The most humbling part about being a writer is all of the public mistakes that are made. It's bad enough that I don't feel that I'm a great conversationalist: my fear of saying something that might offend someone has left me tongue-tied on many an occasion. I thought that by putting my words down first on paper, or in this case, in a draft blog, I'd have time to reflect, reorganize and carefully chose the perfect words.
It reminds me of all the rookie mistakes I'm making as a parent. My daughter is 3. Not a day goes by when I realize that a parent who had two or more kids would've done things differently. Right now, we're dealing with obstinacy and I've been pandering to her little whims. I'm reminded of a time in college when another student told me, "I don't like you. Look at you. Look at the way you dress." We were working together in a student club and quite frankly I mostly remember feeling astonished. Who judges someone else based on their clothes? (See how progressive I thought I was?) I certainly wasn't going to change the way I dressed - I was a student with no money - but I quickly devised a way to deal with this guy. I avoided him at all costs and the result was my occasional tears as well as being miserable for an entire year while we "worked" together.
Writing, like parenting, like working with others, is an exercise in learning and acceptance. No matter how well-thought out and how well crafted the passage, there may be someone like that student who is predisposed to intentionally dislike what I've written. Because my hair is brown or because of my shoe size or because with a name like Crystal they figure my parents must've been hippies.
In my daughter's case, I've let a discussion about going to school escalate to a big drop-off drama. I've been asking for grace all day to just let it be. A kiss and a hug and I'll be back at circle time. Cry if you must.
No comments:
Post a Comment