Tag: relationships

Singing To the Other Side

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“The patterns we perceive are determined by the stories we want to believe.” – John Verndon

Last Friday before school, Mr. D didn’t want to come out of his room. He said there were monsters in the hallway. In a hurry to get the kids fed and ready for school, my plan was just to let him sit on his side of the door until he was ready to come out. But Miss O sat down outside his door and started singing “Do you want to build a snowman?” from the movie Frozen.

I have been reading The Persuaders after hearing a great podcast with Anand Giridharadas on Unlocking Us with Brené Brown and it helped me to see her efforts in a new light. She was meeting Mr. D where he was at, applying the song to the situation at hand.

It seems fitting on this day before mid-term elections to talk about this book in which Giridharadas, a former correspondent for the NY Times, talks about what he sees as the biggest danger to democracy – dismissing each other. When we stop believing that we can have fruitful discussions, we stop talking to each other.

Instead he interviews community organizers who are on the ground working for change and tells their stories of what works. One of the main points being meeting people where they are at – not expecting that we’ll all talk from the same language, perspective and assumptions. From there we can have conversations that move us all along.

Here’s where I admit that I haven’t finished the book. But it makes sense to me that when we are more united because we talk to each other, it’s harder for people to stoke the divide in our politics, whether it be politicians or trolls. Giridharadas spends time detailing what the Russians did with their troll farms in 2016 and I thought it was fascinating that a large part of what they did with their far-left and far-right trolls was to foment disgust about the other side. Much of what they tweeted about wasn’t facts – more like gossip that was like “Can you believe what the other side thinks?”

What I love about what Miss O’s effort is that she didn’t just leave Mr. D sitting on the other side of the door. She didn’t walk away and just leave him alone to do it his way, but instead through a little song that is sweetly sad, made him laugh and want to join in. It took her 44 seconds to get him to come out – I know, because I took a video.

Meeting people where they were at was a special talent of my dad’s as well. On this eighth anniversary of his death, I find it warming to write about how that skill is playing out across generations and if we make an attempt, can make a difference in our communities too.

Do You Want To Build a Snowman?

Do you want to build a snowman?
Come on let’s go and play
I never see you anymore
Come out the door
It’s like you’ve gone away!
We used to be best buddies
And now we’re not
I wish you would tell me why.
Do you want to build a snowman?
It doesn’t have to be a snowman

Going Round in Circles

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“While the world is full of wondrous sights, inner peace comes from staying home.” – The Tao Teh Ching

I live next to a little lake in Seattle. A lake that is about 2.8 miles in circumference. In the morning, I take Miss O to school on the north end of the lake, Mr. D to daycare on the east side of the lake and then home to work on the west side of the lake.

And then most afternoons I do the circuit again and pick up my little family.

I’ve been trying to put my finger on why sometimes it just seems like I’m going in circles and others it feels like a beautiful rhythm.

When I feel like I’m just going in circles, it’s when I’m in a rut or really impatient for what comes next. In those moments, what I’m doing just feels like something rote especially because I’ve lived somewhere around this lake in one place or another ever since I graduated from college 30 years ago.

The cure I’ve found for this is to slow down and notice what I’m seeing – the ducks, the water, the runners, the sky. Anything to tether me more closely to the sensation of today instead of the culmination of all that I’ve seen in the yesterdays.

And when I’m in the space to appreciate the rhythm of my trip around the lake, I have this beautiful sensation of knowing what’s important to me. It’s an exceptionally warm sense of gathering my family and the idea that we’ll all be together again and bundled in close.

So I’m growing to appreciate the metaphor of this full circle trip. The letting go and then collecting. It reminds me of all the other cycles: being fully open but then needing to shut down, time of great productivity and then needing to relax. Or, as I wrote about in the When I Write post, the mystical, depth of my mood in the morning contrasted with the state of the evening when I’m a shallow as a muddy puddle and just as unclear.

For all of these contrasts, there is always one that I prefer – being open, greatly productive and deep. Or in the bigger cycles of life like birth and death, or seasons of light and dark, I’d choose birth and light every time.

But unless I’m resisting, I always learn from the less favored part of the cycle. Usually that’s when I get to see the connections and meanings. When I can lean in to what I don’t like, I find the heart of the matter.

So round and round the lake I go, dropping off and picking up which allows me to honor all the other cycles and hold my little ones more dear.

(featured photo is a picture of the lake that I took from the plane on my return from my trip about 6 weeks ago)

To Dance or Not to Dance?

