Adulting

From what I've been reading lately, many iGen’ers are anxious about assuming the responsibilities and burdens of adulthood, preferring to live in a perpetual childhood expecting other older adults to carry the brunt of the workload.  They're postponing adulthood and all that accompanies it, allowing them to continue in a perpetual bubble-like existence. 

I’m as guilty as anyone, I’ve had more than a few pep-talks with the kids, Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up, just have fun where you are.  And yet we talk a lot about their futures and how decisions they’re making now will impact their quality of life down the road.  They might be both excited and apprehensive about the future.  Which is natural.  I am too.

But I want to shout from the rooftops, It’s awesome!!! You’re going to love it!!!  Granted, generally being a kid is easier, less stressful, softer, and has its own freedoms.  But I want to tout the joys of adulthood and why it’s not necessarily over once you hit 18.  It used to be what everyone looked forward to, and I don’t think it hurts to remind ourselves why we wanted to grow up.

I think the major theme of adulthood that resonates with me is the freedom associated with it.  Not that adults don’t need to hold down a job and pay bills (and older kids should already be playing around with that kind of stuff), but there’s just more wiggle room than choosing between band or wood shop. 

Nearly every day of the school year I thank my lucky stars I’m done with chemistry and Old Man and the Sea and proofs and track practice.  I see the kids laden down with velcro-binders, backpacks that used to be reserved for those trek-across-Europe-expeditions, homework sprawled from pillow to footboard, and flashcards stacked as thick as the novels they’re supposed to finish this weekend, and I try not to show my relief.  I play sympathetic, but inside I’m doing a jig. 

No homework is definitely one of the top five reasons I love being a grown up. So, just real quick, in no particular order, just to give the kids something to look forward to, here’s what else I love about being a grown up.

I mean the basic choice to wear, eat, live, travel and buy basically what/where you want. Obviously, we've got to weigh the variables at play, but seriously. Lucky Charms for dinner, roast for breakfast, the good granola bars, fun fruits (possibly one of the first things my littles will buy when they turn 18). I’m amused when our 16 year-old talks about leaving our rusty, early American settler Montana homestead, eager to try out some exhilarating city, more IKEA than primitive brown.  I love that Andrew mentions his college road trips in passing and that we just bid him farewell.  So yeah, definitely up there, no one telling you what to read, that you have to run a mile, that you need to limit your cookies, or that it's time for bed.  It’s sort of the best.

You can adopt hobbies without inhibition.  Want to learn to knit? Fence? Garden? You’re into National Geographic, documentaries, and the History channel? Cool.

Music? Best of it all.  Got everything we grew up on, everything that’s going on now and all the good stuff in between.  We know all the words too, they're lodged in our heads and resurface just like that.

But honestly, what makes adulthood so great is that it gets real.  For probably the first time in life you start to feel that life has meaning.  And purpose.  That your life has meaning and purpose. The moment you catch that vision, your life is never the same.  It’s better than even your best vacation days.  Because all of a sudden you don’t have enough time for all the good you want to pursue. So many great ideas, people, projects, causes, needs, and all you want is time to see to them all.  There’s this renewal, this charge, this energy that's different from anything we've experienced before because we're looking out.  We're noticing the world beyond ourselves and we see how we can make a difference in a way we've never noticed before.  It's exhilarating.

And it's awesome because you get a second shot at life.  Most of the kids who knew you as a kid aren’t in your life anymore, so no one knows how bad you were at volleyball or math, and you can absolutely coach your kids’ soccer teams or be outgoing. I have friends who have taken piano and swim lessons and several who have gone back to school for advanced degrees.  During those finding yourself middle years it’s all about fitting in and trying to figure out who you’re supposed to be, maybe catering to what others want or expect you to be; whereas at the bookends of childhood and adulthood, it’s natural to truly just be who you are, you’re done caring what it looks like.  Hallelujah.

