Longing to be known

I’ve reflected on this sentiment ever since I read it years back, wondering if I agree with her conclusion.  “I always thought It was what I wanted: to be loved and admired.  Now I think perhaps I’d like to be known” (Kristin Hannah in The Nightingale).

I wonder what others would say.  It seems that in our world of entertainment and facades, “infuencers” and photo-shopping, we prefer to hide the real us in lieu of being worshipped, revered or simply admired.  We hide behind a curtain of make up, clothing, social media, homes, possessions and even professions.  We pretend to be what we do or have or look like when maybe that’s not really who we are at all.  But we’ve decided, unconsciously or otherwise, that it’s preferable to be oohed and ahhed at, to be “loved,” rather than to allow others past our gates and into our hearts, where there is always a risk of rejection or pain.

As a writer and lover of words, I’ve always cherished cards and notes and for most of my life I kept quite a few of them. These days I retain very, very few. What’s interesting is the ones I appreciate these days are those written from a perspective of knowing me. I love the ones that allude to my humanness and acknowledge my imperfections but that still manage to inspire me.  Because her words are honest and real, it proves that the friend truly knows me, and I can trust her to tell me both the truths: the progress she sees I’m making as well as the need-to-improve areas.  I have a handful of friends, along with Todd, who are completely honest when we text or talk and they tell me exactly what they notice when I’m wanting to make changes and ask for their opinion.  I can’t tell you how much that means to me; it shows me the depth of their commitment and friendship that they would care enough to be real.  I love that they have been with me long enough to have made the effort to know me.

But I didn’t always want to be known, and I think many of us may still feel this way.  It seems to be much more fulfilling to be admired from afar, to keep up pretenses, to hold people at arms’ length, to let them believe the good they see and to hide the rest.

Because where would we be if they saw the real us?  How could we possibly be lovable, let alone admired, if we were known?  What if we showed up bare-faced or, worse, with a cried-out face?  What if we let our guard down and answered honestly when someone asked us how we’re doing?  What if we admitted it’s been a hard year, that we don’t have all—or even most of—the answers, that we’re worried or scared or ashamed or discouraged or let-down or sad or even angry or resentful?  What if we didn’t know what to show them because we don’t even know who we are ourselves exactly?  But what if we just said as much and invited them to join us on our journey of discovery?

As we think about the upcoming year, I wonder if we could consider these ideas.  What difference would it make if instead of trying to impress people, we decided to let them know us?  What if the greatest thrill didn’t come from allowing people to see only the good in us but instead came from letting them see our hearts in all its shambles and stages of growth?  What if instead of obsessing about what others think of us, we made a conscious effort to create meaningful connections as we tried to get to know others on a deeper level?  What if we took a chance at being vulnerable instead of making sure we have it all together before we present ourselves to the world?  What if we didn’t seek to be loved but sought to love instead?

I love book quotes so much; I can’t help but question how the author's words sit with me and ask myself if I agree.  And if I do, am I living in alignment with what I say I believe?  I love words like these because they push me to probe myself, to be honest and to dig deep.  I have to say I concur with her statement because I sense, although not as tidy and safe as being admired from a distance, life is most enriching as we experience true intimacy that only comes through knowing--and being known--authentically.

Real world word problem

Do Christmas. This will be multi-variable, but start with a family of seven.  Add in the extended family, friends, co-workers, and strangers.  You may use your notes and calculators as well as any pertinent online resources.  You may work in groups and your deadline is the 25th.  You should’ve started months ago.

Make a budget, keep a running total for each person.  Buy exactly what they want (insist on links).  But keep some of it a surprise.  Ask in nonchalant, vague ways for hints.  Stay within a strict budget so that it’s fair.  Decide if the coat you got on sale counts in the budget at the sale price or the valued price.  Try not to be uptight about it all.  Make the stocking innard piles all the same size.  Even as you’re buying for 14- and 18-year-old girls and boys 16, 21, and 23.  And spend equal amounts on each stocking; put items in Target bags to keep a visual.  Try to remember if you actually ordered the item you wrote down or if it’s just in the cart.  Keep in mind that there is a cut-off date.  After a certain point, items will be delivered after Christmas.  It was the day before yesterday actually. Bonus points: keep track of what stores you bought each item from—online and for real.  Keep track of packages as they come so you’ll know if the items you ordered actually arrived. Keep every receipt for everything you buy in December.  And recall what you bought throughout the year and for whom it was meant.

Buy for a spouse.  Something useful but not boring.  Not something he’d buy for himself.  But that he’d like.  And doesn’t own. But hasn’t thought of before.  Make sure if you get any kind of shirt or top that the arms are long enough but that the body part isn’t baggy.  Make sure it’s not something an old man would wear.  Or a young adult. Sensible but not frumpy. Practical yet fun.

Provide a gift for his parents.  And have it ready by Thanksgiving.  Nothing extravagant.  But something you can wrap since it can be delivered in person this year.  So not a gift card.  Even though that makes the most sense.  Make sure it’s not something you’ve already given in the past 24 years for Christmas, birthdays, Mothers Days or Fathers Days.  Be creative.

And figure out a present for each of his five siblings. Preferably something homemade-ish. Since that’s how his family rolls. They should be reasonable.  But meaningful.  Again, make sure they’re all ready for Thanksgiving so you can save postage.

Have an answer ready for each family member who asks what another family member would like.  Consider each of their situations including travel and cost and ability-to-access parameters.  Have a list in mind for when your spouse asks what you want.  Don’t be discouraged when he says slippers and a new temple dress is lame.

Try to be crafty like all the other people in the shops.  Make gnomes this year.  Even though you hate crafts and never do them.  Watch a video about making them.  Shop at several stores.  Spend more than you imagined; keep checking your receipts to make sure they got the coupons.  Hope they are cute to other people too.  Wonder why you thought this was a good idea.  Put all the unused supplies in a bin to give to Good Will in a couple of years.

Bring in the 10 totes from the garage.  Unload everything.  Try to remember where you put it all last year.  Ask yourself why you have so much stuff.  Put back the stuff you don’t like.  Don’t ask yourself why you even keep it.  Be prepared for the spouse to ask after you’ve spent all day decorating, “Is this all there is?”  Don’t get upset or become discouraged. Simply reply affirmatively and cheerfully.

Write a Christmas letter that includes the highlights and details of all seven of you from the past 12 months.  Don’t brag about any accomplishments, don’t make a list of all your family’s activities.  Skip the gross or inappropriate stuff that you talk about at the dinner table. Or any sad stuff. Try to think if anything funny happened.  Try to remember anything that happened.  But don’t make it a travel log.  Keep it succinct.  But include plenty of descriptions.  Make it sound interesting.  But authentic.  Have it ready by Thanksgiving.  To save on postage.

