Use Your Words

One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

As a mom of a 4-year-old and 8-year-old, I frequently find myself using the phrase, “Use your words.” The other day, my youngest wanted something on a high-up shelf and was pointing to it. I looked up and there were only like a gazillion possibilities. So I said, “use your words.”

At his age, his words are imprecise. Last night could mean the night prior but it could also mean anytime in the past. Orange might be anything on the spectrum between yellow and magenta. But even words that don’t guide directly are more helpful than guessing.

It made me think about all the ways we can use words, especially in writing. Here are three of my favorites:

Direction-instruction

Our ability to teach other people what we know or have discovered is astounding. If I had to draw it out or act it out, we’d all be here for a LOOOONG time.

“The capacity to learn is a gift; The ability to learn is a skill; the willingness to learn is a choice.”

Brian Herbert

Whether I’m reading how to replace a board on my deck or the finer points of philosophy, I’m so grateful that others use their words to communicate what they have learned because it helps me immensely.

Process-connect

“The words you speak become the house you live in.”

Hafiz

I frequently don’t understand “life.” I wend my way through the day and it seems like there are some unifying threads running through it if I could just see it from enough distance. But then I slow down to write it down and something magically pops. Here’s an example.

The other day a co-worker unloaded in an out-of-character way. I was so surprised and impacted by this that I wrote it down as a story, simply for my own use – almost a transcription of “they said” and “I said.” By the time I’d gotten the words out, I felt as if I’d created a storage space for the event; a way to buffer the rest of my day so that the after-effects of my conversation didn’t layer on to all the rest of my interactions.

Then two days later I got an email from the co-worker apologizing. They let me know about some personal stuff going on that colored their conversation with me. We can process it now (and maybe save ourselves from having to apologize) or we can process later, but putting words to the experience helps sort it all out.

One of the most impactful ways I think we use words is this full-circle processing and connection. We write to understand and then, for the stuff we publish, it connects us to others and their experience.

Amuse-entertain

At bedtime the other night, I was warning my 8-year-old daughter not to hit her brother. She retorted to me, “What? Do you want to me to grow up all Martin Luther King like non-violent?” I was so surprised by the out of the blue reference that I not only stopped talking, but also burst out laughing. And then we were all giggling and whatever had caused the kerfuffle was forgotten.

Words have magical power. They can bring either the greatest happiness or deepest despair.

Sigmund Freud

Yes, I do want my kids to grow up all non-violent. They probably have a better chance of that if they remember to use their words, hopefully in ways that invoke the best use of that magical power.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Life: Perfect and Precious

Our life experiences will have resonances within our innermost being, so that we will feel the rapture of being alive.” – Joseph Campbell

Two weeks ago, on the same day that my niece had a baby, I got laid off from my job. I know that seems like two disparate events. But hear me out because they are the both the birth of new things.

It’s not hard to see the first. My beautiful niece says that she’s having a hard time sleeping when the baby is sleeping because she can’t stop looking at him. “He’s just so perfect.” And she’s enthralled with interpreting his every expression and sound.

I’ve seen the pictures – he indeed is absolutely perfect and precious.

Losing my job was a shock. I’ve never been laid off before and so it was a completely new experience. But twinned with the surprise was a feeling of elation. I was free. I try not to act giddy when I talk to the others affected by this layoff. But honestly, and I promise that this isn’t toxic positivity or denial, for me I knew this was a really good thing, even when it signals hard work.

I’ve been an entrepreneur for most of my career so I suspect that helps take an edge off the fear. And when I peal back that cover, I have a chance at seeing underneath to the opportunity. Similar to babies, I have to work hard to decipher the signs and signals of the bread crumbs where life leads me.

Life comes with pain – kinda like childbirth. And on the flip side, it too is perfect and precious to have the opportunity to keep growing.

P.S. Everyone that I’ve seen in real life has been able to take one look at me and sense the burden lifted from me. If you are worried about me, truly, I’m fine, the kids know and it’s all good. One of the things I’m so grateful for this week of American Thanksgiving is the gift of time with them.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Don’t Wait Alone

Time is too slow for those who wait, Too swift for those who fear, Too long for those who grieve, Too short for those who rejoice, But for those who love, time is eternity.” – Henry Van Dyke

On Monday morning, Cooper and I were walking in the pre-dawn hours down a long block in our neighborhood. A taxi went slowly by us. As my mind wandered over how taxi cab drivers were doing in the era of Lyft and Uber, we neared the end of the block.