But what’s weird is that somehow the older we get and the less we care what it all looks like, the more we care what it feels like.  The older I get, the more I’m ok with being vulnerable.  And hopefully you are too. Because I think we’ve learned that the risk of exposing ourselves, of inviting people into our lives, of sharing our hearts, is almost always worth it.  I’m ok with crying.  About everything.  You’re probably the same.  We finally get over blaming others for how our life is turning out. We’re seeing life from both sides, from all sorts of sides.  We get that it’s not all black and white, we give more leeway, we’re more compassionate, less judgmental, more accepting.  But we’re also firm in what we believe and stand for.  We respect ourselves and set appropriate boundaries.  Because we are learning that love is everything.  For those around us.  And for ourselves.

I love the settled-down feeling.  While I loved dating and staying out late, this is still better.  Way better.  I love that we’ve known each other longer than we didn’t.  That we’ve made kids and a home and a life together. That our history tethers us like when we hook ourselves to each other  those little rafts we use in the wave pool at the water park; no matter how high or low the waves toss us, we just ride them together.  I’m loving the stability of being married.  Of staying home.  Of doing nothing more than taking a walk or hanging out in bed watching movies.  I love that we're on the same page.  That we're committed.  That we're in it for the long haul.

I love not proving much of anything to anyone anymore.  I’m good.  I know my heart.  I know what I’m trying to do.  I know it doesn’t look like much, but I’m ok with that because I know I’m tight with God.  And we’re working through some things.  I love how growing up teaches us to trust God.  We're finally learning to be ok with not being anywhere near perfect because we know He's got us and is working with us.

Yeah, I still feel the weight of being the grown up, of having to make major decisions, of having five kids depending on me to be responsible and competent, of having to take care of cars and a house and a yard and the meals and vacations and holidays and doctors and dentists and locking up.  It’s got its parts.  But honestly, I’ve never been happier or more content or at peace.  I feel needed.  Resolved.  Determined.  Calm.  Enthusiastic.  Passionate.  Sensitive.  Aware.  Wiser.  Solid.

So I know it looks daunting to think of real adulting when you’re a kid.  Life outside the bubble’s been touted as nothing but one headache after another and the end of fun.  But that’s just it.  That bubble’s made of something akin to opaque plastic stuff that makes it nearly impossible to fully recognize the true joy that comes from putting on the cloak of adulthood.  Ask around.  Yeah, they'll balk. And crab about how much everything costs.  But if you really prod, they'll tell you something along these lines.  There's nothing like having a place of your own.  Or working hard and earning your own money.  Or using your hands for something purposeful and good, nothing feels better than helping someone else along the road.  They'll confess they never knew committing a heart and life to someone else could feel this good. They never realized how deeply they could really love.  They didn't have a clue how much they could adore a child. Until it was their own.  We just don't talk about this enough.  And that's why you kids don't know.  But ask.  Of course, absolutely, hands down, we'll admit to you that it's hard to be a grown up, for sure.  But God knows it's when we're giving and serving and loving that we're going to find joy. So I wouldn't be afraid of the responsibilities ahead.  Just be prepared.  Enjoy the season you're in.  But don't fret about adulting. The best parts of your life are certainly ahead.

Book group and beyond

As I was leaving book group the other afternoon I told my hostess friend that I’m always glad I come.  Even when my schedule is tight and I’m late. Even when I haven’t read the book. Even when only a handful of us can make it. Even when we all bring dessert.  Because it rejuvenates me.  And reminds me of how much I love to read.  And inspires me to do it a little more.

I’ve been in a few different book clubs over the years.  One was when I was first married and living in Illinois with just a newborn in tow.  The women were older and decidedly smarter, but I was drawn to these word-loving medical- and physics-students’ wives, teachers, and students with advanced degrees, solid women who preferred mulling over ideas to discussing diapers and nap time schedules.  I was in my element as we spent our evenings talking about literature and life.  Even as I felt a little like the kid being read to by her mother, illiterate and mesmorized.  But I stayed with it and basked in their collective wisdom.

When we moved here nearly 18 years ago, one of the first things I did was seek another.  I found one through Barnes and Noble and it morphed into a little band that ended up meeting for about seven years.  These were more of the same: well-informed, articulate, broad-thinking, amazing women who became like sisters.  I matured from our discussions and interactions and feel like I became a more reflective person because of the time we spent together.  