And make a Christmas card using the five pictures you took during the year.  Ask the kids if they have any.  Use ones you’ve already used and just cut out the parts that fit.  Choose one of two card styles that allow five or more picture slots because you never get around to getting family pictures or lining everyone up.  Vow to do family pictures next year. Pick any color.  That you didn’t use last year.  Write something besides the default to make it a little more interesting in case anyone notices.

Send out the pictures and letters to everyone you’ve known.  Or at least the ones you’re still in contact with.  Or you see frequently.  Or never see anymore but you’re related to.  Even if it’s a married-in cousin.  Or who you ever went to church or college with.  Or who sends you one.  Keep the list updated, note address changes.  This will require you to know if the return address on their envelope looks and feels familiar.  If not, pull up the document and confirm you have the most current address.  Extra credit: take note of who sent you one so you’ll be prepared for next year.  But it’s ok if they miss 1-2 years.  If you haven’t made a label document, handwrite them all.  And lick the envelopes if you bought the wrong kind.  Buy 200 stamps.  Go back when you run out of international stamps in the middle of December. 

Buy a gift for your mom’s husband.  Who is diabetic and likes to watch tv and read.  Spend enough but not too much.  Try to figure out what to do for the mom who has four closets of clothes and enough jewels for a queen and whose favorite hobby is shopping.  Make an effort.  But don’t try to compete with her offerings.  Make it look like a generous gift without going overboard.  Don’t buy a book for her because she has over 200 she hasn’t read yet, and she falls asleep when she reads; but be sure to buy one for him. Maybe a gift card.  But not just a gift card. Wrap items in as many different packages as you can to make it look like a lot since they will be spending Christmas morning with you and she has been shopping since the summer.

Shop for your sister who lives in another state.  By July.  So that the other sister can take it to her to save postage.  And remember her husband and three teenaged boys.  Make it specific to each member’s interests, but keep it a family gift.  But do something a little special for her.  But keep it practical.  And don’t spend a ton.  But enough.

And for your other sister.  Who will be here Christmas morning.  Who will need packages to open. But is trying to downsize.  A few gifts.  Nothing crazy.  But plenty, so she knows how much she’s valued.  Something homemade would be ideal.  But not a quilt; you already did that.  Maybe pillows.  The ones you started on your road trip in the summer would be perfect.  Plan a day to work on those.  Before she comes next week.

Wrap everything. Try not to waste paper. Save the bits.  Reuse the ribbon your mom saved for you last year. Be careful storing items in decorative bags with tissue paper—don’t let the tissue get crunched.  Put as much as you can under the bed.  Don’t let the dogs eat the chocolates or mints or gum or beef jerky.  Keep your door closed.  Check it often.  Put the rest in the closet. But be mindful of the tissue, remember.

Let family members choose names around Thanksgiving.  This will be for the gift exchange on Christmas Eve.  Make a list of who has who.  Refer to it often when family members ask who they have.  Take a picture of it to carry with you everywhere.  Text them all again. Buy gift for your husband to give to your daughter.  Wrap it along with yours.

Keep track of the running pants your older daughter bought for your younger daughter for the sibling gift exchange.  Keep them safe.  And separate from every other pile.  Maybe in another room?  But don’t let the dogs get into them.

Be on the lookout for a computer that is to be delivered to the house for a friend of your son.  Who lives in another state. Keep it separate from everything else.  And remember the safe spot you put it in.

In your free time, write a talk that you’ll present to 150 members of your congregation.  Plan on speaking for 15-20 minutes but be prepared to cut it down to five if necessary.  Make it encouraging but not condescending. Use real-life experiences and stories, but don’t get too personal. Use doctrine but don’t just read scriptures.  Write it out word for word, but don’t read it. 

Remember you still have the box of presents you brought home over Thanksgiving for the sister-in-law’s brother’s wife.  They’re in the garage.  Call again to set up a time to meet so she can come get them in the next week.

Set up appointments for the college kids if they need to go to the doctor or dentist or eye specialist.  Remember to do this, there may not be any spots left at this point.  You should’ve done this weeks ago.

Check out Christmas books from the library.  Many, many Christmas books for your guests to read.  And, at just the right moment, get the movies.  This is tricky.  You will need to get them so that they won’t be due when the family’s here, but you want to time it well so that there will still be some to choose from.  Try to recall which ones you’ve seen already. And that each of the other 9 have seen.  Or didn’t like.

Consider all the people in your life.  Especially the ones who live close.  Choose wisely what you will do: bread, cookies, jam, or nothing.  Consider the ramifications.  And what you will do if they come bearing gifts and you have none.  Consider what message that sends and if you feel confident enough in your relationship to accept what that might look like.  Remember the poor people, the old people, the alone people.  Especially consider those who might need a little extra love at this time of year.  Be thoughtful.  But practical.  Don’t spend a lot.  But be very generous.  Yours might be the only gifts they get this year. Keep in mind the best gift you can give is your time.  Make arrangements for that.

Find a way every day of December to serve in a personal yet anonymous way.  Include your family.  Each of them.  Encourage them in as many ways as you can.  But then let them choose.  Show enthusiasm.  But no disappointment if when they refuse or reject your suggestions.

Find other ways to serve as family in a little bit bigger way.  Shop for all the tags you took.  Make many, many decisions about sizes, prices, styles, and quantities.  Deliver the goods.  Wonder, but don’t ask aloud, what the point was.

Do something like the 12 Days of Christmas, some kind of doorbell/running tradition to teach your kids to think of others.  Be creative.  And make the deliveries pretty-ish.  Include the kids. Run so you’re not caught.  But don’t slip on the ice.  Or let their smart doorbell catch you.  You will reveal yourselves after a few nights of this.  Don’t be let down when you end up doing it all yourself.

Find a way to incorporate some kind of spiritual message into your evenings.  Maybe a song, a scripture, a story, a quote.  Make them varied.  Don’t feel guilty that you’re skipping regular scripture reading. Don’t show any video any of the family members may have seen before at church or seminary or in a devotional or family lesson.  Make sure it’s new and engaging, not silly, but not too spiritual.  Not just talking, but not cheesy.  Not a quote actually.  And maybe not a scripture.  But it should be about Christ since it’s Christmas, so maybe, actually probably.  Keep the teenagers’ attention.  It should be substantial but not over the top; don’t make it last too long.  But long enough to make an impact.  Pray over the whole thing.  Smile so they don’t know you’re frustrated.  Pretend this is all how you wanted it to go.

