More research to tell us what we already know... but actually some very interesting stuff here, both as a parent and as an American... and actually, as an interculturalist (since that's a big chunk of my job).
This study showed that despite having WAY more population prone to severe depression genetically (up to 80%!!), populations where there is a strong community process in the culture have lower actual rates of depression. They describe it as having 'a culture of we' being the difference.
Interesting question arises for me - did this mutually-supportive community-oriented culture develop because there was a high disposition to depression (therefore much of the population needed support, so they drove the culture that direction), or did the genes not weed themselves out so much because there was a high social value on supporting each other - that is, it never mattered that the gene was there because it wasn't being expressed, and so nobody even knew that someone was prone that way? A bot of both?
It also has some interesting implications for people moving into other cultures. If you are one of the majority with the genes for major depressive episodes, and you move from your culture of 'we' into a culture of 'me' (like the US), how much net do you have to re-weave in order to avoid triggering the depression risk? Or does the upbringing make a difference, so that you are more willing and likely to ask for help when you need it?
Moms in the US know this resistance, I find. Asking for help is something we are taught over and over NOT to do. We should do our own work. Do it ourselves. Asking for help means we don't get full credit. Full credit matters. It is the individual success that shines. We're better than 'that' (whatever 'that' might be). The individual gold is cooler than the team gold. We can handle it. We stress about letting go of control. We feel ashamed of letting others influence our choices too much.
And then we sink. Because this is hard work, being a parent. We need that net. We need the resources, the shoulders to lean (or cry) on. The other hands to hold the baby so we can do something that isn't so constant for a moment.
Now, I had a net. My mom realized that she had taught us to be individuals as kids, but has not taught us as well how to be IN community. So she started working on that as I was reaching adulthood (and the majority of the sibs were out in the world). Community matters. Network matters. Being able to call in the troops, raise a flag and get a response, be comfortable reaching out when in need, those matter. She put herself center in that web in a lot of ways, but part of that was just because she didn't know how else to teach it. Part was just she likes to be in the middle of stuff, of course, too. ;) But I did catch the drift, and started building some net. So when I had my first child, I had three good solid strands of web.
Three. Seems kind of iffy for leaning on.
Wove in some more as I went.
Learned that some strands aren't up for being part of a web. Whoops, where did that one go? No idea.
Learned that some can only reach so far - they'd be there but they're not close enough, and supporting long-distance is harder for some than others.
Learned that others that I never expected would weave themselves in without even asking, and become warp and weft both.
Some go slack at times and snug up unexpectedly under me at other times. Some are woven through everywhere, and others just in one span. And hey look, I'm woven into theirs, too.
It ends up being very nice, once you get the hang of it. It helps having any idea of how to go about it. I'm kind of pushy about it, actually. Er. Rather a lot, really. Kind of blunt force. But I do let people slip back out of the web if they don't want to be there.
Mostly.
The contrast with the culture-of-me makes it harder to do it smoothly. There is no sense of weaving into the extended web as a way to make oneself safe - In community-driven cultures, one's reputation for helping others who are in relationship with someone becomes part of the relationship with that person. So, if I help your uncle, I am now woven into your web, too, because your uncle is part of your web, and you are part of his, even if we have never met. Those threads touch, and can be pulled on in need. But here? Here, so what? So you helped him, when have you ever helped me? Me me me... sigh. So it has to be more direct, here. Which means helping closer in to more people in order to be part of the net. Who has that kind of time?
Or, helping really big when someone needs it. That's part of the loudness of my web-weaving, I learned to help big. I actually like helping big, coordinating an effort or making sure something happens that is needed. But it can be a bit overwhelming for the quieter ones, and I bet it is a little bizarre to those from community-based cultures.
Still, we're working on it. My family does have the genes for depression, so having a web is that much more important. After all, if a population with mostly people who are prone to major depression can avoid depression more than the US population just by being community-oriented, my family may be able to do the same.
Worth a try, anyway.
We had another adventure last weekend. Went to DC, to the National Gallery of Art, to see the Royal Armor exhibit.
It takes us 2+ hours to get to DC. 2+ hours back. We spend about 2 hours in the museum.
Sometimes the calculus of fun seems off. I measure time against the fun and go... wait, four hours of transit for this?
This, though, is fun. That's what it is about, no? My friend A is gently bringing me back to that whenever I talk to him. It isn't about the hours spent, or the details of what happened when. If I start going into the details I will get to the fun of it, eventually, too. My siblings 'get it' in the sense that if I go off on how my kids geeked on the Greek statues (who knew that my kids even knew how to say Calliope properly, let alone knew what her child's name was), they'll laugh and light up and know why I light up, too.
But I don't always tie it in. I end up stuck in the details, sometimes. Listing what happened, when, how long it took, where we went, like a statistical data dump. Boring? Nah. Or, uh, well, maybe? (wince) Certainly not real, not meaningful, no 'me' and no 'them' in the description. And without that, the trip redefines itself into less fun.