At the curb was a man standing with his suitcase. I asked, “Was that your taxi?

He said “Yes. And what’ll I do if it doesn’t come back? I’m going to be late!” We looked about 20 houses down towards the end of the block. The lights from the taxi revealed its continued slow roll down the street. Fortunately, it turned around as it reached that far intersection and started creeping back towards where the man stood.

The man said, “What’s more obvious than a man standing with a suitcase?”

I laughed and said, “No doubt, the message is pretty clear!

Cooper and I stood near him until the taxi driver finally spotted him and sped up. As I turned away to continue to walk the dog, I silently wished him a good trip. And hoped that our moments of camaraderie helped ease the tension of being late.

I think it did.


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(featured photo from Pexels)

Vulnerability at Any Age

I believe that you have to walk through vulnerability to get to courage.” – Brene Brown

Let me take your temperature on something. Do you think that middle-aged and older means that you don’t have to be vulnerable any longer? Emotionally vulnerable, that is.

After all, we don’t have to go door to door with our resumes looking for our first job. And many who have life partners have had them for quite some time. We know our hobbies and interests and don’t have to try a bunch of new things to see what fits. We’ve even developed our conversational patter so that anything that comes close to a sensitive spot can be deflected without much effort.

Here’s the discovery I’ve come to after many years of searching for the things that make me feel vital. Continued vulnerability is one of them.

When I believe that vulnerability is off the table, I’m unlikely to:

Move out of my established lane

Upset the status quo of “my success”

Market or promote my writing

Try to find love

Brainstorm wild ideas

Try new things

Make new friends

Learn new technologies/applications

Express my feelings in relationships that have gone on so long that it risks the status quo

State my opinion about politics or religion

Here’s what I’m afraid of. If we retire from life, we leave so much potential and wisdom gained from 50 years or more unsaid. The things we’ve learned through trial and error that we are passionate about? We fail to bring them up.

When I was in my mid forties and wanted to have children, I found it incredibly difficult to say out loud. In one respect, it makes sense because such a precious dream is fragile in its early stages. But when I managed to broach the subject with a few of my dear friends, the incredible support they offered helped to fuel the vision.

So for me, I think I want to keep pushing myself towards openness. But I’d love to know what you think about vulnerability at any age.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Signs and Mystics

If you were waiting for a sign, this is it.” – unknown

I would never describe my father as a mystic. He was a Presbyterian pastor through and through. His theology and rituals were aligned with the institutions he served.

But my mom told me a funny story about when he decided to retire. She reports that he came home and said, “I’ve decided to retire because the clock stopped working and the stapler ran out.

 Isn’t it interesting how we interpret the signs in our life? Something happens and it resonates with what we’ve been thinking, feeling, or intuiting. And often, speaking for myself, that resonation can have great power to shift what previously seemed immoveable.

Three things I need to align with the signs in life: quiet, curiosity about new ideas and ventures, and awareness of the world around me. I’m quite sure I’ve never seen a sign when my head is down, the blinders are on, and I’m marching towards a deadline. Or maybe I have, and just failed to take it in. Maybe mystics are simply the people who open to possibility more often than not.

One of my favorite signs comes from when I was in my late 20’s. I was driving to work on a sunny Spring morning with the top down on my little VW Cabrio convertible. I’d just broken up with a boyfriend and was wondering what to do next. I took the exit for I-90 bridge over Lake Washington and as the traffic slowed, Mt. Rainier loomed over the view. I thought, “I should climb that.It launched my amateur climbing pursuits that took me throughout the Pacific Northwest as well as Russia, Nepal, Peru, and Mexico.

Every time I see Mt. Rainier, especially from the freeway, I’m reminded of the power of signs. I get a powerful goose to put the top down, whatever my proverbial top is at the moment, and look around.

Refining Our Wishes

Stop wearing your wishbone where your backbone ought to be.” – Elizabeth Gilbert

I’m going the long way to solve a problem in my house. This is not an excuse for a long post – in fact the post is only 354 words. Just an admission at the outset that I understand there are more expedient ways to address the issue.

