Fearing failure

A broader perspective (270 degrees, perhaps?) can turn a well-established belief on its’ head.  I was once again reminded of this at lunch today with my two oldest friends, which always yields hearty and thought provoking conversation. After we caught up on our usual topics- parenting, work, our relationships - we fell into a discussion about the natural and inherent fear of failure.  Why is it we are so afraid to fail?  Is it tied to our self-worth, our egos, shame, or what others will think of us?

As I thought more about it, I was reminded of something I heard on 60 Minutes last night.   The venture capitalist and founder of Sun Microsystems, Vinod Khosla admitted he had probably more failures than anyone else he knows. How is it one of the most successful men in business has so many failures?  Of course, the two are related! His failures are precisely the reason he is so successful.  Failures are not a reflection of ability, intellect, or talent, they are simply proof one was willing to take a risk. On Khosla’s website he quotes Michael Jordan,

“I've missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I've lost almost 300 games. Twenty six times, I've been trusted to take the game-winning shot and missed. I've failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."

Instead of judging failure in others or feeling ashamed of it ourselves, we need to celebrate it.  It’s simply evidence that one has the courage to take a risk, try something new and let go of any outcome.   That’s a lot more admirable than a low-risk success, in my view.

Holiday fables

My favorite book growing up was Aesop’s Fables. I love a little story that teaches a big lesson.  I also love how I can just utter a fable’s title to convey a message to my children. “Remember the boy who cried wolf” when someone is dramatically overreacting.  Or, when coveting a friend’s new toy, “Remember what happened to the dog with a bone”.  In many ways my tendency to find metaphors and attach meaning to almost everything stems from my love of fables.  Every day I find life lessons embedded in my experiences and observations.  I’ve decided to summarize my time in Tahoe over the holidays fable-style.   (A writing risk, so go with it.)

The Girl who Skinned Up

I spent a few mornings in the backcountry of the Sierras skinning up a 2000’ foot elevation. (This year’s drought in California meant going out-of-bounds to find decent snow.) I climbed with a group of friends and instantly appreciated the camaraderie of helping each other out as I am slowly developing the skills and technique of skinning.  Backcountry skiing requires additional gear and the tedious tasks of managing equipment.  Applying and pulling off adhesive skins to the skis, adjusting binding settings, and carrying your own survival equipment (beacons, shovels, layers, water) isn’t easy.  Then there is the climbing.  As we began our ascent we traversed in a series of switchbacks to climb the steep pitch of the mountain.  At each turn, it takes steady balance and a three point V-A-V formation with the skis in order not to slip or fall. I kept my moderate fear of heights in check simply by not looking down often.  By the time we reached the top, I was winded and my legs were tired.  We pulled off our skins and readjusted bindings for the descent.  As I made my first turn, I felt the cool wind in my face and the relief of the ease of gliding downhill.  Creating my own tracks in the virgin snow ahead was pure joy. I loved every second, and appreciated every turn, as they were a poignant reminder of how hard I worked to make them.

Moral of the story: The harder we work, the sweeter the reward.

At the top, pulling skins off.

The Mom who Expected Too Much

This year there were Christmas moments absolutely worth cherishing.  We spent it nestled among the mountains in Tahoe where cousins played football in the snow, my sisters and I baked persimmon pudding, and together we hiked the Pacific Crest Trail.   I loved the time with my sisters and nephews and felt grateful that we still choose to be together for the holidays despite the loss of our parents.  We shared hilarious laughs, lively dinner conversations and cozy snuggles in front of the fire.

However, for my children I want Christmas to be about traditions and experiences that reflect our values and instill gratitude for our incredible fortune in life. Nevertheless, the first words I heard on Christmas morning were whines and complaints,  “Cate has more presents than I do under the tree!”   "It's not fair!"  Sigh.  I felt defeated (I had tried so hard to be fair and give generously), and disappointed in my son.  How could I have such a spoiled kid?  I told them how I felt and badgered the kids with comments like, “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”  Although we recovered from the incident fairly quickly and went on to enjoy the day, I was left feeling disappointed that our morning had started off this way.

As I shared the story with a friend, she quickly replied, “I remember feeling that way when I was a kid.” My heart sank, because truthfully, I do, too.   I remember horrible tantrums on Christmas morning thinking my sisters had gotten more presents than me.   I immediately felt badly I had come down so hard on Teddy.  And although his comment was a little disheartening, it was also totally normal for an 8 year old.  When I thought more about my reaction I realized it was more about my own intolerance for my shortcomings and the false (and ridiculous) notion that I must be a bad mother if my child isn’t grateful on Christmas morning.  Perfectionism is a curse,  especially in parenting. Practicing to accept myself with all my imperfections (there are many!) helps me to wholly accept my children, flaws and all, as they fumble through childhood to find their own way. 

Moral of the story: Forgive shortcomings and let go of perfection.

