You've been BLOCKED!

Given that I was born in 1981, I am technically a xennial - which is exactly right as I have characteristics consistent with typical generation x-ers as well as characteristics consistent with millennials. One of the most distinguishing characteristics of a xennial is that we grew up without social media and the internet as a driving force in our social lives as children and teens but it landed quickly and boldly in our laps immediately as we became young adults. This is important for a few reasons: I already had a degree and my career started before employers searched for my social media links, I was already well beyond my major party years before it became common to post every pic and check in everywhere you go, I experienced intimate relationships - both friendships and romantic relationships face-to-face without the filter of the internet and passive keyboard judgement. It also means that the rapid onset of the internet and social media sometimes throws a wrench in what I think I know about relationships. And what I think I can trust about someone is sometimes limited to what they've chosen to portray through social media. And I'm often surprised by the petty and passive aggressive ways in which people use social media.

So, the first time I realized that someone unfriended me and, gasp, BLOCKED me, it was gut-wrenching. What in the world had I done that would cause someone to eliminate me from existence? And what prevalence did my social media presence have that seemed so necessary to extinguish? Where did I misstep? How can I make sure I'm not erased? How do I know who to trust?

I truly wanted to understand this. I asked a lot of people, have you every blocked someone? Why would you block someone? What impact is it meant to have? And I tried to imagine the same questions for me, what would someone have to do for me to block them? What would be my point? And I couldn't really come up with an answer at first. A few years ago, I had unfollowed a handful of people on one social media platform who had made several explicit offensive, prejudice, and closed-minded posts. I created a social media world that felt safe and matched my views almost exactly. I learned very loudly through the last presidential election that move to tailor my porthole view to my preference made me naively oblivious to the bigger picture. I was caught off guard by the outcome of the election because I chose not to see people that thought differently than me. It also occurred to me that my action of unfollowing them had no impact on them whatsoever. I immediately re-followed everyone and carefully processed their perspectives. What was the point of unfollowing them in the first place? I had unfollowed them to feel “safe” but their posts weren’t harmful to me. It was my inability to process other perspectives that was the real threat.

I had thought by placing these digital blinders in my life, I was applying a layer of safety but in reality I was increasing my risk of injury because I couldn't see what else is out there. In order to assess all angles and potential risk, we have to bravely remove the blinders even if there are things we don't want to see, hear, feel, or experience. It doesn't mean we have to follow or be friends with everyone we meet and certainly our social media experiences should be tailored to our personal boundaries but it's worth giving careful consideration to our actions and presence in the social media world. Are we blocking people from our lives because they are toxic or because we are afraid of confronting our own difficulty with perspectives different than our own?

Anxiety is...

Anxiety is...

Waiting for the alarm that isn't set.
A nightmare while you're awake.
Words jumping around the page.
The bee almost stinging.
Drowning in air.

Being alone in a crowd of people.
Infinite mistakes and potential mistakes shackled to your ankles.
Never being enough and always being too much.
The car accident that never happened.
The almost car accident replaying and replaying pressing for a different, worse outcome.

An urge to jump merely to avoid the fall.
An insatiable itch.
Being afraid of the dark in broad daylight.
An earthquake that no one else feels.
Waiting for the milk to spill.

Missing pleasure, distracted by waiting for pain.
Choking on nothing.
The scar that stings like a fresh cut.
Being unseen.
Being too seen.

Anxiety is...

Invisible.

Relentless.

Paralyzing.

Yet.

Janelle Monáe had an incredible song on Sesame Street in 2013 called “The Power if Yet” and it has been on my mind a lot lately. There are a variety of “Power of Yet” posters, mugs, workshops, t-shirts. And it makes sense. The hardest part of believing in yourself is accepting that something you don’t have or can’t do right now will eventually come. Waiting is hard. Self-doubt is powerful. 

My career as an early childhood educator can be summed up as a unique opportunity to help children develop into their future selves at their own pace. We know that children will hit the next milestone of walking, talking, writing, counting, in due time. They just aren’t there, yet. We plan experiences that will get them there through practice, multiple opportunities and lots of enthusiastic support along the way. For them, it can be frustrating to be so close to taking that first step, remembering all the letters in their name, or tying their shoe. For us, we know they’re going to get there because we’ve been down their path before. We know the time they’re putting in now will get them to their goals, they just aren’t there, yet. 

It’s easy for us. We know “yet” will come. 

But when we consider our adult goals and dreams we sometimes forget to apply “yet”. We go through the same process of practice, baby steps, and celebrating little milestones along the way. But it can still feel like our dreams will never come to fruition. But what if we applied the power of “yet”? What if we started believing we could achieve anything we wanted to even if we aren’t there, yet. 

Try it. 

You haven’t published your first book, yet. 

You haven’t run a marathon, yet, 

You don’t own a house, yet. 

You don’t have your dream job, yet. 

You’re still developing and growing. But those goals of your last are still attainable. Not having them now doesn’t mean they won’t come, they’re just not achieved, yet. 

Give power to the time and prices of growing and developing. Give power to “yet”. 

I’ve been adding this simple word to the end of my sentences and the impact is powerful. Adding this simple word is building momentum, giving me energy, and bringing my goals into focus. “Yet” drives me forward with hope and eventual certainty.  

Where can you apply the power of “yet”  to your life? 

Babies we hold in our hearts

This week was my second child’s first half birthday, I felt all kinds of things. I cried in my car. And I didn’t know how to put what I was feeling into words. But it’s 4am and I’m rocking him and I know what I want to say. 

