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My Brief Encounter With the Perfect Imperfection of Maya Angelou
I am an incredibly imperfect woman living in a society of people who hide their imperfections much better than I do.
Some are better able to hold their tongues. Others have achieved such brilliant success that it hides any inadequacies. And then there are the people who spend a great deal of time and energy covering up any deficiencies.
Since my tongue often seems to engage before my brain, my successes are nothing out of the ordinary and I choose to spend my time and energy just being me, I don’t mind that people know I’m far from perfect.
Despite that, I’m always striving to become a better person. For that, I need inspiration, which most often comes from other admittedly imperfect women.
These are the women who make me believe.
They make me believe that even those of us who are flawed can accomplish great things. They make me believe that past mistakes and missteps are the fundamental ingredients for a rich life. And they make me believe that, despite injustice and unfair odds, believing in possibilities can only result in magic.
My inspiration comes from women who have overcome barriers and have an honest compassion for those who are still struggling.
And, of course, my inspiration comes from women who can express all this in writing — women like Maya Angelou.
Despite her splendid poetry and prose, her insightful observations of human behavior and the reverence she must encounter everywhere she goes, Maya Angelou doesn’t deny who she is: an imperfect woman who has struggled but, through the support and encouragement of others, done the most she can with the gifts bestowed upon her.
Last week, she shared both her humility and her humor with an audience in Charleston, West Virginia at an event celebrating the 100th anniversary of the YWCA. Thanks to an invitation from a friend, I was fortunate to be in the audience as she poked fun at herself, challenged all of us to empathize with those who are different and encouraged us to think of possibilities.
She talked about her years of silence following the conviction and murder or the man who raped her as a young girl and how poetry freed her. She encouraged us to always find something to make us smile and, when we can’t, to write about something that does. And, she lectured about not blaming others for past injustices but rather thanking those who endured them and taking responsibility for future generations.
In short, she was amazing. I was either laughing or crying the entire time she was speaking.
And then she read her poem “A Brave and Startling Truth,” which she wrote in honor of the 50th anniversary of the United Nations. About halfway into the poem, she lost her place. She faltered, fumbled then regained her composure as she finished.
I know during those moments of silence while she searched for her place, all of us seated at the Clay Center for the Arts and Sciences were holding our breath. She had earlier reminded us that she is 84 years old, and that fact sunk into our brains and into our souls.
The moment was brief, and it passed. But it had still occurred.
Yet, at the end of the evening, Dr. Angelou held her head high, showed appreciation for the applause and ended her talk with dignity.
Some might think she was trying to cover her mistake, but I know she was simply demonstrating why she is so great. Instead of being defined by her mistakes and struggles, she soars through self acceptance and overcoming challenges.
If that’s not inspiration, I don’t know what is.
The Backside of a Bull and a Garden Full of Rodents
I had an unexpected epiphany after spending time with a bronze bull and a garden full of rodents in the financial district of New York City last month.
The moment came at the end of a long weekend celebrating my daughter’s upcoming birthday. She, her best friend, her best friend’s mother and I packed a lot into 48 hours. By Sunday morning, when we were exploring Lower Manhattan, we had slowed considerably.
The city, on the other hand, wasn’t slowing down at all. People crowded narrow sidewalks under the watchful eyes of police officers on every corner. While the officers graciously responded to requests for photos with tourists, their ability to give good directions was questionable.
Despite their help, we were finally able to locate the Charging Bull on Wall Street. Since the bull had never been on my list of sites to see, I hadn’t expected the frenzy of people mobbing it for photos. Many were lined up behind the bull to touch its anatomically correct underside for good luck.
The eleven-foot-tall bronze sculpture is supposed to symbolize aggressive financial optimism and prosperity. Last year, when the Occupy Wall Street protests began, metal gates were set up around the bull to prevent it from harm. Now, the public can once again touch it, but judging by the police presence, there’s still concern about the safety of the more than 7,000 pound bull.
Personally, I think the concern about vandalism is a bit misplaced. I’m more worried about the almost worship-like reverence people demonstrate for an icon that represents an industry focused more on the value of money than the value of people.