So, I'm working on remembering (and noticing, so I can remember) the fun. Nobody has asked me to (not even A, except with his conversational re-direction), but I think it's useful, now that I have noticed that I sometimes forget to catalog the fun, the joy, the laughter, the pleasure, the peace, the glee, the satisfaction, all the stuff that shows the fun. I sometimes just catalog the event, not the experience.
Cataloging the full experience is so much more ... well, more. I can't escape the tendency to catalog, I was born with that. I'll leave that there, as suppressing that would probably make my brain pop.
Anyway... the trip. First was Mr B's final pony-pal riding lesson - next session he's going to be with the big kids (8 and ups), in group lessons. Rainy and chilly, a good Boston November day... or maybe January day. Only we're not in Boston. I felt my inner wince as the shoulder injury from when Mr B fell down the stairs at Baba's manifested in an off-center and off-cadence posting effort. It took the full lesson to settle in with his horse, but then there was the satisfaction of getting her to pick up the canter and stay with it toward the end. I hope his shoulder gets better soon - it is a muscle injury, but it still bothers him a bit. Maybe shouldn't have done the riding at all... though he's using it in play. Muscle strength takes a while to come back after an injury. And then joy and shining eyes, showing big brother G the hawk that had taken shelter in the riding barn.
Long drive down, companionable silences and excited chatter from the back. Ep and I talking out 'stuff' that we're dealing with, remembering us, trying to tune a little to each other before we let go of our own needs and focus on the kids, letting them see what they want to see without setting up conflicts. The trip, after all, is for them. If we enjoy it, great, but it isn't about us enjoying it. And actually, we tend to enjoy these things more if we have ourselves tuned to the larger purpose and goal. Goal? Mr G and Mr B get to see the armor.
And then to the metro station. Gleeful stomping in rain. Shy-but-flattered glance up at the gentleman complimenting Miss M's colorful combination of attire (pink polkadot rain boots, flowered pink-and-orange pants, blue and green dress, purple coat, turquoise and navy umbrella). Affectionate and loving hand-holding as we walked, not just the mechanical 'I must hold hands for safety' but 'I want to hold hands with you'. Consideration and satisfaction as the youngest asked to be the ones to put the metro passes in the slots, and take them out, and hand them back to us. Wondering and wonderful and pretty funny oogling out the metro windows, with excited shouting out of things we passed, so delighted by just the Metro ride itself. Serious observation and practice of the skills for riding the escalator.
Lunch with Aunt L and a friend of hers. Relaxing into the tangle of requests and needs, desire and resistance, preference and decision changes that make up our kids deciding on what they want of what they can eat here. Fries, burgers (no bun, no 'stuff'), bacon, grilled chicken, pizza for the one who can have that, order up! The zen of feeding children - no specific emotions most of the time, just waiting, tending, offering, waiting some more. Miss R wanted something else, but waited out, she chose what was available without a struggle or a fight.
Then back into the rain.
Curiosity (why do they... oh!) and pride in counting the numbers for crossing the roads (the count-down to the light change), hurrying with hands held through the rain. The rich and satisfying warmth of the kids watching out for each other, in series or in combination - one checking on another, then another checking on someone else, making sure they're all together, making sure everyone is okay, helping with this, trading on helping with that, around and around, just barely at the noticeable level. I'm so used to them loving each other, genuinely and openly, that I forget sometimes how much that is part of how they act. Granted, they fight, too, but the excitement created few fights and more tending, lots of problem-solving with only a little coaching.
In the museum, the satisfaction of noticing (while we stand and wait for ep to get the coats to the coat check) that there are fossils in the marble floor (or whatever stone it is), spotting them here and there, look, another! Satisfaction again, watching ep coach Mr B thruogh figuring out where we are going, look at the map, find the gallery we want, and setting them off to wayfind. The easy touchdown of checking to see who is taking point, and who is sweep (I was sweep). And oh, the sculpture. No time to study it, absorb or take it in, but still time to see the girls' awe and wonder, and the boys' delight and assessment of what kinds they like best (busts don't interest them much, full body statues do).
Ourtide the exhibit, the chance to try on armor, gauntlets and helm, heavy and dangerous-looking. Fully engaged set of kids, touching the things they can touch, looking through the books, asking questions. And a lot of time looking at the mural of battle scenes, spotting different items with shouts of excitement, look over here! Not too much for the museum, volume-wise, and enough engagement to make other people smile.
And then the armor, Mr G nearly nose-pressed against the glass, drawn in to the metalwork, soaking it up, soul-satisfied in the presence of skill and mastery of the art. Mr B and I spent more time together, looking at the horse armor, observing how you could see the shape of the horse it was made for, how broad the chest, and Mr B's gleeful grasping of the concept, pointing out how the eye of the horse statue they'd put it on for the exhibit was not in the same place as the eye of the horse it was made for, see, look, there! Imagining what the horse would sound like when it trotted, metal chiming and jingling. Picturing how strong the horse must have been, and what it would have been like to ride it. Shining eyes and glowing face on that, wonderful wonderful. Then back to the people armor, looking at color and pattern, comparing the real thing to the version in the portraits associated... minds clicking along, satisfaction and surprise and questions and curiosity.