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“We’re fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance.” – Japanese Proverb

The other day a friend and I were talking about a conflict that’s arisen in her multi-decades marriage. She’s taken up ballroom dancing and loves it. It engages her mind and body in a way that feels like something generative and renewing. She loves studying the movements and the thrill of putting it all together.

Her husband doesn’t have any interest in doing it with her but also has a problem with her dancing with other partners. At times the thought of her dancing with someone else makes him feel queasy. He wants her to quit.

Before I continue, I must interject that these are both very smart, well-intended, committed and gracious people. This particular conflict occurs amidst the backdrop of a loving marriage, not as a crack in something that is already falling apart.

As my friend has progressed with ballroom dancing, she’s learned a great deal – but there have also been injuries that come with learning something new and moving in different ways (usually minor). Every time she has an injury, she wonders if this is a sign that she should quit or if she is learning to push through adversity. And every time it renews the conflict in her marriage. To push through both an injury and the resistance of having her husband against the idea is more than twice as hard but the idea of her hanging up her dancing shoes makes her feel sad and a little robbed of joy.

This is where things become muddy for me. First as someone who has been single for over a decade, I am sorely out of practice at compromise. But mostly because it seems to me that this conversation, and maybe most conversations where we can’t be supportive of what someone else wants to pursue with good intentions, are about something else. Unresolved conflict, old stories, wounds that haven’t healed, insecurity?

When I look at the situation, I can see the ripple effect that comes from one person forcing another to quit something they love. But it’s of course far more complex with that when you have more than two decades of history. It seems like my friend and her husband are already dancing but somehow have gotten out of sync.

So how do they find the wisdom to get back in step?

(featured photo from Pexels)

Generationally Speaking

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“You can never really live anyone else’s life, not even your child’s. The influence you exert is through your own life and what you’ve become yourself.” – Eleanor Roosevelt

Back when I was interviewing my dad about his faith, I came across a passage in psychiatrist and author Dr. Scott Peck’s book Further Along the Road Less Traveled that described four stages of faith. He described an experience of what can happen generationally when kids grow up in stable, religious homes:

What happens to a child raised in such a stable, loving home and treated with dignity and importance? That child will absorb his parents’ religious principles – be they Christian, Buddhist, Muslim, or Jewish – like mother’s milk. By the time the child reaches adolescence, these principles will have become virtually engraved on his heart or ”internalized,” to use the psychiatric term. But once this happens, they will no longer need to depend upon an institution for their governance. It is at this time, which in healthy human development is usually at adolescence, that they start saying, “Who needs these silly myths and superstitions and this fuddy-duddy old institution?” They will then begin – often to their parents’ utterly unnecessary horror and chagrin – to fall away from the church, having become doubters or agnostics or atheists. At this point they have begun to convert to Stage Three, which I call “skeptic/individual.”

Further Along the Road Less Traveled by Scott Peck

I’ve heard this progression described in other contexts as well. From social psychologist Jonathan Haidt who described kids who grow up as beneficiaries of capitalist wealth demanding more socially and environmentally responsible policies as they come of age.

And from therapist Jacob Ham who talks about first generation survivors of war being primarily focused on physical and financial security with little capacity to talk about their emotions. It isn’t until the next generation comes along that they start to unpack emotional intelligence.

How life changes between generations is the topic of my latest post on Wise & Shine: Enough is Enough.

More Than a Cup of Coffee

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“When we do the best that we can, we never know what miracle is wrought in our life, or the life of another.” – Helen Keller

Yesterday morning I had a house guest. I could hear that she was ready to come downstairs so before I went upstairs to wake the kids, I made her a cup of coffee and left it on the counter with a note.

When I returned with the kids, she said, “I can’t believe you had time to make me a cup of coffee.”

She turned to Mr. D and said, “Your mom is a miracle worker.” I smiled because it really was not a big deal. But no one need worry that I’ll get all puffed up because Mr. D replied,

“My mom is a mommy.”

It reminded me that as we go through our day, what we do is largely interpreted by the roles we play: parent, friend, sibling, daughter/son, grandparent, neighbor, project manager, boss, boy/girl scout, whatever. Those around us expect us to perform our duties as per our roles. And when we do, it seems then we don’t stand out for all the many things we do.

But that doesn’t make our best efforts any less miraculous. Especially when we are getting it done under tough or stressful circumstances, we are touching others as we do our “jobs.” The stretch that it takes to be a little more intentional, a little more careful or put in a little more effort to do it right will change us and the people around, even if it’s not immediately visible.

