What is like to be you?

What is it like to be you
Here’s what I know happens whenever I come at someone with my point of view rigidly holding me hostage: I become nervous—will I be able to convince them of the validity of my position?; forceful—do I have the strength to get them to see things my way; and/or passive—defeated before I begin. (And yes, I suspect my punctuation in that sentence was lacking…)

Here’s what I know happens when I come alongside someone with a flexible mindset and willingness to understand the situation from their point of view, or at least consider that they have one equally dear to their heart: I listen with what I call a quiet mind. And most importantly, I come across as genuinely wanting to know: What is it like to be you?
For those of you familiar with my work, you’ll recognize this as Act I. It’s the essential pre-cursor to offering our advice to our kids (or anyone), and our best shot at actually activating their willingness to hear what we have to say, whether it’s a suggestion about how to approach a difficult friend, a critique of their history essay, or an expression of concern about their withdrawal.

When we feel heard and understand, we humans lower our guard and become more receptive. Conversely, when we smell someone’s agenda and their need to inflict it upon us, our guard goes up and so does the wall that prevents us from taking in whatever they’re trying to lay on us.

The next time you have something important to say to your child, your teen, your spouse or your neighbor, try giving them the chance to describe to you the planet they live on. Ask the question, “What is like to be you?” and then keep your lips together and listen. Encourage them to keep talking with, “Tell me more” or “Gosh, that sounds like it was pretty hard when your teacher told you to sit back down just as you were coming to ask for help. What happened then?”

When we give someone we love the chance to show us reality from their vantage point, we offer them the opportunity to be seen and accepted as is. From there, we have a chance of sharing our thoughts, ideas or opinions, without coming across as shoving it down their throats, or correcting their “faulty” thinking or behavior.

Consider this the next time you prepare for a difficult conversation—or when one lands unexpectedly in your lap. Start with the mindset: What is it like to be you? Chances are, the conversation will go in a new, healthy direction.

What Chemicals Bathed Your Baby's Brain?

And how did they affect his/her personality?

I’ve been reading a fascinating book about the powerful impact that the hormones and neurotransmitters that flood us in utero have on who we become. The author even suggests that when a lot of testosterone washes over a fetus’ brain, it the fourth finger longer than the second finger, and quotes data connecting linguistic skills with significant exposure in the womb to estrogen. In her opinion, our personalities and temperaments are profoundly influenced by the levels of serotonin, dopamine, estrogen and testosterone we’re exposed to before we ever leave the cozy comfort of the womb.

According to the research in the book, we become an Explorer, Builder, Negotiator or Director, based largely on which neurotransmitters and hormones were most dominant during our fetal development. The author makes a compelling case for explaining why some people are more sensitive, some more traditional, some more assertive, and others more attracted to adventure.

When I read theories like this I become convinced that the more we can understand and accept our children as they are, the more cooperative, happy and well-adjusted they will become.

If you somehow were able to discover that your son had been dosed more heavily than his brother with testosterone when he was in the womb, would you be more forgiving of his intense competitiveness, or compare him less to his gentler sibling? Would you judge or lecture your daughter less if you understood that, given the particular cocktail of chemicals that bathed her brain, her excitable tendencies may not be as easy for her to manage as you’d like to believe?

The better we understand the magnificence of each child’s unique design, the better we will be able to nurture his or her ability to be their most authentic self. Regardless of how you get there—whether it’s through spiritual understanding, or hard science—when you take pleasure in who your child is, you give him or her the freedom to become all of who he or she is meant to be.

None of us are defined by our biology; I believe we have the ability to learn to manage whatever bio-chemical tendencies we may have inherited. I’ve seen profoundly depressed individuals do the work that liberates them from living a muted life, and marveled at people who have developed the skills to manage debilitating, genetically-based anxiety.

But I also know what a gift we give our children when we don't require them to explain or justify their inherent personality, and instead encourage them to make the most of their temperament.

Food for thought, not only as we parent our children and teens, but as we continue the journey of self-acceptance, self-love, and self-care.

