The importance of lighthouse moments.

Me: Okay, gang. I’m going for my run. Be back in about 30 minutes.

G: Ooooh, can I run with you, Mommy?

Me: Ehhhh. No, buddy, I think it would be sort of hard for you to keep up.

G: PUULLEEEEEAAZZE!?

He hadn’t asked me this before so it took me off guard, you guys, and before I thought better of it I felt these words escape over my tongue:

Not tonight, okay?

I didn’t wait to see what happened in the moments that followed, but it is safe to assume that his sweet six-year-old cherub face told a fateful tale of rejection and heartbreak. Meh. Not what I was going for, of course.

But, my evening runs are meditation. They are unplugging. They are wide open spaces. And I look forward to those 1800 seconds for me and my good pal Mother Nature to just hang out and catch up on life. You know what I mean? I pop in earbuds and crank my favorite playlist and offer unreasonable focus to carrying on with nose breathing as though to convince this three-mile stretch that I GOT YOU. And my buddy, Mama N., offers a steadiness and an ease and winds gently animating trees and birds gracefully soaring overhead as reminders to relax and just BE. Some days, especially of late, I’m honestly not sure what I would do without this quiet space. So many people everywhere are deeply hurting and parts of us feel less than and unheard and overlooked. It can make us feel helpless and desperate and afraid for our world, watching in dismay with aching hearts as we break apart at the seams.

On this particular day, the sky was dotted with clouds that shaded my path and the breeze was perfection and when I got back to the house I was feeling really good. Dare I say strong. Focused. Hopeful. Ready. And then I punched the garage code and hit the steps to our mudroom where his note greeted me and all good and strong feelings instantaneously made a mad dash for the exits.

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And as I paused for a long minute and studied his wishes scrolled across that paper in black marker, I realized something. Two somethings, actually.

Although these love notes and kid truths ALWAYS tug at my heart and often make me feel like I’m doing this parenting thing all wrong, I know that I need to protect these small spaces for me, too.

And the guilt that perches on Mom shoulders for taking this *extra* time away from our families is heavy some times. Isn’t it? I have found this to be particularly present for me since returning to a full-time office gig a few years back, which inherently skims a decent layer off of family time. But, you know what:

We need these spaces. All of us do.

Don’t we?

Whether it’s an evening run or morning yoga class or lunchtime kickboxing session or lending a hand to someone in need or sharing stories and a coffee with a dear friend or sinking into a page-turner before bed or knitting socks for your co-worker’s new baby or testing out a recipe in a quiet kitchen or meditating to soft music or rocking out to the hard stuff or listening to an audiobook or watching from the covered porch as a storm rolls in or catching a movie in a dark theater or swimming across the channel or climbing to the summit or admiring our world from under the sea or seriously insert any other thing here.

These spaces, guys.
They are lighthouses.

And when we find ourselves in a rocky tide or surrounded by darkness or just simply lost in the noise of everyday existing, these are moments that can guide us back to awareness. Right? They sense when we are drifting off course and act as a compass that lovingly points us toward the best and most whole versions of ourselves. They say: Hey, you there. I see that you’re struggling a little bit (or, a lot bit). Let me shine this light here to help you navigate safely back to your path. Okay? And regardless of the road we may be on in this moment of our journey, friends, we are all really just trying to make our way to the same place: Peace. Which sits at the corner of Love and Kindness.

We want peace, don’t we? We all want to feel loved and accepted and supported and cherished. We want our voice to matter. We want to feel connected. Inspired. Awake. And these lighthouse moments help us SEE our path and what is important. They remind us that peace is always there beneath whatever has us jostled and unstable and off course. They help steer us home.


^^ For example this spot here, you guys. This was the moment when all the noise in my brain parted and made way for this beautiful awareness: When parts of us are hurting, our silence toward their pain makes us an ally to complicity. We should be diligent and purposeful and kind in using our voices to help others.


^^ And then the second came right about here, as I approached this bend in the road. Each day I have the opportunity to spread love or fuel divide. And I have four sets of young eyes absorbing my choices. I can’t do everything, but I can make sure they see me leading bravely with love.