Gather your family for your favorite program of the year: music and Christmas messages.  Refrain from saying anything sarcastic when they ask what is going on.  Patiently remind them this happens every year at the same time on the same day, that it’s nothing new this year. Make popcorn.  Make special seating arrangements.  Stay calm when they ask how long it will take and when they contort themselves on the small couches.  Declare a truce at half-time and tell them they will be able to watch the rest of it next week.  Strengthen and prepare yourself for the resistance.

Wash all the quilts, duvet covers, and sheets for the six extra beds you’ll need.  Pull the mattresses out from under beds and under stacks of mattresses on top of the beds.  Find all the mattress covers.  Probably wash them.  Yes, the sheets are clean.  But they will smell stale because they sit on old 1984 closet shelves.  Wash them again.  Use the special dryer sheets you save for these occasions.  Yes, I know they’re big, but wash the comforters.  Dogs have slept on them.  Other guests used them in the fall.  You don’t know who used what and it’s gross to smell them all to try to guess if they’re clean enough.  Just wash them all.  One at a time.  And try to find pillows.  Flat ones for the mom.  Two.  New ones for the guests, older ones for the kids.  Pull out towels.  Maybe/probably smell these to see; they may need to be washed again too.  Find washcloths that are not stained, torn, or ratty.  You have two blue ones set aside for these occasions.  Find them.

For the boys, put three mattresses on the floor on moving blankets in the playroom that is the size of a small L-shaped couch.  Don’t put them too close together.  Leave plenty of room for their laundry bags, travel bags, and toiletry bags.  Use other comforters if you don’t have enough mattress pads/covers.  Remember again to buy some.  And try to remember why you haven’t.

Clean the bathrooms yourself instead of having the kids do them so you know the floor has been done at least once this year.  Make sure to wash the bathmats and to check that there are matching bottles of conditioner and shampoo. And that there is man shampoo and body wash. And that there is stuff in all of them.  Try to make your 1984 bathrooms look fine.  You may need to wash the shower curtain.  You probably should; it’s your mother.

Time all of this just right.  Too early, and the kids and dogs will mess it all up.  Too late, and you’ll be scrambling.  Ideally, you’d make a room ready and lock the door.  You don’t have that many rooms.  You will have to scramble.

Notice the dust on the blinds and fans and walls.  Only deal with the ones you can reach easily and quickly.  Try to put it all out of your mind.  May want to touch on the kitchen window one since she will be doing the dishes.  Clean the stove.  Wonder about the pantry.  Stock up on Large rubber gloves so you will be prepared when she asks.

Plan for the food you will be eating for the weeks everyone will be here and for the one week you will have ten for each meal.  Remember their favorites.  Remember that your daughter is somewhat of a vegetarian.  And that two guests don’t like spinach in their salads.  Your mom’s husband is diabetic, remember, so keep the carbs to a minimum.  Your grill doesn’t work. You will want to have treats around, but your own kids won’t eat your homemade goods and the guests will complain that you are making them fat.  Keep cooking and shopping.  Don’t look at the totals.  Just take the receipts quickly and tuck them in the bags.  Recycle all the bags that keep coming in the next time you go out. In fact, try to go to at least three stores or out for a minimum of three hours every day that guests are with you. Try to make it to Target and TJ Maxx each day.  Have a ready answer for the inevitable question, “What’s the plan?” Always, always know what the plan is.  Act cheerful.  As if you always have a plan.

Plan Christmas Eve and Christmas Day food.  Make the evening meal a nice one.  But keep it simple.  Make ham and cheese potatoes and frog eye salad and rolls and try to keep it healthy. Decorate the table.  Make it nice.  But again, keep it simple.  Use items from around the house.  Be creative. Make a breakfast casserole or two on Christmas Eve when there’s some downtime.  Make sticky rolls Christmas Eve night.  But time it just right; the later, the better.  Try to remember if it is better to put them in the fridge to raise or if if they worked better on the counter; you need them to raise just enough but not out of the pan, so plan accordingly.  Make a mental note for next year.

Try to make everyone happy the entire week, but especially on Christmas Eve.  Have a fancy dinner.  Do something spiritual.  Try to decide again if it’s better to read the Christmas story from the Bible or to watch a video.  Do the gift exchange.  And pajamas.  Play a game that everyone from the 70 year olds to the teenagers will like and understand.  Find a Christmas movie all ten of you will like.  Nothing cheesy.  Or crude.  Preferably with a message, but that’s getting ahead of yourself, like imaginary numbers.  Extra credit if it’s one no one has seen yet.  Make sure you have snacks available for the teenagers’ after-movie games.  Provide soda.  Obviously. 

Get up earlier than anyone on Christmas Day, which will also be your birthday.  There won’t be a way to do the stockings on Christmas Eve because the teenagers will be up too late playing games.  So put the stuffers in the stockings very, very early on Christmas morning.  Be prepared for the spouse to ask questions like, “This is all?” or “Did you get ____?”  Try to go back to sleep before the mother wakes up at 5:30 and wishes you happy birthday or starts to ask questions in a cheery voice.  Bow out for at least another half hour if you can.  Make brownies later on for your birthday dessert.  You should’ve bought ice cream and made fudge by this point as well.  Accept phone calls even though you are very bad at talking on the phone.  Pretend it is normal to be sung to on the phone.  Be cheerful when some of your kids say Christmas Day is a let-down after the presents are opened.  Focus on the ones who say they like it that you just have a day to chill.

And remember to enjoy the season.  Go to parties.  Bring food to all of them. Arrange a couple of your own.  Host book group.  Go to the band concert, the Stroll, and Festival of Trees. Have families for dinner.  Go out to eat with friends. Sample the fudge, sugar cookies, egg nog, Little Smokies, cheese ball, toffee, and wassail.  You don’t want to be a scrooge.  But balance it all.  Eat right. Plenty of vegetables. Exercise everyday.  Don’t gain weight.  But don’t be a party pooper.  Make sure to smile when you tell people Merry Christmas.  Be sincere.  People can tell.

Show your work. You will get partial credit for any effort you make.

Friends

I continue to be pleasantly surprised during my conversations with a grandpa I’ve been getting to know.  He had a stroke several months ago, but is pretty lucid still, and he loves to talk, so we just visit.  I have a book I bring with me that has like 3,000 question prompts. I ask him all sorts of random things, and he’s such a good sport. He never remembers who I am and always wants to know what my research is for.  I’m mindful of his energy and offer to give him an out by asking if he’s tired and needs to rest, but he always wants to keep talking, which amuses me.  But what really gets me is how alike we are.  Everything from roller coasters (they scare us to death), musicals (I pulled up a whole list on my phone and we talked about them all), what value we think is the most important in society (honesty), what class we hated most in school (p.e.), proudest accomplishment (our families), favorite season (fall), to what he likes to do fo fun (hike in national parks and good conversation—what?!).  I have just been fascinated during the weeks that we’ve gotten to know each other how similar we are despite our age difference (he’s got to be around 80), gender, religions (he was a pastor at some point), time period of growing up, educational and employment backgrounds and obvious life experience.  I honestly feel like I relate better with him than most of the people in my life.

