The theme of the day is “doing hard things even though I don’t want to”. Coco woke me up at 5:15, so that’s when we got up. And that was pretty hard.
I spent some time working with my sister to actually choose a hotel room for us to stay in two nights(!) from now. Since we’ve been putting off this decision for months, I’m very proud we got it done.
I also attended a meeting about my university campus’s budget in order to learn about the process and to acknowledge how big a deal this level of transparency is to me. Before that, I helped another faculty member troubleshoot a really challenging situation.
And then later on, I finished up a group project with my two group members (who were awesome). We had to read and analyze three different dissertations in order to learn about their construction, to give us ideas as we keep picking around the edges of starting to write our own in the coming few semesters. Our recorded group discussion was supposed to be 20 minutes long, and ours was 39 minutes(!!) but that’s going to have to be okay. As much as it would irritate me to have a group turn in something that long for me to watch and grade, I think our discussion was well worth viewing, so that’s what we’re turning in. We had to read and become familiar with all three dissertations in order to have the conversation, which was around 400 pages total, so I honestly don’t see how we could have fit it all into twenty minutes.
Since I’m talking about doing things that are hard, I figured we should talk about just how difficult it can be to accept a compliment, for me and for everyone else. When did it get so challenging to say “I appreciate it” when someone is kind to us? I’ve been discussing this with several clients lately, and I think we do each other such a grave disservice by making each other feel weird about being noticed for something we’ve done well.
I try to thank people a lot more than I used to, mostly because I know how important those human connections are for me now. And when I thank Lindsay for hanging out with me (to name a random example), she tells me to quit it, because she LIKES spending time with her friends and I don’t have to be grateful. Is she right? Probably. But should I get to thank her for caring for me? I think so—I think it’s just hard to hear that we mean something to someone else.
I had a meeting this week with a couple of folks from a counseling agency who wanted to talk to me about putting together a series of trainings for their staff on a few topics that I’m really passionate (and I think knowledgeable) about. In the midst of that conversation, one of them said that they really want to work with me because I have such a good name in this community, and because I’m spoken very highly of behind my back. All I could say was “Thank you, that’s very kind” but I’ve been reflecting on how uncomfortable it made me to hear something that’s objectively very kind. Why wouldn’t that make me feel great? I think an awful lot of conditioning goes into trying to make kids (and employees) convinced that they’re not actually that good at things.
I want to do the opposite! I want to be the voice in my students’ heads that says “No, I AM worthwhile”. In my clients’ heads, too (though I don’t think I’m profound all that often). If we have to have a repeating message in our brain, may we all put in the work to have it be a kind one. I feel so blessed to have Kellie’s voice in my head sometimes, even if that’s a hard thing.
I care about people, and I care about my responsibilities. I care about my legacy. I know that my performance isn’t the same right now on all kinds of metrics as it was six and a half months ago. That just has to be something I get comfortable with. Admitting my shortcomings is hard.
Speaking of discomfort, I had the strangest moment last night. As I was driving home from Geneva after a library board meeting, with my pizza in an insulated bag, I realized for the first time that I no longer have to wait until I get home to eat supper. I pulled out a piece of pizza and ate it in the car, even though it felt really strange. Sometimes what feels hardest is realizing something has changed, even something little.
Late last night, I got a Facebook message from someone who used to be really good friends with Kellie and I, many years ago. She was expressing horror and shock at having just found out that Kellie had died. She asked me to call her as soon as I can because she wanted to talk. I let that message sit for almost twenty-four hours, but I called her a little bit ago and left a voicemail. Sometimes what’s hard is sitting with someone else while they process the fact that she’s gone.
Even though I’ve been avoiding making that call, I have to say that it feels like an honor to listen to someone else saying that they miss her, that this isn’t fair, that they’re sad about Kellie’s death. It’s been six and a half months, and there are still some people who talk to me about her. But I think for the most part, the reality of Kellie having died in April is not a daily realization for almost anybody other than a few of us. Getting the reminder that someone misses her, whether a little bit or a whole lot, makes me feel like she still matters.
I suspect that people don’t want to tell me when they’re sad about Kellie’s death because they don’t want to make me feel sad too. But when someone does? I treasure it, even if it makes me cry. Crying is hard.
This morning, Coco and Ivy and I went to Dunkin for breakfast (for me) and a doughnut hole apiece (for the girls). While we ate, I remembered how happy the videos of baby Coco eating a doughnut hole used to make Kellie. And that was hard, too, but it made me feel closer to her just the same.
XOXO,
Matt