#day3 - for my college friends to giggle: I am me, I am ok

Just thinking today about how many people I've worked with over the years who are embarrassed or even ashamed of who they used to be at some younger age.  "I was a bully" or "I was a mean girl."  "I was slutty."  Or "I wasn't good to my mom and now she's gone."  "I was drunk."  "I lied."  The list goes on and on.

I've been doing research into the relationship between humor, play and grief and it reminds me of something I found recently:

Isn't Calvin the best?  Sometimes we are all like this - not accepting the past, and trying to change anything and everything out of our sheer will for control, and not seeing the reality that we're in.  

I'd like to propose that if you have a version of yourself from your past (even if it was yesterday), that you're not proud of - try to use a lighter touch with yourself.  I remember when I moved to DC after college and started wearing a lot of black and feeling I was very sophisticated, I became embarrassed of the Midwestern version of myself who wore Christmas sweatshirts and had a Virginia Satir poster on my college dorm wall (my East coast self thought that was WAY too sentimental).  Then,  I got older and became embarrassed of the posturing young adult who had to wear black to prove she was cool.  Now, I like both those girls.  They were doing their best to figure out "who am I?"  

I hope that you can go easy on you.  You may just have been trying to figure out who you were too.

Since I have no pretense of being cool anymore.  For your pleasure and in the immortal words of Virginia Satir

I am Me. In all the world, there is no one else exactly like me. Everything that comes out of me is authentically mine, because I alone chose it – I own everything about me: my body, my feelings, my mouth, my voice, all my actions, whether they be to others or myself.

 I own my fantasies, my dreams, my hopes, my fears. I own my triumphs and successes, all my failures and mistakes. Because I own all of me, I can become intimately acquainted with me. By so doing, I can love me and be friendly with all my parts.

I know there are aspects about myself that puzzle me, and other aspects that I do not know – but as long as I am friendly and loving to myself, I can courageously and hopefully look for solutions to the puzzles and ways to find out more about me.

However I look and sound, whatever I say and do, and whatever I think and feel at a given moment in time is authentically me. If later some parts of how I looked, sounded, thought, and felt turn out to be unfitting, I can discard that which is unfitting, keep the rest, and invent something new for that which I discarded.

 I can see, hear, feel, think, say, and do. I have the tools to survive, to be close to others, to be productive, and to make sense and order out of the world of people and things outside of me. I own me, and therefore, I can engineer me.

 I am me, and I am Okay.

 From Self Esteem by Virginia Satir

Changing your strategy

I'm going to share a little bit about my eight year old boy.  First, I'll tell a couple things I enjoy immensely about him, then I'll tell a story that is specific to him, but also universal to all of us at one time or another.

The boy is funny, but he doesn't share that with everyone.  He's not like a comedian.  He's also rather shy.  So you have to know him pretty well to be privy to his sense of humor.  The other day at dinner he looks over at me and says,  "Mom.  Have you ever thought about your job?
"What do you mean?"  I say.

"You're a psycho.  Therapist.  Psycho.  Therapist.  You are a cuckoo therapist!"  Well, I am glad we all know were we stand in my family and yes, I had actually thought about what a funny word "psychotherapist" is.

Another funny thing recently...I'm in the basement doing laundry and I hear him shouting "Mom, come up here - you're going to think this is hilarious!"  

I come up and he's lying on the bed with his Calivin and Hobbes Book (It's  a Magical World, I think).  "Look at this one," he says.

It's one-frame and shows Calvin and Hobbes looking at a snowman that has a hot water bottle on its head.  Hobbes says, "Why does that snowman have a hot water bottle on its head?"  Calvin answers, "He's committing suicide."

Okay, so it's a little dark.  Actually, I like that we can share Calvin and Hobbes, which I've always loved, as well as a general sense of humor.

So, now I'll tell you that my son picked up chess in the past eight months.  He taught himself to play by reading The Dangerous Book for Boys, and dug up a chess board that was packed away in the basement.  My husband and I were kind of delighted - chess is fun for adults (unlike, some other board games) and an adult and child can be equally skilled. 

The boy entered his first amateur chess tournament the other weekend.  As we drove over to the St. Louis Chess Club, he says, "Mom.  I know my strategy.  I'm going to play Hyper-Aggressive.  Not a lot of people know how to handle Hyper-Aggressive."

I think to myself,  "Here we go." But, I say something profound like "Oh."

God love my son, but he did not deviate from that Hyper-Aggressive strategy (and though I've never been an 8 year old boy, I can really feel that Hyper-Aggressive would feel like THE right strategy to an 8 year old boy).  So, in four rounds he lost three and had a stalemate in one. 

I love that my kid remains optimistic throughout the process.  After each game, he'd look at me and say, "I still have another chance to win!"

We even left the chess club with a participation medal and got into the car, where he indeed, got upset about the losses. 

I am not just saying this to be politically correct:  I really don't really care if he wins or loses as long as he has fun.  I am pretty emotionally detached from the win/lose process in any sport or game as far as my kids go.  Yet I won't say this wasn't a stressful moment for both of us.  I tried simply acknowledging how I could understand he was disappointed, but this didn't seem to be that helpful and maybe even escalated him. 

Finally, what I said (okay, yelled), was "Honey, you had one strategy and you never changed it, even though you had evidence that it wasn't working.  There are so many strategies in chess - why don't you pick another one and just try that and see what happens.  If that doesn't work, find another strategy and see what happens.  One of them will be a winning strategy."

I'm not sure if it took, but it occurred to me as the words were coming out of my mouth that the "stick with the strategy" mindset is a hinderance to many of us in many areas of our life.  How many times do we keep trying the same strategy with a boss, a spouse, a parent, a career, a course of study, a life's ambition, a house project?  Even when all the evidence says it's not working, we don't want to stop.

When I was telling the story of my son and the chess tournament to my friend, Jen, she said something like, "yeah, I think sometimes we blame our execution of the strategy and think if we just do more of the strategy that will change to outcome."

Sometimes, we don't give up our strategy as a matter of pride.  Sometimes we don't give up our strategy because we don't know other strategies.

If we're stuck in life or not getting the results we want in a certain area, I recommend letting up a little, making room a little, trying something different.  Why not?  If we're not getting the result we want anyway, what do we have to lose?