I feel this way with a couple of other unsuspecting relationships.  At face value we’re nothing alike.  But the more I spend time with and get to know this handful of varied women, I’m seeing that I have way more in common with and see the world much more like they do than the usual suspects in my life.  They like to garden and make bread and other food from scratch and use lots of vegetables and store their little food items in jars and enjoy doing puzzles and engaging in good conversation.  Camping, nature, frugality, pets and animals, not concerned about germs or high fashion or how their lives appear to others, on and on.  I had no idea I would come to love these women so much.  We were all thrown together in a pot, just interesting that the ones I thought I’d have more of a connection with, not really.  And these I assumed would just be superficial friends have wiggled their way into my heart by just being themselves and by us getting to know each other.

I was fascinated with my reaction the other day at a group gathering.  Usually I’m pretty comfortable with whatever these days, but this was a smallish gathering of like 10, and about half of the women were new to me.  I recognized that old sinking shy feeling from jr. high and got my food and retreated to a hide out on the couch with my old stand-bys instead of gathering at the table with the newbies.  They were so colorful and fashionable and young and talkative and comfortable with each other; the foods they brought were delicious and pretty and so out of my element.  I felt old and frumpy and grayish, not wanting to expend the energy to engage.  But we gathered to discuss in the living room as a group and after an hour or so, I relented and relaxed.  I couldn’t help myself.  They were great.  Yes, they were still confident and self-assured, but they were so warm and accepting and easy to be with.  We laughed together, obviously we all have a love for reading and ideas and discussing, they were just genuine and lovely. I silently asked for forgiveness for misjudging them and for closing myself off.  I think I already love them.  I don’t know why I felt resistant to new friends.  We can always use a friend, and it is so enriching to have a variety of women in our lives.  A valuable and humbling reminder/lesson.

I have found this to be true with nearly every single person I’ve encountered.  Yes, some I connect better with, even though sometimes at face value you wouldn’t think we would given our apparent differences.  But I have never truly gotten to known a person without developing a love for her.  Once I know her stories, what her passions and worries are, how she grew up, what her life has been like, it’s not even a question, I always feel love and compassion.  Though I’d like to get to the point where I feel that way without the benefit of having heard her story.  I think the older we get, the better we are at assuming everyone has had a rough time and is going through hard stuff; in that case, the older we get, the better we should be at loving.  All I can say is that I’m better at it than I used to be. :)

A young friend and I were just sitting in my living room one late afternoon this week and she asked about friends, confessing that she finds navigating friendships to be hard and that sometimes she feels like just giving up. So I asked her what she wanted from a friend and expected from her friendships.  And then she asked me the same thing.  I thought I’d have a quick and easy answer.  Not at all.  After thinking for a minute, I told her that, honestly, I feel like I can love anyone.  But when it comes to people I can actually trust, the list is super short.

I had to think a little more and was kind of surprised that what I wanted from a friend boiled down to just a handful of items.  Trustworthy tops the list obviously.  Respect for differences is huge too. But then dependability—like they’ll follow through when we plan something, that they’ll show up in a supportive way.  And a little give and take helps too so it’s not all just me and so I know they’re interested and invested.  But honestly I’m good with it being a little more lopsided, I have loads of time and energy to devote to girlfriends so it definitely doesn’t have to be equal. And I certainly don’t need to be called, texted, or coddled all the time.  I don’t need gifts or for people to do things for me or to go shopping with girlfriends. I’m happy with lunch every now and then, good conversation on our couches every so often. I’m good with weeks or months or even years going by; if I’m confident in our friendship, then I don’t require a whole lot of maintenance.  I will be a loyal friend forever, and I will give a million chances.  But I can also take a hint. :)

I realized, as I was talking with this little sister friend of mine, that the main thing I value in a true friend is connection, how open we can be with our hearts, how safe I feel.  And that’s where trust really comes in to play.  I am open to a fault—about things that I don’t care that everyone knows about.  But I am very guarded about the things closest to my heart and am very, very selective about who I share these things with.  I know it’s not really a gold standard, but I have noticed that I feel closest and most connected with my friends I can both laugh heartily with and cry with.  I have had experiences where I’ve just met a woman and within five minutes we’re sharing an intimate moment and one or both of us is tearing up.  And others I’ve known for years and years and I would never consider us to be close at all.  I think it’s vulnerability, opening our hearts, being authentic and real and genuine and imperfect and admitting we have no idea, this is what I’m looking for in a close friend.  This friend was asking why it’s so hard for women to do this, and I suggested that so many of us are afraid to look like we’re floundering or that we don’t have it all together.  Or maybe some just aren’t into that kind of sharing.  Or don’t want to invest the time; they have their families.  Or, as she offered, maybe we’re not the kind of person she wants as a friend, fair enough.  She also said she just knows she will be disappointed by some of her friends and she’s good with that.  Interesting observation and discussion.

Like I said, I believe with all my heart that we can love (most?) everyone.  It obviously gets easier as we get to know people for real, and it’s especially nice when we find common ground—which is inevitable the more we really talk and share.  I’ve found there are potential friendships everywhere, sometimes in the most unlikely places and people—we just have to get beyond what we think we see.  But, from my experience, I just feel that to have really deep, close friendships, we have to expose ourselves, to open our hearts, to respectfully share our innermost feelings, to be safe and kind and trustworthy.  I don’t think it’s a lot to ask from a friend.  But it might be a lot to ask from ourselves.  Which is where we need to start if we want that kind of friend.

Celebrating

So I guess it was five years ago this week that my cancer was removed.  I see friends posting these occasions with pink ribbon banners like it’s a birthday party.  And rightly so, now that I think about it, marking a second-chance at life, a rebirth.  Definitely.

I was just at my oncologist’s office this past Friday, and she wants to see me every three months instead of every six. She scheduled a pelvic ultrasound.  After five years on Tamoxifen, uterine cancer risk goes up; and, given my circumstances, she wants to be aggressively careful. The only ultrasounds I’ve had have been to see our babies, so this was only anxiety-inducing and not nearly as fun.  But it was sobering to think about why I was lying on her table.