I’ve joined a couple others over the years with similar outgrowth, just incredible women who have pushed me to contemplate, who continue to test my theories, who enjoy the exchange of views as much as I do. My reasoning for aligning myself with these various women has been a desire to mingle with introspective thinkers who want to talk about ideas.  I knew we’d at least have a passion for reading in common, but I honestly hoped to broaden my perspective on life in general. As a young mom, it was such a pleasure to use my mind a little after leaving the college environment.  And over the years I’ve learned so much from my interaction with intelligent women through thought-provoking conversations, not to mention the exposure I’ve had to books I probably wouldn’t have chosen myself.

I told my friend as we were parting from our recent lunch meeting, that it’s a little like going to church on Sunday.  Sure we all miss occasionally.  I nearly always come a little unprepared and a bit sheepish about what I have to offer, but it feels so good when I make the effort to go. It’s comforting to be with my familiar people.  Fulfilling in an old-fashioned sense.  It reminds me of how grateful I am for our faith that unites us.  And our time together inspires me to be a little better.  I’ve thought about how book group and my Sunday church time are alike in this way.  I’ve kept at both of them for years because of my basic love for both reading and Christ.  But I’m impressed with how gathering together enhances this allegiance. 

A good friend made the point in his recent talk that an enjoyable part of going to church is the chance to mingle and become friends with those whose paths wouldn’t normally cross with ours.  Churches inevitably attract a wide assortment of personalities and people with varied life experiences.  How valuable! How enriching!  He helped me recognize how many people have made an impression on me, who have taught me and inspired me over the years, folks I most likely wouldn’t have met and become friends with any other way.  That’s the thing.  We believe, at first glance, the only thing we’ll have in common with the people in our calligraphy or sewing class will be our aspiration to learn a new skill.  But wait!  You already know what happens, whenever we spend time with others, we inevitably discover that we’ve got way more in common than we first thought.  And that’s part of the beauty of associating with people outside of our typical and familiar circles.

So while my incentive for participating in both church and book groups stems from my desires to learn and to worship, I’m grateful for the opportunities both have provided to become friends with people who on the surface appear to be very different from each other in most ways.  And yet, over the years, we have become close friends.  While we know she won’t be reading our historical fiction selection and they all know I’ll bow out of our fantasy book for the month, we’re good.  We have created a strong bond by simply meeting regularly and sharing our lives with each other.

Attendance at a book group, church, art class, volleyball practice, professional conference, band performance, the gym, whatever, has the potential to inspire. And it’s more than the activity itself we’re going for; it’s also the people we’re associating with.  Of course we could exercise at home in the basement (guilty), read scriptures under a tree, watch business videos independently or play the harp to ourselves. But consorting with others who share our passions inspires us and lifts us in a way independence simply can’t.  The togetherness has a way of elevating the activity experience.

I guess it just reawakened something in me as I left book group that cold snowy afternoon after only a couple of hours with dear friends. I stretched and came to life as my inner self reminded me how much I love to read; I vowed to make it more of a priority in the upcoming month.  But more than those rekindled feelings, it reminded me how much I love sharing my life with women I have come to regard so highly and cherish so deeply.  And so I think there’s power in gathering.  Whether it’s to cook or quilt, discuss or serve, I’m grateful for the regular opportunities we all have to fan the embers of our hobby passions and to be warmed by the companionship of like-minded travelers who have the potential to become some of our truest friends.

Orbits

“The same God that placed that star in a precise orbit millennia before it appeared over Bethlehem in celebration of the birth of the Babe has given at least equal attention to placement of each of us in precise human orbits so that we may, if we will, illuminate the landscape of our individual lives, so that our light may not only lead others but warm them as well” (Neal A. Maxwell).

This is fascinating to ponder.  Could it be true? I believe so.  I have been the beneficiary of so many stars aligning, of so many good women who have been just the light I needed at a particular junction, who somehow showed up in my life at exactly the right time.

"None of us ever fully utilizes the people-opportunities allocated to us within our circles of friendship.  You and I may call these intersecting 'coincidence.' This word is understandable for mortals to use, but coincidence is not an appropriate word to describe the workings of an omniscient God.  He does not do things by 'coincidence' but...by 'divine design'' (Neal A. Maxwell).