And these lighthouse moments link hands with my next something

Protecting these spaces for decluttering my mind and centering my thoughts and slooooowing down, even just briefly, arms me with the awareness and needed perspective to then also create room for HIM. Not to be confused with room-that-I-pretend-is-for-him whilst unknowingly remaining distracted by those 793 other *very important* things. Just. For. Him. Or one of my other kids. Or my husband. Or a parent. Sibling. Friend. When we are centered and moving purposefully on our path it allows us to give the best versions of us to others.

You see, when I’m dialed in enough to see it and recognize it, I’m aware that my six-year-old didn’t want to run with me. I mean, he didn’t REALLY want to run with me. He just wanted to be near. He wanted closeness. He wanted my undivided attention. A thing that can be tragically difficult to come by in a house full of siblings. Scratch that: A thing that can be tragically difficult for me to offer when I’m lost in choppy water and drowning in my own thoughts and too far from shore to be fully present.

And this is the ongoing challenge. Making sure we really see our people.

Right?

I stepped into the house after my run that evening and really noticed my kid for the first time all day. And we sat on the porch for a long while and he shared stories about his day and his dreams for what tomorrow could look like and I listened closely to his words and studied his face and his expressions and reminded myself of how grateful I am to be the Mom of this amazing human. 

What are your lighthouse moments, friend? Be sure to make space for one today. Allow it to steer you home.

XO

JJ

 

Why I’m raising soft kids.

Life, recently.

Sweet mother of all that is holy and good, you guys, my heart has been so weary.

It feels like my skin is flipped inside out and I’m staring wide-eyed directly into the blazing hot sun during hurricane-grade winds that just will not let up. So many of our brothers and sisters are hurting. Deeply hurting. And it’s making everything feel so raw and rough and threatening. The dark moments have blurred into one endless teardrop and we are sad and scared.

Here is my recall on recent days in a series of brutal soundbites:

A four-year-old boy slips away from his parents at the zoo. Perhaps you know this feeling, too. If you don’t, allow me to humbly confirm that it is excruciating. In the moments to follow, this little explorer makes his way into a cage where he meets eyeball-to-eyeball with silverback gorillas. Can you even imagine it. The eldest gorilla, Harambe, is shot dead by zoo staff to ensure the child’s safety. The boy is returned to his parents with only scrapes and bruises. Thank you, God. Social media explodes. We’re outraged that the gorilla couldn’t be saved. We argue about whether the zoo staff is competent to do their jobs. We are critical of the parents for being so careless and terrible at life. We blame the zoo for faulty cages. We form strong positions on how WE would have managed these circumstances if the shoe were on the other foot, and when people don’t agree with us we simply scream louder. And, with all the noise we sort of forget about this little boy and his parents who just experienced something horrific and were no doubt crippled with an intense and unimaginable fear as this situation unfolded.

A college student rapes an unconscious young woman behind a dumpster. He is tried in court by a judge who offers terribly misguided empathy in the form of an abysmally short jail sentence. Social media explodes. We’re outraged that the judge went so easy on this criminal. We hate this rapist. We despise this rapist’s family. We spend a good deal of time discussing his picture and swimming career and passion for the culinary arts and his failing appetite. We toss around some memes because they have taken over the space where nervous laughter and awkward silence use to exist. We argue about whether we should use the term assault or rape. Attempts are made to shine a light on this victim and the brave young men that contacted the police. But, then more darkness strikes and we sort of forget about this girl who was left wounded and vulnerable and no doubt crippled with an intense and unimaginable fear in the wake of the attack.

A talented musician is shot dead after a live show. We are shocked and sad but only for about a minute because the evil that hits next sends us directly to our knees and we sort of forget about this beautiful soul taken from earth much too soon.

