Expectations and Authenticity

Yesterday, again over at Facebook, I responded to a status update about not having any expectations who our children will "turn out" to be. I said that I don't think expectations are necessarily all bad, that I do have expectations for my kids.

In the course of that conversation, I looked up the word expectation and found that it doesn't fully capture what I meant to say. I think it's become another catchword that people use when they really mean something else -- something like rules or requirements or enforcements, because "expectations" sounds nicer and makes us feel like we're being respectful.

The original poster said she's ready for "some new radical unschooling catch words...with their true meanings applied." My response to was that I'm so over catchwords, because they quickly get re-defined for individual purposes. It occurs to me that a more honest word for me that maybe "standards" is a better word than expectations in this instance. There are standards I choose to ask my children to meet. I don't feel it's wrong for me to hold my children to my standards for behavior and they way I'd like to see them treat each other. I also choose to point out to them behaviors I consider important in how they treat their friends. I regularly share with them my own observations about how I see the children we know treat each other, and I tell them I feel it's important for them to speak out when they see any person mistreat another. Standing by quietly makes us complicit, and sometimes that complicity costs us friendships.

I will be honest about this. Sometimes I am coercive, and we do have standards for behavior in our home, which sometimes are enforced by the adults who can see a much bigger picture than the kids see in this moment. And I'm okay with that.

I've heard a lot of talk about authenticity lately (another of those catchwords come back to bite us in the ass). I've seen parents stand by quietly, giving no input, while children are unkind to other people (kids and adults), while they damage or destroy property. Often, these parents defend their own non-involvement as respecting their child's authenticity, or as letting them learn from life.

Is it more valuable for me as a parent to respect what may be my child's authentic desire in each moment, with no regard for the long-term effects, or to intervene in the hopes of averting damaging long-term effects? Has authentic become just another mutating catchword in the semantics game?

Sometimes our kids do things that Gary & I sincerely believe aren't in their best interest, things that aren't going to help them in their path to becoming the people they want to be. Is quietly standing by when a child threaten to breaks a game/toy that is important to him (or expensive to replace) because, in this moment, he authentically feels angry really a loving choice for me to make? I don't think so. I'm going to point out to him that if he breaks that now, he'll likely miss it later when he's not angry. I may even take the item away from him to prevent him from doing something I know he will regret.

What if he authentically feels he'd like to punch his brother? What if he feels really justified, and if even I can see his brother "has it coming"? Is it okay for me to let the angry, perhaps wronged child, do whatever he *authentically* feels like doing? No, I can't do that, because everyone who lives in our home has a right to safety. Equally important, I know my child doesn't really want to be the one who hurts other people. At his core, he's kind and loving, but just doesn't always have the tools to take the high road. He needs someone to remind him of who he is, of who he wants to be.

That's not true just for children either. Sometimes, I react badly to something someone's done that hurts or angers me, and I'm grateful for the times Gary, a friend, or even my own children, remind me of what I hold dear, and the qualities I really want to express; of who I really want to be -- and who I don't want to be, because those lessons can take 47 years (or maybe even 77 years) to remember in the tough moments.

Sometimes, too, our children do things that cost a much higher price than they can comprehend at their ages. Things said to another child, a friend, that are deeply hurtful and simply can't be unsaid, no matter how many times one apologizes. Friendships can be lost completely in those moments. Unhealthy patterns of behavior can be learned on both sides. If no one points out the damage done, unkind, hurtful or unsafe, may be the way others come to see a person. It can be hard to undo that damage, both to other and to ones' self-image. Children seldom understand the real damage words can do. For that matter, many adults seem ignorant of the damage words do, the damage intolerance and unkindness does to a person's heart and mind.

If I can help my children avoid hurting other people, and by extension, themselves, it would be unloving for me to stand by and "let them figure it out on their own". For me to neglect to share my perspective and experience with my children and call it respectful parenting just isn't something I can lovingly do.

