Unfinished symphony
In the best moments of my parenting and teaching, when I am well-rested, well-fed, clear-eyed and calm, I regard the children in my care as the dynamic wondermachines that they are. I marvel at their ability to grow and change, in all the ways, right before my eyes. In these moments, I can consider a tantrum or an outburst as not an act of disrespect or manipulation, but what it truly is, a testing of boundaries, a struggle against overwhelming emotion, an attempt to fit in a place where no extra space seems to exist, or, most simply and critically, a call to ‘see me, acknowledge me, love me’. I view the smallest achievement as a remarkable feat, worthy of celebration. I high five and hug, I sing and dance, in praise of progress, however miniscule. In my best moments of parenting and teaching, I remember to take children as what they are, ever-evolving beings, with hopes and fears and dreams.
How is it, then, that as an adult, I don’t always bestow the same grace upon myself? I, too, am an unfinished symphony. Although I am ‘grown’, I am still very much growing. I am allowed to mess up, make mistakes and try again. I should not be expected to know everything; life unfolds as we go. And yet somewhere along the line, someone equated adulthood with having things ‘figured out’. We reach a certain age and we are meant to know what to do with ourselves. That may be the case for some very lucky individuals, but I cannot count myself in that number.
Children are provided with mentors and guides to help them muddle through--parents, teachers, carers, friends. Most adults in these positions have largely come to terms with the idea of being a role model for their younger charges, as daunting as the prospect might occasionally be. Yet we seem to forget that adults need role models too. We might reflexively look to our parents or other relatives as examples of what we could be, or, alternatively, choose resolutely not to be. Family members, however, are perhaps too close to us to serve as ideal role models. A more effective approach could be asking ourselves a variation on that question oft posed to children:
‘Who do you want to be when you grow up?’
In this way we can remind ourselves that even as adults, we are still evolving. We still have the chance to be someone different than the person we are in this moment. Which is not to say who we are isn’t completely lovely and amazing, but rather that we should never underestimate our ability to become an even better (or wholly different) version of ourselves.
This morning a memory from four years ago popped up in my Facebook feed. It was a photo of a small paper booklet titled, ‘The Book of My Life’. I had found it while tidying up. Inside, the pages were blank. Uncertain of who it belonged to, I had asked then 6 year-old Annabelle if it was hers. ‘Yes!!’ she replied, emphatically adding, ‘And it’s not finished yet!”
The book of your life isn’t finished yet. Keep writing your story, it’s a good one.
The Takeaway:
Grant yourself the time, patience and compassion
that you give your children.
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This post is unabashedly inspired by Amanda Gorman, Youth Poet Laureate and the newest inaugural poet of the United States. She read her original poem, ‘The Hill We Climb’, at the Biden-Harris Inauguration. After hearing Amanda speak, I was agog at the art I had just witnessed, at the wisdom she had just imparted. As I learned more of Amanda’s story, I was even more awestruck. I was not alone. Across social media, people wrote, ‘I want to be Amanda Gorman when I grow up.’
The following is an interview with Amanda the morning after her phenomenal turn. The part that resonated with me most was when Amanda spoke of how fearful she was that she would not be able to create work good enough for such a momentous occasion. This feeling of not being able to meet expectations is all too familiar to me, and has caused me to not take risks that could lead to bigger and better things. Would that we all could be like Amanda—to face our fear and walk out the other side, victorious.
