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Published On: Sep 01, 2004 11:05 PM
Total entries in this category:
Published On: Sep 01, 2004 11:05 PM
Re-Reading What I Write
My little secret: I cringe a lot.
When you live with a six year old and four year
old, particularly ones with the inquisitive natures and critical faculties that
mine have, you get used to massively simplifying stuff (you try explaining how a
tornado works while pushing a grocery cart, checking your list, and putting off
a giant round of baby screaming with bizarre and dreadful contortions of your
face). You also get used to having giant holes poked in your arguments, and
every inconsistency in your thoughts, behavior and policies is placed before you
with an accusatory magnifying glass... Unfortunately, among my hobgoblins,
inconsistency is one of the most
occasional.
Still, when you write, it doesn't do to sound all wishy-washy: "ah-hem.... I've found that in my experience, some children under certain circumstances might exhibit a reaction..." No, much better to sound like I know what I'm talking about: "Children want stuff" and leave the qualifying for later. But I find it hard to re-read something where I talk as if I have any answers or get at all prescriptive, because (very seldom, anyways, in my experience) parenting isn't like that. Not that I don't act like I have a lot of the answers in front of my kids -- beyond the fact that it's nice having somebody with that much confidence in you, the belief in your parents' omniscience will probably be shown to be as essential a part of a healthy childhood as vitamins and clean air. But "having the answers" about your own parenting sort of belies the process of struggle and finding out things aren't the way you always believed they would be, having to adapt to a brand new circumstance, and letting go and being open to it.
I have been thinking a lot about the relationship between wanting stuff and being happy since I wrote Friday's entry on enduring discomfort. I suppose I should mention this is also part of mulling Mark Epstein's take on Buddha's four noble truths in Thoughts Without a Thinker and trying to remember everything the Epicureans wrote about desire, and wondering whether the best moment when obsessively watching old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on dvd isn't in the anticipation, checking that all three kids are asleep and well, getting a cup of water and the remote control at the ready, settling into my armchair and turning on the dvd player.
In any case, should I ever start up my own business, Mail Order Metaphors ™, just the experience of paying attention while watching Søren learn to crawl will keep me in business for at least a year (or if not not, we could always fall back on Half Price Hyperbole™) It is, for example, amazing that when he's finally scooted backwards into a corner and can go no further, the next push with his arms actually puts him in crawling position. Or last night, we discovered that scooting around on a couple of inches of water while closely supervised in the bath tub was very satisfying for someone with his mobility impairment. But I am digressing, trying to find a graceful segue into how I've noticed that the most useful tool in learning to crawl seems to be desire, his wanting something just out beyond his reach. Now, the brief oral gratification of getting the object of his desire into his mouth seems to provide a maximum of five seconds happiness, which is interesting to watch after five minutes of fixation and struggle, but the fact that he is getting closer to being able to be where he wants to without relying on an uncomprehending big person to lift him there carries an altogether different sort of gratification. And how many of the best things in my life have been by-products of an attempt to fulfill some other now-forgotten desire?
Wanting stuff is part of the human condition and I think Epstein's point in part is not that we're meant to transcend it so much as have a healthy perspective on it. Clearly a complicated matter, and no doubt my understanding will change and I'll re-read this and cringe a little more, but then maybe part of the joys of writing down your thoughts, like snapshots of your family, is you can look back and see growth and change you might not notice in your day-to-day life.
Still, when you write, it doesn't do to sound all wishy-washy: "ah-hem.... I've found that in my experience, some children under certain circumstances might exhibit a reaction..." No, much better to sound like I know what I'm talking about: "Children want stuff" and leave the qualifying for later. But I find it hard to re-read something where I talk as if I have any answers or get at all prescriptive, because (very seldom, anyways, in my experience) parenting isn't like that. Not that I don't act like I have a lot of the answers in front of my kids -- beyond the fact that it's nice having somebody with that much confidence in you, the belief in your parents' omniscience will probably be shown to be as essential a part of a healthy childhood as vitamins and clean air. But "having the answers" about your own parenting sort of belies the process of struggle and finding out things aren't the way you always believed they would be, having to adapt to a brand new circumstance, and letting go and being open to it.
I have been thinking a lot about the relationship between wanting stuff and being happy since I wrote Friday's entry on enduring discomfort. I suppose I should mention this is also part of mulling Mark Epstein's take on Buddha's four noble truths in Thoughts Without a Thinker and trying to remember everything the Epicureans wrote about desire, and wondering whether the best moment when obsessively watching old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on dvd isn't in the anticipation, checking that all three kids are asleep and well, getting a cup of water and the remote control at the ready, settling into my armchair and turning on the dvd player.
In any case, should I ever start up my own business, Mail Order Metaphors ™, just the experience of paying attention while watching Søren learn to crawl will keep me in business for at least a year (or if not not, we could always fall back on Half Price Hyperbole™) It is, for example, amazing that when he's finally scooted backwards into a corner and can go no further, the next push with his arms actually puts him in crawling position. Or last night, we discovered that scooting around on a couple of inches of water while closely supervised in the bath tub was very satisfying for someone with his mobility impairment. But I am digressing, trying to find a graceful segue into how I've noticed that the most useful tool in learning to crawl seems to be desire, his wanting something just out beyond his reach. Now, the brief oral gratification of getting the object of his desire into his mouth seems to provide a maximum of five seconds happiness, which is interesting to watch after five minutes of fixation and struggle, but the fact that he is getting closer to being able to be where he wants to without relying on an uncomprehending big person to lift him there carries an altogether different sort of gratification. And how many of the best things in my life have been by-products of an attempt to fulfill some other now-forgotten desire?
Wanting stuff is part of the human condition and I think Epstein's point in part is not that we're meant to transcend it so much as have a healthy perspective on it. Clearly a complicated matter, and no doubt my understanding will change and I'll re-read this and cringe a little more, but then maybe part of the joys of writing down your thoughts, like snapshots of your family, is you can look back and see growth and change you might not notice in your day-to-day life.
Posted: Tue - July 8, 2003 at 01:23 PM