We can’t control how or whether other people will see us. But as the Helen Keller quote says, when we do our best, we never know how it’ll touch others. Hopefully for the better.

And if nobody notices, perhaps they have not yet had their cup of coffee. 😊

Has anyone noticed what you have done recently? Or do you have a story about noticing someone else’s best efforts?

Our First Team

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“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. ‘Pooh!’ he whispered. ‘Yes, Piglet?’ ‘Nothing’ said Piglet taking Pooh’s paw, ‘I just wanted to be sure of you.'” – A.A. Milne

After I landed at the airport on Friday night, I received a text from my nanny as I was making my way home:

“Lessons of the week:

  1. Big sisters make the world go round
  2. You can’t out-bargain a 3-year-old
  3. Sometimes you just gotta go out in your underwear”

Quite frankly, I was impressed that she was able to get Mr. D to go out in underwear when he has more often than not opted for the full on naked this summer.

And then she expanded on the role that Miss O played during the week.

“I’m just so thankful for and impressed by [Miss O]! There were some really emotional moments with [Mr. D] and she was there for a hug whenever he needed it! She helped me find things around the house, helped me interpret some of his words, and has a true talent for knowing exactly where Bunbun [D’s beloved stuffy] is at all times.”

It made me think of my family of origin. I have an older brother who always made me laugh and cherished me. And I had an older sister that was angry that I came along and was jealous of the easy way I rolled through life.

It seems to me that siblings are the first team that we join in life. Not surprisingly, I was delighted to be on my brother’s team when we were growing up. These days we don’t talk all the time – or even all that often. But if I need to feel better about something incomprehensible, no one can match the comfort I get from my brother.

And if I want to know how to do something, I watch my big brother.

When I don’t understand how the world works, the person I listen most to is my big brother.

He’s like a huge filter of the information I take in as if his context provides me a starting point of where I need to go next.

In my business, I frequently help companies turn data into information. That is to say, there is often too many sources of content and not enough time for workers to verify them. For instance, there may be so many versions of the company background sales presentation, that a new employee may not understand which one to use when her boss tells her to start with that. So I help build systems that tell people which content is trustworthy.

I suspect our older siblings are like that – the systems that help us to know where to start. Whether we learn to trust what they say or to do the opposite of what they say, either way they are a reference point. And when they are trustworthy sources, we have an advantage of using them to help us read the world.

I don’t always listen to my brother, agree with him or even talk with him – but I am forever attuned to taking cues from him. And I suspect little D is growing up to do the same with his sister.

When Mr D was first walking, Miss O decided to train him to give her hugs on command. She’d clap her hands and then yell “hug” and he’d come running (some of the time). When I came home after being away last week, it was like that bond they’ve been building for three years was that much stronger. I’m so grateful not only for the team I have with my brother, but that my kids are building their own team.

How do you feel about your siblings?

If you want to see a video of Miss O training D to give hugs, check out my instagram @wynneleon

I’ve also written about the split in my family of origin because I’ve come to see my older sister’s suffering as one that started when we were young as a feeling of not belonging. More on that at Forgiveness or Letting Go?

The Whole Mountain

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“The invariable mark of wisdom is to see the miraculous in the common.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Yesterday, I was driving near an elementary school when I saw two school busses. My heart felt a deep pang of missing my children. Which is funny because my kids don’t even take the school bus. But I was driving in New Jersey, not in Seattle and since this is my first trip on an airplane by myself in 7 years, I guess that my heart isn’t being picky about what triggers it.

I once heard some very sage advice about what to do when we’ve grown weary around the people we love most – back up so you can see the whole mountain. And it spoke to me because often when I’ve climbed mountains, I’ve found them to be a lot of sweaty, hard work. And yet every time I see one, especially Mt. Rainier my “home” mountain, I am struck speechless, even for just a second, by my awe.

Back up and see the whole mountain to me speaks of finding the edge where our familiarity begins. And also of being able to trace the contours of the well-worn path where we often go with our dear ones. It calls me to picture in my mind the beautiful wholeness of my loved ones faces and the expressions that I most love to see on them. And when I’ve backed up far enough, I feel the pang of my ache for my beloveds deep in my body and know where they reside in me.

I’ve had three nights away from my young children. No one has spit half-eaten food in my hand or used my clothing as a napkin (and boy, wouldn’t that be weird if that had happened on business trip?). I haven’t been called in to witness grand accomplishments of using the bathroom and I’ve been able to sleep, eat and work out without interruption.

