Posted on

Parenting As A Vehicle

Hordes of books dominate the shelves of bookstores, teaching you the love languages of kids, brain rules for kids, and how kids raise parents. There are classes, techniques, and even some really stringent cult-like ideas that all hope to help parents master the art of parenting.

I enjoy referring to parenting in football defensive references. If a family has two kids, it’s “man coverage,” with 3 kids they are in zone coverage, and with four or more, the all important (and most anxiety producing for a football fan) Prevent defense. It’s clever, I know. 

The truth is, no metaphor, book, technique, or principal can help to prepare someone to be a parent. And yet, we all need help to shepherd us along the way.

It’s really hard work, and mostly exhausting to deal with free-willed little people who refuse to be your robot. 

Go to bed.
Unload your dishes.
Be nice to your sister.
Pick up your clothes.
Turn off the lights. 
(The prevailing message: don’t be a kid)

If you’re a parent, you get it. Most of the time parents are directing, pointing, teaching, yelling, and ending the day praying the kids turn out ok. It’s the ultimate journey of faith, trust, and powerlessness. 

Parenting is the vehicle that gets our kids onto or nearby the launching pad for their lives. Each kid has their own unique launching pad. Sometimes parents don’t see that different kids have different needs, which produce different lifestyles, goals, and vision for their lives. If we take all our kids to the same destination, the same launching pad, only one is going to pleased. 

This vehicle is the container that provides safe travel while the journey is still in the confines of childhood. Slowly, methodically, and gradually the kids will begin to branch out and become curious about their world. More often than not, a kids curiosity will trigger a parents fear of losing control. This fear, left undressed or unexplored, leads straight to the command center of the kids’ launching pad. 

As a fearful parent, I want to be in the command center. I want to be in the control room that has the correct flight plan, path, and coordinates for my kids rocket. I want to know what is going to happen, where they are going, and that they will be ok. In reality, I just want to be ok. My kids are an extension of me (they’re still in the early journey of curiosity), and if they hurt, so do I. 

It’s easy for parents to be in the mindset of putting the kids in an auto-piloted vehicle, and retire to the control room where they can push the buttons, speak commands, and remain aloof from the reality of the kids who are in the vehicle. This is the safest form of parenting, but it’s not really parenting. It’s more like a warden, a boss, or an autocrat. 

James Masterson, therapist and author, says that the role of the therapist is to be the guardian of the true, real self. Not surprisingly, this is a lot like the role of a parent. Our role is to guard our kids from buying into the lie that posturing, faking it, or performing is what works. It’s our job to show our kids that money doesn’t buy happiness, nor does money solve the real challenges of life. 

The ultimate challenge of parenting is to cultivate a relationship, the vehicle, that allows for safe return from misplaced curiosity, foolish choices, or damaging actions. 




Posted on

Time to Drop the F-Bomb

 

Freak. Fudge. Freaking. Farfignugen. Feck. Freaking….

Socially conservative people, not in the political sense, find plenty of ways around saying the real thing, instead substituting made-up words and sound-alike words to communicate what’s really going on in their hearts.

A recent study in the UK showed that cursing is an emotional language that helps to alleviate the internal suffering or pain of a given situation. While I tend to agree with this study, and have written before about language and wisdom, I think we need to expand our understanding of what is one of, if not the most emotionally charged word in the dictionary: Failure.

Failure is the real F-Bomb.

No other word has spawned online communities dedicated to laughing at the plight of ourselves and others. No other word is the basis for which the anti-motivational series of posters and other memorabilia thrives. No other word is more present at the core of the great American dream. We wake up every day with a sense if impending failure, be it in our homes, at work, on our morning commute, at the golf course, or in church.

Perhaps the most notorious quote about failure was portrayed in the Apollo 13 movie when the flight director (Gene Kranz) in the Houston command center exclaimed, “Failure is not an option.” This message came at a pivotal moment about the survival of the 3 astronauts in the doomed Apollo 13 space craft. If you remember the movie, you’ll recall the boon of emotional energy that was created on screen, and in the viewers. Such a simple charge with overwhelmingly complex implications.

Though you and I might not be facing death in our daily lives as the astronauts were, we are facing something much worse: Being alive without a mission, going through each day just hoping to make it to the next, and the fear that if we do fail we will be scorned by our peers and perhaps even those closest to us. Make not mistake, failure is an emotional word; and it’s a bomb that left unaddressed will slowly eat away at your hope, dreams, and very sense of what you’re here on earth for.

It’s time to drop the F Bomb and get it out from festering inside and oozing apathy, self-pity, and complacency. As William Wallace said in the movie Braveheart; “every man dies, but not every man really lives.”

