Oh hey there

Fast forward almost three years later…(!)

Cue the interim movie montage: we’ve moved x2, added a son-in-law we love named Steven, had some adventures, wore masks, added a granddaughter we love named Cora, been on a zillion Zooms, added a dog we mostly love named Penny, recalibrated some of our long term plans, spent an undisclosed amount of time watching Netflix and AppleTV, tried to figure out chronic health mysteries, gathered as a family in Andover and Maine and Utah.

That’s the external. Internally I’ve been trying to summon that version of me from the before times. Anyone else feel that? In particular, I feel like I lost some of my writing verve (hence the almost three year span of silence). Is it a case of use-it-or-lose-it? I’m hopeful that showing up here with my fingers on the keyboard will help me forge some kind of inroads back to myself, to the creative wellspring I used to take for granted. Where would I find a writing-well divining rod?

The Wolf in the Background

A few weeks ago I was out on a morning walk in the canyon where we’re living right now. (We’re currently hunkered down in Utah, having left Abu Dhabi in early March.) It was a beautiful morning and, since it’s a dead-end canyon, there was hardly any traffic of the car variety but plenty of the bird kind. There’s a nest of herons up on the hills who perform a terrific morning chorus as they stretch their legs and shake the night from their wings. (I just looked it up—did you know a group of herons is called a siege?!) Canada geese and mallards fly up and down the Weber River as though it’s their commute highway. In the distance, up a side canyon, I even heard some coyotes call back and forth to each other. I thought Huh, I didn’t know we had coyotes around here. But there are moose, bears, and foxes up in the these mountains so I guess a few coyotes aren’t that surprising.

I walked along the canyon road for about an hour and then turned around to return home. I had just recorded a Marco Polo to my college roommate and decided to also send one to my daughter Maddy while I walked. (Note: I am a supremely awkward Marco Polo-er but I love doing them nevertheless.) A few minutes into my riveting description of the weather and my workout outfit, I had that tingling sense that someone was coming up quickly behind me. I turned and my heart stopped. It was a wolf. Or a coyote. A wild thing*.

Here’s an actual transcript of how I processed my unexpected visitor:

Oh! I have a…oh my goodness, I have a…dog or something…following me that’s really scary.
Hopefully he’ll go on his way.
Let’s see [flustered, trying to stay composed]…what else can I tell you…?
Um…just on my way along here [clearly distracted by the wolf and trying to stay calm]
and oh I hope it’s not a wild dog, Maddy [shaking voice],
I hope this doesn’t scare you too much to get but…hmmm…what else can I say?
Um…I want to keep talking so he doesn’t…I don’t know…I want him to go away.
Um…let’s see. We’ve been watching Parks & Rec and yesterday we watched the one where—okay he’s going away, no worries—where Tom Haverford is trying to get together with Ann Perkins and it’s Jerry’s birthday surprise…

ART BY ANNA WALKER VIA

So, yes, this was terrifying. As it unfolded I remember feeling so sorry that Maddy was going to get this recording of her mother’s terror and potential death but felt the responsible thing would be to document it so people could find my body. (Yes, I’m apparently a worst-scenario person by instinct. Who also, hilariously, turns to Parks & Rec plotlines in times of terror?) I immediately sent her a reassuring text saying “Sorry about the scary Marco Polo I just sent. I’m fine!”

The weirdest, most impactful thing about the experience, though, was watching that video afterwards. There I am joking and sauntering along and you can SEE THE WOLF APPROACHING in the background. The obvious metaphor is that we never know what’s coming, what events or diagnoses or surprises may overtake us. That’s pretty humbling.

But the more comforting takeaway for me was this: Maybe most of life’s wolves just end up walking with us for a few minutes—if we just keep going, keep talking, keep connecting, they eventually turn back to the hills. And we go on.

But, reader, I haven’t been on a morning walk since then so there’s also that.

p.s. Right afterwards I sent this follow-up video to Maddy. Just keep walking, guys.

*I actually don’t know what it was! After doing some research, I’m pretty sure it was a wolf. Or an escaped wolf-looking dog that had been living in the wild?

What wolves are you walking with this week?

(This was also posted at Nest & Launch)

Where should we be today?

