I'm grateful for perspective.

This post recently appeared on my friend Kathryn's most-excellent blog, Our Chateau.  (If you're looking for another good blog to start reading, I'd highly recommend this one.)  She'd asked for guest posts on what people were grateful for, and this was my submission.

----------------------------
I'm grateful for perspective.

2012 was the blessed year I became a parent to my radiant little girl, Emma Jane. She's six months old now, napping again while I patch this quilt of paragraphs together with the bits of 'free time' that are scattered about my day.  I'm intentionally ignoring the toys cluttered around me, the dishes in the sink and the laundry in the hamper... If I were to stand right next to those things they'd seem like important tasks, but from this angle - this perspective, I can see what it more important in this moment.  I need to write this down.

Last night as I breathed in the sweet air around Emma's downy head, I realized that parenthood has granted me a new lens with which to view the world. This isn't news to anyone.  Even those who aren't yet parents know what a life-changing event parenthood is. But it's still something of a shock when you feel it for yourself, from the perspective of someone living it. There's the first moment you see yourself in a mirror, sleep-deprived and desperate, using the bathroom at warp-speed knowing that soon the child will wake and demand to catch sight of you.  The countless times you doubt yourself (and even cry) because your wailing baby doesn't respond to whatever the parenting book tells you "works every time".  And that look your own parents give you when they drop by to check on you -- that look of concern, understanding, love... and a suppressed laugh. (Yeah, I'm sure my mom bit her tongue a few times. I appreciate it.)  You're constantly doubting yourself, "Am I doing this right?"  And your whole life becomes a research project as you collect data on what works, what doesn't, what used to work, what only works sometimes...  You even find yourself asking any parent who will tell you about sleeping habits, feeding habits, growth charts and methodology.  It's exhausting.

But the rewards!  Oh, isn't your child's smile the greatest return on investment you've ever seen?  That sweet girl beams at me when I walk into the room.  She chirps with glee when her father comes in the door.  I scoop her up and kiss her cheek. One of her outstretched hands clasps my neck and the other twirls gently into my hair, admiring the strands as they catch the light. I wonder at her perspective: what does she think about the world around her?  Then she looks right into my eyes and smiles. She is just all love. And I feel awesome. Her smile makes me feel confident and happy, sure that I am doing a great job.  In that moment, I know I'm the best mom for Emma.

This new perspective I have -- it's not mine.  It's Emma's.  The way she sees me is what has changed my life view.

It's human nature to be self-critical.  Our culture tells us to use our new-year perspective to look back on our failures and make promises to be better. To be more like those we admire. "I wish I took the time to write like she does."  "I wish I could love running like he does."  "I wish I could be as fit/thin/organized/adventurous/studious/methodical..."  As teachers, we tell our students not to compare their progress to others because, among other things, it can be damaging to their self-worth. But we adults allow ourselves to do it all the time!  I often admonish myself for mistakes I've made in the past. Mistakes that still burn my cheeks with hot embarrassment, make me check what I say to coworkers and how I act with friends.  It's easy to continually criticize ourselves if we allow ourselves to. But have you ever decided to borrow some one else's perspective to look at yourself?  How many times have you rejected a compliment?  Down-played someone's praise?  Minimized your own accomplishments with immediate reflection on what you didn't achieve?  Too many. Too often. What if our children did the same with our praise?  How would we feel if they didn't trust that we are truly proud of them, or believe our assertions that they are talented, capable, beautiful beings?

Last night, I realized that part of parenthood is learning to honor my daughter's perspective of me. I need to believe that her love for me provides her with an honest lens. I need to trust that my devotion to her, my ever-burning desire to do right by her, is enough. Whatever mistakes I've made can be forgiven because they make me work to be a good mother and a better version of myself.  I need to see that she is happy because I continually strive to live up to her view of me, to see myself as she sees me.  Parenthood is a demanding and difficult job, from any perspective.  Fortunately, if we allow ourselves the time to look for it, we can easily find praise for a job well done. From my perspective, true joy comes when I've earned another grin, another giggle, another hand pressed lovingly against my cheek.

"Where are you from?": a 9/11 Reflection

"Where are you from?"  It's a perpetual question for those of us who live outside our native lands.  For me, it isn't always an easy answer.