Friends and lovers are dancing and enjoying life at their favorite nightclub when a man opens fire, spraying bullets into the crowd. People run for exits. People collapse into pools of blood. People are trapped in small spaces. People desperately text loved ones but then the messages just stop coming. Can you even imagine the receiving and then the waiting. There is panic and screaming and helping and rescuing and sacrificing. The murderer is shot dead by police. Forty-nine people are dead. Many more are injured. The worst mass shooting in our country, ever. In an instant, everything is changed forever. Social media explodes. We’re angry about loose gun laws. We’re angry that people want to take our guns away. We argue about guns. We yell about mental health. We blame Muslims. We blame terrorists. We blame gay people. We blame the government. We blame the POTUS. We’re scared for our children. We’re scared for us. We’re scared for ME and MY CHILDREN. It maybe becomes more about protecting ourselves than we might be willing to admit. And while we’re shouting at each other we sort of forget that forty-nine funerals are being planned. Fifty if you include the young musician that we’ve already forgotten about.

A family is vacationing at the most magical place on earth. Millions of families have visited this very spot. But on this night at this time, while wading in shallow water by the resort, their toddler is attacked by an alligator and they watch on in desperation as this giant reptile drags their son out into dark water. Can you even imagine it. Police recover the child’s tiny, lifeless body. Social media explodes. We write more articles about perfect parenting. We write more articles about empathy. We blame the hotel for faulty signage. We blame the parents for being just the worst ever. While we are distracted with tidying up our glass houses we sort of forget that SOMEONE’S BABY WAS JUST KILLED BY AN ALLIGATOR.

And, you guys, how about the many among us who are quietly mourning life’s hardest moments from somewhere off camera, tucked away from social spaces? The five-year-old girl who just lost her battle with cancer. The mother who is saying goodbye to her transgender son who committed suicide because the bullying left him feeling absolutely unworthy. The blissfully-in-love young couple whose vehicle is struck head on by a drunk driver, instantly erasing their plans for a beautiful future together.

The hurting is always there, with or without our yelling and blaming and anger and righteousness. Isn’t it?

And all of these hateful and ugly things are making people frustrated and defensive and scared. And I absolutely get it. I’m frustrated, too. It is frustrating that we use up precious real estate yelling at each other. Space where love could live. And all of our finger-pointing and asking for our problems to be solved outside of ourselves leaves me feeling discouraged. Because the only difference we can ever really truly make is an inside job. I’m frustrated by our unwavering desire to be right. How can we possibly HEAR anything over all of our rightness? I’m concerned by how much we allow fear to lead us. A lot concerned, actually. It’s disheartening that humans all over our world are still regularly persecuted for attempting to be their authentic selves. There is so much hurting, everywhere. I’m frustrated that privilege is still power and it continues to make parts of us feel less than.

But, honestly, our frustrations aren’t helpful unless they motivate us to actually HELP. Right? And our choices are so important. Like many of you, I am acutely aware of how my reactions to life impact my kid’s reactions. They see us. They hear us. They mirror us. What reflection do we want staring back at them, even (and especially) when life feels unkind?

I recently read a sentiment that suggested we have “gone soft” as parents and this has led to a generation of wholly ungrateful and undisciplined and disrespectful young people. Our young people. And while the message didn’t resonate with me, that’s okay (it is more than okay, actually). I’m grateful to this friend for sharing because it made me stop and think deeply about what I really want for my kids. And it is this:

I want my kids to be soft. 

I do.

In a world full of rough edges and sharp corners, I want to raise humans who are gentle and kind.

When life is dark, I want them to always ALWAYS look for the light. And when fear’s grip tightens (which will happen because fear is a controlling a–hole), I want them to know that FEAR IS NEVER LIGHT. Ever. And this is the part where I hold their face in my hands and say, This is most important, baby. Please listen. Because fear is so convincing and it will take every ounce of their strength to remember in those hard moments that fear is never loving. Or kind. Or generous. Or compassionate. In fact, fear can’t survive in proximity to any of these things. When the world asks them to be scared and angry, I hope they are brave enough to lead relentlessly and unapologetically with love.