I Love That My House is Messy

I love that my house is messy. I love that there are dishes on the coffee table and socks carelessly tossed around the living room. I love that several slightly used tissues are peeking out from under the pillows on the couch, next to my son's ever present guitar. And I love that the smoothie shaker sits next to a mostly empty glass of milk, all conveniently located in front of the TV where a lot of basketball is being watched.

Mostly, I love that wherever I look, I see signs of my boy, that six foot five fella who has been scarce around here because of that college thing he has goin on. He's back now for the summer, and as much as I love the life I live when he's away, something in the universe feels perfect and right, now that he's home.

Don't get me wrong. I like a tidy house as much as the next momma. And truth be told, my kid is pretty great about cleaning up after himself. But I can't describe how much pleasure it brings me to have things out of order, a little askew in a way that only happens when you have kids around.

I can remember--dimly--a time when I found it irritating to clean up after him. Sounds crazy, but with him having been away so much, it's hard to remember how annoying it was to have socks all over the living room and dirty dishes on the coffee table. But I know there was a time when it mattered much more to me that my house was spiffy. And I'm pretty sure I'll start remembering it--and feeling that irritation--once he's been home a few weeks.

But for now, I'm just enjoying the sweetness of it all. This morning we made a big breakfast together--he cooks a lot now, which is a cool. Tonight after dinner, I made the guys a big bowl of my famous popcorn, delighted to partake with them in a old ritual.

It is different--don't get me wrong. And it should be. My son's turning becoming a man, and is leaning much more into his own life--his job, internship, friends and all that. He spends a lot of time on his own, doing his thing while I do mine. I don't know where he is the way I once did, or when he'll be home. It's definitely, and appropriately, different.

But all that is a function of the outward adjustments we're each making as we sort out how to be parent/son while he grows up. Still, we're figuring out--through trial and error--how to be around each other in this new way. (He lived on his own last year in New York, so this is the longest run he's had at home since going off to college.)

What's really going on, for me, is a quiet hum of Momma contentment. There's an unspeakable joy at having my son here, probably accentuated (a lot) because I'm (a lot) more aware of how fleeting this time with him is.

So having the socks or the dirty dishes just doesn't seem like a big deal. It's all so precious to me now, now that I recognize the lightning speed with which my son is barreling toward his own, independent life.

I'm cheering him on, encouraging him as he takes steps further out of the nest. (Strange, how this works.) I love that he's buying an old beater (car) for the summer, and going to Africa in the fall. The whole process of watching him move further into his life thrills me.

But I am also cherishing this time, allowing myself to be more present with each moment, sort of like savoring a piece of chocolate, rather than polishing off the whole box distractedly.

Like anything else, we tend to appreciate most that which is in short supply. When our kids are little, the tasks seem endless, as do the dirty dishes. But when you arrive at the stage where I am now, the edges soften, and the little things--a meal together, a moment playing with the dog--become golden.

I love my messy house, and everything in it. Especially right now.

Six foot five, and still splits my heart open...

The phone rings, and it startles me; it’s 11:00 pm, after all, and pretty late for someone to be calling. It turns out that it’s my son Ari, calling from DC where it’s actually 2:00 in the morning… calling for a chat!

It still sometimes surprises me that I have a son. I know that may sound strange, but it’s true. There were times, after I birthed him, when I was in the throes of integrating this entirely new being into my life, and with that, an entirely new me that had been born. I can remember walking into a room where he was sleeping, feeling astonished that this miracle had happened in my life. It was as though I had won the lottery, only much better; I had a divine being in my midst, someone whose heart would forevermore be twined around mine.

Still, with Ari no longer underfoot, I sometimes get so into the flow of my day to day life that I forget that for all practical purposes, one of my arms or a significant chunk of my heart exists 3,000 miles away, doing its own thing. Perhaps this is just an adaptive measure my psyche has taken to adjust to his absence. Or maybe it’s part of Nature’s design; as our kids grow up and into their own lives, we naturally shift more into our own.

And then the phone rings, and I’m flooded with a love that catches me off guard. There’s a joy and an ache in my heart and my bones, and a wonder at how this kind of mother love could have been going on for women since forever. How unspoken and gorgeous it is.