And oh, the quizzing of each other on which statue was which deity, sharp satisfaction in knowing the answer, knowing more than mom does, being able to explain why and how, what clues and what signs were present. Watching Mr G teach Mr B how to identify Bacchus, and Hermes, his pride in his knowledge but also pride in teaching well, sharing the knowledge.
Some grumpies as the day went on, but mostly from MIss R, who was already grumpy (we think she's in a growth spurt again). Some problem-solving as we figured out how to manage the desired gift shop purchases (birthdays coming up), and how to do that without it being too much to do (sequential trips). Then the too-tight hustle and rush as we got everyone back through the bathrooms and back out into the rain and back to the metro and ... pause on the metro, dancing and laughing, working on the safety issues constantly but still letting the girls spin around the poles a little, just because.
And home again home again, boys chattering and playing in the back, girls first pensive and then asleep. Ep falling asleep with his fingertips resting on my leg companionably while I drove. Satisfaction.
A good day. A worthy adventure. Worth remembering not just what we did, but how it went.
This is the new nickname for our family.
Mr G came up with it last night, as the title of a tv show about us.
I laughed until I almost peed myself. Because he said it, with dry humor, in the midst of:
a) ep coming home late from work because his train was delayed (he had walked in the door, kids flung themselves at his knees for hugs - yeah, he's tall).
b) kids trying to get their ice cream for dessert (since we're all Montessori-at-home-ish, they each got out a utensil, requested the ice-cream bowls that have not yet made it down to their reach range, got out their own ice cream from the freezer, and were setting up step-stools at the counter/stove area for self-serving in tandem - and have I mentioned that we have one of those narrow shotgun kitchens designed by an architect who clearly had never set foot in a kitchen - even after we gutted it and rearranged it as best we could, it still sucks for more than one person at a time, and there were SIX people in there).
c) me trying to clear up dinner.
d) ep also trying to get to his dinner.
Yeah, Random Milling was about right. Plus the noise... wow.
Making it funny was the best possible thing, since I was about to drown under it all. I went and ate my ice cream on the sofa, by myself, though. Phew. Breathing room.
Funny, how the self-knowledge helps. And funny how the lack of it has hindered me. I had figured I was way more introverted than I used to be - actually, for years, ep has been half-apologizing to me for turning me into an introvert - but I hadn't really accepted it. Accepting it has made a series of lightbulbs go off for me.
This is why I hate being a stay-at-home mom. Kids on me nonstop, all day, no peace, and the only way to get them to stop is to go out - er. Whee?
This is why I go nuts when things get noisy.
This is why I am prone to the sudden outbursts of AAARRRGGGHHH! - okay, being a Thinker instead of a Feeler plays into that (my feelings come out of nowhere all extroverty). I also have sudden outbursts of LOOOOOOVVVVVVVE, too - out of nowhere I have to go hug someone. It probably makes no sense to them at all. Funny, one of the things I hear a lot in response to my affection is 'where did that come from?' (wince)
It has been much easier to be more affectionate openly now that I'm paying attention to how I show my affection, too. I just assumed it showed more, and that my mom's comment that I'm the least demonstrative of her kids (affection-wise) was an anomaly to do with our relationship.
Huh. Maybe not.
I know I am better at affection with my kids (and ep), say it more, touch more, etc., because they've taught me that they need that. But it still had hitches, hiccups, and tight spots. It's easier now that I can see with the perspective inward that I'd been missing. And it's nice, too. I can find ways to make it work better for me, and them, too. Effective starts coming in better on this one, now that I have a little insight into my own function.
Anyway, that's us. Random Milling.
Only, please, no reality shows about our life. :shudder: Even if the title is pretty darn hilarious.
So, around here (that is, in our family), autumn is charity time.
I don't know how much it is a reflection of culture (harvest is in!), or logistics (ack! Have to get the charitable contributions in for taxes!), or other stuff, but fall seems to be our biggest chunk of attention to the charitable work.
Sunday I was part of the UU Fellowship service, talking about practicing our principles. The principles of being present, being in community, and taking action, in combination are a big part of what it means to be a UU. They're also a big part of our family process, on both sides (after all, those values are common to many other religions, such as the Quakers, being the other side of the family).
So Baba and I got up in church and talked about how we do this. How do we get the kids involved, how do we make it light them up?
How did we get kids to choose to do extra chores to pay for their public-radio membership?
How did we get kids out in the dirt, digging up history or planting trees?
How do we get them to send money to a girl's school in Afghanistan, or donate to Doctors Without Borders?
How do we get them to get excited about donating food to the food bank?