When they feel helpless and ready to toss up their hands to it all because they can’t do everything, I want them to remember that not everything is never a better or more helpful choice than at least something. And I hope the something they choose will be in support of WE not ME. And that they define WE as EVERY PART OF US. Because if their own comfort requires someone else to suffer, then that’s not really about us. That’s ego, and he is tooootally self-centered. And saying no to ego will be one of their most challenging life lessons. Because what could be more tempting than ensuring life feels great for ME and conveniently forgetting that all of those people over there are actually part of the very same humankind? Sweet child(ren) o’ mine, please BE HUMAN KIND.

I want them to know that life is mostly (read: completely) defined by our reaction to it. And this is a biggie, right guys? I mean, if we could band together and train up a giant flock of kind champions who also have the awareness needed to question their thinking and reaction to life, doesn’t that seem like some serious parenting triumph??

I want them to not only imagine what we would be capable of TOGETHER if we listened more than we defended, reached out more than we pushed away, celebrated our unique viewpoints more than we insulted our differences. I want them to DO and BE these things.

I want them to know that the path to peace is one paved with love. Love isn’t the solution. It’s how we get there.

The world needs our softness, kids.
Let’s do this thing.

The love we cannot hear.

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^^ This cloud right here, you guys. ^^

She single-handedly brought me back to center yesterday. And I desperately needed it. My thoughts were reeling and I felt a bit unraveled and in need of a good head clearing so I opted to use a lifeline. 

I’d like to phone my friend, Mother Nature, please.

I collapsed into a chair on the back patio and that cloud and I just sat there together. Silently. Well, her silently. Me with relentless and wholly unproductive brain chatter about things like saving the world and being the change and raising kids who aren’t a–holes, and such. You know, small stuff. And as I welcomed more air into my lungs and admired her moving and shifting and melting into the seams of the cobalt sky, I felt a renewed sense of purpose and determination and calm sink deeply into my troubled heart.

Ahhhh, yes. Thank you. I waved at my new friend as she disappeared from view and before standing to get on with my day I took a moment to quietly affirm the one-and-only thing that I am absolutely certain of in life.

We’ll get back to that in a sec.

You see, I want to always notice and honor the good and the kind and the loving. Silver linings are my go-to and eternal optimism is my thing and yes of course I believe in unicorns and when asked to rate my day on a scale of MEH to AMAZING I am the Pollyanna that will always and forever swing for the fences because I am alive. And if you’re reading this *quick fist bump* because that means you are, too. My eyes opened this morning and I’m breathing air and I get to experience this day and seize these moments. Yes, even the hard ones. And I def-in-it-ely fall down and feel exposed and unsure and just ovvvver it sometimes. I believe in unicorns and f-bombs equally. *wink* But, I get to be here. WE GET TO BE HERE. And it is miraculous. Isn’t it?

It is everything and it is enough.

But then, there is all of this other noisy, human-y stuff. You know what I mean? And I am not immune (like at all, folks) to the ugly parts of our existence. The ways we speak to one another without listening and sling wasp nests full of words that sting at anyone and anything that dares to threaten our rightness. How parts of us wear privilege like a suit of armor and a birthright and somehow this has proven over and over AND OVER to actually be a legitimate way to make others feel less than. WHY IS THIS A REAL THING? And the ways we protect and justify this righteousness.

Ugggggggh.

How we READY >> FIRE >> AIM at each other with our thoughts and words and actions from behind tinted windows and then wag our finger and demand that the blame belongs OVER THERE. How we offer an objective lens toward data until and only until the facts no longer defend what we believe to be true. And then all bets are off (hey, memes and reckless insults, that’s your cue).

Our anger is so noisy and overwhelming that we forget why we are here.

We forget what matters.

We forget to lead with love.

Because for every ounce of beauty that exists in our world (and especially in our virtual communities), we create and consume five gallons of ugly. Don’t we? And on this day, I had just seen too much. The overtly wretched that allows one human to assault another and leave her engulfed in flames as he saunters away with nothing but ashes on his swim trunks.

TOO MUCH.