Don’t get me wrong. I like money. I just think that, as a society, we’re too fixated on who has it and who doesn’t.
To me, the bull represents a culture rooted in money and the immense appeal that has. But when people go to great lengths to touch that lifestyle, they may miss seeing what’s really going on around them.
For example, just feet from the Charging Bull, there’s a garden full of rodents living off the crumbs of others. The mice live among the vivid red flowers in the circular garden around the fountain in Bowling Green Park where we ate our lunch.
What seemed like a quiet public garden was actually teaming with dozens, if not hundreds, of mice. When bits of bread, meat, tomatoes and even cucumbers dropped, they would scurry out from under the blossoms, grab their feast then rush back for cover.
Many of the people intent on enjoying the beautiful, late morning sunshine didn’t even notice the mice. Others were completely disgusted by them. No one wanted to touch them, and very few people wanted to feed them.
But my daughter and I were fascinated.
Although seemingly dependent on others for their livelihood, the mice certainly weren’t lazy. In fact, the were quite industrious. And even when vying for the same crumbs, they seemed to respect each other’s efforts.
That’s when I had my epiphany.
The mice represent all the low-income people who live and work right alongside those who are more financially secure and influential. They represent all those people on Wall Street who clean bathrooms and pick up trash instead of buying and selling stocks and bonds.
And even though they live in the shadow of a bull that people fondle for good luck, they also represent a great deal of dignity.
The Art of the Silent Blog
The art of silence has always eluded me.
For some people, a lack of words seems profound and noble. For me, a lack of words is simply awkward and frustrating. For the most part, silence has always been just beyond my reach, ability and even my belief system.
Even though I understand that silence is often a sign of respect, I also know that silence can do more damage and cut deeper than the harshest words.
I’m not alone.
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people.” He also said, “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”
Even the dictionary validates my belief that silence isn’t always golden. While the simple definition is “the absence of sound or noise,” the more complicated definition is “the absence or omission of mention, comment, or expressed concern.”
I’ve straddled and struggled with both definitions my entire life. My battle has less to do with my tendency to talk and more to do with my overwhelming need to call attention to injustice, wrongdoing and inappropriate, self-serving behavior.
I’ve been witnessing a great deal of such behavior recently. Yet, for the most part, I’ve remained silent. Even when people have asked if I’m going to write a blog about certain situations, I’ve said, “No, that’s not my role or responsibility.” Besides, my words could easily be misinterpreted as angry and bitter rather than caring and concerned. So I have decided my silence might be more powerful than words.
And so, the silence continues. This change in tactics is also teaching me a new art form: the silent blog.
I think this one says a lot.
Silence is argument carried out by other means. Che Guevar
Fools On An Artificial Ladder
Even though I like to consider myself an open-minded and fairly accepting individual, I haven’t always behaved in a manner that demonstrates this. In fact, there are times when I’ve acted foolishly and treated people horribly.
One of my worst infractions occurred when I was a teenager in a place that was supposed to promote love and acceptance: church.
At the time, our church was predominantly middle class. Parishioners were well-groomed, nicely dressed and carefully coiffed when they arrived on Sunday morning. Most were neighbors or co-workers who socialized with the same general crowd and who shoveled their dirty laundry into the closet to either hide it or pretend it didn’t exist.
Their equilibrium was disrupted one Sunday when a family from a nearby trailer park came to church and then began attending services on a regular basis. The parents and children were certainly wearing their Sunday finest, but they were anything but well-groomed and carefully coiffed. I remember the other adults at church were a bit patronizing but outwardly nice. The kids weren’t. We did our best to exclude the children, and we made fun of them behind their backs.
Eventually, the family stopped coming to church, and until recently, I had forgotten about them.
But I was reminded of them again a couple of weeks ago when a young woman who works at a local restaurant told me about her Sunday regulars. Her customers’ routine is to go out to eat after Sunday service, but the dish they enjoy most isn’t on the menu. Instead, they loudly and openly share what everyone else did wrong during the church service. They complain about children who misbehaved, and they make fun of the appearance of some of the adults. Apparently, they are too busy judging others to hear the sermon.