How He coordinates so many lives and gets us all in the right spots boggles my mind.  Makes me think of lining up kindergarteners for picture day.  And yet I learned years ago to not worry about the hows.  Simply be prepared to be amazed.  And humbled.  That He knows us that intimately.  That He cares that much. That He can make it all happen just like that.  Just when we need that one star to show up.

I guess the question I have, and maybe we all have, is could we possibly be someone else’s star? Is there any way in the world we could possibly have had that same impact, or have shed even the tiniest light, on any one of our fellow travelers?  I don’t think we can ever really know the influence we’re having, and maybe that’s none of our business quite frankly.  So much of this is personal, just for God to know.

But I guess I just can’t help but think about my orbit.  And yours.  Why are we here? Now? In this country, in this state, in this neighborhood, in this family?

What are we doing to make sure our own lights don’t dim so that we’re shining when we need to help someone else through a dark patch?  Are we cognizant of the people in our orbits? I mean really aware? Are we asking God to borrow His lens every now and then so we can see a little more clearly what He sees?  

And maybe there have been times when you’ve felt wiggly, a little unsettled, a little out of place.  Maybe you’ve wondered what you’re doing here. And maybe you haven’t. But I have.  Not everyday.  But every so often I wonder why He put me in this particular orbit. I sometimes wonder if maybe God’s made a mistake just this once.

But you know God as well as I do.  And that He never makes a mistake.  And that we are more precious than any star. Or planet. Or galaxy.  And if the earth sits at precisely the right angle and the exact distance it needs to from the sun so as not to burn us and not to freeze us, maybe He knows what He’s doing with the people who live on it.

And even as I don’t know everyone in my sphere of influence, and I feel like I’m just coasting along without much to go on, I trust God.  That He has some kind of idea about things.  And that He can use us.  Because He’s the one who put us here.  It’s up to us to find out why. And to shine right where we are.

Going without

I can totally see why we get labeled as a peculiar people.  When I try to see us from an outsider’s perspective, I get it.  One instance comes to mind.  It was in preparation for a lesson on self-preparedness one Sunday a few years back in the middle of winter.  Friday afternoon members of our congregation were given a packet with instructions following a mock blizzard or some other natural disaster.  Basically, we had to live as if we had no power until church that Sunday and we had to use whatever we had in the house, no buying anything.  Every family was given the same instructions and invitation to participate.  We had no idea what the experiment would entail, so there was no way to prepare for it during the week.  It stressed me out just thinking about what we’d have to do for an entire week. As you can imagine, families responded in a variety of ways.

Basically, it meant we couldn’t take showers or flush toilets.  It could get cold (but we slept by the fireplace, plenty toasty).  I have no idea what we ate, but I remember it wasn’t a big deal (we do a lot of camping). It got dark early.  We used our flashlights and a lot of candles.  But this was the best part: we played games as long as we were awake. And went to bed at a decent hour.

What did we learn from our experience?  To buy unscented candles.  To have a little extra of everything on hand. Our experiment was complete that morning before church, and we were excited to finally take showers. But it was kind of a let-down to be back to normal to be honest.

Our kids have asked repeatedly over the years if we could do this again.  We’ve never obliged. Obviously, we've had power outages since, bouts with no water, but those have been intermittent times, emergencies of only the smallest degree.  They tend to make everyday tasks a little uncomfortable and inconvenient, but they not only help us assess where we can do better and force us to think outside the box and to work together, but they unite us a family, as a team.  When we have to go without our normal conveniences, we have to somehow get around the mentality of flipping on a switch or looking something up or entertaining ourselves with electronics. We're forced to dig through the pockets of time, searching for approaches to life we'd discarded years ago.

I was talking with a couple of friends about just this thing yesterday, as they and relatives had to muddle through the weekend without power.  They managed just fine; yet I was intrigued that their overarching complaint was that they were bored.  So interesting. I’m not sure this would’ve been the case twenty years ago.