I remember bits and pieces about those early days.  I lifted weights hours before my surgery, knowing it’d be my last time for a few weeks, and I washed with my special surgical soap.  I was blissfully calm in the little pre-op room, fully intact and unaware of how permanently the next few hours would change my body.  I remember waking myself up from anesthesia by snorting and seeing Kim and Tom beside me.  I remember putting on my lipstick the next morning and sitting up to write some notes.  I remember hobbling around the airport to get my mom and shopping with everyone for six hours a few days later with drains dangling from so many parts of my body.  I remember how sore it was to move about on the couch as I tried to sleep, how I missed being with Todd in our bed, how I hated missing fall, and of course how chopped up I looked.  Funny how I forget so many things these days and yet parts of that experience from five years ago are etched so clearly in my mind.

And so while I know most women celebrate their pink anniversaries, the actual day just came and went without me even noticing it. And maybe because I still struggle with survivors guilt and the low-threat nature of my case that I feel like I don’t have the same right as others to claim it.

And yet it’s not like I can really relegate it to the back of my mind because I’m still living with it.  Within four days, I had three appointments related to it.  I’m still getting deep-tissue massage a couple times a month to deal with the scar tissue from the surgeries.  I’m still stretching my chest and back with my weights and big bouncy ball.  I still wake up from my sleep from pain when I turn from my stomach to my back.  I still try to hide from Todd and myself all the time and am so sad that things have changed.  I still mourn the loss of what used to be, and I continue to feel ugly and broken.  But yes, also alive and well.  And so, as much as possible, I really do put it in the back of my mind.  But my massage appointments come around pretty fast.  And every May and November I find myself in that familiar office downtown getting my breasts patted down by my oncologist, who assesses my lymph nodes and asks probing questions to be sure.  I take the little while pill with my others every night and refill my prescription at Target every month, so it’s still part of my life even as I try to pretend it isn’t.

And maybe it’s because it’s just one of a million things I’ve “survived” over the course of my life that I view it so nonchalantly.  Do I keep track of them all and declare each day of the year a celebration for every hardship I’ve overcome?  Good grief, I can’t even keep track of birthdays.

Is cancer the heaviest trial?  I think for many people, yes, probably.  But maybe only maybe.  What about a broken heart?  Who says that doesn’t have the potential to kill a person?  What about loss of a love or loved one or a dream or a life you thought you were meant to live? Admittedly, I’ve barely had any really hard things in life.  But not one of us isn’t jostled around and bruised just by playing in the game.

So while I’m beyond grateful for the five more years I’ve been granted, I simply don’t see November 4th as one of my most life-changing anniversaries.  I guess if I had to celebrate a cancer anniversary, I’d choose whatever day it was that we found out.  And more specifically, I’d choose the few minutes in our tiny bathroom when we just hugged and cried.  Because it was then that our lives really did change.  That was when I told Todd that it would all work out.  Even if I died or went bald.  This is the day I knew my faith—our faith—was solid.  I told Todd that if God thought our family needed to grow and this was the way He wanted us to learn and be stronger, then I could accept that.  I admitted I still secretly hoped it didn’t have to go that way, but I also told him I would be ok with it.  That is still one of my most tender memories of the whole ordeal.  And while I would never think of celebrating it, it is probably my most cherished.

I wonder if we all have days like this that are more worthy of celebration than the anniversary of something as big as a surgery to declare us cancer-free.  Making it through a surgery does not always mean that the cancers in our lives are gone and that we are guaranteed to live.  Because living is more than simply breathing and existing from day to day.  And the cancers we harbor in our hearts are far more debilitating and deadly than those that can weaken our shells.

Can’t we, instead, decide to feel victorious all along the way, with every step of progress we make?  Doesn’t it feel better to celebrate someone’s life and all she taught you and the love you shared rather than her death and your loss?  Wouldn’t you rather not worry about the actual day of your divorce and instead focus on the person you’ve become since?  It just seems more positive and uplifting to focus on the good that’s come of a sad or hard experience instead of letting a past date haunt us or define us.

I wonder if there are days far more meaningful than even our wedding days, for instance.  Maybe it’s several years in and you realize you’re more committed and in love than you were even all dressed up and fancy, oblivious to the hard times to come.  Maybe it’s the day you decided to stay instead of giving up, the day you decided to truly give your whole heart to your spouse, knowing what marriage entails and how hard it will likely continue to be. While I’m sort of amazed at how fast time has gone when our wedding anniversary comes around each year, honestly I feel like celebrating more every time Todd and I make amends and connect again after a tense upset.  I love the ordinary days when I’m aware of how far we’ve come and how much we’ve gone through and how close we’ve grown.  Those ordinary days feel triumphal.

People ask about our funny little house all the time. I suppose we could have a special dinner every year to commemorate the day we closed on it, but honestly we feel a deeper sense of accomplishment with each finished project along the way.  And what I celebrate even more is when someone tells me she feels comfortable here, that it feels like home, or that it just feels good.  No flooring or painting job comes close.  So no, the closing date means nothing; what our home has come to mean to us and how it’s been used makes me happier than even thinking about the day when we will finally own it outright 100 years from now.

Even birthdays are less significant than what happens between them.  I feel a lot of pressure to celebrate birthdays in an expectant way, and I’m always secretly glad when they pass.  And obviously it’s important that we acknowledge these occasions, for sure.  But I derive much more joy and feel even more celebratory in those ordinary times when we’ve come through the other end of a trial, when a child starts to say he loves us for real, when we see evidence of the person they’re becoming, when we overcome a misunderstanding, when I note what it really means to be a year older and wiser.  Those are the times when I feel victorious as a family and a person and like throwing a party.

While obviously I’m all in when it comes to acknowledging special days and wins, I think there is merit in noticing the small successes that happen in everyday life, in between the anniversaries.  I also don’t like being tethered to events, especially the sad ones.  I’d rather center my heart on what’s happened since and focus on the growth that it encouraged.

And so, yes, it’s a milestone, no doubt.  Five years is five years without finding more cancer.  And five years is five more years with my people.  I’m not saying it’s not.  But if all we do is commemorate a day and realize we aren’t different—and better—versions of ourselves because of it, what are we celebrating anyway?

A life worthy of recollection

I can’t help but reflect on the life of an older friend and her family as we say goodbye to a beloved wife, mother, grandmother, aunt, sister, and friend this week.

I guess I’ve known her and her family for nearly 20 years now.  There were times when we’d sit in my friend’s backyard when we had gatherings and dinners, back when she was a little more spry and communicative.  I don’t remember many of details of these occasions, just that she had MS, which limited her in some capacities.  She wasn’t always in a wheelchair, so I didn’t know what her abilities were, how much she could do.  Isn’t that how it is?  We try to draw conclusions by what we see overtly, rarely making a correct assessment.  I knew one man growing up who was completely engulfed by MS and incapacitated, while my teenaged best friend has lived with it unseemingly for over a decade.  I was tentative with Anna (and people I didn’t know well, regardless of their physical abilities) so I tended to shy away from greeting it and her much, uncertain as I was.  I was preoccupied with my young family at these gatherings.  Or maybe with just myself and my insecurities and inability to know how to be.  I’m afraid I retreated and quietly refused to engage as much as I could have.