What I can’t fathom is why, as older adults, they feel the need to act this way.
As an adolescent, I know my behavior was contrary to the way I was raised. But, I was insecure and believed that I wouldn’t be at the bottom of the social ladder if someone else were there instead. As an adult, I realize how inconsequential, meaningless and ridiculous that social construct is. I also realize that there are a lot of adults who still buy into it. They falsely believe some people are superior to others and that asserting their superiority will ensure their place on their senseless social ladder.
For the most part, their behavior isn’t nearly as blatant as the hypocritical, church-going restaurant patrons, but it is still based on their need to affirm their status. Take, for example, a local non-profit leader who complained about business people being asked to attend community meetings at the local Department of Health and Human Resources office. This individual, who also lays claim to being a good Christian, said that community and business leaders shouldn’t have to be in the waiting room with the people asking for help/welfare.
Not to be presumptuous, but I’m pretty sure Jesus would point out that the people in the waiting room are the same people the community leaders see every day at school functions, churches and grocery stores and that the people on the presumed top of the social ladder are no closer to God than the people on the bottom. That’s assuming he would even acknowledge such a foolish concept to begin with.
The Insanity of All This Violence is Driving Me Crazy
Just over two weeks ago, while families gathered to watch Fourth of July fireworks at a park less than a mile from my home, a gun was fired. In addition to shooting the intended victim, the gunman also shot and injured an eight year-old girl.
Just two days ago, a man opened fire in a crowded movie theater in Aurora, Colorado, He killed 12 people and injured dozens more.
While one incident was right down the street and the other was across the country, my initial reaction to both was the same. I wanted to hug my children and thank God they were safe. And then I wanted to scream about the insanity of it all: “Why does such senseless violence keep occurring and, even worse, why is it creeping into my world?”
In “my world,” the only violence we ever witness is in the form of entertainment: on television, in the movies and in video games. It’s not a place where people have to fear actual violence.
In “my world,” safe neighborhoods are easily defined, and we avoid violence by avoiding unsafe locations. It’s not a place where my daughter’s friends tell her “that shooting at the park was in my backyard.”
In “my world,” guns are used for hunting animals and shooting targets – not for shooting people. It’s not a place where people use violence to resolve a dispute or share their rage with the world.
In “my world,” when a horrible crime does occur, we rally around and pray for the victims and their families. It’s not a place where, only hours after a shooting, we try to turn a tragic event into a political advantage.
But I’ve come to realize that “my world” is a complete fantasy, but it’s a fantasy I also want my children to believe.
On July 5, I was driving by the park where the shooting had occurred only hours before. My daughter, sitting in the passenger seat, noticed all the people picnicking and swimming and asked “why are those people even at that park? Don’t they know it’s dangerous.?”
She was talking about a park that she has walked to and played in hundreds of times: a park where I walk my dog every day: a park that is the gathering place for most community events in my town.
And so, I told her that the shooting was an isolated incident and she shouldn’t worry or avoid the park.
What I didn’t tell her was that if we tried to avoid every place where there’s been gun violence, our options would be very limited. At the time, movie theaters weren’t even on my radar.
But theaters are creeping onto my worry list now.
Just last night, while my daughter was performing in a local production of “The Wizard of Oz,” the alarms in the theater unexpectedly went off.
No one in the audience moved, and the youth on the stage continued to perform. We were probably all hoping the same thing: that the smoke on the stage had tripped a fire alarm. We were also probably all just a little worried about the same thing: that someone with a gun had entered the building.
The alarm was turned off, my concerns ebbed and I went back to the fantasy of “my world.” It’s actually a very nice place, and I like living there. If I didn’t, I’d go crazy with worry.
Sadly, I’m having to leave it more and more often. And until we stop arguing about solutions and actually start working together, “my world” never will be a reality.
The Reason I Never Forgot Eddie Pee Pants
On a beautiful spring day several weeks ago, my kids and I were heading to lunch a few blocks from my husband’s office on the crowded streets of Washington D.C . Dressed in only shorts and t-shirts, we didn’t really fit in with the men and women in business attire who were walking with a great deal more purpose.
