Remember that feeling of going to school with a handwritten note in hand from a parent? A note that held the power to excuse you from gym class or from an absence? Somehow that note left no questions unanswered because everything was going to be taken care of. It opened doors and made anything and everything right again.
When a doctor tells you to get rest it seems ok to lay around and watch movies all day. When we tell ourselves to take a break? It feels lazy. Can we write permission slips for ourselves??? I admit that I’ve tried and it works a little bit, but not nearly as well as I wish it did.
Sometimes just a glance at a post-it note above my art desk does give me the courage to play more and think less. Of course, it’s been about a year since I’ve been in that room at all and I’m thinking about that lately.
I have missed you all! The school book fair is finished and it was a smashing success on many levels. I’m proud; I’m tired; I’m getting all sorts of compliments. First I rested, Mr. B went grocery shopping, and we did laundry and rested some more. Now I am dealing with what happens when you put your life on pause for 12 days. I feel like I’ve been in a tunnel underground or out on a boat and just come back to civilization… I’m looking around and seeing lots of changes. WHO is the next president??? Violence against police? Antisemitic acts? Attacks on Native Americans STILL? What is going on here “from sea to shining sea?” Deep breath. Deep breath. It was just a small amount of time I was gone – a few days, right? Not 70 years!
It seems we are all out of contact with each other. You and I will obviously resume our best friend status. But what about everyone else? I have to say, I’m not really in touch with any rural farmers or… well, rural anybody actually. But they have a voice and they are obviously unhappy (but hopefully not racist). We can’t really stay in our educated bubble (did you see that Saturday Night Live bit??) reading the Huff Po and wait for someone else to deal with half the country. It will be interesting to see what unfolds.
My daughter (and me too, I have to admit) can’t even say Tr***’s name without cringing. She got some of that from learning about elections at school, but most of that from me and maybe other family. She’s been to vote with me before and so we have talked about democracy and countries that are more of a dictatorship or oligarchy and how fortunate we are in America. She knows about Susan B. and women’s voices being heard and counted. I tried to be as impartial and objective as I could when I said, “We believe in education, creative solutions, equality, fairness, kindness, and peace… but there are people who have different ways of thinking and they count too.” Lol.
Earlier this year, Sweet Girl learned at school about what happened 15 years ago on 9/11 in a vague way. I felt I had to tell her something basic about what happened. There were lots of logistical questions because it makes no sense how an airplane would be taken over by bad guys, how it could purposefully fly into a building and why the building would be on fire, how all those people… her innocent face struggling with understanding that such hatred and awfulness exists was incredibly painful for me to watch. We were in the car and I pulled over and got in the back seat and hugged her and answered her questions. I told her about how strangers always come together in times like these and good things do come, and that she is safe.
Just as I told her then, when I woke up after election day and had to tell her that what I was so certain would prevail had, in fact, had a setback, I could only rub her back and tell her that we have to be doubly loving and peaceful and understanding in the face of people and times like this. I told her there have been presidents who weren’t so nice, but the American people made it through. I even told her that not much gets done (good or bad) because there are lots of people in Washington who get to say how things happen. Her tears and cries were mine too.
It’s a huge weight for a kid, I’d imagine, to gain awareness that life is not all mommy and daddy and popsicles and playtime. We lose pets and people we care about; there are dangerous people in the world; sometimes friends are mean and sometimes life is unfair.
I think a parent’s role is to be the steady loving constant who calmly points out the good around us and the power that we do have. We can still be kind to people we encounter every day, still give money to causes we believe in, and carry on living our life in a loving and conscious way. We have each other and we help each other, even when it hurts. It is ok to believe passionately about something or someone, even if you will lose it in the end.
I have not thought about this in a few weeks, and resuming it is like picking up a heavy backpack that I don’t want to carry. I am writing myself a permission slip to be unlike my usual self. I do not have to get everything back in order with gusto and speed. It is ok to stay behind in my other volunteer work, in returning phone calls and opening the mail. I will get to it.
Do you use permission slips for yourself and how do you convince yourself that they have authority to allow you to change your actions?