It all sounds great except I’ve had to do all that without my heart which remains at home with my beautiful children. Like climbing a mountain, my life is a lot of sweaty, hard work. But wow, I’m so glad I backed up enough to be able to see how much I love it, them and this beautiful inspiration called life!

How do you restore your love when (or if) it ever feels a little worn thin?

(featured photo is sunset from the airplane)

Called Out

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“May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.” – Nelson Mandela

The other day I received a message from Mr. D’s preschool, “Good afternoon families. Since we have several new families who have recently joined us, I thought it might be a good time to remind everyone that our classrooms are parent free zones.”

Even though this message was sent to the about 45 families in the school and I’m not a new parent to the school, I knew this message was aimed at me. Because I love going in the classroom and getting to know the teachers, especially in the last couple weeks as Mr. D has moved up to a new classroom. These COVID years as a preschool parent have been tough and the drop-off at the door is the worst. Mr. D does fine but I suffer from lack of community and continuity when it comes to my darling son and the people important to him.

I could feel the shame creeping up my cheeks as I read the message. It was like I imagined they all got together and cooked up a message to nicely keep me out. Which is very ego-centric of me but I think not uncommon when we feel called out.

I think staying open to feedback is one of the biggest growth areas for me. Not shutting down with shame or defensiveness. Sitting openly long enough to feel the meaning and intent and then react. It’s a very meditative response to life for me instead of reactive.

As Victor Frankl said, “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and freedom.”

Freedom to find what need I was trying to meet, growth to expand into other ways to meet it, power to find my center and respond from that true space.

What I really want is to show affection and interest for the amazing people who are caring for and teaching my son. So I’ve written them all cards and put chocolate bars inside. It’s not perfect, but I find if I don’t wither from the shame of being called out then I can still engage and get to know them from afar.

How do you react when you feel called out? Any thoughts on the situations in which we can take our loved ones only so far and the rest they have to go on their own?

(featured photo from Pexels)

Monday Mourning

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“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you…I could walk through my garden forever.” – Paulo Coehlo

The other day I needed to drop off something at the church where my dad last served as senior pastor. It’s also where his ashes are interred so I stopped by the Memorial Garden and put my hand on his stone. Even now, almost eight years after his sudden death in a bicycle accident, tears immediately sprung to my eyes as I imagined all the things I want to talk with him about and even heard his answers down in my bones.

After I’d been standing there for a couple of minutes, someone that knew my dad and knows me walked by. She simply whispered, “Beautiful picture” as she passed.

I’ve been thinking about that moment as I’ve watched the celebration of Queen Elizabeth II. Grief for someone who has done life well or is touched our lives significantly has its moments of being so beautiful. It celebrates both our relationship with them as well as what they did well in life. For me processing my grief means that I can start to distill the most important lessons I learned from those I’ve lost.

Trying to get a perspective on the huge topic of grief, I turned to Atlas of the Heart by Brené Brown. She quotes the work of The Center for Complicated Grief at Columbia on their definitions of grief which include both acute grief, which marks the initial period after a loss, and integrated grief.

Integrated grief is the result of adaptation to the loss. When a person adapts to a loss grief is not over. Instead, thoughts, feelings and behaviors related to their loss are integrated in ways that allow them to remember and honor the person who died. Grief finds a place in their life.

The Center for Complicated Grief

Specific to my dad, I feel as if the longer he’s gone, the more I embody him. It’s as if I relied on him as a source of energy and wisdom for all those years he was alive and now that I don’t have him to do it in person, I’ve had to become that energy source. There are also others who I’ve grieved and in that process have learned the lessons of what not to become so it’s worked both ways.

Despite that integrating, I still leak tears when I talk to my dad. And also ache for those going through acute grief in all those rending and earth-shattering emotions.  We stand on the shoulders on those who went before us – may we remember all their lessons, good and bad, and honor them in those beautiful still moments.

How Not To Be Mean

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“Kindness in words creates confidence. Kindness in thinking creates profoundness. Kindness in giving creates love.” – Lao Tzu

The other night my seven-year-old was being short-tempered with her younger brother and snippy with me. I asked her not to take out her mood on others and she replied “I don’t know what to do with the meanness!”

Wow, that stopped me in my tracks! It left me trying to tease apart all the ways we can quell our inner meanness and became the topic of my Pointless Overthinking blog today, What to Do With Our Inner Meanness.