Todd and I recently came across an idea highlighted on NPR, where people pay hundreds to attend camps to essentially be forced to unplug from their digital world.  And I know there are movements across the country like this encouraging us to put our phones and devices away for stretches of time. 

And this is what our kids intuitively picked up on during this funny weekend, what we adults are finally cluing into. The kids loved having our attention and togetherness.  I think they liked having to make do creatively.  I think they actually liked having no distractions. The coziness of candlelight and togetherness and games on the rug in front of the fireplace.  Sleeping somewhere new.  Feeling peaceful and calm and snug in our refuge.

Why are we waiting for a storm or emergency situation? I wonder why we don’t create pockets of time like this with our families more often.  Every evening perhaps, maybe part of a weekend, a camping trip where we leave devices at home, the inconceivable: a road trip where entertainment doesn’t consist of everyone residing in their own tidy, isolated world of devices but instead the entire family listens to audio books or music or talks.  Or maybe just looks out the window taking in the scenery and playing the license plate game. I know. We're hearing it too.

Prepare for melt-down.  For sure.  But we’re used to tantrums, we’ve been parenting for a long, long time.  The things that start out hard, that we know are good for our families, that we insist on, usually pay huge dividends in the end.  I’m just not convinced that constantly being plugged in is the best way to raise a strong and cohesive family.  Even if it is the new normal for the world, so are a lot of other things that unwise and unhealthy.  As a mom, as just a regular person with a brain, I can see the merit in taking some time to get away from the distractions of life and to slow down and to reconnect in old-fashioned ways.  And not just when we’re forced to because the power’s gone out.  I just think our kids aren’t that different from yours.  They are obviously growing up in a digital age and enjoy the amenities as much as anyone.  And yet, it’s telling that they relished the experience of not having them, of having our attention and company, of being together not doing much at all.  I wonder if, after an initial breakdown, yours might feel the same.  Just something to think about.  (Maybe accidentally hit the power switch to the house this afternoon and see what happens.)

*Tech-Free Camp article

What's my intention?

I’ve deleted more than a few posts of mine recently.  In fact, I’m hesitant when I post much of anything anymore. I’ll write out my thought.  Erase parts of it and edit again.  And yes, often delete even it’s been up for awhile because I’ve decided someone could take it wrong. It’s just sort of a turmoil in my head.  Because I question my intention.  Even for the simplest things I share.  I wonder how they’ll be received and I second-guess my motives.

In my mind, I just figure Facebook is a place where I can theoretically grab a friend enthusiastically, link arms, and pull her over to San Diego’s ocean front at the edge of Sunset Cliffs so we can get a good view on what’s happening together.  I’m anxious to show her what God’s made and done.  I can barely contain my excitement, I want her to see the colors in the sunset, the way the waves splash with such vigor, the way they come in again and again without losing momentum.  I want her to be amazed at God’s work the same way I am.  It has nothing to do with me, why would it? It’s about us peering out over it all side by side, together, admiring the world—life—as friends.

I want to pull her out to the back patio like we do with the kids and say, Look at the snow and the sky tonight, isn’t this the best?  I want to show her the waterfall we found, Check out how breathtaking this trail is.  I want to show her the new skirt Avery made because I’m so inept with sewing.  And the cute note Bronwyn left for me on my pillow, look at her sweet handwriting.  And how Callum’s treehouse is coming (I'm so glad he's doing something outside).  I want to show her the spoons Todd’s taught himself to make, they’re so interesting to me.  And come see how pretty they all look dressed up, so fun, doesn’t it bring back memories? And check out all this honey that just comes from Todd’s bees, we didn’t even have to do anything, it just came, isn’t that amazing? I want her to see this article that spoke to me, to get her feedback on it.  Look at this bread! You won’t believe how easy it is! Here’s the recipe, let’s all make it! Wouldn’t it be so good with dinner? I’m thrilled about what our sons are learning in college and on their missions.  Their interpretations of life and the cultures they’re immersed in delight and amuse me, I thought you might enjoy their letters too.  I want to invite her into our living room to just hang out with us around the fire while we read and do our puzzle, I want to help her feel calm and settled, to just rest from things for a bit.  That’s why I’m showing her a picture of what we’re doing tonight.  Come over, wouldn’t it be fun to just hang out and catch up for awhile? 

