Mindset 2

In the Mindset series I reminisce about some of my favorite memories of my daughter's life when she was younger. I hope that the task of writing these entries will serve me well, and I hope too that you will enjoy going on this trip with me.

Today's journey takes us to visit Winnie the Pooh and his friends Tigger, Rabbit, Piglet, and Eeyore in the Hundred Acre Wood. In talking to other dads that I know, they tend to endure or to suffer silently when watching movies with their children. Clearly not their cup of tea. However, I have always watched movies with my daughter because I get as much enjoyment out of them as she does. For several years she was very keen on Winnie the Pooh. I have always loved these characters and have found their antics consistently marked by charm, innocence, integrity, humor, and heart-warming emotion.

We have a set of four very well worn VHS cassette tapes that we watched nearly every weekend together for several years. It really was a special together time for us. When VHS gave way to the DVD, each new title that came out was met with quite some fanfare. We would share what we called "movie nights" (a tradition that has survived to this day). Of course, as new movies came to the theater, you could expect us there on opening weekend. The Tigger Movie in 2000, Piglet's Big Movie in 2003, and the last movie that came out in 2005 was called The Heffalump Movie. I had the distinct feeling as we went to see that last film, that the Pooh wave had already crested. Yet we still went to see it anyway. I knew that the level of excitement and anticipation was not as high as for the earlier movies. With this, I relished in the adventures of my cartoon friends, knowing that our time together was running out and good-byes were at hand. Well, I now hope that good-byes were a bit premature. I hope to get to visit with my old friends again in a few more years when I am a grandfather.

Lessons Learned

I don't know about you, but when I bang myself with a hammer, the pain and bruising in my fingers makes a long-lasting impression in my mind. So, when I swing a hammer, I make darned certain that my hands are clear. Some lessons are learned very quickly indeed. However, on the other hand, some lessons, that may have even more lasting consequences than a few bruised fingers, never seem to be absorbed, or at least, take a very long time to be fully learned. As I was thinking about this post, two specific examples turned over and over in my mind.

1). A huge amount of my life's work as a scientist, representing past projects, current analyses, and future planning is contained on several computers. Over the years, I have had more than a few of my computers unexpectedly crash and burn to their untimely death. This has cost me some significant losses, along with my fair share of anxiety and anguish. Yet today I do not regularly make back-up copies of my most important files, even when I understand first hand what is at stake. I have been struck by that hammer several times, yet I still leave my fingers directly in the danger zone.

2). Several days a week I am responsible for picking up my daughter from school. A few years ago, I fell into the habit of trying to stay at work until the last possible second, and then heading out to pick her up. One day there was a traffic problem and I arrived at her school about 10 minutes late. When I finally reached my daughter, I could see that she had been crying. I saw worry and fear all over her face. Ever since I was struck with that hammer, I have been sure to arrive at our meeting place about 15 minutes early. That hammer will never strike my fingers again.

Why is it that some lessons are easy to absorb and others are so hard? Do our minds perform some complex cost-benefit analysis where it weighs the possible outcomes and risks associated with our actions and behaviors? Maybe. But this sounds like it is giving me too much credit. I suspect that the lessons most easily learned are the ones that are most personal, that bruise not just our fingers, but our hearts.

Self-Inflicted

There is an old expression when someone is in a peck of trouble that seems to have limited their options. We say that they are "between a rock and a hard place". Boy howdy can I relate. Many times our positioning smack dab betwixt said geological formation and indurated locale is firmly of our own fault. We are there because of our own decisions. Sometimes we make choices based on faulty input parameters that lead us to that bad place. Sometimes we end up where we find ourselves having made decisions that we knew good and well were foolish. We are stuck, hemmed in, and paying a price that we have encumbered from sheer stupidity. My friends, I am living proof. I pray that you will learn from my sorry example.

Rock: In my office at work I have a desk where I put my laptop computer. Usually because I have papers and files spread out at the front of the desk, I have to lean across the desk to reach my computer positioned on the back side. The other day I needed to use my laptop for an extended period of time. Instead of moving the papers and files to allow myself access, I stretched across my desk and let its edge press into my ribcage all day. When I got home, I found that I had bruised the heck out of the muscles on my right side.

Hard Place: My ears have always given me fits of itchiness. Sometimes in my desparation, I will grab whatever implement I can find to stick in there to alleviate the symptoms. For years, I used the tip of my mechanical pencil. After getting several massive ear infections, I stopped using my pencil. However, the other day, I was in such dire straits that I used the end of my eyeglasses to itch my left ear. I ended up with massive swelling and my ear was very tender to the touch.