But my memories of Anna always include Kim.  Kim is Anna’s daughter, but has also spent many years as her caregiver.  A common phrase was, “I have to take care of my mom” when there was a conflict in schedules or we wanted to get together.  It was a regular refrain, just as much a part of Kim as Dr. Pepper and canned frosting.  I never thought anything about it really.  And how could I?  I had no frame of reference, no context for anything like caring for a parent.  And, like I said, I was too preoccupied with my own self that it never occurred to me to open my eyes any further.

Over the years, this family became an extension of our family.  I didn’t see Carl or Anna very often, but they were there in the background, familiar characters in the story of Kim’s daily life.  Somehow, though, her parents seemed to know who we were too and welcomed us into their hearts any time our paths crossed.  Their warmth and acceptance were calming and we began to slowly know each other better.

It wasn’t until my kids were quite a bit older that I began to peek up from the mess and chaos I perpetually found myself in that I had the wherewithal to pay attention to others.

And maybe this corresponded with when Kim went back to school.  I couldn’t fathom how she managed to care for her own family as well as her mom (and sometimes additional parents) on top of her homework and studying.  I just knew she was used to taking care of her mom and that she seemed like Super Woman, able to juggle everything without a blink.

I always admired the respect she had for her mom and the positive light she portrayed her in.  Of course we giggled about her affinity for the mall and her buys on QVC; I knew her mom liked to go out to eat and to be with the family.  And although I’m sure it was taxing to make time in her schedule for such things, Kim always seemed happy to comply and to spend time with her mom.

I’m sure there was a time of grief—and perhaps it’s been ongoing—for the more traditional experiences they never had as mother and daughter.  Those thoughts made me feel a little wistful for Kim and I felt sad for her missed opportunities I felt were necessary.

But over the years I’ve come to realize what had really been going on.  I’ve noticed how much time Kim has been able to spend with her mom, probably more than almost anyone else I know.  Not the once a year fatastical trips around the world where the focus is outward and extravagant, but in everyday, close-up kinds of ways that most of us will never take advantage of.

I never actually thought about the care Kim’s given her mom until not too long ago.  I had no idea what it entailed; and, to be honest, I’m still not sure exactly what all she did.  I know she got her ready for bed and tended to her personal needs, but we’ve never really talked much more about it.

Kim’s not only been caregiver to her mom, but she seems to be the one in charge of the family.  Not entirely or officially, but the gathering place, the one the others turn to, the one who knows what’s going on and who seems to make arrangements.  And that could totally just be from my vantage point as the outside friend.  But sometimes the middle child acts as peacemaker and the connector among family; and, in my mind, she starred in that role.

But as I’ve spent more time around aging people, it’s hit me how devoted Kim has been, how much patience it takes to check in regularly, how much energy it takes to sit quietly and to listen and to consider ways to increase comfort or to anticipate needs.  She is a marvel, and I’ve commented so many times over the years that maybe she should’ve been a nurse instead of a teacher.  And we’ve laughed at times when her home became such a center of convalescing that if she had just one more patient she would have needed a license.

Looking back, maybe as we would all conclude, obviously I should’ve visited more.  But that’s a lesson to apply to future friends because regret should do nothing more than propel us to better action ahead.  And yet I’m grateful for even the sparse interactions we had.  I couldn’t imagine my busy and full and varied life’s activities and wants crammed into a shared room with just a tv for company.  Visiting her humbled me immediately and I felt almost ashamed of any complaints I’d voiced recently, kind of like a confessional.  I realized how much I had as far as material comforts as well as diversions, and I vowed to appreciate it all more once I left.  It was easy to let her talk, to listen to what she had bottled up, to ask questions about all the characters in her life’s story, to notice the family pictures collaged on her wall, to determine what made her proud in life.  She never spoke without referring to her family, her kids and grandkids, and of course Carl, the love of her life.  She would tell me the story of how they met, how long it’s been that they’ve cared for each other, and how devoted Carl’s been to meet her every day for lunch.  The love they share is evident and palpable, something to envy in this day of disposable relationships.  Her oral memories became my pep talk, and she was my cheerleader, subtly reminding me to take care of my own people so I too could look back on my life with them with fondness and satisfaction that I’d loved fully. 

It’s interesting, at funerals, as we reflect on the people who have come into our lives.  Many times I haven’t really known the person and as we spend an hour talking and sharing, I’m always regretful that I didn’t make more of an effort to become better acquainted.  And I end up wishing I’d invested a little more, for I realize I missed out, that these are amazing people, that everyone has a story that we assume we already know.  But I’ve learned that we can learn from absolutely everyone, that when we learn to invest and come in close, we are taught and inspired and better off for the time we spent together.  I’ve also come to believe that we are in one another’s lives on purpose.  Maybe we wonder why or we suspect that it’s all just coincidence, or, more likely, we don’t give it a thought.  But maybe we should pay attention to the people in our circles, in our lives—even those on the periphery.  Because maybe there are others like Anna—and Kim—who are meant to be right where they are, to enhance and enrich and to teach us in specific ways we weren’t aware we needed.

And so I’m grateful for this lovely lady, full of spunk and life and honesty, who opened her frail and failing arms to me, just another friend of her daughter.  She made me feel like she wanted me there, that she was glad I’d come, even though our connection was a tiny thread.  She taught me to find the good, to open my heart a little more to the potential friends in my path, to honor motherhood and marriage, to prioritize family, to share my faith, and to appreciate the tiniest slivers of joy around us.  While I’m sad for this part of Kim’s life to change, I’m so grateful for the example she’s shown of unselfish love, devotion, and long-term care.  I’m a more aware person, and I hope to become more thoughtful as a result, because I’ve been a bystander to this most loving of mother-daughter relationships. 

Drowning in the past

I think Avery was trying to persuade me to do something water-related this past summer; I can’t remember the circumstances exactly.  But I fell back to my pat-answer excuse as to why there was no way I’d be able to do that.  Forgetting that she’d heard it all before, I told her the story of when I was young.

I’d been on a little blow-up row boat in the San Diego bay, just paddling along, doing just fine.  Till I was done.  I stepped out of the raft and, instead of landing on the soft salt-water flooring, I became completely immersed, way over my head, deep (it felt).  I floundered and panicked, not knowing how to swim or how to help myself.  I was terrified and alone, unsure what would become of me.  Thankfully, my uncle visiting from Scotland noticed my plight from the shore and came to my rescue, pulling me from my peril.  I simply explained this to Avery, “I almost drowned when I was little, and I’ve been nervous around water ever since.”