He hasn’t been feeling well, wonders if I can send him some Wellness Formula. He’s chatty—unexpectedly, blessedly… We talk about our dog, and his job (working midnight to 4:00 am, even when he’s sick) and about grandma, and the weather, and Egypt, and after a while he’s tired so I tell him I love him and he tells me he loves me, and there it is, that holy moment that splits my heart open yet again… and again…

It has—and continues to be—an adventure in holding on and letting go. The dance steps involved with parenting a young adult are complex and unpredictable; I have definitely not mastered them. Sometimes I don’t call and he emails me with, “Where are you? I tried to call you, like, five times last week!” and sometimes I call too often and he’s busy or tired or gotta run. Sometimes I long to give advice but hold back, and other times I jump in with some insight and he actually receives it.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get this right. But I do know that when I stay out of my head and focus on the love, there are some killer moments.

And I marvel, still and now, after 20 years, in awe of the miracle of my son, and the chance I’ve had to be his momma…in all the ways that has looked until now, and yet to come.

Thank you, Mrs. Robinson, for Settling in at the White House

Tremors of joy-- and relief -moved through me when Barack Obama was elected President, so much so that the night he won, I booked flights to DC for the inauguration (largely at the pull of my politically enlightened teenage son) before I had a clue about the crazy costs of tickets or hotels.

My delight in the Obama family taking up residence in the White House took yet another leap when I discovered that the new First Lady would be helped in looking after her children not by a nanny, but by their grandma.

How cool is that? Way cool.

It really does take a village to raise a child. We are, at heart, tribal creatures, meant to bring our kids up in the midst of aunties and poppas and neighboring kids who wander in and out of our "hut." Children are supposed to move fluidly through generations, hearing the first waaaa of a baby being born in the yurt next door, or witnessing the wailing grief of a neighbor at the loss of their beloved.

Kids thrive when they are guided--and disciplined--by cherished grannies and respected uncles. The notion that two parents (or just as commonly today, one) are equipped to do all of the physical and emotional heavy lifting that comes with bringing up a child is insane. We see proof in chronically exhausted parents feeling disconnected from their kids, and in youngsters whose primary "guidance" comes from friends at school, TV and cyberspace.

As simple as a child's needs appear to be--Feed, Clean, Wipe, Put to Bed, Wake Up, Put in Car, Pick Up, Get Homework Done, Drive Places--it is exhausting to be "on", all of the time, no matter how much you love your children or how dedicated you are to being there for them.

Everybody wins when kids are raised by extended family. Whether we create that by aligning with close friends or neighbors, or by inviting our mother-in-law to share the adventure, it's vital that we recognize that the era of raising kids in a shrunken nuclear family isn't in their--or our--best interest. It isn't working. We aren't meant to raise kids in isolation.

Thank you President and Ms. Obama--and especially, Mrs. Robinson--for reminding us that it really does take a village to raise a child. Thank you for helping parents remember that it's true that we do really get by better-- with a little help from our friends...or from Grandma.

Rosie's love

My dog, Rosie, worships the ground I walk on. That may be an understatement. When I take the trash cans out to the street, she leaps with unbridled joy upon my return, as if I’d been away for days. If I come home after being gone for a few hours, she runs circles around the back yard, unable to contain her excitement. If I were to go to the airport to pick up my son after he’d been away for a week, she would fall into a state of bliss upon our return---because of seeing me. Her love is constant and uncomplicated.

This morning when I emerged into the living room, I acknowledged Rosie briefly as she greeted me with delight, and then I put the kettle on and went to check my email.

And then I stopped myself. There she was, looking at me expectantly, eyes full of adoration, and there I was, absentmindedly noticing her in my peripheral vision while I got down to the “important” task of checking my email.

She was beside herself with happiness when I got down with her on the floor. I scratched and rubbed and loved her up, and she did what dogs do best—exude pure, unadulterated love. And the funny thing is, although I had originally felt a certain urgency to respond to an important email, my priorities restacked themselves as I sat with Rosie and remembered—again—that what I care most about on any given day is living with a heart full of love and enjoyment.

