"How is the Tao able to be present for all beings?
Because it has no desires for itself
and can therefore accept you
however you may struggle,
however you may fail.
There is always room for you.
Detach yourself from the seeming
successes and failures of your children.
By doing so you become able
to be one with them at all times.
You do not live your life
through your children.
Therefore they are free
to find their own true fulfillment.
Can you encourage your children
without attaching too much importance to the outcome?
Can you attend your child's game or contest
and cheer for every good play
and every good effort
of all players on both sides?
Can you encourage anyone, on either side, who
makes a mistake?
Does this seem unnatural? Impossible?
Try it.
You will thoroughly enjoy the game
and teach your child a wonderful truth."
My life is simpler these days, perhaps, than it has ever been. Quieter. More focused. With my daughter I have a singleness of purpose, with my husband I have a unity of purpose. Our mission is clear, and yet we write the manual. So I struggle and fail, fail and struggle, still managing somehow to come to some measure of self-acceptance by the end of each day. Much of my life's struggle and failure has surrounded that very acceptance, so I'm grateful for the compassion I can model for my daughter and try to offer to others. It's the most important thing, always, and something I wish I had learned to extend to myself much earlier on. But the way I was parented did not always allow for it. As an example, one year in high school I was playing a particularly difficult piano solo in a band concert. Of course my mom was in the audience, as ever caring, encouraging, and involved. Whether or not she congratulated me on my playing I don't remember, but what I do recall her telling me is, "I held my breath with every note you played." Of course, as a musician herself, she knew how nervous I had been, how nervous I always was whenever I had to perform. I understand now that she meant to empathize with me, but at the time I read it as her expecting and anticipating a mistake, and I felt devastated that she apparently had so little confidence in me. What might she have said instead if she had allowed herself some distance, detached from my result, been less involved in at least the emotional sense? Whatever it could have been, it's what I hope I will say to my daughter as I guide her on her way to true fulfillment.
Because it has no desires for itself
and can therefore accept you
however you may struggle,
however you may fail.
There is always room for you.
Detach yourself from the seeming
successes and failures of your children.
By doing so you become able
to be one with them at all times.
You do not live your life
through your children.
Therefore they are free
to find their own true fulfillment.
Can you encourage your children
without attaching too much importance to the outcome?
Can you attend your child's game or contest
and cheer for every good play
and every good effort
of all players on both sides?
Can you encourage anyone, on either side, who
makes a mistake?
Does this seem unnatural? Impossible?
Try it.
You will thoroughly enjoy the game
and teach your child a wonderful truth."
My life is simpler these days, perhaps, than it has ever been. Quieter. More focused. With my daughter I have a singleness of purpose, with my husband I have a unity of purpose. Our mission is clear, and yet we write the manual. So I struggle and fail, fail and struggle, still managing somehow to come to some measure of self-acceptance by the end of each day. Much of my life's struggle and failure has surrounded that very acceptance, so I'm grateful for the compassion I can model for my daughter and try to offer to others. It's the most important thing, always, and something I wish I had learned to extend to myself much earlier on. But the way I was parented did not always allow for it. As an example, one year in high school I was playing a particularly difficult piano solo in a band concert. Of course my mom was in the audience, as ever caring, encouraging, and involved. Whether or not she congratulated me on my playing I don't remember, but what I do recall her telling me is, "I held my breath with every note you played." Of course, as a musician herself, she knew how nervous I had been, how nervous I always was whenever I had to perform. I understand now that she meant to empathize with me, but at the time I read it as her expecting and anticipating a mistake, and I felt devastated that she apparently had so little confidence in me. What might she have said instead if she had allowed herself some distance, detached from my result, been less involved in at least the emotional sense? Whatever it could have been, it's what I hope I will say to my daughter as I guide her on her way to true fulfillment.
No comments:
Post a Comment