Too Good to be True Beef Stew

Our ski cabin is located in the village of a ski resort accessed by gondola with no grocery stores and no cars.  This means provisioning and meals requires careful planning.  Once settled in, it’s strangely hard to leave.  I hosted dinner for ten on New Year’s Eve and had thoughtfully planned on making a beef stew (with organic meat I had purchased in SF and hauled up before Christmas).  I found a recipe in Jamie Oliver’s cookbook that I luckily had all the ingredients for and seemed straightforward.  As I began cooking, it started to seem suspiciously easy.  Chop some vegetables, NO prior browning of the meat – just throw it in with some flour, add two beers (what?) and cook for three hours. It took ten minutes to prep - how could something so easy be any good?  I was panicked...a new year’s flop in the making!  Three hours later, and with little confidence in the stew, I nervously served it and guess what…absolutely delicious.

Moral of the story: Sometimes simpler is better.

The seeds we water

My job supervising student-teachers requires school visits each week. I saw this quote on the wall of a 3rd grade classroom a few weeks ago and immediately wanted to share it with my kids:

As someone who has struggled with anger and impatience (and the occasionally silly and inflexible child), I love this message.  It validates having negative feelings, thoughts, and behaviors, but subtly reminds us we can choose to nurture the positive ones, instead.  It suggests we are partly responsible for our own happiness, a message that I'd like to instill in my children.   This quote reminds me of my recent focus on perspective. Misfortune is inevitable in life, but how we look at the world, or in this case, where we put our energy, can have a big impact on how we get through those times.

Happy Sometimes!

It’s that time of year when the daily amount of mail at our house more than triples. Normally, I can’t wait for the clink of our brass mail slot - it sends me excitedly to the front door to retrieve a new stack of holiday cards. (As a person completely fascinated by human behavior, I love how holiday cards can be a mini-psychological study – a reflection of one’s core values in just one photo card! There are so many choices, each one telling us a little more about the sender: card stock, card design, an accompanying bragging letter, single photo or multiple shots -usually of children excelling in sports, and then of course, the printed holiday message.) But this year, I am beginning to resent holiday cards, they’re feeling like unsolicited pressure to be happy.

JOY! BE MERRY! HAPPY EVERYTHING!

Really? Happy everything?  

If these cards are really about spreading the spirit of the holidays and connecting with the people in our lives, they ought to be more authentic and honest.  I’d love to get a card that says “This has been a shit bag year for us, but we’ve also had some beautiful moments and we’re grateful for them.”  Brene Brown, researcher on vulnerability and shame says compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.  Implicit in these cards is the illusion that our lives are perfect or that we ought to be happy.  It’s simply the wrong message, especially this time of year, when people tend to feel more isolated and lonely.  ( I happen to miss my parents more than usual, and in the spirit of giving and noticing people with less, feel deeply sad for the neediest in our society.) The true meaning of Christmas is about fostering compassion for each other, and recognizing that we’re connected through the commonality of our suffering and joy.  I wish holiday cards could relay that message.

Next year, maybe ours will say HAPPY SOMETIMES!

Metaphorical Owl

The night my father died I lay in bed heartbroken as I listened (incredulously) to the sound of an owl hooting outside my bedroom window. I’ve often wondered if the calming sound of his hoot wasn’t coincidental.  I don’t have a definitive answer to what happens in the afterlife but I do believe in the cycle of life and have a tendency to attach meaning to almost everything.  Consequently, I began to think of owls as a metaphor.  What was that owl trying to tell me? 

Birds of prey have always captured my attention, but owls are particularly interesting.  There are over 220 species of owls, several, including the Great Horned Owl, live just a few blocks from my house in San Francisco's Presidio. Notoriously stealth hunters, owls are elusive during the day and live a solitary life. They have an incredible ability to sit still for long periods of time, in part due to their plumage and natural ability to blend into their environment. Owls’ flight wings have serrated edges that allow them to fly almost silently, another hunting advantage. I admire how owls take only what they need. (They swallow prey whole and regurgitate undigested parts in the form of pellets.) While their eyes are fixed in their sockets, they can rotate their heads 270 degrees, giving them a unique range of perspective, unlike any other bird of prey.   This notion of expanded perspective really resonates for me. Now in my 40s, I’m recognizing how little I truly know and how much more there is to learn. I am working to not only broaden my own perspective, but to seek and value different points of view and resist my natural tendency to judge others.  (This isn’t easy for a girl who used to think she knew everything.)

Recently, I rediscovered journal writing and am reminded of how writing inherently awakens ones senses and creates a means for finding inspiration and paying closer attention to everything.  While journaling can be enough for some, my writing needed more structure and discipline. Writing this blog is a natural extension of that and simply a way for me to continue to seek inspiration and broaden my perspective.   I admit to feeling fearful of putting myself out there, but really, what's worth doing that doesn't require a little courage and vulnerability?

Maybe that owl was sent to my window for a reason after all; to remind me to be more like him.  Live simply, but boldly. Practice stillness.  Make an impact, quietly. Adapt to (and embrace) change. Notice everything. Value perspectives.  

In other words, start writing a blog?