on accompaniment, attentiveness, and contribution
Every day, our children notice what captures our attention. They take outstanding inventory of our focus and so come to know what we value.
Realizing just how much they understand helps me become better than I might otherwise be. Principally, this entails decreasing the number of things that I try to pay attention to.
Sure, this applies to the stuff that we trade for money.
But even more importantly, it applies to the stuff to which we give our time, attention, emotional energy.
When we choose to spend time doing something, we are “buying” that thing with our most precious resource.
When we enter the world of Maurice Sendack, Fred Rogers, Roald Dahl, Mo Willams, or the geniuses who write and produce Bluey, we know instinctively that we are in the hands of special people.
They have clearly cultivated a special attentiveness to children and then create a world rooted in this tender perception that invites all to rejoice in a child’s way of proceeding.
Our boys have stumbled upon another writer with this same gift.
Abby Hanlon’s Dory Fantasmagory is a delight for all comers, especially sassy younger children who may feel a little left behind by older siblings.
The fifth book in the series is our favorite, but we are re-reading them all to make sure.
The most valuable things reside on the other side of discomfort.
The vulnerability of commitment.
Sharing something that is deeply important to us with another.
Taking the first awkward steps to learn a new skill set.
Sitting in quiet non-judgemental awareness with one’s own mind.
These moments can be quite uncomfortable… but if we are able to see this discomfort as something enormously valuable, then we are able to grow.
One night some years ago, when I was living in Uganda, I was walking home alone.
There was no moon, and when the power went out (there was frequent load shedding) I was about a quarter mile from home. It was completely dark. I could not see a thing.
Or so I thought at first. But standing there, after my eyes adjusted, I realized that I could see just a tiny bit, enough to move a little bit closer to home with each small step. Sure, I ran into a few bushes, but I did arrive safely.
When navigating life’s challenges, it can get pretty dark. Even so, we typically have enough clarity for the very next step. We usually have enough light for our feet.
(Also, this, from Meister Eckhart…)
Last week, I watched a Broadway production of Our Town. (It’s delightful, and free on YouTube.)
It was my first exposure to Wilder’s play, and it was wonderful, on multiple levels.
One of the main themes (it seems to me) is that it is a real challenge to see the wonder of one’s life from the inside of that life, in real time, as we live it.
There are many reasons why this could be true: the uncharitable noise inside one’s head, daily demands, anxiety or false imaginings about the about the future… it is no surprise that the wonder of the present life gets out of focus.
But in Our Town, Thornton Wilder arranges for us the conditions to see the simple beauty of his characters’ lives from the outside, which allows us to return to our our own lives with greater wonder and clarity.
Our bodies enable us to do remarkable things. None of these abilities is permanent.
Clarity of thought.
Strength of sight.
Dexterity and balance.
Durability of concentration and memory.
Strength of muscles, joints, bones.
In my longevity’s best case scenario, I will live long enough to experience the decline of these things.
Given this, to what will I dedicate my days?
Our younger son just turned five, so we do not reach for the Sandra Boynton volumes much these days.
Still, I often recall my indebted to Ms. Boynton’s work, especially for this gem of an essay published in 2021, around a year into the pandemic.
I find it, as a parent (and especially as a parent who can sometimes undervalue a thing like a birthday cake), to be an essential reorientation around “what is essential.”
So, parents, thanks for the work that you do, especially in the provisioning of light-heartedness in the life of your littles.
Last Saturday morning, our sons wondered: Where was our camping tent? Could we put it up in the attic to play in?
A bit of context on this tent.
Once described by a friend as “the condominium,” this tent is wildly fun. It is a beautifully crafted, with shockingly large dimensions for how sturdy it is… one of those feats of elegant engineering that makes you proud to be a human being. We stalked the delivery truck for days when it was on its way.
Here is a low quality yet illustrative photo of its dimensions and the Duplo village inside.
And, when we put it up in last weekend, I realized it had been nearly three years since we had used it. Three years! What?! How did that happen?!
I often forget things like this… and also things more fundamental… those resources and realities that, when acknowledged and engaged, lead to an abundant, grounded life.
In other words, what we need is here.
We all desire to be connected, but hesitate to connect.
We all want to be seen, but rarely submit to the discipline of really seeing another.
We all love to be part of a thoughtful gathering, but often lack the initiative to plan a gathering and then extend an invitation.
Opportunity lies within.
Paul's Blog