who does that?  He had the nerve to ask me why I wasn't crying.  I remember my response.  "Because all I want is for you to be happy and if having me as a girlfriend isn't enough, then I want for you to move on because I want your happiness first."  I meant those words.

Earlier that year, I went over to my best girlfriend's house.  She answered the door.  What was on her face???  What was that?  Hairbleaching cream!  What???  A girl with hair that needed to be hidden.  Sure enough.  There are ways to get rid of the awful hair that diminishes our beauty.  How could I sneak around and do the same thing?  I didn't want anyone to notice a change; perhaps highlighting the awful hair existed in the first place.  However, would that be enough to make the boy see me in a new light?  Nah, not worth the risk. 

Many, many years later, as thoughts of Botox and liposuction creep in, perhaps I need a Brazilian wax...  Nah, not worth the pain.

What about those other two boys?  They were both so cute, and had many friends, and were athletes.  I don't remember if either of them ever had girlfriends.  One I know, the one I still know, says he didn't date in high school.  He could have.  Lots of girls liked him.  Both of those cute and popular boys had good friends.  There were times I would have counted myself among them, even though I have virtually no specific memories of them.  Oddly enough, I remember their mothers as much as I remember them.  Those other two boys, they were very important.  Very important.  Actually important. 

Those two boys, perhaps crushes for a bit, taught me something very important.  They taught me to expect kindness.  Two kind young men, who each at times told me in some way or another to stay away from the third boy, they taught me that when I grow up I will deserve a man who treats me well.  One was thoughtful enough to point out last year how bad the big crush looks now.  Important friends indeed.

Empty Bedrooms

Something I wish I could tell my children is that I want to revamp their bedrooms. That would be a partial lie. What I want is for them to come home and live. Another lie. If they were to come home and live here, they would be adults not currently fulfilling their own dreams. The time may come when they need this safety net rather than a mini-vacation. I realize the economy may present challenges for them and they might need this home. I hope not, but I recognize that as a possibility. If that were to happen, they would need to be pulling their weight. No mommy catering to whims during a short break. No chores assigned as often happens with children. They would need to see that they are needed and what they do is valuable...especially if they can't find work. They would need that for themselves. So if they live at home, rather than vacation here, it wouldn't be the same as what I miss. That is gone and will never return. Perhaps it would be lovely for my selfish parts...

Still, I do want to revamp their space. I won't because I want them to know they have that safe space. For retreat or rejoice, until they have their own family home, a bedroom with childhood memories remains.

I have plans for those rooms. I am moving on to the next part of my life. Never away from them. I have no words to adequately express that they are always in mind when I make decisions. Even while enjoying my every day, I plan around them so that I don't miss opportunities to bask in the warmth of their presence. It actually adds to my life, does not prevent me from doing anything, this wanting to plan with them in mind.

But sometimes, just occasionally, I see their rooms utilized differently. They still would have rooms, just adjusted ones. Perhaps soon. It might just be a surprise redecorating so I don't have to tell them.