This is not a motivational piece intended to rah-rah you into another fast start towards that dream you’re avoiding, in fact it’s quite the opposite. Fast starts often lead to painful finishes. I remember running a mile race in 5th grade, and for the first 2/3 of the race I was smoking the hundred or so boys racing with me. I ran so hard and so fast that my lead vanished over the last 2-300 yards because I’d spent all my energy at the beginning. All of us will fail if we try to accomplish our dreams in one giant step or action. It’s a lifetime process that requires you taking steps today that will keep you able to make another step tomorrow.

Failure is an option, but it’s only failure if you do nothing or half-heartedly. Failure is actually our friend. Someone once told me that he viewed failure as a devilish looking creature that needed to hidden and kept silent. Such a wonderful description of what lives inside all of us. It’s hard to think about befriending something that looks like this picture. Who wants to invite this kind of creature to be seen?

The antidote to failure is to fail. Because inherent in failing is that we risk something. Without risk, we will not fail. As the mountain biking community says, “no falls, no balls.”

 

Posted on

I Can Only Speak for Me

You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better. – Anne Lamott

So… it’s pretty easy to talk about other people. To see their faults, cracks, damages, and also their giftings, goodness, and success in life. It’s much harder to see our own. (Which is why I think everyone ought to get married and/or have kids. Marriage and Parenting makes it really difficult to ignore the reflection of yourself. But that’s another topic for another day.)

It’s hard to talk and write about the stories you have that have been influenced by others without giving too much credit to the other person. What has happened to you, has happened to you. And you’re the only one who can tell the story of what has happened to you.

You can’t speak for the other person, about their motives or assumptions. It’s not your job to protect others from the impact they or someone else has had on you. Your only responsibility is to speak about your experience.

Not theirs. Yours.

“How will you respond to what’s happened?” is really the only question that matters. Because the last thing you want to do, is to respond like this:

 

 

Posted on

Seeing the Real You

I do my thing and you do your thing.
I am not in this world to live up to your expectations,
And you are not in this world to live up to mine.
You are you, and I am I,
and if by chance we find each other, it’s beautiful.
If not, it can’t be helped.

~Fritz Perls

 

It’s human nature to care what others think of us, but this nature can get us into trouble. If you care what others think, more than you think you ought to, then it’s a good chance you don’t know you. When we come to know ourselves, we come realize that we have flaws, dings, dents, and a beauty that is only possible because of those human things. Joseph Campbell says that we don’t love others because they are perfect, we love others because they are deeply flawed. Without flaws, there is nothing to love (See Good Will Hunting).

We care what others think because it’s easy. It’s easy to ask someone else to define you. To judge you. To tell you who or what you are (and in most cases, they will tell you what you are, not who you are). We want easy, because hard is painful. Hard is just that, hard. And not many of us like hard.

So, the warning flag that you’re not engaged with your soul, your true self, is that you care what others think. If that flag is flying, recognize it. Take it down, and find out who you are. Carry and write in a journal. Read a book. Sit outside in nature, and meditate on what you see. Consider what excites you, what scares you, and what you want out of life. What do you dream?

You’ll get down to some gritty and hard places if you stop wondering about others and turn inward. That journey will be a lot longer and harder than what people think. But frankly, people don’t think about you nearly as much as you’d like. And the ones that really care about you, those are the ones who don’t just think about you, they do something about it. Because at the end of the day, it’s all about what you see in yourself.

 

Posted on

Stop trying to be normal. You’re not.

    There is no great genius without some touch of madness.
          ~ Seneca 

The more normal you try to be (or the more like others you try to parrot) the less of you we will see. The move away from genius leads to people wanting to be normal, to not have to risk their necks with some dream, idea, or stroke of genius.

Normal is depressing. Normal is just plain vanilla, no toppings. Normal is the path of no resistance. Not least resistance, no resistance. Normal is normal, and more and more people are looking for the supposed feel-good nature of being normal. Let others define what normal is, then jump on the bandwagon to feel accepted, part of the team. But you’re not accepted or connected. You’re a drone that parrots what you think others want to hear, what you think others value as popular or normal.

The problem is, normal doesn’t feel good for long. It’s cheap. Like plastic forks. Good for the occasional use, but rely on it for too long and it’ll break. It’ll let you down. And then you’ll try another version of normal. Wash, rinse, and repeat. Trying to be normal is really about a misguided search for meaning. For purpose. For life.

Normal is death. It’s death to the soul. To the creative part of you that only you know, that only you see, and that only you choose to hide or show. Trying to be normal is self-rejection. It’s death.

It’s crazy to enter into and commit oneself to another person for life… It’s even crazier to become parents. Yet we put aside stats, conventional wisdom, and follow our hearts into some of the scariest, most dangerous, and land-mine-filled area called marriage. Over 50% of marriages fail today. Yet people still get married. Why? Because they’re in love. Because their heart believes that they cannot go on without the other person. That, my friends, is madness. Ignoring logic and going with you’re heart is madness.