I got to thinking about how similar kids are to puppies. How often do our children wait in our periphery as we do important (“important?”) things? How many times do they end up going off to do their own thing after seeing that we’re busy? How often are we stingy with ourselves, putting a lid on how much love we allow ourselves to receive?

I’m not suggesting that parents stop to play with their children whenever they ask. It’s essential that kids learn to figure out how to entertain themselves without having a parent who drops whatever they’re doing when their child announces, “I’m bored.”

But I do know that if we want our fifteen-year old to confide in us about how much vodka was at last night’s party, or look to us for help in figuring out how to handle a friend’s betrayal, it’s a good idea to get down on the floor with them when they still believe our attention is a prize.

I’m convinced that the beauty of a child’s heart (and we can throw in doggies, as well) is in large part what keeps the world sane. When you drink in their love and affection, it feeds their sweet hearts, and yours as well.

So today—remember what matters, and see if you can fit in a moment for a scratch or a cuddle. Stretch your heart a little wider and receive that perfect love that might otherwise go unnoticed. It might just make your day.

Holding Hands with my Mom

I’m sitting in the audience at the Kansas City symphony listening to Hayden, beside my eighty-eight year old mother who is bathing in the beautiful music. We bickered briefly this morning, but I’m proud to say that we both let it go and are enjoying the concert together.

I pat her arm with love and she turns and smiles at me. Then she reaches for my hand and places it in hers. And there I sit, holding hands with my mom and sharing one of the most simple and perfect moments of my life. My heart fills, my eyes fill, and I relax in an unparalleled moment of being at peace with my imperfect mom, as her imperfect daughter, connecting where perfection doesn’t matter.

How often I have believed that my mom made it hard to love her. She criticized, nagged, doubted --all those things that flawed parents do with and to their children. And how often did I make it hard for her to love me—passionately defending and explaining myself in the hopes that she would “get it”, whatever “it” happened to be that day, all the while resisting her efforts because they were so off the mark.

If there’s a more complicated relationship than mother/ daughter, I’ve yet to discover it. Growing up, as much as I resisted her, I longed to feel our love for each other. Certainly it got easier when I became an adult, even more so when I became a mother, but I confess to still having at least one big argument a year as my inner child’s longing for her to “get me” collided with her inability to do so.

Being a parent helped me figure some things out. I began to realize that if I held my mom to an unattainable standard, it would only be fair that I hold myself to one, as well, and I simply couldn’t always be a great parent. I did my best, and in fact my 19 year old son actually called me a couple of weeks ago from college because he wanted to tell me something important. “Mom, I want to thank you for raising me the way you did. You did a really great job.” I was speechless.

I thought about what he’d said—how I’d taught him about being accountable and responsible and so on, and that now that he’s at college he sees that in ways he never could before. But the truth is, I lost my patience plenty of times with him, saying and doing things that were ridiculous and beneath me

But one thing I did do was refuse to incriminate myself or dive into guilt and self-flagellation when I blew it. I acknowledged my mistakes without leaning too much on defending myself or blaming him when I got upset, and tried to make sure he felt heard and understood when things went wrong. Beyond that, I think I also just have a very forgiving son.

My boy has inspired me to become a more forgiving daughter. As I learn to accept my mom with all her beauty and kindness, as well as her neuroses, I find myself better able to put aside my expectations and simply love her. The funny thing is (and maybe this has something to do with the fact that she’s reading my book!) she is easier. Less defensive. Better able to listen.

I’d like to think it’s a result of her reading her daughter’s book, but I suspect it has as more to do with the fact that I’m giving her plenty of Act Ones, coming alongside her instead of at her, making her feel less defensive and better able to navigate our challenges.

Being a parent has to be the most challenging experience we can go through, but if we’re lucky, we get the chance to grow up and into our best selves. I’m grateful to my son for inspiring me to keep growing, and to my mom, for giving me the opportunity to grow even more.

My very best to all of you. Be kind to yourselves, and enjoy the ride.