What Do We Tell Our Kids?

It's not over, and who knows what the next several hours - or days - will bring.

But it is clear that millions of people have voted for a candidate who has insulted women, immigrants, Muslims, and people of color.  A candidate who has threatened to deport my children's classmates and families.  A person whose supporters are anti-Semites and terrifying to me on a deeply personal level.

And the question, the one in my head, and the one all over my FaceBook feed is this: what do we tell our kids?

Tomorrow, here's what I will say:

Yes, I am scared for the country. And yes, I am angry.  (And while I am personally scared, that I will keep to myself for now).

I will tell them the history of successful civil rights movements.  I will share photos and stories of protests; I will bring them if that feels safe to us.

I will tell them we aren't leaving America.  (At least for now.)  That most people don't have the privilege to even talk about leaving. We stay.  We create change while we can and because we can.

We will lean into local. Into our own community.  Into deepening relationships with our neighbors. Into meeting people who aren't like us.

We will bring our kids to volunteer. To serve food to the hungry. To weed a community garden.  We will give them the agency to do small acts to make them understand that they can have a role - however small - in change.

Most of all?  When they wake up, and ask about the voters on the other "side", I will not tell them - because I don't believe- that voters on the "other" side are ignorant,  uneducated,  horrific, some unknown "they".  I will let tomorrow be a step towards rebuilding the "two America's" not towards deepening the divide.  

I will speak up against hatred, racism, and misogyny.  But I will not incite personal hatred of the millions of Americans who were - and are - themselves scared of a world that is rapidly changing. And I will not demean "middle America", rural America, those who aren't "like us".  Because they are, also, us.

Over the next days and months and years, I will remember and reinforce, as our Rabbi and teacher Heidi Hoover wrote earlier this week, that we are all created in the image of God.

Most of all, I'll share the words of the mother of our nation: When they go low, we go high.

Stay Woke

The marquis on the church near our house is flashing, “Stay Woke. Follow Jesus”.  Stay Woke.  In the anti-racism and social justice world, being woke means being aware, being self aware.  It’s perhaps the modern equivalent to being “hip” to something.   

Stay Woke.  It's a phrase that's begun to creep into my existence. The flashing marquis that has wormed its way into my thoughts. 

We’ve recently begun a new Jewish year.  This past year has been a year of often horrific awakening. The news, and my social media field has been filled with images - black men being killed by police, LGBT folks slaughtered in a nightclub, terrorism around the world, refugees on boats and on shores, the list goes on and on.  They are images that move me, and that move all of us - images that shock me awake. For a moment. And then I scroll down.  The next image - a silly cat, a political rant, a new meme. Sure, I do things.  I volunteer; I make donations; I vote.  But do I truly stay aware; stay woke?

The period between the Jewish holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is about reflection, apology, and change.  Each year, I try to take this seriously.  Each year, I apologize to others, to myself, to the force in the world I call God.  Most years, there is a moment, sometime, the afternoon of Yom Kippur, during the powerful Neilah service, when I am, finally, awake.  And then, the next year, it’s the same stuff.  I make the same mistakes.  I have the same regrets. Am I truly able to stay woke?

There have been other moments of awakening this year.  That flash of wonder on a gorgeous day. The moments where time freezes in joy - laughing hysterically with my parents and sisters, seeing the look on my daughter’s face after nailing a successful dive into the pool, watching my son read from the Torah in front of our community.  Moments of pure awakening, when the world is only goodness and truth.  These moments, also, are gone, almost as soon as I recognize them.

Stay woke.  It’s beautiful in its new use of the past tense. Stay woke is about taking a moment, of awareness, of being, of change, and remember it, act on it, remain aware of it.  I awaken over and over. But stay woke? Not yet.

Village People

I'm about 48 hours out from having an official teen, and an official bar mitzvah boy, looking through old photos and wondering how we got here.

Here's one thing we did: built a village.  It's true it takes one.  (And I know it'll be even more true in the next phase of parenting).  It's also true that most of us don't just fall into a village, we build one.  Parenting without community is brutal, maybe impossible.  But parenting with community involves putting that community together.

I've started to think of these folks as our Village People:

Family, of birth and marriage -  the perennial of the village.  They always have been and always will be there. They benefit from water and attention, but they are there with us regardless.

Friends who parent in ways we admire.  Who are a little older and further ahead and are on the other side, still breathing.

Irreverent friends who make us gasp in mock horror and reverent friends who sit with us and pray.

Those folks who have known us since we ourselves were young and remind us that we weren't always who we are now.

Colleagues who never ask about our kids and only focus on us. And colleagues who always ask about our kids.

People who flirt with us like we have no wrinkles and people who chime in when we whine about aging.

Friends who bring us food and drink, who can create parties in the middle of hurricanes, and who have never needed an excuse to just sit together and laugh.

Village People, you know who you are.  We love our village and are grateful to have you in our lives.  Now tell us a joke, this bar mitzvah thing is making us weepy.

Choking on Cake

Recently I was chatting with a friend and colleague about my job. I explained how everything is terrific, but that there are so many things - things we are doing, things we want to be doing, opportunities to seize, that it is often overwhelming.  "Ahh," he noted, "You're choking on cake."

He went on to explain that a colleague had taught him that phrase - choking on cake - for when life is great but there is just too much going on.

I quickly fell in love with the phrase, and took to sharing it with others often.  It seemed terrific.  Sure there's a lot going on, but it is sweet and delicious.  It's cake. (For the record, I don't actually like cake.  Another colleague who was with us at the time said that for me, the phrase should be choking on artisanal Brooklyn home brew.)

And so I mentioned the phrase "choking on cake" breezily to my stellar Executive Coach, who paused, and said, "Well, I guess that's better than choking on charcoal."

But is it?  A pound of feathers or a pound of gold - still weighs a pound, right?  Choking on charcoal or choking on cake - still choking, right?

That same stellar coach and I have been talking about cognitive reframing.  I have to admit, I've secretly been a little resistant to focusing on it too much. I tend already to be a glass is half full person.  Reframing seemed a little pop-psychology - kind of "every cloud has a silver lining."

Until I actually thought about the cake.  And released that reframing is genuinely thinking from another perspective.

It's like this image:

Do you see the angels or the demons?  They are both there.  Refocusing to look at one doesn't negate the other, it just brings a different image into focus.

Which is what happened to me. 

I was focused on the cake. Until I became focused on the choking. 

And that very specific reframe changed my perspective. 

Choking? Not really.  I'm not choking.  I am often harried, not finishing everything, but I can breathe, and swallow.  Personally, I'm moving through the tasks.  Organizationally, we are flourishing.

It's more like binging.  I'm shoving a lot - probably too much - in.  But I'm the person shoving it in. I'm not a goose getting prepped to become foie gras.  After a period of looking for a job, I'm more like a kid who hasn't been allowed sweets. I just want more and more and more to the point where I keep eating after I should stop.

Also - cake? Cake is sweet but nutritionally empty.  Some of what I'm binging on probably is cake. Projects that I love but aren't strategic. Some tasks are more like vitamins; no taste but all nutrition. The sweet spot is those things I am doing that I love and are useful. Sort of how I feel about roasted veggies.  I could eat them forever. And they are good for me.

Reframing is often temporary until we practice it over and over. Our minds want to go back to familiar thinking patterns.  But for today?  I'm not choking on cake.  I'm binging on roasted veggies. And while it might hurt my belly sometimes, in the long run, I'm gonna be healthier.

[p.s. I know it has been almost a year since I've blogged. I'm going to try to do something about that. Hold me to it, ok?]