And it’s genius. Pure creative genius. Picasso wasn’t a genius because of what he painted, he was a genius for when and how he painted.

The same is true for you. You’re not a genius for what idea you come up with, or what decision you make. You’re a genius for taking the risk to fulfill your dream. In putting your neck on the line and risk being called a fool. And trust me, those who will call you a fool are envious, because they’re normal and you’re not.

 

Posted on

Parenting kids, Not controlling them

I was talking with a dear friend of mine this morning about some conversations I’ve been having with my 9 year old son. As the oldest, my son exhibits many typical first-born traits. He’s the rule follower, mini-parent to his siblings, plays life conservatively, and generally good kid. He’s a great kid, and has an incredible head on his shoulders. Ever since his sister, who is 18 months younger, began crawling, he has had a hard time getting along with her. Because of an event between the two of them at school last week, I was asking my friend Jeff this morning about some help in how to deal with the sibling rivalry, but mainly with my son.

His advice: Don’t under parent and over control.

Brilliant.

In that one sentence, he captured and summed up the tension that all parents face. How do I parent my kids, but not control them? Being an over controlling parent is quite easy, though exhausting. We likely spend more energy and effort keeping our kids from life than we would if we responded to and with them about life and our experiences.

Parenting is the essence of training a child in how to relate to the world around them. There are hundreds of books to help you along this journey, but the most important piece that a book can never teach you is how to engage your child in who they are. When we control our kids, we ask them to be someone that they are not. It’s scarier to be in relationships with others, our kids included, where we are not in control. Control will crush a relationship, and your child’s spirit. You will do more harm than good by ushering them down the path of life that you want for them.

Practically, parenting without control allows the kids the freedom to express themselves in a manner that is truthful. As with any part of life, there are some right ways to do things, and some wrong. As a parent, it’s my job to teach my kids the way that best expresses our value as a home.

If you want to tell me that you hate me, that’s fine. I’ll just need you to write a two page essay explaining why it is that you feel this way.

If you growl at me, roll your eyes, or brush by me in an aggressive manner, that’s fine too. I’ll just ask you to come back to the room and tell me what you’re feeling that caused you to do what you did. In our house, when you roll your eyes at someone you’re required to do a complete eye roll. None of this half-way done eye rolling. All the way around in a complete circle.

Obviously this is a hard line to walk. And, this line looks vastly different for each of my kids. I have to adjust my approach with each of them, because one parenting style does not fit all.

The likely result of an over controlled kid? Someone who lacks a sense of self with an overall fear based approach to life. If you want your kid to be well adjusted later in life, it’s going to take some risk on your part.

Because let’s face it. It’s risky to let go of control. It’s scary because we don’t know what will happen to them or to us. Parenting is not a science, it’s an art. And art is messy.

 

Posted on

Some thoughts to end the week

Answering the why questions in life will rarely be satisfying. The awareness you’ll gain will be invaluable if you choose to use it.

We humans judge actions, not intent.

Hiding will prevent relationships from developing intimacy. You cannot have intimacy and hide at the same time.

“Don’t put your trust in walls, ‘Cause walls will only crush you when they fall.” 

I can’t change the way you feel, nor can you change the way I feel. We can work together to learn where and how we feel what we do, and then learn to walk with care and love around those soft and tender spots in life. You cannot carry all of my pain, so don’t try and make life pain free for me or you. It doesn’t work.

Ending well is really difficult, takes time, and allows  for new growth. Quitting is accepting the easy road that is full of regret, self-pity, and will not bring fullness. You’ve got to fight hard for the things you want, and don’t want.

Don’t wait for permission from others to be vulnerable and take a risk; it will never happen. Taking a risk is risky regardless of who approves of it or not. Think of it this way, base jumping isn’t easier because you got a high five.

Babies fall 10,000 times before they learn to walk. Falling hurts, but not being able to walk hurts worse.

The phrase “be a man” needs to be replaced with “tell the truth.” Learning to tell the truth is a process, and judging a process kills progress. Telling the truth is risky. Most of us don’t do it very well. We hint, dance, assume, manipulate, hover, and do all sorts of so many things that take incredible amounts of energy. More energy to hint and dance around a subject than just saying what’s true.

Learning how to be mature is a lifelong journey. It’s a process. It doesn’t happen when you graduate high-school. Have sex. Have a baby. Or when you get a job. Maturity happens when you admit to not knowing, and commit to the process of learning. Not knowing oneself is the deepest of sadness, but not pursuing the knowledge of oneself is the greatest crime against the self. You cannot know what you do not pursue. You cannot know what you do not care about. You cannot know what you do not love.