But we had one thing in common: we all pretended we didn’t see the homeless person still wrapped in a blanket and sleeping in a doorway on a busy sidewalk.
I saw both of my kids glance over at him, but neither said anything. I didn’t either. Soon, the homeless person was forgotten.
Almost.
Because somewhere in the back of my mind, he stayed with me.
He’s still there.
It’s not that I’ve never seen homeless people before. I see them every day. I even have a semi-relationship with the guy who hangs out at the park where I walk my dog. If I don’t at least wave at him, he coughs or makes some other noise until I acknowledge him.
But the homeless guy sleeping on the steps was different, because he might as well have been invisible. Everyone, including me, blatantly ignored his existence.
I understand why the business people ignored him: they probably see him everyday. He’s as much a part of their daily landscape as the traffic lights, the street signs and the blur of faces they regularly encounter.
But I didn’t have any excuse, and I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t even talk to my kids about him. That’s just not like me at all. If anything, I usually talk way too much about such things.
The only explanation I could find is one I don’t like: I was going along with the crowd. It was just easier.
It’s not the first time I’ve had to make that admission.
When I was in elementary school, I didn’t even know the full name of the boy who rode the school bus. I just knew everyone called him Eddie Pee Pants. You don’t need to be a genius to figure out how he got the name.
I don’t remember calling him that to his face, but that’s the name I used when my peers and I were discussing how to avoid him. No one wanted to have to sit with Eddie Pee Pants on the bus. If you did, you’d not only have to smell him, but you would get “Eddie Pee Pants germs.”
I knew what we were doing was wrong, but I justified my behavior by telling myself that I was never actually mean to his face. But the guilt got worse when Eddie’s life got worse.
One Saturday morning, I joined my dad at the top of our driveway to watch the drama unfold on a hill about a mile from our house. A dilapidated mobile home was on fire. Flames were shooting out the roof, and smoke was turning the sky black.
“That’s a total loss,” my dad commented.
I didn’t know until Monday that the old, junky trailor everyone said was an eyesore was Eddie’s house.
I have no recollection of what happened to him after his house burned. I just know he never rode the bus again, and I don’t remember ever seeing him at school again. I don’t even remember if there were any injuries or fatalities in that fire.
What I do remember is wondering why I wasn’t nicer to Eddie and feeling horrible that I’d never have an opportunity to undo my misdeeds.
Eddie isn’t the only person I’ve ever discounted or belittled. But he’s the first person who taught me three essential life lessons:
1. Treating someone poorly never makes you feel better about yourself.
2. Sometimes you don’t get a second chance to do the right thing.
3. Issues such as poverty, child abuse and homelessness are actually about individuals — people who, regardless of the reason for their circumstances, still have value.
I’ve taken that third lesson to heart. Eddie, like the homeless person in the doorway, gave me something priceless. They taught me to look beyond the unkempt appearances, poor hygiene or odd behavior. They’ve taught me that sometimes the person who needs to change their attitude or perception is me. And they’ve taught me that speaking up feels a lot better than putting someone down.
They were priceless gifts in my life, and I hope I can pass their lessons on to my children. And that, if nothing else, is what makes their lives so valuable to me.
It’s Hard to Get Respect When Your Shoes Are Worn Out
I love shoes.
Unfortunately, I wear out shoes quickly. Very quickly. And, I’ve found that when my shoes are worn out, I have to fight even harder to get respect.
I’m not sure that people who work in the for-profit world will understand, but anyone who works for a community-based nonprofit organization will – especially those who work for social service agencies. Our shoes , just like us, are often worked and worn to the bone.
We are a unique breed that must band together. Our biggest battles aren’t necessarily a result of working directly with the people who need help or of the perception that they are undeserving, lazy or simply crazy.
Sometimes, our biggest battles are with people who support our organization, a cause or a specific project.
I should know.
For almost twenty years, I’ve worked for community-based nonprofit organizations. And while the work is exhausting, it’s also meaningful and educational.
But now, my career path is about to change slightly, so before I leave my comrades, I feel the need to share a few words of wisdom with our board members, our volunteers and our donors:
1. We greatly appreciate you. We know the work we do wouldn’t be possible without you. We know you care, and we know you are compassionate.
