An old bike and 2 cans of spray paint

Everybody makes mistakes

I am slowly making my reamergance into the land of the living. Far from 100% but capable of basic functioning I decided to tackle a project with my oldest daughter. She is growing as young children are apt to do, and in the process is ready to graduate to a larger bicycle. A neighbor graciously gave us one of her daughter's old bikes last summer but it is in need of some repairs to be street worthy. I ordered a new bike tire and tube that will be arriving later this week and we decided it might be fun to give it a new paint job.

We went to the store and she picked out the paint she wanted- a metallic silver, and a second can of navy blue. I have watched an episode or two of custom motorcycle building on TV and I started to imagine attempting a flame paint job that would match my motorcycle. Perhaps a bit grandiose but I was excited about working on the bike together. After about 2 minutes of helping me strip down the bike she disappeared. When she reappeared it was atop her scooter with earphones trailing from underneath her helmet. I spent the next hour sweating in the sun trying to strip old stickers off the frame and sanding it down to paint. The exciting bonding project was turning into a one-man show. I managed to get her attention for a little help here and there but I had definitely moved from excited to impatient. Not long thereafter I decided I was done for the day. I was starting to cough myself into a headache again and my energy was gone.

I instructed the girls to clean up their bikes and come into the house. I went in to use the bathroom and as expected did not hear anyone come into the house so I guessed they were still out playing. When I stepped back outside the bikes and toys were still out and they had added something as well.

The tree was not particularly distressing to me, but the paint on the back patio was the proverbial straw... did she HOPE I would not notice? HOPE it would wash off? Or could she possibly have been diabolical enough to HOPE by writing her younger sister's name that the crime would not be pinned on her? I suppose there are far worse words to have spray painted on the cement but at the time I was beyond the ability to consider that.

The next several minutes consisted mainly of me yelling, threatening "huge consequences," and riding the flood of strong emotions. I put everybody in time-out (I should have included myself) and stomped around outside putting things away, reassessing the damage, and mumbling under my breath. When I got back inside I was able to start calming down a little bit, I wish I could say it was a conscious process but I think it mostly came from seeing the girls crying and looking overwhelmed with fear. I know that feeling and it helped me shift gears away from my initial knee jerk response of anger and wanting to fear or shame them into never doing something like that again, into a little more compassion and wanting them to learn from the experience. 

I worked on continuing to calm myself down while everyone got ready for bed. When things finally quieted down I told them that they had made a mistake and asked if they could learn any lessons from it. Their focus was understandably on the uncertainty of the impending promised consequences so I asked if they wanted me to offer a few suggestions. I decided to focus on 3 things with them:

1. Everybody makes mistakes.

2. If you are doing something and you get a feeling like you shouldn't do it, stop.

3. Some mistakes are harder to fix than others.

The second lesson they seemed to recognize and pick up on fairly quickly. They suggested that they probably should have asked before starting to spray paint things and that they did feel like it might be something they should not be doing. The third lesson is probably still a little too abstract for them to completely understand, but I think they did recognize that the paint was not going to come off easily so this was a mistake that was going to be hard to fix. However, the lesson that we came back to in the conversation over and over again was number 1. 

Everyone makes mistakes, but I worry that my eldest (like me) struggles to really accept that. I think of the many times I have shared that feeling of dread when I make a mistake. I worry about the consequences, what others will think of me, I conjure up the worst possible scenarios and start running them on repeat through my mind. I know nobody likes to make mistakes, but they are the place I have learned many of the important lessons of my life. But when I respond to my mistakes with shame or try to avoid responsibility I am not able to unlock those lessons. Instead of recognizing everyone makes mistakes shame tells me I am a mistake. What interest would I have in learning or taking accountability if I consider myself beyond repair? 

After affirming to my oldest several times that everyone makes mistakes, that she is a good girl and I love her, things eventually wound down and I put them to bed for the night. I went into the living room and sat down to write an affirmation and a few minutes later she wandered into the room. She asked to lie down on the couch next to me to fall asleep so I made room for her. She looked up at the blank page that she recognized as a blog entry and said that she knew what I could write about. I held my breath with anticipation and then exhaled with relief when she said,"everybody makes mistakes."

Yay mistakes!

I am sharing the gift of my mistakes

I had a fantastic conversation with a friend yesterday that allowed me to understand some of the things he is currently experiencing. This understanding came because of my own past mistakes and the emotions we have both experienced. Afterwards I was sitting quietly in thought and I was surprised at how I was feeling. My chest and face were warm like it feels when basking in the sun of a clear spring afternoon. I had a feeling of being connected even though I was in solitude. Most of all I had a feeling of worth and value.