Lately I've been slurping up wordswordswords (funny, how that turned so easily into swords there) from books, gobbling them with a verve I thought I'd lost back in the summer I turned 15. I'm parched, I guess, parched enough that I haven't had many words to spare or share--here or elsewhere. I've pulled up the screen, stretched my fingers and then hovered, waiting for the words to come and....nope. Nada. Not yet. Soon. But here, in the meantime, I liked these words:

Where should we be today? 
Is it right to be watching strangers in a play
in this strangest of theatres? 
What childishness is it that while there's a breath of life
in our bodies, we are determined to rush
to see the sun the other way around? 

-Elizabeth Bishop, "Questions of Travel"

The Grand Mosque, Abu Dhabi, as seen from one of those cheesy, double decker, hop on hop off bus. (“Oh, you’re going on a HOHO?” G said this morning. Haha.) We moved here last week! More to say soon…

The College Mirage: Navigating the First Year of College

Last year at about this time of year a student came to see me. She was a new freshman and, a week or two into her shiny, sparkly college life she was feeling neither shiny or sparkly. While she was loving college in general, in some ways things weren't working out the way she had expected--her roommate wasn't her soul sister, there weren't endless dates, her class load required a lot more work than she had needed to do in high school, and she was still figuring out how to find her way in this new place. In some ways, the shiny sparkly college life felt like a mirage--one that had been the promised land all through high school and one that all of her friends on social media seemed to inhabit.

I've been thinking a lot about college transition and freshman loneliness ever since--as a professor who studies & teaches human development, as an advisor to freshmen students, and as a mom to three college-age students.

We tend to prepare our children for college like getting in is the hard part, the finish line. After lavishing all that energy and attention on those entrance exams, applications, GPA maintenance, extracurriculars, no wonder they internalize the message that once you receive that acceptance letter, you've made it! Everything else will fall into place! Books, tv, movies, social media all highlight and glorify the golden glow of the college years. But, like most things in life, the reality often doesn't live up to the hype. 

Meanwhile, if they want to, new freshmen can manage to keep up the image that the hype lives on, curating photos and posts and emoji-adorned texts to downplay the real emotions and loneliness (or even depression and anxiety) that might be happening beyond the tiny phone screen. 

Just at the point when parents begin to acclimate to their child's absence in the home, across the miles for many freshmen students, the orientation parties and excitement of meeting all these new people wears off. The reality of the academic workload sets in and some students manage this better than others. Some sail through pretty well but many don't want to disappoint their families that their grades are lower than they've grown used to getting in high school or that they still haven't found their tribe.  

Last year, Cornell freshman Emery Burgmann created this video about her college transition for a class assignment on transformation. It's a funny, poignant window into the freshman transition ("I feel like this friendship-hungry gremlin...") and the Youtube comments on this clip attest to how common these feelings are:

We parents are pretty good at prepping our kids' dorm rooms and outfitting them with the school supplies they'll need. Just as important (arguably more so), having family conversations leading up to the college launch can ease everyone's social/emotional acclimation to this huge milestone.  We can paint a realistic view of what this next level of study and life will look like rather than glorifying (or trying to live vicariously). In the months and years leading up to the transition to college, try to have open conversations that are sparked by questions like these:

• What kind of living/dorm situation will open you up to connecting with others (single occupancy rooms might seem ideal but they can also lead to isolation)?

• What will you/can you do when you're lonely (because everyone feels lonely sometimes, especially during transitions)?

• What if you get overwhelmed with the workload?

• What resources are available on campus for talking to a trustworthy, informed adult?

• How will we stay connected so you can share your good times but also your struggles?

• What are the signs you can watch for to check on your emotional wellbeing and mental health?

• Did you know you can drop a class? Or withdraw from one, even, if things get overwhelming?

• How will you let me know if you are really really struggling (some families even have a family signal word that means "help!")?

• How will you navigate roommate differences and disagreements?

• What activities can balance out your schedule or provide an outlet for stress, anxiety?

If you're the parent of a college student right now:

• emphasize that friends are made gradually and it's completely normal to feel at sea during a big transition. It often takes years to find your "tribe."

• just listen, hear, and validate the emotions. You don't need to solve the problems, just be a guide through them. Share your own hard experiences and how you navigated them (but first just listen listen listen).

• make time to Skype/Facetime/Marco Polo and talk on the phone. Texts are marvelous for check-ins and logistics but can be misleading, minimize, or mask real emotions. If possible build in a set time each week to really connect.

Interested in reading more? Check out:

• The Real Campus Scourge by Frank Bruni (New York Times). Emily references this article in the video above; it's the article her mom sent her.