And the easilytucked-away reality that many of our fellow humans are hurting and desperate and alone and wounded AT THIS VERY MOMENT and, yet, we find ourselves angry and screaming at each other. While people all around our world are vulnerable and afraid and silenced. We attack each other with our fears and anger and need for rightness as though to say, we’ll see your hateful ways and raise you our vitriol. And all of our screaming makes it impossible to HEAR anything. And our tinted windows make it impossible to SEE anything.

Almost every time I read a comments thread a little piece of my soul dies. And I feel helpless to it. All the ugliness.

Perhaps you do, too?

But as I sat there with that cloud, you guys, the stillness and space allowed me to remember what my angry and unsettled mind just couldn’t.

We simply cannot drive out ugliness with more of the same.

Hate in response to hate is a losing game.

Let’s not waste another second allowing anger to guide us, friends. Let’s stop screaming so we can hear what kindness is trying to tell us from underneath all of that noise.

Let’s instead invest every ounce of our collective energy into linking arms with one another and EVERY HUMAN who has been made to feel vulnerable and broken and less than.

Let’s BE kind humans.
Let’s RAISE kind humans.
Let’s CELEBRATE kind humans.

Let’s love one another.

 

XO

JJ

 

Life, just as it is.

Teenagers. Right, guys?

If you don’t live with one currently you either remember living with one or being one or you have a tween or highly ambitious nine-year-old that’s on the fringe and providing you with ample glimpses of what lies ahead. In any case, what an utterly unique experience, huh? All awkward and jarring and whoa-these-hormones-mean-bizzzzznus. In one inhale there is closeness and sweet hugs from those gangly arms and bodies that somehow grew overnight and the next exhale dissolves to distance and escape and occasionally whispered but often thunderous requests to SERIOUSLY JUST LEAVE. ME. ALOOOOONE. *Cue dramatic door slam* There are limits pressed and battles for independence fought and dirty socks left on feet and clean shorts buried in laundry piles. Each and every moment drips with anticipation, like the plot line of an Oscar-worthy suspense film unfolding, as we eagerly wait to see what will happen next.

My thirteen-year-old is also the one who graced me with this Mom badge. Tyler made a noisy entrance into the world on an especially cold January night in Chicago, trailing his due date by just shy of two weeks. I was convinced he was NEVER going to make his escape from my uterus and I would be the first woman in the history of womanhood to tout a three-year pregnancy. Ahhh, a special shout out to wildly unstable gestational hormones for all of that glorious rational thinking you afford us. *highfives* I also recall my enthusiasm on our hospital release day being quickly obliterated by a big plate of trepidation served with a generous side of panic. His fragile newborn body was SO TINY and that air was North Pole grade bitter and so we acted sensibly and buried him under a twenty-seven blanket pile up (because twenty-six obviously wouldn’t cut it, folks) and set cruise control to 5 mph and HOLY HELL SLOW DOOOOWWNN became my battle cry for that menacing three-mile stretch. We lived in a one-bedroom loft at the time and had converted a storage closet (no joke) into a *fully-functioning* nursery. There was a crib and a changing table and a small dresser and just enough elbow room for one adult to delicately navigate the space for diaper duty. As a first-time mom and consummate over-achiever, I devoured ALL of the parenting books and I feverishly highlighted chapters as though studying for a high-stakes exam and I heeded all the warnings and tips and tricks and I rolled up my new mom sleeves and I was so ready to tackle this thing.

Bring it, motherhood.

