A lot of people heard it two weeks ago but I missed it. I was in the shower. Or maybe the grocery store. Who knows. I heard the year’s first thunder last Saturday on a hike with my husband.
Oh, you’re probably thinking. How nice! They got out for a hike together! We did. And it was. But I must also confess that “Us” time this spring is largely in place of what used to be family time. Our kids are off and away, with friends or at events or in their rooms with their doors closed. If we want family time we have to plan it a week in advance and brace ourselves for a shitstorm of protest.
So we waffled on the hike; we planned it, then we canceled it, then we were grim with each other so decided to try again. And once we were out there, once we had set aside the grief and disappointment, the endless comparison between the way our weekends used to go and the way they are now, once we had figured out how to march away (is it a march? Maybe we ‘slinked’ away?) from that rejected, abandoned feeling known to all parents of teens, we were happy. The hillsides were silver green, the willows just beginning to bud. Best of all was the sky, moody and brooding, the seasons at war. Wind came up; the clouds blocked the sun and we were instantly shivering, slipping along a muddy hillside. I walked behind listening to my husband explain in great animated detail the intricate plot of Game of Thrones, which I have never seen. And then it happened: thunder.
Let this be the lesson of the week then: learn how to surrender to what is. Today is our wedding anniversary: nineteen years. In two days, it will be the anniversary of my brother’s death: one year. And the day after that, I will drive to Missoula to meet with Sarah Aronson for an interview on Montana Public Radio’s “The Write Question.” No week could be more emblematic of my life right now. Happy/Sad. April is the Happy/Sad month—seasons at war.
With that in mind, I include a teaser and link to my latest online publication, about learning from my son, who runs track and never wins. Never.
Click the link to read the rest…
Our son joined the middle school cross-country running team in seventh grade and never won a race. In most races, he was close to last. By the end of his eighth grade year, he hadn’t gotten any faster, which is why I found myself driving to his final invitational track meet with a familiar pit in my stomach.
Thank you Christy for the wonderful post about your son and his race. You are absolutely right about losing with grace. My youngest just turned 28. She was on a winning soccer team and did well academically. When her group of similar peers left for college, hopes were high among their parents. Yet, ironically, several of them returned home and registered at MSU. They were “full of potential,” “great kids,” and everyone wondered what they would accomplish, but few of them had ever “lost” anything, and they weren’t prepared for the real world. I believe they returned because they hadn’t experienced losing–they had not had the chance to feel that, recover from it, and figure out next steps. I am sure your son doesn’t need to hear about what he is gaining by losing, who does? But I hope that he does become aware of it over time, and feels good about it. Hugs to you–
Thanks for sharing this story about the value of losing, the value of feeling that and recovering from it. I so agree that it is an important step in all human development, no matter what your age, really, but especially when you are young.
Thank you for your heart warming descriptions of life, love, beauty, nature, grief, ups, downs, all arounds… And yes, surrender. Thanks for the reminder. Lovely.
Thanks Kim, so nice to see you here!
It never occurred to me as a kid to try something I wasn’t good at and see if I liked trying it anyway. Everyone’s looking at me and seeing me fail, I thought–better to stop and save face. How to model failure for our children is a question worth exploring. Yours are pursuing that big question already–bravo! And going to his cross-country meets is an interest of his where you can share in the experience with him–not the same as going on a hike together, admittedly. I guess that’s another facet of surrender: you take the opportunities for connection when you can.
I just read Educated by Tara Westover, and I know you did too. Remember how that one professor tells her she ought to go and try stuff and THEN she would know what she was capable of. What a concept, you know. Seeing what you are capable of. Which is scary I guess because you have to learn that you are not capable of everything. But probably more than you think.