Allen Say has a beautiful children's book called Grandfather's Journey, based on his grandfather's immigration from Japan to San Francisco.  At one point, his grandfather realizes that he misses his culture and his language and he decides to return 'home', to Japan.  At first it is a happy reunion, but he soon finds that even though he loves Japan, he misses the California sunshine, American culture, his life there, his 'home'.  You see this bitter-sweet moment when he accepts that he doesn't really have a home. He has two.  And no matter where he lives, no matter how much he loves where he is, he will always be homesick for the other place.

As you can guess, I really identify with this story.  And there are specific days -- like today -- where I feel very much pulled toward one place or another.

I've lived "overseas" for almost half my life.  To give a simple version of my family story, my poppa's Australian and my mom's American, so we three kids grew up in both places. I identify with both places.  On September 11 and shortly afterwards, Michael and I were living in Australia and then Japan.  When George W. Bush gave ultimatums or hung banners claiming "mission accomplished", I started to see America through the lense of an expat. As a child in the states, my teachers told me that America was the best country in the world, and we were specially blessed by God (I grew up in the 80s, when the "good guys" and "bad guys" seemed, in my view, to be very clearly marked).  Now, I was viewing my country with the added perspectives and opinions of people who weren't raised to share that view, and, in that light, in a time of war and 'man-hunts', it was hard to see its strengths.  It was hard to understand what it now was to be American. It was even hard to see myself as one. I wondered what Americans were really like, these days.  Am I still like 'them'?  Would I still fit in, if I went back? Or has my globe-trotting made me too different? Too global?  Would they think me 'un-patriotic' (the biggest sin in the first post-9/11 years)?

So, in 2006, we decided to move back to the USA to make the deliberate effort to get to know our 'homeland'. To find something we loved. To feel connected. To re-learn what it was to be American. To see if we could still feel American.

To make another long story short, four years in the USA taught me a lot.  Americans are, obviously, different wherever you go.  We traveled more than 25,000 miles around the USA and found that each city/town/state/region has its own characteristics and personalities, their own politics and culture and popular beliefs. We saw breathtaking places that wholeheartedly earned the title "America, the Beautiful".  At different times, we met people and saw things that made us feel welcomed, offended, intrigued, horrified and enamored, but -- above all -- we ended up feeling absolutely connected to this place and the people. I ended up feeling American.

Generalizing Americans, I discovered, is a silly thing to try and do -- but I will say that I found Americans to be generally likable, usually thoughtful, earnest and hard-working. And I yes, I still fit in.  And yes, I found that they liked me too.  I felt happy to call myself one of them, to be part of what I now saw first-hand to be a generally good place with a lot of promise and potential.  There really is room for all of us, for all our views, backgrounds, beliefs, preferences, occupations, family structures and religions -- but each of us needs to first choose to make that room in our hearts and homes.

Eventually, just like Allen Say's grandfather, we found that our love for our community and our lives in the Bay Area could not forever abate the yearning for what we left behind -- the world, adventure, the possibilities and promises of a new country to be seen.  So we gave up our life in the USA, and now we're back overseas.  Yes, I often feel homesick for America and want to go back.  But, increasingly often, I also feel happy where I am.

So while I find that where I'm from isn't always where I want to be, it will always be a place I feel connected to.  Yes, I am proud to be American, but perhaps not in the same way as other people are proud.  But those differences are a huge part of what I enjoy about my fellow Americans.  Those differences also tell me that there are many more paths to take across my native land, many more adventures, possibilities, and promises of more country to be seen.  I dream of purple mountains, spacious skies and amber waves of grain.

God, don't just bless America. Please bless the whole world. With peace.

------------------------------------------------------

‎"Peace and friendship with all mankind is our wisest policy, and I wish we may be permitted to pursue it." --Thomas Jefferson

"It isn't enough to talk about peace. One must believe in it. And it isn't enough to believe in it. One must work at it." --Eleanor Roosevelt

"Peace begins with a smile." --Mother Teresa

6 years and counting

Today is our 6th wedding anniversary.  I am so happy Michael took me as a wife 6 years ago!  That’s a Friends reference… but in Greece, where we got married, that’s pretty much what happened.  Michael had to pay the mayor a goat for marrying us, then Michael signed a paper stating that I am now his wife.  I signed nothing – just stood there and looked pretty while the ‘trade’ took place.  (I was happy with the deal, though!)

I love you, Michael!  I’m glad we do everything together, since it’s hard to be homesick when I have my “home” with me everywhere I go.