It was Saturday night, a lovely spring evening in north Seattle. My sixteen year old daughter (by 2 days) had asked to attend the local high school musical production of the long-time favorite Music Man.
I bought two tickets just for the two of us to attend together.
Here are a few things I heard during the course of the evening. They set off a few stressful thoughts inside me:
- Mom, is that what you’re wearing?
- This concessions line is waaaaaay too long, I’m not waiting
- Stop staring at those people!
- Why didn’t you say Hi to her?
- Don’t lean so close to my face to tell me something!
I was sure there was a constant stream of criticism.
Now that I read my own list, I see basic, simple communication.
Direct, blunt, to the point. No dilly-dallying around. Refreshing really.
But that night, after the last comment “Don’t lean so close to my face!” I dramatically leaned in the opposite direction, folded my arms across my chest, sitting in my chair, and pointedly looked only directly ahead at the stage.
Yes, it was that mature.
I noticed her sweet face turning towards me several times, out of the corner of my eye, looking to see how or what I might be thinking or feeling, perhaps.
But I didn’t look at her for a couple of minutes!
She doesn’t like me!
That was my painful thought. I know this is true because she’s critical, she has a tone, she tells me I’m too close, she doesn’t want to wait in line with me.
As I’ve mentioned before, one of my favorite professors said during a graduate school lecture when I was newly pregnant with my first child:
The secret to being a good parent? Be willing to be hated.
In that little tantrum moment where I pulled back and clammed up I was NOT willing to be hated.
She HAD to have a positive, wonderful opinion of me.
Yikes.
This thought has also entered my internal world with other people. God forbid anyone to have distaste for me, be repulsed, critical, upset or worried about me.
Sigh.
I sat there in the dark theater with 76 Trombones and a full stage of young actors belting their hearts out joyfully, able to simultaneously ask myself….it just sprang up really….
Who would I be without the thought that my daughter should like me? Or be one ounce different than she is?
How about those other people in my life who on the rare occasion have criticized, had a less-than-fabulous opinion, or cut off communication with me?
Who would I be without the thought that it should be different?
Quite stunning to think of this, to really imagine it with love, to develop the picture, to fill out the whole experience of allowing them all to hate me as much as they want.
As if I could control any of it.
And then….in the theater, I noticed in the story on stage that the main character Professor Harold Hill was having a transformation. He was noticing that he was enjoying, and touched, by the people around him. He was not interested in ditching and running as he always had before.
“My foot never got caught in the door before!” he exclaims on stage.
On his way out, something caught his attention. He discovered that people were aware of his limitations and false intentions and foibles,and they loved him anyway!
What if that person DOES like you? Even if it doesn’t appear that they do? What if you lived that turnaround?
“When I walk into a room, I know that everyone in it loves me. I just don’t expect them to realize it yet.” ~Byron Katie
I relaxed and stopped the distancing. I noticed how connected I felt to that darling girl, who observes so much about me.
This morning she brought me breakfast in bed for Mother’s Day. At the crack of dawn (knowing I’m an early riser, she set her alarm).
“The point is that our true nature is not some ideal that we have to live up to. It’s who we are right now, and that’s what we can make friends with and celebrate.” ~ Pema Chodron
Much love, Grace