How do we get them involved in the research project for (hopefully) inoculating amphibians against the fungus that is killing them around the world?
We only had two minutes to talk, so I tried to make it short - but that meant we didn't really get to explain HOW in detail. More 'what' than 'how'.
A little on the how, though - like staying aware and open for the possibilities. Listen for the question that you can let them answer from their values. Like for public radio, explaining what a pledge drive is, but not asking them too much, or telling them, or lecturing, or bossing - just discussing, and asking what they think. Funny how they will come up with the idea that if they're listening, maybe they should support it, too. My kids are therefore the youngest contributors to the public radio classical music station they've ever had.
In coffee hour after the service, though, we got more questions. HOW do we do this? How do we get kids to want to help?
Following the kids is the core of it, for us. We don't make them do it, even if we set them up to do it. If I'm going to donate food to the food bank, I plan it to have the kids available to come along. But that's the cheap-ass version of the process. The deeper level is watching for what upsets them, and finding a way to answer that anger or hurt or fear or sorrow.
So, when my mom's house addition meant that some beloved trees were going to be taken down, my mom didn't just assuage their sorrow or tell them to deal or otherwise just answer that part of the problem, she promptly contacted the Nature Conservancy and asked if there were any tree-planting events going on that needed volunteers. So the kids in honor of the trees lost went and planted trees in a place where those trees had been lost long ago - and would now get to grow back in a protected and safe place.
It answered the pain with action.
And there's also the chance to follow someone else's passion that isn't mom-and-dad's. Like, my sister - aunts and uncles and friends are part of this. My sister has many passions, and is an expert on charities (it's part of her job). She found the amphibian research project that needed a push - they really needed to hire a grant writer, and she talked to them about funding that. And the kids donated specifically to that. She's also into the non-profit archaeology group that we dig with - she set that up, and got us psyched, got us started, and ... well, the kids got to light up on someone else's cool.
And then we celebrate that - the events are documented with more care than we give birthdays and holidays. Certificates of thanks are framed and put on their bedroom wall (at Baba's house, where there is more wall space, but where they see what they've done often). We talk about it with others, in front of them, show the pride we have in their willingness to help. We embed it in conversation with them, as well.
The opportunities are endless. We choose differently each year, but the point is to choose. Start, find something that lights them up. Whether it is a 'do-good' thing (Doctors Without Borders) or a 'fight for change in the world' thing (a girl's school in Afghanistan) or an arts thing (volunteering at the Art Museum) - it doesn't matter.
Starting matters. Practicing being aware of the community matters. Being open to the opportunity to create change matters. Doing it as a family matters. We do it all year long, but the peak is really in the fall, when we gather as a family-extended, and think about gratitude as part of Thanksgiving, and send our gratitude back out into the communities in which we see ourselves - local, regional, global.
Christmas is so commercialized at this point, it is hard to fight back without undercutting the fun. 'Tis the season becomes too complicated, fraught, confusing.
For us, this is the season of giving.
Okay, so I only suck on some things.
Lately, however, I've discovered I suck at some things I thought I was good at.
Nothing, NOTHING, makes me more miserable than realizing I am incompetent at something.
All sorts of things can make me more sad, more scared, etc. - kids will do that. But when it comes down to me, feeling competent is important.
Hence practically everything I do as a parent.
But I still suck at some stuff. I hate the face-plant moments, enough that I will not avoid getting up, getting back in there, and trying to muck through and figure out what I did wrong and how to do it more right.
I'm okay with progress, too - I don't have to be perfect right now. I can be a continuing process. I actually am pretty process oriented, so if I'm working on getting better at something, I can count that.
In this case, though, I thought I was good at something, but ... um, maybe not.
For much of my life, I have thought I was an extrovert. I mentioned this a couple posts back. And I also thought I was an F - people first, values first, problem second.
But as I went through the exercises with my team (especially the followup stuff), I ended up much more comfortable in the introvert and thinking side. I realized that I feel I am supposed to be people first. To manage that, I put people-as-the-problem, so I can kinda keep people first (but really, the problem is still first).
I problem-solve people issues. Which is loads of fun, really. It is what I do for work (my new mini project is perfect perfect perfect for this - I totally love it!). But it also highlights that when it comes to the actual process and expression of feelings, I may not actually be that good at it. After all, I assumed I was good at it, so I didn't bother to try to build skills.
Which means that, hmm - when I feel angry, I am prone to losing my temper. No skill. And when I'm feeling overwhelmed or agitated or even thrilled and excited, I dump it at people I care about (instead of being able to manage the flow, attend to the intersection between me and thee, and listen). Again, no skill. And I'm not as good as I think I am about hearing other people's feelings and responding to them. Um, oops?
Analyze them? Sure. No problem! I can dissect someone's emotional process from 50 ft. I can spot how people work (and be relatively close to right), even if I know that I can't tell why something was felt (no mind reading).
I think I'm okay with conflict, too - or did. But maybe, maybe not on that one.