Here it is: Mr. D is in a phase where he wants a lot of things. He sees it on tv and then wants to own it. He’s quite tenacious at five-years-old for insisting on what he wants. Right now we have a “wishlist” for these things. It works to a degree but it’s too easy to just add and add and add to it.

So I came up with the idea to build a box that he could write every wish into (to practice his writing). And for every wish, he has to come up with an accompanying thing he’s grateful for to put in the box too.

I also wanted to show him how we can build things. So I started with the leftover wood I had after fixing my kitchen flooring and measured out and cut some pieces of wood to build a box. Two boxes really – one for nine-year-old Miss O as well so she doesn’t miss out.

I triumphantly carried these things upstairs so that the kids could do the work of assembling and decorating these boxes. But then, on the kitchen counter, I roughly fit the pieces together to show off and saw my mistake.

The base is 2.5” wide – the pieces are 1” thick. Assembled that way, the “box” is only a half an inch. It’s not that wishes won’t fit in there. It’s that they’ll never come out. 🙂

So, I set out to show that it’s okay to wish for things, but then we have to work for them. And I ended up demonstrating that sometimes when we put together the pieces of our dreams, it doesn’t work out the way we intended. But that’s okay too – because we get to refine and repeat.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Certainty for Today

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

My internet browser keeps trying to bait me to find out who I’m voting for 2024 election. It presents headlines from one side or another to see what I’ll click on.

From my point of view, I don’t want to click because I don’t want it to feed me what I want to hear. It’s not that I’m uninterested or uninformed. In these days before this hotly contested election, I’d love to have some certainty. But not at the price of wrong information and expectations that will lead to disappointment.

So instead I’ve made my list of the things I’m fairly certain will happen today:

The sun will rise and set.
That I’ll feel moments of awe, angst, and amusement.

Cooper the dog will put something in his mouth that he’s not supposed to.

And I’ll eat a little or a lot of Halloween candy.

Miss O and Mr. D will make me laugh
and some toys will be played with.

I will not make it through my to-do list.
But I will accomplish enough of my must-love list.

We’ll learn something, spill something, and read something.
One kid, or both, will anger the other and apologies will have to be made.

That amidst the rush and hustle of daily life with a nine-year-old and a five-year-old,
I’ll feel the overwhelming gratitude and love that I was able to choose to have this family
Using IVF.

And that’s why I never needed to open my browser to figure out which way to vote. I voted for Kamala Harris so that other families can choose, if they need to, to have days filled with the same types of certainties I’m likely to have today.

Do You Believe in Magic? Do You Write About it?

If we could see the world through the eyes of a child, we would see the magic in everything.” – Nancy Wait

I had to have the conversation with my eight-year-old daughter the other day. You know the one I mean? About Santa?

We were driving in the car and I broached the subject as “Do you want to talk about what your friend said the other day about Santa?”

Two days before I’d overheard her friend tell her that Santa wasn’t real. Then the friend took on the tooth fairy too when my daughter had asked, “Do you know your tooth fairy’s name?”

Her friend, a master of short, declarative sentences, replied with a snort, “Yeah, Mom and Dad.”

All of this led to my tentative query in the car. Quite honestly, I was feeling pretty shaky about it. It felt like blurting out something that we can never “unknow” even if we wish to. So, I’d come up with a spin that I got from a dubious parenting manual (and by that, I mean the Internet). I was going to talk about how we can all be part of the magic of the holiday season.

I find it difficult bordering on tortuous to write about and talk about magic. I think of some of my favorite South American authors like Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Juan Luis Borges, and their easy touch with things that can’t be explained.

Then I wonder if some American pragmatism blocks my flow when it comes to breaking away from the observable. Or perhaps it’s my engineering brain. But either way when I start trying to put words to experiences that can’t be rationally explained, I get very wordy. It’s like I need to insist that I really am anchored to reality and a lot of words are my lifeline.

So, when my daughter said she did want to talk about Santa, I started to roll out a lengthy explanation.

Well, you know that everyone has different beliefs and whether or not you believe in Santa, there’s a magic around Christmas time that comes from the spirit of generosity.”

She nodded and said, “Yes, no one really knows what Santa looks like, so we all see it differently.”

I pressed on, not realizing that she was still pretty attached to the Santa thing.