When I look at my son, of course I see him but I see more than his chubby cheeks and sweet smile. I see the baby I never got to hold. I see the baby YOU never got to hold. I see the baby you got to hold that didn’t make it to a year or even to 6 months. 

I’d relive every one of these days in the past 6 months, even the hard days, maybe even especially the hard days. Because I know what it’s like to not have these days, to feel robbed of these days. 

So if you read this and it tugs at your heart, I see you. I’ll rock a few minutes longer in this moment.  For me. For you. For those babies we hold in our hearts. 

Show up

What does it mean to show up? 

Today was my son’s first day of 1st grade. And I didn’t take him to school today. I was ok last night. I was ok this morning. But I run an early childhood center and today was our first day too. 150 children were dropped off by their parents, grandparents, and au pairs. 

Most children were ok but a handful of children shed some very reasonable tears. Outside my office a young boy was whimpering as his teacher printed off pictures of his family to carry around as comfort. And that was the moment it hit me. I understood his sadness in being apart from his family and realized I did the same thing to my child: sent him out in the world for a necessary transition because I had to. But I immediately teared up and retreated to my office to ponder the hurt that children, including my son, everywhere might be feeling today. The painful separation from the people they love the most. And waves of parent-guilt hit me over and over. How is it possible to show up for my children and have a career too? Did I show up for my son?

My son was asleep when I left so I left him a note to wish him well on his first day. My husband is a stay-at-home dad and took him to school. We met for lunch. I was able to tuck him into bed tonight. I work to provide for our family. I work so his dad can stay home and show up for the first day of school. 

I needed to shift my thinking from questioning whether I showed up for him or not to recognizing that our choices as a family allow us to show up in the way that makes the most sense for him and in the way he needs

In each of my interactions with him today, he didn’t express sadness or loneliness. He was excited to have his dad there and grateful for the parts of the day in which I could be present. tonight as I tucked him in to bed he said, ”I’m glad you teach on Tuesday nights so you can come to my open house tomorrow night.”

My guilt was solely mine. He had exactly what he needed today. And I hope as he grows up his understanding of “showing up” include our family decisions to make it possible for his dad to be there for every moment and his mom showing up for every minute that she can. 

Today this about showing up for my son. But this extends to every important relationship in our lives. 

How are you showing up? Are you able to extend that definition to show up in the way people need you to. 

What do you pray for?

I grew up catholic with a pretty religious mom and extended family. I remember very specific guidance around prayer- you pray everyday to protect your eternal existence, you pray to say thanks for everything you have because you are guaranteed nothing, you pray for what other people need that they don’t have, and you never ever pray for things, no matter how bad you want them. God does not exist to help us get barbies, find your car keys you misplaced, or to help you get a convertible like your neighbors that you’ve been coveting. 

As my relationship with God fluctuated over the years, this was a key thing that stuck with me. In the hardest years of my adolescence and young adulthood,  God was central to how I lived my life and I prayed for exactly one thing: strength. Strength to make it through the temporary hard moment, strength to be better than I was yesterday, strength to forgive the people that hurt me. Strength in all forms and in all moments but that was all I needed. 

While I am no less grateful or humble in my requests, I rarely go to church or pray. In fact, it’s possible for months to go by without praying. And I’m ok with that. I think there are other ways to take care of each other and ourselves, namely practicing gratitude and living our values. 

The other night I found myself in silent prayer as the sister-in-law I am closest to was heading into the hospital to deliver her third baby. There was no reason for concern or worry but I found myself silently pleading for safe labor and delivery for both my niece and her mother. My emotional pull into that prayerful moment was likely fueled by my own recent delivery and the complicated blend of fear and anticipation and joy that comes with welcoming a new baby into the world. 

But it got me thinking about my relationship with prayer. And wondering how often I actually seize a quiet moment to throw positive energy into the universe on behalf of the people I love or my own wellbeing. As a mother of two, I’m guessing it’s actually pretty often. Sometimes we call it hope. I hope my husband drives carefully, I hope my sons don’t get hurt, I hope my parents live many more years and in good health. Those moments of hope, when I’m wishing for the best, and putting good energy out there aren’t that far off from the way I would drop to me knees at the edge of my bed each night before I went to sleep when I was a child. 

Call it prayer, call it wish, call it hope. What is the big ask you have right now for you or your loved ones? What is it that you pray for? 

Just here. Just now. Just this.

I have 2 children, a husband, a new full time job supervising 50 people, an adjunct teaching position with 4 course each semseter, 3 board positions, a volunteer position, and a circle of family and friends that is very dear to me. It’s a lot, no question. I swear by “to do“ lists, efficient time management, and a solid support team. 

In addition to my professional and personal commitments, I feel emotionally impacted by larger human issues: our country’s polarized political landscape, issues around social justice, global warming, the frequency of acts of violence in the community, and a helplessness in fighting for a future I believe our children deserve. 

My Zen Buddhist practice deserves more attention than it gets but when things get busy, one of the most valuable lessons surfaces: just here, just now, just this. A reminder that we are at our best, most connected, most effective when we are present. I can zero in on the moment I’m in, the people I’m with, and the task with which I’m am faced. 

I pay attention to my breathing, minimize distractions, lean into the problems I’m facing, remember that I can do hard things, and embrace the reality that I am imperfect. 

I can’t solve all of the world’s problems. There is a limit to the number of commitments I can accommodate. Everything is temporary. Experiences matter more than things. I will make mistakes. Relationships matter more than moments of difficulty. 

I need to periodically refocus, prioritize, and breathe. By leaning into the moment, I am prepared for each additional moment. 

Can you relate? Start right where you are. Just here. Just now. Just this.