To which she replied, “So did I.”

Taken completely off-guard, I realized she was right!  I had totally forgotten that.  We were staying at a hotel with some friends and were swimming with the kids in a great pool with a waterslide.  They were pretty young and needed to be caught at the end of their rides, which we were happy to do.  But at one point we turned away, distracted, and forgot to look for them as they took another ride; maybe we didn’t realize they had gone back up.  Callum and Avery were together, with no one to catch them at the end.  So when they went under without us to bring them up, they panicked, petrified, submersed, unable to swim.  Avery, as the big sister, was doing her best to hold Callum up while she stayed under the water.  She told me later she remembered reading some quote on one of our walls or the fridge about putting our family first.  So she took it upon her to save him above herself. You can only imagine the flood of emotions that surged through me when she told me that.  When we realized they were struggling, we were stunned and terrified, not knowing what exactly had happened.  When we finally reached them and got them out, Avery was blue.  They were fine, thank goodness, but everyone was shaken.  Rightfully so.  I felt intense anguish, and a pit in my stomach formed.  Whenever they mentioned it over the years, I felt that same shame, regret, sorrow and pain.  They’d almost drowned.  On my watch.

So when she matter-of-factly told me she’d experienced the same thing I had and I noticed she was happily moving forward in spite of it, I felt a little abashed.  Then humbled.  She was right. She had almost drowned.  But she chooses to leave that experience in the past rather than cart it behind her, letting it weigh her down, whenever she has an opportunity to enjoy a new water activity.  She is not tethered to her fear; that event doesn’t define her as mine does.

Ever since that morning on the bay so many years ago, I’ve hesitated around deep water.  Yes, I boogie-boarded throughout my youth, but I’ve felt uncomfortable on boats ever since and avoid any water craft and activity related to deep water if I can.  That tiny scare all those years ago has effected so much of what I’ve allowed myself to do.  I’ve never been water skiing or off a diving board.  I hate going under water at all; instead of feeling free, I feel claustrophobic, like it’s closing in on me.  Yes, I learned to swim and spent much of my summers as a young girl in San Diego in pools and the ocean, but I’ve shied away as much as possible over the years.  And I’ve always hated watching my own kids out on the lake on rafts, afraid they’d endure the same trauma I had or, worse, that I’d have to go rescue them.

But Avery’s observation was an awakening for me, now in my late 40s, maybe 35 years later.  She is so right.  Why do I allow one instance to limit me and to influence so many of my decisions?  Why have I not filed that memory away properly instead of leaving it on my desk as a constant reminder that water can potentially be dangerous?

As I’ve thought about my wise little girl and her confidence, I’m so relieved.  And proud.  She is not defined by her past.  She refuses to let something like that change her future or what she wants to do.  And I’ve wondered how many of us in the world are like her.  Or like me.

I hate to admit that I’ve let this affect me for so long.  And, to be honest, I doubt I’ll ever fully embrace water fun.  But I know I’m not alone.  So many people play the victim card and refuse to get back in the water after a traumatic event.  It’s comfortable to stay on the shore, to slap down the explanation about our pasts as an excuse to sit this part of life out, to refuse to engage because of fear.

We’ve all been hurt, so cliche, such a catch-all phrase; but truly we have.  We’ve endured break-ups, rejections, losses, misunderstandings, being called out, fails, not being chosen, health crises, lost hopes, being misjudged, whatever; it’s all part of the human experience.  But why do we sometimes insist on hanging on to some of these negative experiences and weave them into our beliefs about ourselves and what we’re capable of?

My daughter’s quick retort caused me to reflect.  Are there other pieces of my life I’ve decided about based on past experiences?

I remember being judged as a younger person as being self-righteous and stuck-up and shy.  Tough labels to overcome.  I was so insecure and inward-thinking.  I always felt so un-cool, not athletic in the least, unsure if I had any talents—certain that I’d missed that line.  I could definitely produce supporting details for each of those bullets if I were writing an English essay.

But some people I know have experienced genuine hardships—real or contrived.  They may harbor a word to encompass what they’ve gone through: abandonment, rejection, or abuse maybe.  But the question that comes to mind is, what good is that doing?  To stifle our progression simply because we’re too stubborn to relegate earlier life events to the past seems counterproductive.  It’s as if we’ve built a shrine and are continuing to collect relics to place at its base as penance or like we’re creating a case and are constantly looking for supporting evidence for our spiral notepad.  Which, by the way, we will always find.  We see what our brain tells us to look for.

Just an interesting observation, this interchange with Avery. I’ve been asking myself some hard questions as a result of her comment and am encouraged by her no-nonsense, forward-thinking approach to life.  And while I may or may not decide to don a suit and certify as a scuba instructor anytime soon, I’m anxious to see how else I’ve been subconsciously limiting myself simply because of past negative experiences—actual or imagined.

A season without sports

I just can’t help but wonder how we got here.  And if here is a good place to be.  I wonder what we’ve given up, what we’re trading to be here. Not that it’s necessarily all bad.  I just wonder if we ever stop to think about it.

Super sensitive topic, I hesitate and delete and try again and erase and pause and pick it up later.  I hate the idea of hurting anyone’s feelings, and I’m aware that I’m definitely in the minority. But I’ve thought about this for years now and I feel even more strongly about it than I did when we first made some changes back when the kids were in elementary school. Because I’ve seen so many kids grow up, I’ve talked to friends intimately and honestly, and I’ve heard regret. 

And possibly (probably?) I lean this way because the culture in our family isn’t super athletic.  But our background is similar to many of yours.  We did our share of sports growing up (tennis, track, softball, t-ball, swimming).  Our kids have all done sports.  They did community soccer from when they could barely dribble between cones.  We tried karate.  They’ve nearly all done cross country.  One did tennis.  A couple have done track.  A couple have done volleyball.  It’s not like we’ve been on the sidelines.  And yet I feel as if we may as well be up in the bleachers. 

I know I’m out there, but I’m just wondering aloud if we push competitive sports too much in our culture. And if there’s a way to invite them into our lives without letting them take over.  I wonder if we could go back to making it a little less heavy and intense.  What about just for fun? What about going back to being able to play a variety of sports because you didn’t have to specialize in just one?

Most of us are living pretty tightly scheduled.  With a bunch of kids of different ages, I get that.  I’m right there with you.  (Kind of.)  But I wonder if we can ask ourselves and our kids some questions when it comes to their activities.

How important is this to you?

What are we giving up as a family to make this work?

What do you see yourself doing with this in the future?