One of the big yank-up-short moments on this was my work friend A sitting down to go over the two types that were coming up as likely - he agreed that the type I was typed before (very enthusiastic, gossipy random and social) was wrong. He thought I was the rules-based orderly thinker. Okay, so I play one at work... I've worked on those skills for 20 years. But when it came down to looking at the type I think I actually am (geek problem-solver), there was one thing that I didn't think fit, and I wanted his level-set on.
What thing? The booklet said that this type of person is uncomfortable with expressions of feeling (self or others), and with conflict. Nah, not ME! I put a big X over the box on that.
And he disagreed. Heartfelt disagreement, actually. That much I could tell (sigh).
Er.
As it turns out, he's a feeler type, so you know what? I am going to have to trust his judgment on that. I did, of course, cross check (because I have to). I read through some of my blog posts on handling feelings. And man, do I go straight to the problem-solving first! It's not sympathy and compassion I offer, it is resolution. Which isn't bad as an end-point, but um, might help if I interwove more compassion in the process. I do, really, just not as much as is called for - I cut it short, get them to try to calm down too much too soon.
This is probably why Miss M avoids me entirely when she's feeling hurt. I do not help. I run out of energy for dealing with the hurt-ness fairly fast, and want it to be done. I know she needs to take her time, but she wants to take her time on it with me, and I start to tense up as it continues. Stop stop stop stop, please stop! Uh. Sheesh.
You'd think I'd be better at this parenting thing by now!
But, see, Mr G is a thinker like me, so his pacing is very like mine. No problem, I have this parenting thing managed (at least there, right?).
And then Mr B is a feeler, but he's an extrovert and will have his fit wherever, loudly (and his joy, too), so that it kind of goes everywhere and not just at me. I can let it flow in all directions and not have to address it too closely.
Miss R I know needs a lot of time, but she just wants a witness - so she'll be all feelings flying everywhere, but as long as I acknowledge that it is there, and stay out of her way, that's okay too.
And then MIss M. Whose feelings need to be expressed close up and personal... uh.
Yeah, I suck.
Sigh.
But at least now I know what I need to work on. It is useful, that - and maybe while I'm figuring out how to actually manage those feelings (instead of either dumping or cringing), I can figure out how to work them with ep, who takes the brunt of the dumps (and he's not up for that, either). And likewise, I can figure out how to talk with my friend A, who so gently guides the conversation back to what's important (the people), because I always start with the problem - and sometimes don't go anywhere from there.
I'm somewhat glad that I have the third set of filters clarified at this point - because I could use a little Acceptant Loving and Faithful from me to me. Ep starts there, and so does my friend A, and pretty much all my friends. Just as I do with them. (Though I have to work on Acceptant on the feelings expressions, apparently!) But having it said and written helps me remember to be that way with me, too.
One more skill set to add... goodie! er. Dang. But okay. Get up and try again.
My kids have a passion for discovery (family trait, really). If they don't end up researchers and scientists, it won't be for lack of experience!
Saturday, my mom (Baba) took them on another of her 'enchantment' adventures.
For those who don't recall, after my mom and I had a little (er, huge) spat about where the parental boundaries were, we figured out some issues around roles and tasks, and I asked her to perform one very important task for us and our kids - provide them with enchantment. Make the world magical. I'm going to have to do decorum and education and health and all the boring stuff, and I don't want them to miss out on joy and wonder - I can do that, love doing that, but I will not get to have that be the only, core goal. I want it to be a big one, so delegating... well, it solved a lot of issues. Baba now has a place to put all her love and energy, and I have a lighter load. Plus I knew she'd rock at that.
Now, some of that 'enchantment' is mythology and fairies. But a lot of it is science, and some of it is social awareness, and some is history... whatever, she brings it from an angle guaranteed to enchant. Brilliant at it, actually. She finds ways to elicit the passion, delight, child-like glee, joy, wonder, however you want to describe it, with almost any topic. I don't know if she's tried math yet... but physics, chemistry, astronomy, biology, sociology... yep, yep, yep, and yep.
So.
For my Brother-in-Law's birthday, Baba gave him a chance to share his great passion (Geology) with his nephews and niece (the elder grandkids).
They went off to a spot he knows where the fossils just lie around on the ground waiting to be picked up, especially after a good hard rain. A little digging doesn't hurt, but it actually isn't necessary. They're not valuable fossils (mainly squid parts and some shells), but they're real. And many. And oh, real is so fabulous. And many makes the reward constant.
Real is here, and now, and past all in one. Real is shocking in its ability to make us feel the flow of time.
Finding them yourself is so much real, it makes the kids vibrate. I know there are kids who are not into this kind of thing, but I just can't picture them at all. Even Miss R, who is much more socially oriented is still very much into what could be found in the dirt. See her at the archaeology dig, for example, thrilled to have found a bit of ancient coal - even though she really doesn't understand how old is old...
