Growing up different

As much as we want to be true to ourselves, to be a strong individual, we also want to fit in. We want to be the we in the we vs. they, part of the in crowd, or if not part of, at least tolerated or ignored by them. Age doesn’t matter. It could be our first day of preschool or of a professional conference. We stand on the threshold and quickly look for the familiar, the similar, assessing how we will be received. Imagine what it’s like if you know and understand that mostly you won’t fit in.

The recent 50th anniversary of the Special Olympics served as a reminder of how little we once knew about the challenges of the different. Back then, most with mental or physical disabilities had been kept out of sight which also meant, out of mind. Since then, we’ve accepted mainstreaming as a norm. We drop words like autism or Tourette’s and conditions like OCD into conversations. Most likely we use them incorrectly even as we try to show awareness and empathy, and, most likely our actions come across as condescension or tolerance.

We all feel different at times, but it is different to know that you are so. Outsiders have no idea what life is like for a family who has a truly different member. Now that it is more the norm for a child with a disability to remain at home, outsiders do not, cannot, comprehend what it takes to provide a safe and constant environment for their different member. To nurture and help that individual become the best that they can be. I recently had a glimpse into that world and saw the exhausting stress, the painstaking patience and realized how little I really and truly knew or understood. 

Throughout history, the different have been demonized, ostracized or forced to conform. Think of all the left handed children made to change what came naturally to them. Think of the closets full of generations of those with differing sexual orientations. Think of the taunts to those with cleft palettes or crossed-eyes, the uncoordinated, or the dark skinned in the world of the blondes. I’ve mentioned here what are just a few issues on the spectrum of differences and don’t mean to compare one with the other. What I’m musing on here is the commonness of wanting to belong and the absolute imperative to remember that longing to belong is something we all share.

Marilyn

The driver didn’t know

Last Wednesday morning I was driving on a four-lane highway headed back to the Columbus airport when I smelled burning rubber. If you are like me when renting a car, you check out all the basics but may not know what’s going to appear on the dashboard screen when there is trouble; however, no icons were flashing at me as the smell grew worse. Then bits of rubber from a shredding tire on the truck in front of me started hitting the windshield. Luckily there was no damage, and before I could do anything to alert the driver, he turned at the stoplight and seemed to keep going. He didn’t know.

How many times do we leave things in our wake that we don’t know about? That we cut someone off in traffic without realizing it. How what we said was taken wrong and there are stunned or confused expressions on colleagues’ faces as we walked away. When we interrupted something important to those involved with something we considered more important. I’ve seen it happen when there is a sense of entitlement. Maybe it comes with age or with authority, but I’ve noticed a tendency in myself to not be aware of or honor what I’m interrupting. And, worse, to not be concerned with the fact that there may be consequences to my actions.

There’s nothing wrong with keeping focused on what’s ahead. It can be important though, to periodically check on what we’ve left behind. 

Marilyn

Head, shoulders, knees, and toes

When something comes to mind as I consider topics for these weekly musings, I tend to go with it and see where it takes me. So, when the glimmer of a childhood song teased my brain, I did what anyone in search of a piece of information would do, and googled the phrase and found the cutest video of cartoon children exercising. It wasn’t quite the tune I remembered, but close enough. My recollection wasn’t that parents or teachers in my day used the song to get us moving, except maybe for coordination and rhythm, but the modern version combined exercise with the song which seemed like a good thing.

Perhaps I was reminded of the song because I’m in that phase of life more focused on icing or replacing those body parts than identifying them. Well, except the head. There is no head transplant when Alzheimer’s disease is the diagnosis. There is no corrective surgery for how we have deteriorated into so far left and so far right (not necessarily portions of the brain). It was painful to watch my dad’s head slip into the world of dementia. I fear a similar fate, but don’t know whether the fear is that I’ll know it’s happening or that I won’t know. I fear the fate of our world where the rhetoric needs to be iced down and we all need some type of therapy.

“He’s got a good head on his shoulders” is a nice complement, as is “she’s head and shoulders above the rest.” Here in Chicago we are the city of the big shoulders. As a culture and a country we once had broader shoulders. All of those hint at a morality that is not mentioned in the song. Maybe we need a second verse that is ‘head, shoulders, heart and soul.’

Marilyn

When the time is right

When the time is right, I will... You’ve thought it. I’ve said it. We’ve probably even drafted some plans around that fill-in-the-blank part. It may be something that we really need to do, should do, or would like to do. It can range from making a will to leaving an abusive relationship to quitting a job to starting a diet. We are waiting for the time to be right, meaning that the planets are aligned, we’ve saved a million dollars, or hell has frozen over. Mostly we are waiting for the kick in the butt or for something to shift internally so that the time feels right.

If you are like me, you’ve learned that the time is rarely ever right. Not until we make it right. On Saturday I had breakfast with a woman who is waiting for the time to be right to make a decision about a major move. The I’m-moving-to-be-close-to-family-because-it’s-that-time-of-my-life type of move. A wonderful friend is settling in to her new life thousands of miles away because the time came to be right for her to make that hard decision. Yesterday I was at the memorial service of a dear colleague. I had the privilege of accompanying her somewhat on her journey she refused to let be defined by cancer. We cried when she shared that the time was right to tell her fourteen and ten year old sons that she was dying and when she asked me to find time on our boss’s calendar so she could tell him it was time for her to retire immediately. 

You know, as I know, that for most things, the ducks will never be in a row. Don’t get me wrong. Animals in the wild have millennia of learnings on when to migrate; farmers on when to sow or reap. There are better times, not just always that perfect time to get us off our keisters to do what usually turns out to not be as difficult as all our worry and procrastination thought it would be. So, what are you waiting for the time to be right for and what can you do instead of waiting?

Marilyn

How life is like baseball

While watching the Cubs game yesterday, I realized that I may not understand all the nuances of baseball but I do know that the batter either hits or misses the ball. I did a little research and discovered that the phrase hit or miss was first recorded in the 1600s, well before baseball. My next step was the dictionary where I found three slightly different meanings for hit-or-miss from three sources. Merriam-Webster says, “marked by lack of forethought or plan.” The free dictionary says, “haphazardly, random,” and dictionary.com says, “as likely to be unsuccessful as successful.” It then lists the wonderful words “slipshod, lackadaisical and slapdash” as synonyms. 

We’ve all learned that, even with a great deal of forethought and planning, outcomes can be hit or miss. Think of all the Plan B’s you’ve had to resort to due to weather, cancelled flights, or someone’s whimsy. We’ve seen artists’ whose works may seem haphazard but not slipshod or those authors whose writing, in my opinion, became slapdash to cash in on their sudden popularity. And my own weekly writing can be hit or miss from either or both the reader’s and my perspective.

On a daily basis we don’t think about our whole lives being hit or miss. That’s too scary a thought. But, it’s true. Like the baseball players, we practice, hone our skills, work within a team while understanding our role, fine-tune our plans, negotiate our contract. Then we get rained out, scheduled for a double-header, are told to bunt when we think we can hit that grand slam. The manager can strategize against the opposition, but then it’s all hit or miss, and not just hitting the ball.  I didn’t start off thinking about life being like baseball, but, I guess it’s all hit or miss.

Marilyn