Conservative, safe, and highly controlled living is not the way we were created to live. This is a difficult reality in the South. It’s hard to not fake it here.

Christianity is a religion. Much like Buddhism, Mormanism, and Footballism. Being a follower of Christ is not religious. There’s a difference.

Refusing to address your dysfunctional behavior and relationships (and your family’s dysfunction) will create incredibly difficulties tomorrow. It will also have a stronger affect on others than you think it will. And on more people than you think.

Happyness (I prefer to spell it with a y) is found in being known by others, God, and ourselves. Want to be happy and fulfilled? Spend some time getting to know you. You’re smarter, brighter, wiser, and more interesting than you know. Don’t live without knowing who’s alive in there.

Posted on

Authenticity happens over time

What makes people valuable? It’s not what they do, but what they contribute to life, others. Mark Walberg, host of the Antiques Road Show on PBS, wrote a great essay on the similarities of antiques and people. He looks at the nature of what makes antiques valuable and parallels that with people. It’s well worth the 5-10 minutes to read.


Posted on

Live to die once, not twice.

While watching a show on the Battle of Franklin last weekend, I was struck by a statement the narrator made about life, death, and story. While describing the Lotz family and house being caught in the middle of the Battle of Franklin, he said that every person dies twice. Once when our bodies stop breathing, and then again when our stories stop being told. The narrator said that his goal was to ensure that the story of the Lotz family was never forgotten.

This statement struck me because I am constantly intrigued by the concept of telling stories (my kids can attest to this with our bedtime story adventures). But more importantly, this statement about dying twice helped me to conceptualize how we go about engaging with the fear of living our lives. For one, we can live in fear of our human death, or secondly we can live in fear of our legacy dying.

Living in fear of physical death likely leads to a very safe and cautious life of not taking many risks, if any at all. I think this fear of death takes many different shapes. Sure, we can fear the actual human death when our bodies stop breathing, but I think the more prevalent death we fear is relational in nature. We don’t want to be left alone, to be dead to others whom we care or want to care about. We don’t want to fail at something or in a relationship. We don’t want to start something and not be enough to finish it. This fear of death confronts every one of us. This is the fear of starting a business, speaking in public, seeking out a new relationship, having children, writing a book, or creating something new. I often think that life would look differently if success was defined as how often we failed.

On the other hand if we live in fear of our legacy dying, we’ll be faced with living in pursuit for someone/something that is bigger than ourselves. This is the hard work of life. (And I stress hard work, because it is truly hard work). To live in such a way to this thinking beyond today. It is suffering the reality of delayed gratification (or perhaps sometimes no gratification). To live this way accepts the frailty of physical death and the robustness and power of a story.

One death is certain for everyone. The certainty of the other is what we all must face every day. Will you live to die once, or twice?

 

Posted on

Life in the Real World

Over the Christmas break I found a new game on my iPhone called tiny tower. The premise is pretty simple: build your own sky scraper, populate it with people and businesses, rinse and repeat. It’s wildly addictive in that you can spend tons of time in the game earning money and building more. It’s amusement at its finest. And thats why I stopped playing.

Amusement is good in small measured doses, not in vast quantities. The carnival or county fair only comes to town once or twice a year. Any more than that and it would lose its novelty and amusement. But I’m afraid that this natural law of diminishing returns isn’t as obvious in the virtual world.

As I played the game and built my tower, I began thinking about this little empire that I was building. It brought momentary pleasure to see my tower grow to 30, 35, and then 40 floors. But as soon as I turned my iPhone off, my building disappeared. It only existed virtually. And I began to wonder why I spent 20-30 minutes a day building something that will never be real. In reality I don’t know that building a real tower would provide much more satisfaction, but at least there would be something real to show for my work.

What I’m realizing about life is that unless we are engaging with real things and people, we will not grow. When we don’t grow, we get anxious and depressed. Life is not designed to be lived in the virtual world, even though the virtual world offers a painless and entertaining life.

Relationships are not amusing. They are challenging, difficult, and rewarding. Virtual rewards are just that, virtual rewards. It takes hard work to live life on the real world, which is why there exists an enormous quantity of escapes to the virtual world. Because these worlds are so accessible, we need to be aware of how much and when we use them.

One of the ways my family is combating this issue is that we do not use devices with screens between dinner and bedtime for the kids. This means no tv, wii, games on the phone/iPad, etc. it’s been harder than I thought to follow through with is. It’s easy to grab your phone and check Facebook, the news, your tiny tower, or any number of apps that are a daily part of life for some.

If amusement is bringing less and less to your life, create something. Build a Lego tower or town, write a shorty story, bake a cake, paint a picture, or start a new relationship with someone. Obviously this is a short list, but the idea is that life will be more fulfilling and enjoyable when you do something in real life, instead of the virtual world.