I expected Mr G to be into it. And Miss L, his cousin, also. She has a fire in her mind that lights up like a blowtorch on stuff like this.
But Mr B is the one whose response charmed me most. And fascinated me.
Mr B took the time to go off with Uncle S, and sit down and learn how to look, what to look for, how to see the colors in the dirt that indicate 'this was a layer of sand' and 'this wasn't'. How to find where the best chance of fossil might be, to know and understand the layering of the earth, and let that tell him where the joy would be.
He told me later about how the rain moved the fossils over the terrain, and where that meant they would be found. And how the different soil types washed away, and what that looked like.
Joy and joy and joy, finding fossils. Not even just the easy 'laying around on the ground' version, but oh, the seeking, following their signs and cues, trying, and finding.
What an amazing way to spend an overcast September afternoon for an almost-8-year-old!
It's like archaeology, only faster. He loves that, too. He loves going to the dig, finding something, uncovering it, using his capacity for care and attending combined with his passion and openness to what comes - or does not come. Working on a team with essentially complete strangers (a friend or relative doesn't hurt, either), creating a unit working toward a common discovery. That's him all over.
And now he also has a grasp of one real-world application of geology. It's about getting down in the dirt, learning to look - or maybe learning to see. There's an intimacy there, a relationship between him and the earth, almost a conversation.
"Enchantment" definitely qualifies. What else would you call learning to hear the Earth whisper its secrets about the past?
For years, Mr G has been periodically something of a pessimist - a little cautious, a little anxious, a little wary. Not a lot, but a little, and not always, but regularly.
I think natively, he's more of an optimist (he was as a little child), but he also is enough of an odd duck that he has developed some caution. And then maybe too much caution, for a while. At school, he had a series of conflicts that left him feeling a bit iffy last year, like he didn't have skills and he didn't have ability. He started stringing those together into a series of unfortunate events, and that made everything bad.
So we talked (because we're lecture-y like that), and talked. I proposed the research-based perspective that optimists get more good events in life in part because they are always on the watch for the good thing, they know it is coming but don't know from where, or when. Eyes open, watching, waiting, and see, there! and there, again! Research shows that it isn't that life is so different for optimists and pessimists, but that pessimists miss opportunities because they are not seeking them with quite the same constancy that optimists do.
That was last year. Lecture over, I left it alone. Mostly. But over the summer, ignored it, let other things be important.
And then today, ep tells me that Mr G is loving school, loving it loving it loving it. When he was asked for more information about what/how/why, Mr G said, "I decided that every day was going to be good."
Elaborating, he clarified that he had made the choice to see every day as promising good things, and so he is finding he is always noticing the good things that happen. He's learning stuff, he's doing well on tests, he has adventures and talks to friends and discovers something new. Every day is amazing.
And he's also aware that this was a choice. He chose to look for the good. And see, there it is!
Damn, if only I'd known before I was 12 that happiness could be a choice. Heck, before 20.
I didn't learn to be an optimist until late high school, and even then it wasn't something I thought was a choice. It coincided (probably not incidentally) with me growing 6 inches in one year (4 in the summer), and suddenly being taller than my peers. My confidence shot up with my height, and I went from being fairly introverted and shy (both) to being rather a lot bold. The bold I think is what confused the issue on Introvert vs. Extravert - certainly I was way more out there, and that's when I started being a lot more, er, friendly (dating a lot more, that is). And those successes rolled into a sense of being successful, and attractive, and powerful, and probably arrogant and annoying, too.
So here I am, now. I still choose to be happy, to see the opportunities, to look for the chances. It takes effort some days, but that's okay - it is a choice I'm willing to make.
And so is Mr G.
Part of my job at work is to understand other people - to watch for the things they don't say, to work with their personality types, to maximize, respond to, adjust. It's only a small part of my job, until it is the major part of my job (that is, most of the time, it is background because there aren't that many issues).
But part of that is understanding myself. You'd think by now I'd have a good grasp on that.
But maybe not.
Next week we have an MBTI (Myers Briggs Type Indicator) consultant coming in to work with our entire team (plus up one level). We'll be doing the 'instrument' (being typed), and doing some teamwork exercises. It should be very interesting, and fun.
And maybe illuminating. See, I was typed a very long time ago. ENFP, but so close to ENTP that there was only 1 point difference. (Extravert, iNtuitive, Feeler, Perceiver) VERY strong skillset for Thinking (making decisions using logic rather than values). And way off the end of the chart on Extravert (gaining energy by being with others).
But.
With MBTI, there is the potential to influence your test outcomes based on what you were taught you should be. Part of the 'should be' teaching is skills-building, but part of it is how you read what is acceptable for you to do and be. So, if I think it is best for my child to be an Extravert (seeking out others, seeking to be with, etc.), then I may spend a lot of time nudging them toward playing with the other kids, taking them to activities, essentially coaching a huge amount of Extravert skills. Now, that might not be a bad skill set to have (especially in the US, where being able to at least pretend to be an Extravert is vaulable). But it also isn't necessarily what the child already is.
