What We Carry…

Is what we can carry.

Some days are different than others. Each individual is different. Some people carry great loads we will never know about. They do it quietly. No fanfare. There is no energy left to talk about it. Better to rest. No need for attention. Just rest.

Others carry smaller loads they make seem great. This used to frustrate me. I didn’t care how little they carried but the aggrandizing drama surrounding it bothered me.

The puffery felt bullshitty and exhausting.

And then I realized, they are just afraid.

Afraid they aren’t carrying enough. Afraid others won’t approve. Afraid they could have done better. And maybe they could have.

Maybe they could have been more generous with their time or effort or love.

But there is nothing so inspiring and encouraging as forgiveness.

It is the balm that heals.

So easy to type out: so hard to do. I get all caught up in my self-righteous ideas of fairness, which is based on anything but equitable or generous behavior.

Here’s generous.

Our son Finn’s teacher at our parent teacher conference this morning was talking about what a uniquely special boy he is.

She was not simply being a supportive teacher, though she most certainly is, rather she was acknowledging a beautiful and rarely recognized truth for all of us.

In Finn it manifests inside the disparity between his well below grade reading level and above grade comprehension level.

The effort required for him to focus on a whirlwind of letters is immense.

The concentration required for him to pay attention to the stormy sea of words, sentences and paragraphs on any given page is significant.

The effort, she told us, he must be putting in, to comprehend at that level, is extraordinary. She is generous with him, everyday. And everyday she inspires him to be more generous with himself, with his ability and patience.

She sees him. She gets him. She appreciates him.

This is no small thing.

The gratitude of her appreciation fuels the appreciating value of his confidence, belief in the power of growth, change and the ability to make a difference in our own lives.

We all remember the few teachers who believed in us, who made us come alive. It is such a powerful gift. But too see your own child receive it? Well, it’s everything.

As regards to Finn’s effort, some days are better than others.

Sometimes he sleeps well, sometimes he doesn’t. He has had four family members and three dogs pass away. He had acute sleep apnea, chronic ear infections, tonsil and adenoid surgery and tubes in his eyes.

He is only nine.

I mention his struggles because we all have a list like this. Whether we are nine or forty-five, eighty-three or sixteen. It doesn’t matter.

There are internal and external wounds we all work through. Overt and hidden fears. Crushed dreams we have to move past. Loved ones we have to let go.

If we choose to live a conscious life it is hard.

It is beautiful and hard.

And beautiful.

We carry what we can. And it is enough.