I show her my messes hoping they’ll help us both feel normal, to find the humor in even the hard parts of life. I show her pictures of us doing a projects because I have this weird obsession with before-and-after everything, so I find transformations fascinating. I like to take pictures of us in regular life; she’s at football and Thailand, we’re hanging out playing games and working in the garden.

But even as I think these things, I feel to tread carefully.  Could anything be misconstrued? Does it look like I’m bragging? Yes, in nearly every case.  Good grief.  I sort of want to curl up and retreat.  I check my intention.  I thought I was just inviting my friends to come see what our life looks like, just like I love when you invite me into yours.  I never thought it could be taken that way.  But now I wonder.  And because the thing I worry most about when posting things is appearing arrogant or boastful, I hesitate.  And hit delete.  And yes, I’m sure.  Even when I’m still vacilliating.  Would someone really take it that way?  Not that anyone has ever said anything, I just can't help but wonder. Hmmmm…

I guess I just feel like I’m in my pajamas with no make up (Callum was shocked once when it came up, Do you wear makeup? but whatever) late at night just downloading with Todd when I talk to my friends on Facebook. Just sharing about the day, what made me laugh, what I wonder about, what the kids said, something interesting I ran across, what you’re thinking. I guess I’ve always just felt comfortable with it all, assuming that we’re all on the same page, that we know each other well enough to know what kind of people we are.  That we’re not trying to change anyone or criticize anyone or make anyone feel bad or pretend to be anything we aren’t. I don’t understand that; why would friends betray people they love and do any of that?  And if we don’t respect or care about each other, why are we “friends”?  (That’s a whole other blog, but why are we friends with people on social media that we wouldn’t be friends with in real life?)

But the older I get, the more I work on pride, the more layers I discover like the linoleum under our laminate and all the funny wallpapers on our kitchen walls, the more sensitive I am to how pervasive pride is in my life.  And maybe we al struggle with this.  I think what spurred this recent bout of self-reflection was a word in a talk* I came across months ago, humblebrag.  It’s pierced my heart ever since.  I’ve wondered if he had to write his whole talk just for me. I’ve asked myself a million times, What is my motivation for sharing so much of our lives?  Really?  I’m still thinking about it because humility is probably the character trait I admire most in others.  And long to develop myself.  But, like our remodeling endeavors, no matter how much work we've done, there is always another project, another part of the house that needs our attention, another issue we hadn't noticed before.  We knew this going into a remodel, and I'm keenly aware of the many ways pride wiggles its way into our hearts and needs to be demolished.

But does it mean we close up and just observe life without ever commenting on it, fearing that someone will call us out on it, assuming we’re showing off our fine photographic skills (never been accused of that by the way) or our fancy houses (same)?  I have to say no.  I’m not an all-or-nothing person.  That’s taking the easy way out in my opinion.  Avoid tv, there might be something offensive.  Don’t read that book, it has the word hell in it.  Don’t say anything, someone might take it wrong.  I have to politely disagree.  

I think it takes honesty, sensitivity, and some wisdom to know how to proceed.  I think we need to give each other the benefit of the doubt.  I know you.  You’re my friends.  That’s why we found each other on social media.  I’m hoping to get to know you better, to share your life with you.  I’m anxious for you to get to know our family too.  In my mind this is how we bridge the gap between each other in this world, by showing each other we’re basically dealing with the same things, that we’re all just doing the best we can.

So, to be honest, I don’t have any resolution to my quandary.  I expect I’ll continue to edit and wonder how what I put up will be taken.  I’ll keep questioning my reasons behind my postings.  I got on social media years ago because I wanted to spread goodness and figured it would be worth giving up some of my privacy to do that.  And I still feel that way.  I suppose people will always process the world through their own filters. I just trust that you have only the best of intentions as you let us in on your life and hope you'll give me the same benefit of the doubt, that you know I'm just excited about life. I’m just mindful of how it all looks.  And I want to be careful and check my intention as I share our journey with you. 

*Talk by Quentin Cook