2. Your compassion doesn’t mean you are qualified to do our jobs.
3. We do our jobs because we are both compassionate AND skilled.
4. Your bank account doesn’t mean that you know more about the issues than we do. Not only do we have the training and the work experience, many of us work in the trenches because we have ” been there.” Sometimes, because of our salaries, we are still there. Please listen to us.
5. Don’t assume you are more educated than we are. Most nonprofit and social services jobs require, at a minimum, a bachelor’s degree for a position that often doesn’t pay as much as an entry-level, administrative assistant job in the business world.
6. Don’t assume that our ONLY motivation is helping people. That’s a primary motivation, but we still need to pay the bills. Keeping agency administrative costs low is important, but keeping them too low may be hurting the people who are trying to do the most good. It may also limit your pool for people who can fill key leadership positions.
7. Don’t assume that staff doesn’t care about salary and benefits (or lack thereof) because we have spouses/partners who, in your eyes, have”a real job.” The work we do is “ a real job.” Many of our jobs require a license. The helping profession is bound by ethical, legal and professional practices that have been put in place for a reason.
8. Don’t assume that just because we don’t get personally involved with clients that we don’t care. We probably care more than you will ever know. But because we are educated in our field and because we often hold a license, we have to behave in a professional manner that will limit liability while improving outcomes for the client.
9. We know that when you work with our organizations you are volunteering, and we appreciate your time more than you will ever know. But don’t assume we are lazy or not committed to the cause because, at the end of the work day, we don’t have the energy to volunteer to do the same thing we do day in and day out.
10. Disregarding staff in times of key leadership decisions only leads to poor morale. When a key staff person is leaving, other staff members should be consulted as to what skills and leadership style would fit with the team before the selection process even begins. Staff should even be consulted about their interest in a leadership position.
11. The nonprofit and social service sector is composed primarily of females. Falling back on the “good old boys” network for leadership is taking a step backwards, not forwards. It doesn’t sit well with female staff, donors or volunteers.
12. Board members have to play an active role and not simply serve as a rubber stamp for decisions that may have been presented by someone with an agenda. You can always go back to the drawing board – don’t feel like your options are limited to what is presented to you at a board meeting.
These words of advice are based on my long-term work for community nonprofits. That work will end when I walk out the door of my current employer this Friday and into the door of my new employer the following Monday.
As would be expected, my departure has led to an appreciation I never knew existed (see suggestions Number 10 and 11).
So for all the people who, over the past few weeks, have told me that I’m leaving some really big shoes to fill, I apologize if I haven’t accepted the compliment with grace.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiments. I just know my shoes are really worn out.
Whoever takes my job not only needs to put on their own pair of shoes, they also have the opportunity to point those shoes in their own direction.
And I’m sure that direction will lead to a lot of great accomplishments.
Rocks on the Road and Rocks in Our Heads
Some of life’s toughest lessons are the ones we learn the hard way.
Some of life’s most important lessons are the ones we sometimes never learn at all.
And some of life’s simplest lessons are the ones we often just ignore – like the problem with rocks in the road.
As a bicyclist, I ride an average of at least 10 miles a day. Because of that, I ride over a lot of rocks. For the most part, I don’t even realize the rocks are there. But every once in a while, my tire hits a rock and – due to speed or angle – I get knocked off course and sometimes even knocked down. Getting knocked down hurts, and sometimes the resulting injuries even leave scars.
Because of that, when I do notice a rock, I try to avoid it. And when there are a lot of rocks, I might even change course.
That’s life on my bike.
But I’ve noticed a lot of “rocks on the road” in the rest of my life too.
These rocks are often comments or actions that people believe are completely normal and appropriate. But to the nearby traveler on the road of life, those same words or actions may be slightly offensive or, at worst, hurtful. Sometimes they can also cause people to change course or fall down.
Just the other day, I was having coffee with a colleague who told me that years ago she had come to my office to talk about the possibility of interning with me. When she dropped by for the unscheduled visit, she was told I was in a meeting but that I was just with my intern and could be interrupted.