Do you have time for the really important things in life? Do we as a family?

Do you have time for people?

How’s your stress level? How are you emotionally?  How’s your school work?

Do you have unstructured time just to be?

Will this add joy and happiness to your life?  Is this fulfilling?

Could we achieve some of these objectives in other ways?

What are we learning from coaches that we couldn’t learn from parents?  In other ways?

Is what we’re sacrificing for sports worth it?

Are there other ways you might like to spend your time? Would you consider taking a break to try something new?

I guess I just hope we’re being mindful.  That we aren’t just signing up because we can.  Yes, we may have time.  Dad or mom is the coach, we’re doing it with them. Yes, it may be his God-given talent.  Yes, it may pay for college.  Yes, he’ll probably even play in the pros and yes, if we work hard enough she’ll have a shot at the Olympics.  Yes, we know how much you loved athletics when you were her age. Yes, there are a million great things we can learn from participating with a team and all that entails.  Yes, coaches can be awesome mentors.  Yes, teamwork, commitment, follow through, dependability, life skills, exercise, yes, yes, yes.  But is this the only way? And is it the best way?

What if we worked as a team in the garden? Or to build a greenhouse? Or to build someone else a house?  What if we didn’t have practice or a game and could just go up to the mountains all day Saturday or for family night picnic on a long summer evening? What if we just read a book in the hammock or played tennis with a sister since we have a free afternoon? What if we invited friends over and played volleyball or football in the yard?  What if we used our yards? What if we didn’t have to stick around all of June and could go camping instead? What if we didn’t have to fundraise? What if we used even a little bit of the thousands of dollars (hotels, gas, eating out, fees, equipment) and saved it for college in case, for some reason, she doesn’t end up getting a scholarship? Or used it to go on a family vacation that didn’t require sitting on a soccer field?  What if we didn’t have any idea what we’d do with the extra time and money but we just said no?  Just for a season.  Just to see what would happen.

To be agreeable, I’d say one sport and one music (or whatever works for each family) at a time is plenty for a kid.  Even at that, with several kids in a family, it can still get out of control.  And so maybe we need to ask some hard questions and make some sacrifices. Maybe we need to rotate who can do what each season.  At least while they’re young.  I love the athletics at the schools, with practice right after, close, convenient.  A few games or meets, a short season, doable, I’m in.  I’m also completely fine once they can drive themselves.  But I still think we need to be mindful.  And talk about the impact sports are having on our families.

And this is why I even broach such a controversial topic.  Because I feel like the world is already influencing our kids too much.

Schools have our kids all day and then sports seem to be taking up the afternoons and into the evenings and even spilling over into the weekends.  Social media seems to be filling in all the gaps.  I just feel like to be able to teach our kids and to influence them and to share our values we need to spend more time with them while at the same time allowing them time to figure things out on their own (with more unscheduled time away from teachers and coaches even).

I doubt anyone disputes the fact that our families require our attention.  Look around.  Families are flailing and failing.  And they desperately need us to be engaged in significant ways.  Our kids need us.  They don’t need good coaches more than they need parents.  They don’t just need other young people their age to keep them company, they need to develop strong relationships with their siblings and extended family. More than team spirit and comraderie with girls on the volleyball team, they need to forge lifelong connections with their brothers and sisters who are growing up and leaving home; these are the people who will carry them through life and who will always have their backs, not their teammates from jr. high.

And, to be honest, we simply don’t have time for it all.  I know we think this season is short.  This is temporary insanity.  We laugh knowingly when we talk about our schedules with other moms. It will be over in another month.  Until it’s time for the next sport.  But stop and really play it out.  When do we get back to real life? Are we tricking ourselves into thinking this isn’t real life?  That this isn’t how it always is, that this just happens to be an outlier, just one particularly hard, crazy season.

When we started soccer, it was an hour practice across the street from our house with a short game on Saturday.  When we started karate it was an hour a week.  But then it all started becoming more competitive and demanding and, without realizing it, we were sucked in to more than we signed up for.  What started out as a fun way to get some exercise and try something fun changed over time.

Are we splitting up the family to go to games in different parts of the region? Just to meet up again Sunday as we hit the new week?  When do we have dinner around the table as a family? Maybe Sunday? What about the other six days of the week? When do we have time for leisurely conversation about the mundane, the nuances of relationships the kids may be grappling with, the questions about life and their place in this world?  Yes, in the car.  Yes, while we eat our sandwiches on the sidelines.  Yes, I’ve been there; I lived there for years.  I know how it works.  And it does work.  To some extent.   I just wonder if we can give our kids something better.

Where will they learn the intricacies of working things out among peers without a coach to mitigate every conflict?  What happened to back yard play time or simple unstructured self-directed play with the inevitable, “I’m bored” whine? Why is that something we want to avoid? What if it actually propelled them to get creative and problem-solve and figure out their own fun without a paper schedule to dictate what they’re to do next? What would happen if we allowed or even encouraged loads of free time? What if they got a job? Worked more on family projects? Had more time to serve? Discovered a new hobby or learned a new skill? What if we simply cut back even a little?

What if we just talked about it as a couple? What do we really want for our kids? What role do we want sports to play in our family’s life? Are they enhancing our family life in long-term, valuable ways or are they depleting our already scarce resources of time and money and energy? Do we have time for the cornerstone activities: dinner, spiritual time, un-rushed time to talk, one-on-one one time with the kids, dates? And bring the kids into the conversation.  How do they see things? Is this how they want to play out the rest of high school? Do they have time for everything? Will these sacrifices matter long-term? Are they creating and keeping strong relationships outside of the team? Especially with their family? Will they regret how they spent these years?

And maybe the answer will be, We’re great! This is working for us! We’re thriving as a family, we’re fitting it all in, everyone’s good.  It’s crazy, but in a good way.  This is what our family does and we love it.  And that would be fabulous.  I know lots of families who somehow manage to do it all, kudos!  You’re the kind of family who could run circles around ours, you make me tired just listening to your schedule for the week, I’m in awe.  And if that’s you, carry on!

But I just wanted to at least bring it up.  I feel like our culture has swept us away in a sea of sports options starting very early and becoming ever more intense and involved, taking us away from other worthwhile pursuits and activities, which may include nothing more than a lazy afternoon on the grass and a pillow and her thoughts.  And if we’re not mindful and cognizant of the choices we’re making, we may inadvertently be missing out on other valuable, even critical, parts of life as a family.  I just wonder if someday, even many years from now as we look back on it all, we may have regrets about how we spent the tender, formative, and fleeting years of their childhoods.  And I wonder if we would've chosen a little differently if we had just given it a little thought.

Good, Better, Best talk by Dallin H. Oaks