dare to dream

Parenting and the hero's journey

My friend's daughter will go away to college next year.

Her daughter is bright, hard-working, well-rounded, and could have gone pretty much anywhere, but elected to go to Brigham Young University (my alma mater, by the way), a university that many would consider a second-tier 'safety' school.

The decision has been tough for both.

For Daughter, because she wants Mom to be proud, and the 'safety' school wasn't Mom's first choice.

Source: Growing, Growing by Ashley G

For Mom -- for all moms -- I wonder if it's tough because we are afraid, feel fear?

The fear that we inevitably feel at the start of a hero's journey as we prepare to walk through the unknown?

Except that when it's our children, not us, the fear is heightened because we desperately want them to become more of who they are, and yet we realize that because it is their journey, not ours, we are supposed to be bystanders.

And could it be that this fear makes it nearly impossible for parents not to try and tell their children where to go, what to be?

Knowing my friend and her daughter, had Mom insisted, required, even simply asked Daughter to go to a different school, Daughter would have.

Mom wanted to ask -- oh, how she wanted to.

But she didn't.

She instead courageously walked into her unknown, so that her daughter can walk into hers, and be the hero of her story.

In this unknown, Daughter -- and Mom too -- will no doubt find more of who they are.

Why else might it be difficult to send our children off on their journey?

Could it be possible that our children have become our dream keepers, and so we've become attached to a specific outcome for their lives -- Do you remember the NY Times article about Esther Mobley, and Susan Minot's Evening?

Why does allowing our children to walk through their unknown, allow us to walk through ours?

There was a detail about rock climbing that I purposely omitted.

What detail you ask?

Well.... I stopped climbing a few feet short of the summit.

If I listen closely, I can hear you thinking "Whitney, you were so close. It was within your grasp. Why didn't you go for it?"

At least I think I hear you thinking this, because I have a tendency to think it.

But on that day of rock climbing, I opted (with encouragement from my belayer/mentor Laurel) to look down rather than up.

Back, not forward; to be proud of what I had accomplished, rather than what I hadn't.

Just days before, I'd had another opportunity to look back.

We were in the Hamptons visiting one of my oldest and dearest friends, Liz, her husband David, and their children.

They first invited us out when their Alexander, and our David, had just turned two; their second child, Nicholas, was a newborn.

I have two vivid memories of that visit.

One was of Liz and I sitting in the living room talking while she rocked Nicholas to sleep. The other is of me speaking to clients on the way there, while there, and checking my e-mail constantly. Did I mention we were there for only 24 hours?

As you can see from the photo below, Nicholas is now 9, David and Alexander are 11, Eleni and Miranda are seven.

The children growing up was inevitable.

But what of my growth?

Ten years ago, I was busy, so very busy, climbing, climbing, to where I was going.

This summer I was also busy, busy enjoying, relishing, savoring who we were with, where we were.

Email and phone messages? Not a one in three days.

The Hamptons may be near the seashore, and nowhere near the mountains, but as I looked back at who I was, comparing it with who I'm becoming, it seemed I'd reached a summit.

Said Nelson Mandela, "There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered."

When was the last time that you looked back, not ahead? Down, not up?

What was the context? Who were you with? Where were you?

Was this glimpse of yourself a gift -- a well-deserved one along your hero's journey?

I recently went rock climbing for the first time.

Scaling the face of a rock was so far outside my comfort zone that I suspected there was something to be learned about daring and dreaming.

Lesson #1 -- Surround ourselves with heros of support
When Whitney C, our host, asked a group of us who wanted to go rock climbing the next day, I immediately raised my hand. In a quieter moment, my husband expressed surprise and delight; he had fully expected I would stay behind. Five years ago, his prediction would have been accurate. Fear of heights, falling, looking clumsy. Yep, I would have opted out.

Are we surrounding ourselves with people who want us to be the hero of our story? People who, when they see us doing things differently than we have in the past, moving from the sidelines of our life to the center, encourage us? Are we, in turn, heros of support?

Photo courtesy of Kyle Hirsch

Lesson #2 -- Systergy bridges us from imagine to explore
I wanted to climb, but I was scared. Laurel, who had agreed to belay me, not only made sure there was so little slack in the rope that if I lost my footing I wouldn't fall more than a few inches, she continually shouted out "atta girls".

When we want to explore, and showing up is a feat in and of itself, being able to place ourselves in the capable hands of another, often bridges us from imagine to explore. Knowing that Laurel, and her husband Devon, were committed to helping me and the other neophytes in the group was a gift.

Photo courtesy of Seth Neilson

Lesson #3 -- Exploring helps us rethink our competence
Once I’d reached my summit, I was truly proud. By exploring, I had conquered (at least for the moment) my fear of climbing, looking clumsy, and especially of heights.

It is, however, interesting to me that while I love going fast (perhaps because speed is somehow emblematic of ambition), I don't love heights (symbolic of perspective?). When we go fast, we can only see to the horizon; when we go up, we see so so, so, much more. Could it be that our possibilities, indeed our magnificence, albeit glorious, frighten us just a wee bit?