My poor decisions led to several nights without sleep. My natural position in bed is to lay on one side of my body or the other. However, every time I rolled to my left side, my ear made contact with the pillow causing me to yelp out in pain. Everytime I rolled over to my right side, the pain in my ribs caused me to wince. Rock. Hard place. Have we learned anything from this self-inflicted lesson? Have we?

My Hiding Place

The Family Circus is a comic from the newspaper funny pages that has been running since before even I was born. I haven't read one for many years, but one from my youth has stuck with me, perhaps because I relate so well to it. It showed toddler Jeffy, who had just broken a flower vase, hiding in an open closet with his hands over his eyes. He knew he was going to be in trouble. His mother was standing in front of the closet staring down at him and his sister Dolly was there as well. She was saying to the mom that Jeffy thought that if he couldn't see them, then he felt sure that they couldn't see him.

Sometimes I relate very well to that young boy Jeffy. When life gets too much for me, my first instinct is to run and hide. It is a form of protection and self-preservation. Now I don't hide out in the closet or under the bed or in a locked room. In fact I tend to hide out in the open, usually at my workplace, where I dutifully go about my business. I believe that I do this because when I am at work, I am most comfortable, most myself, most in control of my world. Work has been my hiding place for as long as I can remember. Yet, like that young boy in the comic strip, everybody is looking down on me, knowing all the while that something is not right, that something has been broken in my house.

Mindset 1

Over the past several weeks, I have written a couple of posts focusing on my daughter and how fast she seems to be growing up (see Left Behind, Treasure Box). Although I tend to tear up thinking about our adventures together and looking at photographs of her from days gone by, I never want to lose these memories or let them slip away. They are a part of my daughter's life. They are a part of my life. The frustrating thing is that I have come to realize that occasions and instances that were once so precious to me have gently faded away over the years. I thought my blog forum would be a great place to reminisce about some of my favorite memories of my daughter's life when she was younger. While you might think that this series could evolve into a rather somber affair, I hope to try to explore and remember from a joyful point of view. In fact, I have already made a list of about a dozen things that I wanted to write about and share with you.

This new series of posts that I have decided to call "Mindset", will be presented over the next weeks and months. I thought the Mindset title would be fitting because I want to recapture and reset these memories in my mind so that I might hold onto them a little bit longer. I also wanted to do it with the right attitude so that I don't mire myself down in the sticky, depressing tar of sadness and regret. I hope that the task of writing these entries will serve me well, and I hope too that you will enjoy going on this trip with me.

Sticky Goo

One thing that I know about myself is that I do not like personal conflict. You might respond, "Well who does?" But my level of dislike lies on a very profound and impactful level. Personal conflicts, when they arise in my life, can utterly destroy my entire foundation. They can sap me completely of my strength and peace of mind, and it can take me days to come back to equilibrium. I have found a measureable affect on my health, my ability to sleep, and my overall attitude. My reaction to conflict is no different when I am at fault or blameless in the interaction.

I once witnessed a friend of mine get into a very contentious row with another colleague. Heated words were exchanged that bordered on personal affronts. I could tell that all of us who were in the room during the to-do were more than a bit uncomfortable. Just a few moments after the rousing, we all left to go our separate ways. In talking to my friend on the way out, he had already sloughed the whole episode off and was clearly completely unfazed. If I had been a part of that kind of fracas, I would have dissolved into a sticky pool of goo for at least the rest of the day. Yet some folks obviously have a way to distance themselves from any lingering emotions after a quarrel. It just rolls off of them and they are done with it.

Recently I was involved with a bit of an assault from someone I know. It was a personal attack delivered through email with quite some ugliness and vehemence behind it. This person believed that they were righteously calling me to task for something that did not involve them directly. Yet their harsh and hurtful words came from a place of total ignorance. The affects of this verbal ambush lingered with me for quite a few days afterwards, although cognitively I knew that the attack was not fair and not justified. Although I should have been able to delete this email and wash my hands of its effects, I still melted into sticky goo.

The Pink Bag

"So, how was your day today?"
"Fine."

"Did you learn anything new or exciting?
"No."

"Did you do anything fun this past week?
"No, not really."

I have found, much to my chagrin, that catching up with my daughter after we have been apart for a few days takes no time at all ... really. I so badly ache when she is not with me. It is a hurt that many parents can identify with. Not only am I not there to be a part of her life every single day, but the days that we are apart are always just lost to me. She rarely tells me anything of substance although I know that there must have been many things that aroused her curosity, or that she found funny, or that she got to experience. I know this because she experiences all of these things in the times that we are together. The days that she is away from me might just as well never have existed for all I know. Yet, of course, I do know. She bears the marks of so many experiences in her life. You can see it in her face. You can hear it when she talks. You can sense it in how she carries herself. I have always hated packing up that pink bag because I never will know much about her life when she unpacks it.