That one word “just” was enough to make her turn around and walk out the door. She didn’t want to be “just an intern.”
To be honest, I think I might have been the person who told her not to worry, and she changed the story to make me feel better. I don’t remember, but regardless of who said it, the word “just” became a rock in her life’s road.
Fortunately, for my colleague, her change of course is working for her. But she also had the advantage of already having several life successes under her belt. She could handle that rock.
I worry more about people who have so many rocks in their road that they can’t avoid them: people who have been knocked down so many times that they don’t trust that the road ahead gets any easier. Sometimes they’ve fallen so much, they have permanent scars.
Instead of helping clear the road, many of us are busy putting more rocks in their way. Sometimes those rocks are too big to move or go around. 
For the most part, I don’t think we are doing this on purpose. But, at times, I think we are, especially when we make judgments about people whose circumstances we know nothing about. That’s when we become victim of the rocks in our heads.
I’ve noticed a trend of people posting comments online that belittle others who are “on welfare” or “on food stamps” or that make assumptions about people based on appearance. I don’t know which is the bigger rock: those comments or the bitter ones about people with expensive shoes, phones or cars who are receiving some sort of government assistance.
Here’s the deal. I, like most people I know, don’t believe that government assistance should be a permanent way of life. I also don’t believe that government assistance should be used for anything but basic needs. And I don’t believe smart phones and SUV’s are basic needs. I also agree that some people manipulate the system, and that we need to be diligent about stopping such abuse.
However, I also know that most people who receive assistance have fallen on hard times. Some may have previously afforded a lifestyle that included expensive clothes and cars. But then they lost their job or faced another crisis that caused them to deplete all their available resources, including help from friends and family. After that, they were forced to seek public assistance. That expensive car may be all they have left after losing their home, a spouse or a way of life.
Instead of assuming the rocks in their road are their own fault, maybe we should think about how we can pick some up, roll them out of the way or help these individuals navigate a new course.
Doing this follows the simplest life lesson: do unto others as we wish them to do to us. I know if and when I hit tough times, I don’t want to ridiculed and/or blamed.
But this lesson is so simple that a lot of us ignore it when convenient. Or until there’s a rock in our own road. Or until we get the judgmental rocks out of heads.
Unfortunately, sometimes those rocks in our heads are harder to get rid of than the rocks in our roads.
Good Books, Bad Endings, and Why I Never Had a Genuine Relationship with Nancy Drew
Sometimes, finishing a good book feels similar to ending a tragic love affair. From the beginning, I know it’s going to end, but I dive in anyway believing the pleasure between the covers will be worth all the pain of separation later.
My obsession with a really good book is often like being in the throes of a passionate affair: I think about it all the time, I ignore responsibilities so I can spend time with it, and almost every conversation reminds me of it.
That’s not surprising. My relationships with books have often mirrored my relationships with people.
While I have a lot of acquaintances, I’ve found that when I truly need support I generally fall back on the same trusted few people again and again.Similarly, I fall back on the same book or a favorite author when I just want to escape with a good read.
A good read, to me, isn’t an implausible plot that is moved forward with simple sentences and a lot of action. Just as I prefer complex, yet genuine, people, I prefer complex stories that can make me believe the unbelievable.
In other words, content is more important than showmanship, and flawed characters are more interesting than heroes who always say and do the right thing.
That’s probably why, as a girl, I just could never relate to Nancy Drew. As a lifelong mystery lover, I don’t recall having much issue with the plots of her books, but I definitely remember having issues with Nancy herself. She was too one-dimensional, and I could never relate to a girl who had it all: good looks, a boyfriend, a chic wardrobe, and popularity.
As an awkward kid who struggled with getting through each day without too much turmoil, I don’t know what bothered me more – the ease with which she went through life or that her perfection was incredibly boring.
I still don’t do boring or predictable well. And because of that, I’ve been known to play the field with a lot of books. I’ve even developed a reputation for dumping many before I make it past the fifth chapter.
