On Fences

A freewrite from a magnificent class I'm taking...

Each year, my elementary school hosted a family fun fest. There was a small petting zoo, face painting and both jump rope and fence-painting contests. I loved the fence painting. Each kid would get a four-plank section, about as tall as we were then, a bucket of white paint and a wide brush.

On your marks, get set, GO! And we were off.

There's a picture of me, in one of my mom's old albums. She must have forty albums in her cabinets; she was so good about taking pictures and notating the backs and organizing them. The picture that floats so clearly in my memory is of me wearing overalls and a floppy straw hat. A sprig of wheat hangs from my mouth, and the freckles across the bridge of my nose look as if Mom had drawn them on with eyeliner.

I am smiling grandly, paintbrush in hand. As soon as the "GO" would sound, I'd dunk the brush in the paint and slosh it up and down the coarse planks. Up and down, up and down, until my fence was gleaming white. "Done!"

I think I won, but I could be wrong. The fun of it was just that. Having fun. Not worrying if my fence was sloppily done or if white drips coursed towards the grass. It was simple, elemental.

Today when I think of fences, I think of our country trying to keep people out.

I think of the fences people are prone to erecting around their hearts and around monuments for security and preservation purposes.

I think of the ways fences keep things in, too often under the insincere guise of protection. I think that when I pass a fence and the gate is open, I smile.

Each summer, we go to a North Carolina beach with extended family. There are two paths to the beach from the place we stay. I always choose the same one because it leads me by a stunning home whose perfectly manicured yard is surrounded by a gate that is always ajar. Invariably, I see a bunny inside, and I think, "How nice. You can come and go as you please."

On the HuffPo again: funny!

Thank you, Jack, for the comedic fodder. Even though you had a slamming-every-door Hydean moment (hour) tonight, I love and appreciate you.

This Third Grader's Persuasive Writing Skills Are Impressive

Not perfect, but whole

I'm not even going to delve into the matter of today being May 1 and I'm in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. That seems as wrong as the fact that there are only five weeks of school left. 

It really does take my breath away that summer break is nigh. Didn't my baby just start kindergarten? And soon my big boy will enter 4th grade and approach a double-digit age?

I chose not to think of those things this week, although they flitted through my attention when my eyes wandered to my calendar and reminders for camp payments rolled in. Instead I focused on being present with myself and those around me; my boys and friends, classmates and pets. 

Recently, I spoke to a very neat woman, wise and kind. She radiated serenity, a quality in others I am always drawn to like a moth to the brightest light. I want to know that secret, I want to understand the peace in this woman's face. So I talked to her for as long as she let me.

She told me about the importance of knowing ourselves deeply. That knowledge, and the acceptance of it, pads our hearts and souls. It nourishes us and is also protective, especially in our relationships with others both known and not. 

"When we know ourselves, Emily, we cannot be manipulated, for we are already whole. We don't have to spend energy defending ourselves against unknowns [unknown attacks], because we are already aware of our attributes."

Our conversation reminded me of an Adult Development class I took in grad school. Drawing on psychologist Lawrence Kohlberg's six stages of moral development, our professor, Robert Kegan, argued that the highest stage of adult development was at the point an individual could see him/herself as the subject and any given other as the object. Intimacy and deep connection are infinitely possible, but the Self is not enmeshed with the Other.

Put differently, the Self's identity is not dependent on the relationship with the Other. Rather the Self as an independent entity can approach and relate to and with another without worry that the Self will be lost or subsumed. 

The point is this: it is wise to make all effort to truly understand the essence of who we are. Then, faults can be addressed and worked on, strengths can be honed, real acceptance can be found. In the process, an authentic sense of self emerges and can be carried into relationships.

I think it's those sorts of selves that I find so appealing. People who recognize what is awesome about themselves and what is less optimal and who embrace it all in an accepting hug. They work to be just who they are but in a responsible way, fine-tuning internally as they go.

They are not perfect, but they're whole. And outwards from that core radiates pure light.

This week, I wrote a lot. I spent hours on the couch. I felt utterly alive and yet lazy too, as if this life of fitting words this way and that were but a puzzle of leisure I've not earned. And yet, something is different, and I wonder if it's growth. The very sort that might just radiate light.