And then our new housemate began to play his hand. And, oh-my-lord friends, his deck was stacked. Perhaps you’ve also given birth to a grizzled poker player with a bottomless bankroll. You guys, I was just so certain the Baby Whisperer authors were speaking directly to ME and MY CHILD and if I heeded their words and counsel it would carry us straight to the nighttime sleep schedule promise land. So certain, in fact, that even after months of testing every strategy with a zero percent success rate, I forged on completely undeterred for another several months. If anyone dared set that child in a spot other than DIRECTLY into his crib for nap time or bed time or at the mere inkling of a yawn or drooping eyelid and OF COURSE after activity time which was subsequent to eating time (babies are complicated) I’d follow with something level-headed like, Yes, I have eyeballs and I can see that he is sleeping soundly in that swing but it’s just ALL WRONG.*Cue wakeful baby* *And weeping, sleep-deprived woman*

I made plans, guys. big plans. But this renegade baby had an alternate agenda. One that included mostly wide-eyed amazement at his new world (always and especially when laid ever-so-gently in that FREAKING CRIB) and relentless testing of his voice box by way of high octane screams and definitely very very (let me be clear, VERY) little sleeping. We piloted so many well-intentioned parenting protocols on this kid, and thankfully despite an impressive track record of failed plans, we all survived. Well, all of us except that Baby Whisperer paperback. She found a happy new home at a used bookstore.

And now, thirteen years later, as I stand eye-to-eye with that same blue-eyed tow-head with the magnetic smile and perpetual spark and kind heart and competitive spirit (and continued take-it-or-leave-it attitude towards sleep) that I use to cradle in my arms, I can assure you this much is true…

I still don’t know what I’m doing.

And I still make a lot of mistakes.

And I still make plans that fight with reality.

I mean, us humans really LOVE a good plan, right? And we build these elaborate mental roadmaps of how we think things will go. And we don’t ask for much, really, we just want our thoughts to translate perfectly in real life. We simply desire for our vision of what should be to match what is.

But, life is our greatest teacher. And, friends, despite our best-laid plans and mental projections of what should be…

Sometimes, the due date is merely a loose suggestion.

And the birth plan is trumped by a medically necessary C-section.

And the baby just. will. not. sleep.

And the screaming infant can’t be soothed.

And the toddler will melt into a puddle over the purple cup when you DARE to provide that god-awful yellow one.

And the picky one seriously won’t eat that broccoli, you guys. Or those other 247 food items that are also disgusting.

And the young boy will come home carrying hurtful words and the fears of others in his backpack for attempting to be authentic in a world that craves conformity.

And the tween girl will get told that she isn’t welcomed at THIS lunch table because they don’t like her hair. Yesterday it was her shirt. Tomorrow it will be the way she talks. And she may consider changing these things to feel accepted.

And the teenager will stand near in one moment and hunger for space in the next. And he will say the wrong thing sometimes. Maybe a-lot-of-times. And all of these bizarre new emotions will frustrate him, but he may not know how to show it. And this boy who was once honest to a fault may start holding certain cards close to his dri-fit tee. And his intelligence and potential WON’T stop him from missing homework assignments. And he may not even SEE those clothes on his bedroom floor. And he will probably elect for faster escapes from the car when friends are watching. And he will make all of his own mistakes to learn from in spite of countless desperate attempts to protect him from ev-er-y-thing.

We love plans. But, when we love a plan so hard that it puts us at war with reality, we suffer. Don’t we? And in this painful place, it becomes almost impossible to see beyond our rightness. We get so consumed with protecting what we want it to be that we simply can’t connect with LIFE AS IT REALLY IS.

Today, let’s give one another permission to step back. Let’s breathe. Make plans. Make grandiose plans if it feels right. But, let’s also find moments to stop and create space for awareness. Let’s observe the it-is-supposed-to-be-THIS-way thoughts that are fighting reality. Let’s feel the pain and get irritated and allow our frustrations to run wild and free. And then let’s breathe again (like we really mean it this time, guys). Now stop, and notice it.

Life continues happening with our suffering, or without it.

*Cue warm, peace-filled hugs*

XO

JJ

 

Fear is a terrible chauffeur.

So, you guys, I’ve been thinking about proximity. And distance, in particular, it can make us feel unusually safe, right? I mean, let’s be real for a moment, all of that glorious space between ME and YOU offers a sort of unspoken immunity from whatever you may be dealing with. After all, when I’m WAAAAAY OVER HERE it becomes pretty effortless to tuck empathy safely in the shadows and convince myself that your issues aren’t also my own. Maybe?

