Invisible success

My mom has trouble remembering things these days and gets a little confused sometimes, but she comes *alive* when I pull up to a weeding project like the one we did the other week.  She’d pointed them out to me every time we drove into her neighborhood, so I grabbed her one morning and told her we were heading out. She was in her glory and was a fastidious worker. Every time after that, when we drove into the neighborhood I pointed out where the weeds had been.  You can’t tell, I told her, but it looks so much better.

Same thing when I got back and I weeded my own yard for a good chunk of the morning and later looked back on my work.  It was hard to see what had happened because there were so many still lurking in every garden box.  But what you couldn’t see were the weeds that were no longer there.  There were blank spots, small clearings where they used to be.  And I reframed my morning’s work: my success was found in the absence, the lack of weeds.

My daughter explained a concept to me recently, “A common catch phrase in the design world is that good design is invisible. I think that good mothering is the same way.  It’s like you hardly notice because you can only really tell by the lack of trauma, trust issues, unhealthy habits, etc.”

I’ve just had that idea sitting in the back of my mind as I think about the dishes that aren’t in the sink or the dirt that’s not on the cabinets or the laundry that’s not piled in the basket. No one knows the work that’s gone on behind the scenes to get to that point, but we all know how conscientiously we strive to create that kind of lack.

We’ve been remodeling our yard and home for the past 8.5 years.  And it’s truly still an average house, for real.  But because we know how much effort and time has gone into it and how many issues and problems we’ve dealt with, we so appreciate where we are.  No one can see how far we’ve come because so many things are no longer issues: the weird siding we’ve replaced, the dying trees we took out, the strange electrical socket placements we had smoothed over, the ugly 80s laminate we tore out, the rotting kitchen cabinets we got rid of. So it looks like a regular house, absolutely nothing special.  Yet Todd and I love it more than anyone because we can visualize the changes we’ve made in our heads.

I just can’t help but think of so many things we’re all doing that no one sees, that have no “products” as results, where the success really is a lack of something. It could be dirt that’s been swept away, old condiments purged from the fridge, piles of papers that have been sorted, grease on the grill that’s been abated, overgrown grape vines that have been clipped, a child who’s been given attention and love and care, or a marriage that’s been nurtured and prioritized. You can’t see any of it. So even though there’s precious little to show for all we put into parts and pieces of our lives, I love the idea that in some ways good design—whether that’s a yard or a relationship or a home—can be invisible. 

Small and simple

Being on a trip is always bittersweet, maybe especially when you’re a hobby farmer.  As rejuvenating as it is to visit new places, playacting like we’re retired, we feel a weight descending upon us as we’re taxiing to the gate.  In the summer our weeds will have grown up tenacious and prolific, regardless of the state we left our beds in. This past month, however, was a glorious return because we’d skipped town with two feet of snow on the ground and returned to clear roads without a moment’s thought about weeds.  It just made me think about all the time we spend in our yard during the warmer months and how being away for even a few days erases all our previous work, reminding us how imperative it is to spend just a little time every day outside to keep larger growth at bay.

And it made me think about other small actions that add up over time. We were talking with the kids about money and how small contributions can grow, reminding them we started putting $25 a month into each of their savings accounts when they were little. It felt sort of silly and definitely insignificant, such a small amount, but with five kids we were just doing the best we could. Yet over the years, along with them saving 50% of everything they earned at their jobs and mowing lawns, it all added up so that as headed off to college and needed to buy cars, they had a little to start with.

We’d been with our son and his wife in their new apartment, wondering if there was a gym in their complex and if they used it. Our son said he can never see a difference in his weight or looks when he’s worked out.  But she said she can tell she’s stronger when it comes to lifting groceries, etc. when she does weights regularly.

And that clicked for me. So often we can’t tell from the outside what difference our efforts are making or maybe we feel overwhelmed with the prospects of a project or lifestyle overhaul. But a good friend had a health scare and has steadily cut out soda and many unhealthy foods and has been walking more… nothing too crazy and he’ll admit he doesn’t always stick to the plan.  But he is consistently losing weight, 30 pounds so far.  We’re so proud of him, impressed by how impactful these incremental changes have been!

I thought about how this is true in relationships too. I love connecting with our kids, parents, siblings, and friends. I remember in college how I looked forward to Sunday nights and talking on the phone with my far-away family. Of course these days we don’t have to wait for weekend rates, and I love getting a random text from a friend just saying hi, asking how I’m doing, wanting to get together at a coffee shop later this week, another wanting to meet for lunch, another to confirm our weekly lunch/tv/walk date, another sending a picture of a newly finished quilt, another making weekend plans, my sisters calling on the way to work. These tiny drops coalesce to create a network of loved ones, every interaction reinforcing the fabric of our love and care for one another.

And that’s just it.  By engaging in the tiniest ways with our gardens, our bodies, our relationships, or new habits, we’re becoming stronger. And then, as unexpected hard times come, whether sickness, a misunderstanding, or financial set back, we have the reserve we’ve been contributing to all along the way. These investments aren’t insurance against trouble, weeding won’t prevent new weeds from sprouting, exercise and eating well aren’t bulwarks against contracting a virus, saving money won’t assure that we won’t have to budget or be sensible, and consistent connection with loved ones doesn’t mean we won’t have miscommunication or hurt feelings occasionally.  Of course not.

But I think of what these efforts create. There’s a security and confidence knowing we have what it takes to get through whatever we’re faced with because we’ve built our inner scaffolding to be strong and to withstand the winds of uncertainty and hardship. I’ve never been an all-or-nothing person; rather, I’m a firm believer that consistently lifting small weights, having a can or two stocked away for a rainy day, a quick sandwich with a friend, picking up a piece of trash, sending a text at the light, a two-minute call to mom, looking up an unfamiliar word, catching a short news update as I’m getting ready, taking a walk around the block with Todd and sticking to our Thursday lunch date all amalgamate to strengthen ourselves, our relationships and our world, not only to help us through the inevitable “rough air” as they’re always talking about on our flights, but to empower and spark joy in the very moment we decide to do something however small.