Family culture also influences this. Our family culture as far as I can tell was ENXJ. Appearances count (at least enough to care about presentation), being good hosts counted, intuition was valued, extraversion was essential (die otherwise!), and both values and logic were used in decision-making (you could always argue your case with logic, but you could also justify a decision based on values, both worked). Funny, my mom's personality type is ENXJ. Go figure.
So, I was taught early to go join in. Jump into the mix. Nudge nudge. There were plenty of times I was allowed to take my time about it (often, in fact), but I was expected to get there. Go play with the kids at the birthday party. Go have fun. Extravert!
There was also a lot of fabulous discussion about things we 'just knew', stuff we understood without needing to put together, all the intuitive stuff. I loved those conversations (match match match on the iNtuitive!).
I cannot figure out if I am naturally more F (feeler) or naturally more T (thinker) for how I make decisions - I think F. Or wait, maybe T. GAH!
I like working from principles, not rules. But is that more the influence of the N and P? See sixty million posts on how our house runs, Safe Respectful Kind, not 'thou shalt'. Values and how things affect the other people drive a lot of my choices. Not that I don't bring in a lot of logic, analysis, and rationality to that. It's one of the things I enjoy most, moving back and forth over that line, drawing on rationality and reason, applying that to values, cross-checking outcomes for logical function. F. But maybe T. I analyze and think through, before and after interactions with my kids. I analyze my own issues, thoughts, patterns, and behavior. I care about fair, and always have (my mom said I was the most concerned with Fair and Just of all the kids, with my sister H being right up there - and I'm pretty sure she's a T). I've been told I think too much. But... if there's a crisis, I tend to go straight to Thinking, and people often reverse their function when they are in a crisis. But maybe I haven't met a crisis that was that far off the scale... AHHHH! This is why they test. And why the testers have to be trained.
And the P. I'm naturally a P - go with the flow, roll with it, suck with deadlines, take up tasks because they're fun (despite the time available). My mom tried to teach some J stuff, but there was a lot of head-butt on that. I just could not do it. She didn't know how to teach it.
Now, as a parent, I'm looking through the Mother Styles book (thank you very much, you know who you are). :) And OHMYGOD I parent like an introvert! Though I have mad skillz on the Extravert stuff, so some of the pitfalls of Intravert parenting are non-existent. I have already over-compensated for that side. Still, holy shmoley. All this time, I thought I was an Extravert! Bizarre.
You'd think I would know who I was. But powerful coaching - both by my mom and by our culture - set me up to think otherwise. Maybe I'm wrong in the re-assessment, too. Certainly I used to seek out others for energy... but it was generally others I knew well. I tend to have more than just one good friend, but I don't spend all my time with them. I'm certainly not off-the-scale Introvert. But probably over the line enough to count.
It makes me wonder what our family 'type' is. Definitely N. Both T and F (I think). And er, probably very P (oh, we have so much trouble getting to bed on time!). And I. INXP. Hmm. I wonder how much I'm imposing that on our kids...
I have already recommended the book a few times to various people - Mother Styles is a reasonably effective way to look at yourself as a parent (mothers obviously in particular, but it works for dads, too). It is a way to understand why I don't like doing THAT, or the other thing, and why I never am going to enjoy such-and-such. It makes it clear that the things I admire in other parents are things I don't need to be, though I may want to try to learn how to do.
I'm never going to be orderly - too N, too P. But I can learn to be less disorganized, and still value my ability to take things as they come, respond in the moment, and grasp the pattern without having to assemble it from its various parts (which just seems like so much WORK! Granted, that's easy for an S).
Anyway, more understanding me means more understanding what I'm doing as a parent, and why it works, and what might not work, and how to adjust. Useful.
Still weird, though. Me, an Introvert? Hahahahahaha... er, yeah, I probably am.
The boys started school yesterday. Mr G is now in 6th grade, and Mr B is in 2nd. Miss M and Miss R are still in preschool, the year before Kindergarten, though their school doesn't start for another week and a bit. Everyone is at their old schools from last year.
I expect the process to be fairly smooth, this year. No freakouts, no meltdowns (or at least just the usual one). Mr B is going to miss his old teacher, but he also is excited about the new one. She rides (horseback). He's so in. He's also excited that they will be learning both French and Spanish this year.
Mr G is rolling right into the year like it was a shorter vacation between last year and this than it was. Yeah, yeah, knows all that, carrying on. Laughing at the dinner table, being teased about remembering his Latin from last year. He's easy with it.
Miss M is going to have her same classroom and same teachers. Miss R will have a new teacher in her room, but in the way of a small state and a small school community (Montessori), it is Mr G's favorite teacher from his old school.
The bigger changes coming up are for the grownups.