Mistakes can teach powerful lessons and I have had a few doozies that have taught me hard and well. After learning from them I usually prefer to tuck those experiences away and keep them out of sight and hopefully out of mind. I certainly do not want to openly share them with others. During that conversation I dusted a few off and when I brought them out and shared them I could see a hidden beauty that I had not noticed before. When I am willing to be vulnerable with my imperfections and share the lessons of my mistakes I can start to see how nothing is wasted in this life.  No matter what I have gone through and how much I may want to forget it, my experiences can help others.

The help is not going to come because I have some deep wisdom with the answers to all their problems. The answers I have gained from those experiences are my own and although I may share what I have learned everyone must walk their own path. The answers of value to any question come from within and are hard won. The way I am able to help others is by showing up and being vulnerable with my story. As I listened to his story I was reminded what it is like to step into the darkness of the unknown, filled with doubt, wondering if there is a way through.  Sharing my story is a light in the darkness. It does not always show the way out, but it shows that we are not alone and that others have walked the path before us. 

My mistakes give me the gift of wisdom when I choose to learn from them. Those experiences from my mistakes can continue to give, when I am willing to share my story with others.  

Doh!

I am accountable and promptly admit my mistakes

My daughters have been super excited about Valentine's Day this year.  For the last week they have asked every day if it is February yet.  The past few days they have been leaving me little messages and cards each day leading up to Valentines. 

They also worked hard with their mom to decorate small buckets filled with treats.  The plan was to leave the buckets with a couple of neighbors with the encouragement to then pass along the "love bucket" to someone else.  As soon as February 1st arrived they couldn't wait to deliver them.

My wife works graveyard shifts and before she left I got directions on which houses to deliver to and instructions on which bucket to leave, and not to forget to include the cinnamon rolls that were still in the refrigerator. She went over this several times and I was feeling a little annoyed that she kept reminding me.  I was sure I could handle this small task.  This morning when she arrived home from work I woke up as she came in the room.

"You forgot the cinnamon rolls."

My mind exploded with a few colorful words and a wave of shame spread through me.  How could I have forgotten that? My mind conjured multiple excuses.  Next I let myself feel anger and resentment.  Why did she have to point that out to me before even saying hello?  I pushed the responsibility away and wallowed in negative thoughts and feelings. For five minutes I sat in bitter silence over cinnamon rolls.  I finally got around to apologizing, but it felt like bile coming out of my mouth. 

I am human and as such I make mistakes... a lot of them. Unfortunately some of those mistakes hurt others and might at times be more serious than just forgetting cinnamon rolls. Those closest to me and who have trusted me to share in their journey are the ones I can wound most deeply. The knife that injures also cuts both ways. It is painful to watch someone I love suffer by my own hand.

My reaction to this is sometimes to hide from what I've done, try to smooth it over or deflect the blame. Part of me is afraid that by taking accountability I will lose them. How could anyone remain committed to me if they see my dark side and I own it? Only through accountability and amends can I show that I am truly committed and willing to be completely vulnerable with another person. It affirms my best intentions and desires for the relationship and surrenders the need to control or focus on only myself.  When I do this I can have authentic connection and stay true to myself. 

I'm no Michelle Kwan

I will rise up each time I fall

When I arrived home yesterday I discovered that somebody had replaced my driveway with an ice-skating rink.  Seeing as how my figure skates are currently in the shop I decided the best course of action was to grab a shovel and start scraping.

While I was attempting to clear the driveway I got a phone call from my friend.  We joked around about how ridiculous the weather was and just as he was explaining to me the various meteorological conditions that accounted for the freezing rain I dropped the phone and my feet flew out from underneath me.I struggled for several seconds to get off my knees and retrieve the phone.  It was not my finest moment but I finally got back on my feet.  I decided to retreat to the warmth of indoors and the relative safety of carpeted floors. 

Walking the path of my personal truth is not an easy journey.  I often come across difficult circumstances, obstacles that block my way, and stretches of road that are treacherous.  Having my feet slip out from under me and taking a few falls is to be expected.  The key is not to avoid ever falling, but to rise back up when I do.

This picture of Kanji writing is a Japanese proverb that when translated means, fall down seven times get up eight.  In any difficult journey there will be times of struggle.  Daring to make changes and reaching to realize my potential can only be thwarted if I fail to get back up when I fall.  I will make mistakes. I will slip and fall. Each time I do I will get to my feet, dust myself off and trudge on.