Successfully Being

I must admit, being a mother is exhausting.  Like really tiring.  I'm not sure if all moms feel this way, but I have a hunch most do.  I have spent innumerable hours examining and re-examining the art of parenting, trying to reflect on my approach, and improve day after day after day.  I've read books, attended classes, spent hours talking to counselors and therapists and educators.  

Years ago when I had three boys under four years old running around (or laying there and screaming, as the case may be) I developed an obsession with puzzle books.  Every night before I went to sleep, I could be found figuring out logic problems or finishing crossword puzzles.  It was relief to me -- in a whole day where there was no 'atta girl' or definitive right or wrong, but just me just trying all day long to not wreck the potential of these small people too much -- well, to find something at the end of the day that had a right answer -- black and white -- it was like answered prayers to me.  I also remember compulsively reconciling the checking account at this time.  I needed, at some point in my life, a tether to hang on to...add it all up so it all checked out. 

So fast forward 17 years and we find ourselves on the verge of adulthood with some of these boys.  The oldest, by far, has been the most challenging to parent because he does not now, nor has he ever, fit nicely and neatly into a socially acceptable box.  He's a brilliant thinker, a social awkward (I've just now made that word a noun), a kind, gentle soul in a nearing giant man's body.  It's been suggested to me throughout his life that he's mentally handicapped, autistic, or in need of medication.  He's easily distracted, not likely to do or turn in homework, never going to move at the speed I think he should.  

He loves being outdoors.  He loves the night.  He loves thoughts and ideas and contemplation and quiet and repetition and disorder.  He's forgetful and comical and sometimes at the center of what looks to be near disaster.  He often doesn't do what I want or what I think he should.  

And I'm reminded of a class I took once.  Yes, on parenting.  Where the instructor started off (I've taken this class more than once, so I remember) with this thought:  If you're a parent and you're successful, it's a recipe for disaster.  You want your kids to do well, be successful, and you know how....so it's logic...you'll want to do it (it = life, school, social interactions, etc.) for them or micromanage the way they do it.  When, in reality, the art of parenting is letting the kids experience their own it (their own consequences of action and inaction in life, school, social interactions, etc.).  And then, consequently, they get to experience their own successes, too. 

So with this oldest boy...that's a hard task most days...letting him be to do 'it' his own way.  I'm efficient.  I'm a taskmaster.  I'm fairly organized.  And so I spend some time of each week questioning WHY he can't be like me.  Right?

And it's recently occurred to me...his successful life is not going to look anything like I think a successful life should look like.  Except it will look exactly like what I think a successful life should look like.

He hasn't let this world warp him.  He's stayed true to himself through my criticisms or his failures in our society.  He has kept his quiet gentleness even though everything in boy and man culture says not to.  He's practiced in the art of being.  He's spent time defining his ideals and has tried to move in a direction to support those ideals.  

So a few things happened after I had this realization...that his successful life won't be defined by ME (gasp)...

First, I heard the story of Johnny Appleseed read aloud in a first grade classroom.  And I realized we, as a people, DO celebrate the Johnny Appleseeds of this world.  There is a place for the introspective wanderers among us.  

Second, I went on vacation.  And while on vacation, I spent some time running in the great outdoors...here....

...one morning happening upon a coyote in pursuit of its morning meal.  

As I was crouched down on the side of the trail...

...a man came up next to me.  We got to chatting.  He told me about himself as we both sat transfixed on the sight before us.  He told me he'd just packed it all in.  Finished grad school.  Quit his full-time job, bought a car, sold everything else he owned, and decided to take to the road.  Travel 'til he found what he was looking for.  Be outside.  Sleep amongst the stars.  Wander and think.  I felt like I was talking to a future version of my oldest son.  Or Johnny Appleseed.  Albeit, with a larger carbon footprint.

Of course, this is what I asked, "What does your mother think?"  She didn't approve, he told me.  Then he told me he was happier than he'd ever been.  Sleeping out there amongst the stars.  On the side of the trail right then.  There watching that coyote.  

I told him I didn't understand.  I told him about my oldest.  I told him I sympathized with his mother.  

And then he told me something that I had never considered.  He said, "Really?  You don't understand? You, out here in the middle of nowhere, by yourself, watching a coyote stalk its morning meal, talking to a perfect stranger?  You don't understand?  It sounds like whoever your son is, he's just like you."

And this is why I run.  And occasionally stop to watch wild animals.  And always talk to strangers.  

And why I'm thankful for this path I get to walk with these people...perfect strangers and oldest sons alike...