Ep is starting an architecture firm. He's already getting business slowly but regularly from his existing efforts. He's moving forward steadily at this point, and will be developing it gradually over the next few years. It is still a big deal, even gradually. sCorp, LLC, LLP, taxes, accountant, lawyer, insurance, aaaaaaahhhhhh!
I am also starting a 'new' job tomorrow. Same company, different role. It's one I am well-suited for, but it was supposed to only be 1/2 time. The client said no, they want full time. I'm going uh, wait, what about all the other stuff I'm supposed to be doing here, the stuff that I will not get to do if I'm working full-time on something else??? I'm really here for THAT.
But full-time it is. At least through December. It is a very good opportunity, in that I'm the test-case for a whole new role, plus we need some depth in this tool, business area, and client area. So doing it for a bit is useful, but puts off what I want to do. Plus, I was working an angle toward being the second for my current boss, but he's shifting roles and they'll bring in someone new for that role (he's shifting off gradually, so in a year or so), so I'll be having to play wait-and-see on the new person, but in the meantime I'm still trying to make myself indispensable in other ways - I'm already the go-to on a variety of things, and my (two) bosses trust me and rely on me for those... do not want to let that slip.
This month looks to be hell, really. We have school start stuff, with the likely usual breakdown about two weeks into the new school year (I don't like my teacher, I want to go back to my old class, I miss friend X, etc.). We have finding an accountant and ramping up the company prep (though probably not incorporating instantly in Sept). We have me putting in heavy hours to get up to speed with the client and the tools ASAP, setting up capture methods to track my efforts on this, and forming the relationships needed to make it work. And then we have just having the rest of our lives function - house, marriage, parenting, garden, extended family, friends.
AHHHHH!
On the plus side, I have some worthy friends and family, who are there for us as much as we are for them. So we've got people who have our backs. Our financial advisor is going to help with the business decision-making advice (he advises a lot of small business owners, and is incredibly competent), my work friend A is always there for me (and we've solidly established the two-way-street-ness at this point, having spent yesterday moving him and his wife to their new apartment), my boss is concerned that I succeed with this job to the point that he has been very clear that he will do whatever it takes to help set me up for success, my mom has our family in the net, my sister's husband is bartering time to keep our garden under control so my yardwork effort is reduced to minimal... it's going to be crazy, but the most sane version of crazy possible.
Still, AHHHHH!
If you've had kids for a while, you'll probably know the feeling of looking at your child and catching a glimpse of who they will be years from now.
Sometimes it is just the next stage up that you see - the toddler inside the baby, rising up for a moment. In older kids, you can sometimes see the teen, and rarely I get flashes of the adult inside the child.
It's like getting a random contraction in the last few weeks of pregnancy to remind us that labor will come, the next stage is coming, and that it can't be stopped. And also that the next stage will be good. So far, all my flash-forwards have been good. THey give me a sense of nostalgia for the present I am already in, make it clear and sweet and present.
Mr B has started up his last 'pony' riding lessons. He's almost 8, so he'll be in group lessons at the next session. So, for now, his last chance to have solo lessons without paying extra. He has met the challenge his former instructor laid out - she wanted him cantering before he moved on to group lessons. He is.
He has also leapt a level in his riding. It is likely because of having done the riding camp - both a group lesson situation and a daily riding situation. Whether it was the group aspect or the daily riding, I don't know, but he has gotten a lot better. His heels were down, and he kept his body posture strong and straight the entire lesson - no slacking. Plus, they put him on Cutie, who is cute but snotty. She wants to do what she wants to do. And he turned her around and got her pointed the right way again, muscled her head around, even. Given how small he is, it was pretty impressive. Granted, Cutie isn't as big as some of the other horses he's ridden, either. He's used to the big quarter horse, who also likes his own way with things. So I suppose it isn't so strange that he's this able on a smaller, less stubborn (if more obnoxious) horse.
What I saw, though, when he was posting across the ring, eyes forward, responding to the instructor's called cues, was the teenager, the young man riding confidently, working with the horse. There was something in the way he was suddenly at ease 100%, instead of 95%, that flashed that image into my mind and heart. Here he is, little boy, eager and excited. There he is, grown and confident.
Man. It's cool, seeing that flash.
It doesn't hurt that we're headed into the regulation phase for everyone. The half-year of disregulation is fading out, the new phase of order and knowledge and skill is rising. The 11 becomes 12, the 7 becomes 8 (one of my very favorite ages), the 4's become 5's. It's still on the cusp - shifting back and forth between younger and older, leaving me expecting one and getting the other more than half the time. I get grumpy when that happens - transitions aren't my strong suit, I suppose. But I can see the new stage coming, and it is so darn amazing. Look at them, growing up! I am aware of their mortality a little more during these stages, I think because I want to see them fully as themselves in this next level. I want the next chapter to unfold, want to watch it happen. As they get older, I get more time to do so, with the changes allowing them more power and scope, and taking less physical effort from me.
A little less, anyway!
Ah, I hear feet coming down the stairs - time to go...