What have you tried recently that you were afraid to do?

Why were you afraid?

Even if you were fairly clumsy, as I was rock climbing, how did you feel afterward?

What role did the people around you play?

What similarities do you see between belaying and mentoring? Parenting?

Are you ever overwhelmed by your own possibilities of who you are and what you can accomplish?

I am. Perhaps I'll try sky diving next.

Hello, hello!

We’ve been on vacation for the better part of two weeks -- plenty of time to think, little time to write. Next time I plan to go on hiatus, I will let you know.

The first order of belated business is to direct you to the blogs of Barbara Torris and Brett Farmiloe. Brett, the founder of Pursue the Passion, put finger to keyboard to tell his story, while Barbara, a 65 year-old retired educator and grandmother who helps me see my possibilities, has identified her heros.

The second order of business is to flag a report (with a nod to Entrepreneur Daily and USA Today) published by the Pew Research Center Social and Demographic Trends Project titled Fewer Mothers Prefer Full-Time Work.

I wasn't all that surprised to learn that 6 in 10 full-time working moms would prefer to work part-time; however, I was intrigued to learn that the divide between working and at-home moms has widened.

In the 1997 study, about 4 in 10 of all mothers (38% of at-home moms; 39% of working moms) believed that an increase in working mothers was a negative societal trend. However, by 2007, 44% (15% increase) of the at-home mothers saw this as a negative; only 34% (an 8% decrease) of the working mothers concurred.

Why is this the key finding?

Because the digging in our heels around our work/life decisions suggests that our society's oft-repeated mantra of "live and let live" notwithstanding, mothers are becoming more, not less, judgmental of one another, and that sibling rivalry continues on the rise.

Which makes me quite sad.

Happily, there are mothers who shun the rivalry, embracing systergy in its stead.

While vacationing in Jackson Hole last week, I spoke with three such mothers, Stacey, Heather and Jane. Stacey I have known for many years; I've just become acquainted with Jane and Heather.

Photogaph courtesy of Melanie Mauer, a woman who is the picture of systergy

All of us have children under twelve. Each of us has a college degree, two have advanced degrees. Two of us work full-time; two are at-home.

Given our respective choices, and the trend identified by the Pew study, I suppose our interchange could have deteriorated into intransigent finger-pointing.

But it didn't.

On the contrary.

We asked one another how we’d made our decisions; we spoke of the trade-offs, sharing our struggles, validating and encouraging one another.

Does this kind of conversation, one in which we experience systergy, help us to rethink our competence, and bolster the belief that we can be the hero of our story?

I can’t speak for others.

But the answer for me is -- Yes, and again, yes.

Absolutely.

Can you think of a time when you have been critical of others’ choices related to how they were balancing motherhood and career? Any thoughts as to why you were critical?

My husband and I waited several years (10 to be exact) before having children. There were some who criticized us, but truth be told, I was critical of women who chose to have children immediately. In retrospect, my criticisms were a manifestation of my own insecurity: if I could believe others were wrong, then I could be definitively right.

Can you think of a conversation in which you encouraged and validated others? How did you feel? How do you move from sibling rivalry to systergy?

Looking back can be a good thing

There was a detail about rock climbing that I purposely omitted.

What detail you ask?

Well.... I stopped climbing a few feet short of the summit.

If I listen closely, I can hear you thinking "Whitney, you were so close. It was within your grasp. Why didn't you go for it?"

At least I think I hear you thinking this, because I have a tendency to think it.

But on that day of rock climbing, I opted (with encouragement from my belayer/mentor Laurel) to look down rather than up.

Back, not forward; to be proud of what I had accomplished, rather than what I hadn't.

Just days before, I'd had another opportunity to look back.

We were in the Hamptons visiting one of my oldest and dearest friends, Liz, her husband David, and their children.

They first invited us out when their Alexander, and our David, had just turned two; their second child, Nicholas, was a newborn.

I have two vivid memories of that visit.

One was of Liz and I sitting in the living room talking while she rocked Nicholas to sleep. The other is of me speaking to clients on the way there, while there, and checking my e-mail constantly. Did I mention we were there for only 24 hours?

As you can see from the photo below, Nicholas is now 9, David and Alexander are 11, Eleni and Miranda are seven.

The children growing up was inevitable.

But what of my growth?

Ten years ago, I was busy, so very busy, climbing, climbing, to where I was going.

This summer I was also busy, busy enjoying, relishing, savoring who we were with, where we were.

Email and phone messages? Not a one in three days.

The Hamptons may be near the seashore, and nowhere near the mountains, but as I looked back at who I was, comparing it with who I'm becoming, it seemed I'd reached a summit.

Said Nelson Mandela, "There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered."

When was the last time that you looked back, not ahead? Down, not up?

What was the context? Who were you with? Where were you?

Was this glimpse of yourself a gift -- a well-deserved one along your hero's journey?