And the labels. ALL OF THESE GOD-FORSAKEN LABELS. I get it. Life is messy. Labels offer order to a messy existence. Yes? And in our minds we create a world where anything we’ve assigned as *DIFFERENT* is just scarrrrry. And so we fear it. Because we crave order and we like distance and we want immunity from hard issues and, well, as far as I can tell fear has never been a friend to empathy or compassion.

And then, when social spaces meet hungry fingertips, or we step too closely to our discomfort and react with stares or laughter or unkind words or (worse) hateful actions, we unknowingly fan the flames of our ego’s work. And it isn’t pretty. It fractures us. The ground beneath us splinters into a million tiny pieces and WE becomes ME and various parts of us are left on lonely islands feeling less than. LESS THAN. And we think, man I sure hope it isn’t ME that ever feels less than, PLEEEEEASE GOD LET IT BE THAT OTHER HUMAN OVER THERE. Let them deal with it. We silence empathy. We put a muzzle on compassion. And we definitely turn our backs on love. And then fear and judgment, those devious and wholly unloving trolls, are once again triumphant.

Bleck.

My heart cracked wide open on a recent morning as I watched my six year old walk into school, you guys. If you’ve never met him, he is laughter and sunshine and rainbows and karate moves and unexpected sing alongs and the world’s tightest hugs and HAPPINESS. So much joy in that tiny body of his, it’s magic. But, as he made his way into the building his steps were slow and his gaze was affixed on the pavement and the smile that typically lights up his beautiful face was absent. His joy was, gone.

And the hardest truth is that it was because of me. Because of us. Because just three days prior while at a soccer tournament I watched a young boy on the playground tease him incessantly for wearing “girl shoes”. Because my steadfast practice in benevolence was upstaged in that moment by a visceral urge to either cry out GOOD LORD CHILD WHY ON EARTH DO YOU CARE ABOUT THE COLOR OF HIS SHOES or fold this little stranger into my arms and offer a sincere apology on behalf of grown-ups across the land for convincing him that “we know best” while modeling these unkind, unloving, judgement-laden behaviors. (Should you need confirmation that this one is on us, look no further than a 30-second scroll of any ol’ Facebook feed. That outta cover it).

Because on this day when he pulled the rainbow-colored dress off the hanger, my ego screamed WHAT KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU IF YOU DON’T PROTECT HIM and I suddenly found myself offering familiar excuses. Are you sure? I should talk to your teachers first, maybe. I mean, it’s kind of chilly out for no sleeves, right? Don’t you love this colorful shirt, though? How about we wear that dress another day?

Pardon me for a moment as I rescue my weary heart off the ground, friends, because that’s where I left it that morning. On the curb at my child’s school, where I “protected” by convincing him that his heart was less than. Over a PIECE OF FABRIC (yes, it physically hurts to write that). That his feelings and desires in that moment were in some way less valid, because they weren’t my own. I left it in the place where I answered to fear and judgment by fueling its ugly intentions with more of the same.

And yes, this post was surely inspired from a hard place. Because the world can be so cruel and we are so scared of each other. But it isn’t really just about my baby. It’s about ALL of our babies. EVERY human. And we know there are innumerable ways that we judge one another. This is waaaaay bigger than fabric. We let fear tell us what to do. We don’t lead with love. We make it about ME, not US.

How much longer will we expect parts of us (ESPECIALLY OUR BABIES) to shoulder the burden of our elected discomforts? When will we awaken from the vice grip of our egos and just LOVE one another EXACTLY as we are?

Fear sells us lies and attempts to stunt our growth. But, love…LOVE returns to our doorstep each day and waits patiently until we invite it into our hearts. Today is a new day and the Universe beckons us with a fresh opportunity to choose love over fear.

Today, let’s all stand a little closer. Let’s not be immune to one another. Let’s stare fear down and decide NO MORE. Let’s make sure joy is for EVERY part of us. Let’s quit it with all the labels. Let’s be JOY SPREADERS. Let’s be the reason that every human feels MORE THAN.

Let’s get this right.