But at least those books didn’t suck me in before it was too late. There is absolutely nothing worse than a book that gets me all excited throughout only to fail to deliver at the very end. I don’t know if the authors just don’t plan well, get bored with the writing process, or have to meet a deadline, but they seem to be meeting their own needs rather than that of their reader.
I’ve been encountering more and more such books lately. They start off with a well-developed plot and characters that capture me completely through most of the pages. But then, they end quickly by tying up all the loose ends in a neat package that leaves me feeling disappointed and unsatisfied.
Such books used to leave me doubting my own judgement. But not anymore. Just as we grow with both our successful and our failed relationships, I’ve come to believe we can also grow with each book we read no matter how it ends.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself as I find myself completely immersed in my latest book. And just as with the start of any relationship, I have high hopes that it will be both satisfying and leave me wanting more.
Ten Lessons about Love for My Ten Year-old Daughter
Being a very practical person, I’m extremely fortunate to have a pragmatic daughter. Unlike many of her peers, she’s shown little concern about romance and relationships. Other than incessantly listening to Taylor Swift songs and keeping tabs on Taylor’s love life, she just doesn’t seem to care.
And while I hope that doesn’t change, I also know that, eventually, it will.
I can’t imagine that she’ll ever be the type of person who feels incomplete without a significant other, but I do know that she will start dating at some point.
And that also means she’ll have her heart broken.
But before that happens, I feel obligated to share ten lessons I’ve learned (sometimes the hard way) about love:
1. You can’t truly love someone else unless you love who you are. And who you are is an imperfect person who makes mistakes, gets mad and will sometimes say and do very stupid things. Love yourself anyone. How you handle your mistakes and flaws is more important than trying to hide them.
2. Love is only genuine when you are being true to yourself. Don’t pretend to enjoy something when you don’t. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t compromise. You should. Love requires a great deal of compromise. But compromise doesn’t mean you should pretend to be someone you’re not. If you do, you’ll wind up being miserable.
3. Love isn’t a competition, and you can’t make someone love you. You will always be loved for being the unique person you are and not because you are prettier, smarter, funnier, sexier or nicer than someone else. Therefore, you should never worry about what others are doing to attract attention or affection. Being yourself is enough.
4. You don’t fall in love. That indescribable feeling of “falling in love'” is usually a combination of infatuation and physical attraction. Love is something that is grounded in mutual respect, grows slowly and doesn’t necessarily bloom as much as it thrives.
5. Love isn’t about romance. It’s about experiencing someone at their very worst and realizing that walking away would still be more devastating than dealing with a tough situation.
6. Love is about having passion in your life – but not necessarily in the way you might think. Never invest so much of yourself in a relationship that you don’t have time for everything else you love. Be passionate about a hobby. Be passionate about a cause. Be passionate about your family and friends. And also be passionate about your love.
7. True love means you aren’t worried about what other people think about your relationship. If you spend time worrying about what others are thinking or saying, you likely have concerns yourself. If you’re confident about your relationship and the integrity of your significant other, you won’t care what others say. Always stay in tune with your inner voice and be honest with yourself.
8. Love means saying you’re sorry. Unlike the quote “love means never having to say you’re sorry” made popular in the 1970’s movie “Love Story,” love means that you’re willing to let go of your ego. Admit when you are wrong or when you’ve said or done something hurtful. And when you are in a relationship, you will say and do hurtful things at times.
9. Don’t expect love to always feel exciting and new. Just like life, love can sometimes be dull and boring and predictable. Relationships are like roller coasters: sometimes they can be difficult and sometimes they can be easy and fun. But being able to work together during the uphill battles is what makes the downhill ride so enjoyable.
10. People do change, and that can affect your relationship. Our experiences shape who we become. The person who you fell in love with several years ago will probably be different from the person you know today. And you will be different too. Many times, you can join hands while you grow. Sometimes, you drop your hands and grow apart. Often, the decision is yours, but sometimes it isn’t.
As I share these lessons with my daughter, I realize that I could add so many more. But I figure one for every year of her life is enough for now. Besides, she often doesn’t listen to me anyway. Despite that, I do want her to hear one message loud and clear: even though she will ALWAYS have her mother’s heart, I hope she is also able to follow her own.
Just So You Know 