Rock climbing and rethinking our competence

I recently went rock climbing for the first time.

Scaling the face of a rock was so far outside my comfort zone that I suspected there was something to be learned about daring and dreaming.

Lesson #1 -- Surround ourselves with heros of support
When Whitney C, our host, asked a group of us who wanted to go rock climbing the next day, I immediately raised my hand. In a quieter moment, my husband expressed surprise and delight; he had fully expected I would stay behind. Five years ago, his prediction would have been accurate. Fear of heights, falling, looking clumsy. Yep, I would have opted out.

Are we surrounding ourselves with people who want us to be the hero of our story? People who, when they see us doing things differently than we have in the past, moving from the sidelines of our life to the center, encourage us? Are we, in turn, heros of support?

Photo courtesy of Kyle Hirsch

Lesson #2 -- Systergy bridges us from imagine to explore
I wanted to climb, but I was scared. Laurel, who had agreed to belay me, not only made sure there was so little slack in the rope that if I lost my footing I wouldn't fall more than a few inches, she continually shouted out "atta girls".

When we want to explore, and showing up is a feat in and of itself, being able to place ourselves in the capable hands of another, often bridges us from imagine to explore. Knowing that Laurel, and her husband Devon, were committed to helping me and the other neophytes in the group was a gift.

Photo courtesy of Seth Neilson

Lesson #3 -- Exploring helps us rethink our competence
Once I’d reached my summit, I was truly proud. By exploring, I had conquered (at least for the moment) my fear of climbing, looking clumsy, and especially of heights.

It is, however, interesting to me that while I love going fast (perhaps because speed is somehow emblematic of ambition), I don't love heights (symbolic of perspective?). When we go fast, we can only see to the horizon; when we go up, we see so so, so, much more. Could it be that our possibilities, indeed our magnificence, albeit glorious, frighten us just a wee bit?

What have you tried recently that you were afraid to do?

Why were you afraid?

Even if you were fairly clumsy, as I was rock climbing, how did you feel afterward?

What role did the people around you play?

What similarities do you see between belaying and mentoring? Parenting?

Are you ever overwhelmed by your own possibilities of who you are and what you can accomplish?

I am. Perhaps I'll try sky diving next.

Pew Research Center's "Fewer Mothers Prefer Full-Time Work"

Hello, hello!

We’ve been on vacation for the better part of two weeks -- plenty of time to think, little time to write. Next time I plan to go on hiatus, I will let you know.

The first order of belated business is to direct you to the blogs of Barbara Torris and Brett Farmiloe. Brett, the founder of Pursue the Passion, put finger to keyboard to tell his story, while Barbara, a 65 year-old retired educator and grandmother who helps me see my possibilities, has identified her heros.

The second order of business is to flag a report (with a nod to Entrepreneur Daily and USA Today) published by the Pew Research Center Social and Demographic Trends Project titled Fewer Mothers Prefer Full-Time Work.

I wasn't all that surprised to learn that 6 in 10 full-time working moms would prefer to work part-time; however, I was intrigued to learn that the divide between working and at-home moms has widened.

In the 1997 study, about 4 in 10 of all mothers (38% of at-home moms; 39% of working moms) believed that an increase in working mothers was a negative societal trend. However, by 2007, 44% (15% increase) of the at-home mothers saw this as a negative; only 34% (an 8% decrease) of the working mothers concurred.

Why is this the key finding?

Because the digging in our heels around our work/life decisions suggests that our society's oft-repeated mantra of "live and let live" notwithstanding, mothers are becoming more, not less, judgmental of one another, and that sibling rivalry continues on the rise.

Which makes me quite sad.

Happily, there are mothers who shun the rivalry, embracing systergy in its stead.

While vacationing in Jackson Hole last week, I spoke with three such mothers, Stacey, Heather and Jane. Stacey I have known for many years; I've just become acquainted with Jane and Heather.

Photogaph courtesy of Melanie Mauer, a woman who is the picture of systergy

All of us have children under twelve. Each of us has a college degree, two have advanced degrees. Two of us work full-time; two are at-home.

Given our respective choices, and the trend identified by the Pew study, I suppose our interchange could have deteriorated into intransigent finger-pointing.

But it didn't.

On the contrary.

We asked one another how we’d made our decisions; we spoke of the trade-offs, sharing our struggles, validating and encouraging one another.

Does this kind of conversation, one in which we experience systergy, help us to rethink our competence, and bolster the belief that we can be the hero of our story?

I can’t speak for others.

But the answer for me is -- Yes, and again, yes.

Absolutely.

Can you think of a time when you have been critical of others’ choices related to how they were balancing motherhood and career? Any thoughts as to why you were critical?

My husband and I waited several years (10 to be exact) before having children. There were some who criticized us, but truth be told, I was critical of women who chose to have children immediately. In retrospect, my criticisms were a manifestation of my own insecurity: if I could believe others were wrong, then I could be definitively right.

Can you think of a conversation in which you encouraged and validated others? How did you feel? How do you move from sibling rivalry to systergy?