• What Made Maddy Run (by Kate Fagan), a heart breaking and eye opening book looking into the death by suicide of U Penn star athlete Maddy Halloran. For a shorter peek, try this NPR story and this podcast with author Kate Fagan's insights and takeaway messages.

• Practicing mindfulness has been linked to healthy college transition. Another study here.  

• Great tips here for college students, including keep your door open and spend as little time as possible in your room--hang out in common areas and study in the library.

What do you wish you knew when you started college? What helped with the transition? What didn't?

Paying Attention

Most of the time we think about parenting as something we do to influence someone else—it's what we do to raise baby humans into responsible, contributing adult humans. We scour articles that promise “pro tips to get your child to behave” or “how to produce a [kind, responsible, smart, superstar] child in ten easy steps.” Me too! I get it--I study and teach parenting for a living—the fascination is strong there and we want to crack the code for how to produce happy, adjusted people.

Lately, though, I’ve been mulling over how parenting and parenthood has changed—sometimes “raised,” other times lowered—me. 

When I’ve let it, motherhood has been a spiritual practice—and I mean that in the sense of my spirit imperfectly practicing difficult, soul-stretching-and-spraining things.

That’s not to say it’s always transcendent or that I float around in nirvana but rather that when I hit the most difficult (yet oh-so-frequent and mundane) times of being the allegedly mature grown up in a family, those moments invite me to learn to be a better human in general and get better at the things that matter.

Now and then I’d like to chat here about some of those parenthood practices that make us stronger people—the equivalent of doing those annoying scales and arpeggios when practicing the piano. What are those things? I don’t know. Or rather, I’m trying to figure it out.  Tell me yours: what quality or change has the practice of parenthood brought you?  What specific parenthood moments have helped stretch and deepen you as a person? Please chime in, I’d really love to know.

. . .

Here’s one I’ve been considering: attention. More specifically: paying it.  In the movie Lady Bird one of my favorite parts is a scene between Lady Bird, this teenage girl who lives in Sacramento (though is aching to leave it), and her Catholic School counselor, Sister Sarah Joan. After reading Lady Bird’s college entrance essay, Sister Sarah Joan remarks that Lady Bird clearly loves the city. “You write about Sacramento so affectionately, and with such care,” she tells her. This surprises Lady Bird, who replies that she just pays attention. Then Sister Sarah Joan notes, “Don’t you think they are the same thing? Love--and attention?”

French philosopher Simone Weil wrote about attention as a kind of spiritual discipline: “attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.” Parents know this. We gaze at our newborn’s faces for hours, memorizing the slopes and angles and reading their features and their cues like tea leaves. Somewhere along the line this level of attention becomes inappropriate and/or unwelcome (“Why are you staring at me like that?!”) so our attention takes covert, underground forms.

I got out of practice of really paying attention as the pace, competing priorities, and sheer number of people in our family increased. But I’m keen to build that muscle again. If you are, too, here are a few ideas for our attention practicing:

• Write a description of each of your big kids/teens/YAs as they are now. Details. What do they look like, who do they remind you of, what pushes their buttons and makes them happy? Baby books are great and all but this is when things get really fascinating. Pay attention and document, even if just for your own eyes.
   

• Look family members in the eye. Don’t make this creepy; try for at least once or twice a day when you stop what you’re doing, turn to them and talk face to face, no interruptions. Notice what it feels like to really see and be seen.
   

• Pay a sincere compliment about something you’ve noticed. Or write a note. I remember once when I was an awkward, 15-year-old I took a ballet class. Short limbed and long bodied with legs more muscular than lithe, I didn’t feel graceful. I felt self conscious and internally lamented I didn’t look like the twiggy lean dancers in the class but I did love going to class, moving to the music, expressing myself that way. My mom came to one of the open house classes and said in the car on the way home something offhanded like “It was so beautiful to see you move like that. You have such a lovely figure.” I probably said “oh, Mom.” I might have even rolled my eyes. But guys. I took that compliment and tucked it into my soul pocket for years. I felt seen.

We are here to abet creation and to witness it,
to notice each thing so each thing gets noticed.
Together we notice not only each mountain shadow
and each stone on the beach
but we notice each other’s beautiful face
and complex nature
so that creation need not play to an empty house.

Annie Dillard

. . .

[Note: cross-posted at Nest & Launch]