Before I could launch into more, she interjected, “Why don’t people want to believe in magic?”

Hmm, in my preparation for the talk, I hadn’t prepared a good answer to that one, so I asked about if she’d heard what her friend said about the tooth fairy.

Yes,” she said, “he said his Mom and Dad were the tooth fairy.” As I started to respond, my daughter continued, explaining something the tooth fairy had just done…”but my mom wouldn’t give [my brother] a two-dollar bill for nothing.”

I stopped. I was magically saved from having a conversation that I wasn’t ready for anyway.

2024 Note: Miss O is now 9-years-old but still believes…

(featured photo from Pexels)

The Case for Non-Competition

A head full of fears has no space for dreams.” – unknown

I can’t get Miss O to put down the guitar. I know that’s a funny thought – why would I want to?

Here’s the situation. My nine-year-old daughter, Miss O, has a gift for music. She has nearly perfect pitch so that if she hears something, she can play it. And she’s learned piano from my mom, ukelele from YouTube videos, started clarinet in the school band, and also sings in a choir.

She’s practiced these things, and my mom has been a fantastic teacher, but mostly she has enough natural ability that she makes it look easy.

All good – until Mr. D wanted to learn to play the guitar. We have a little one that we picked up at a garage sale that was missing three strings. I ordered some replacement strings and voila, Mr. D had an instrument that he could carry around and try.

He’s not really wanting to formally learn anything quite yet. He’s five years old. But he likes putting the strap around his neck and strumming. I found a chord on YouTube and went to show it to him – he didn’t want to do it. But Miss O was standing right there and said, “Can I do it?

Of course, she picked it up easily. So I asked her not to play the guitar. To give her younger brother some space so he can have a thing that is his own. She nodded her agreement – and then by 30 minutes later had circled back to try to play it.

So I gave her a longer explanation about why that can be discouraging to her brother. She gave it a rest for about a half a day.

When I found her with it at the end of the next day, I started again tiredly. She yelled, “So I can never pick it up and strum it?” And because nuance didn’t seem to be working, I said emphatically, “Yes!” and she angrily stomped off.

At bedtime, I told the kids the story about when Mr. D was 2-years-old and had the cutest little Hawaiian shirt. I dressed him in it every time we went to a party and everyone oohed and aahed, “What a cute baby!”

So Miss O said to me, “I hate it when he wears that shirt. He gets so much attention.” I explained that what I did to help wasn’t to get her the same shirt – or buy them both a new outfit that matched each other. I helped her find a new dress and shoes so she could feel good about what she was wearing – on the inside –even if she didn’t get all the compliments the baby did.

I summed it up that sometimes we just need to give each other space. That competing or comparing, especially over time, can often undercut someone’s confidence.

I must have flubbed the ending. Because at the end of the story, Mr. D wanted that shirt and Miss O said, “I knew I wasn’t going to like that story.

I left the bedroom with two grumpy kids still pouting. I was frustrated because I couldn’t fix it. It struck me that we were all too close on this one – perhaps telling the story when we were all together wasn’t the right timing. Or that we just needed some time. Or that bedtime wasn’t a good time to tackle this. All of the above, I suspect.

And that is why my guitar gently weeps. From under the couch where I hid it.

Let’s Stick Together

In the middle of every difficulty lies opportunity.” – Albert Einstein

Last Thursday, I had a moment of chaperone panic. I was in charge of Mr. D and another 5-year-old, a little girl named, Lydia. She was a delightful little girl who wanted to name our team, Rainbow Unicorn. So she was exactly on message for her age group.

After seeing all the sights, playing the games, eating lunch and picking out pumpkins, I asked Lydia if she wanted to do the corn maze. She had said several times she wanted to do it. As we approached the entrance of the maze, it was just the three of us: Mr. D, Lydia and me.

We walked fifteen feet to the first intersection and Lydia yelled, “Let’s split up!

I bit back my scream of “Noooooo!” and eked out a mostly calm, “Let’s stick together.

It strikes me that spreading chaos is a little fun. Not that little Lydia meant anything by it. She was just injecting a little five-year-old energy into the event.

Maybe my panic struck a little harder than usual since it’s election season in the US. I’m tired of the divisiveness that stokes up fear and the conflict entrepreneurs that capitalize on it. Let’s stick together.