Simplicity Parenting -- Updated

After I wrote this blog post last week, a friend who hadn't read the Facebook discussion (she's not online) brought me a copy of the Time magazine with the article about Over-Parenting. I told her some of what had been discussed on Facebook about the article, and that I was bothered to see unschoolers defending 'benign neglect' as being part of unschooling.

My friend made a good point that for the target audience of the Time article -- mainstream parents who tend to over-schedule their kids and overwhelm them with expectations of what they *must do* to be a success in life -- neglecting their kids likely would be an improvement over the madness of having 'helicopter' parents. I agree that it's counter-productive to schedule and control every moment, or even most moments, of a child's life, but I simply don't like the word neglect, even benign.

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In the past couple of weeks, I've seen unschoolers cite news reports of what's being called a new movement in parenting -- Simplicity Parenting or Slow Parenting. Some are hailing it as a good move, something that may bring families closer to unschooling or peaceful parenting. I've read several links and I'm not convinced it's a good move in and of itself.

Yes, it's a move away from over-scheduled, over-stressed kids who appear to exist simply as vicarious vessels for their parents, but it looks a lot like just the other end of the pendulum swing.

The latest article, at time.com The Backlash Against Overparenting is the one I read this morning. A couple of folks have posted links on their Facebook walls saying *I love this!*

I followed the link to read it, and I'm not loving it. Yes, the stories shared show some kids are being allowed to step off the achievement junkie train, but at the same time parents are still being encouraged to do things that diminish kids as people.

There were lots of parts in that article I didn't love. This part, for example, is just so disrespectful of children:

*Kim John Payne, author of Simplicity Parenting, teaches seminars on how to peel back the layers of cultural pressure that weigh down families. He and his coaches will even go into your home, weed out your kids' stuff, sort out their schedule, turn off the screens and help your family find space you didn't know you had, like a master closet re-organizer for the soul.*

How many kids are going to be happy, or feel loved and respected when Mom/Dad bring in a stranger (or do it themselves) to *weed out the kids stuff*? Would the same parents want their kids to take it upon themselves to weed out Mom's closet, or get rid of Dad's computer? I doubt it.

It may be a positive move away from over-scheduling and over-controlling kids, but it doesn't appear to be any more respectful of kids as people. Looks to me like the other end of the pendulum swing from over-parenting.

It was pointed out to me that integral to Simplicity Parenting is letting go of fear as parents. That's a good thing. Every day, we're told what we should fear for our children -- whether your child will fall behind, or miss some essential experience, or never get into the *right* college, that they'll never be happy or successful, that danger lurks around every corner. The media in general seem to exist for the express purpose of elevating our fear level.

I don't know what Slow Parenting is all about (tho it makes me chuckle and I instantly thought of a TV show title I saw last week, "Pregnancy for Dummies". Maybe slow parents are what pregnant dummies become?).

Step parents

I've been pondering a lot lately on the idea of family in all its forms. Good or bad marriages, good or bad divorces, good remarriages -- all seem implicated in some way in folks' opinion of what best fosters unschooling and happy, well-adjusted children.

Earlier today, on Facebook, there was a post topic entitled *Tell Me About Your Fabulous Kids* which included the following question about Step-parenting:

Are any of your kids adopted/step/foster kids? Do you find it makes a difference?

I read this reply:

No. I had step parents. I think it makes a difference...for the worse for me, and others I know. Haven't seen a situation where it made a difference for the better yet. **

.... and want to share my story of a situation where a step parent did and does make a difference for the better.

Our oldest son, Will, was born during my first marriage, so he's my biological child and Gary's step-child. It's been so long (14 yrs) since Gary adopted Will, that we don't think in terms of step-child anymore.

My family lives a situation where having a step-parent has, and does, make a difference for the better. My ex has never had contact with my son. He couldn't be bothered to even send b'day cards, tho he always knew where we lived. Never called. Never visited. Only sent two child support checks in 9 years. He isn't Will's Dad -- Gary is.

Gary's presence in Will's life made it possible for him to leave school at 16 to homeschool, allows our family to unschool. It makes it possible for Will to afford college (Gary's Dad set up an education fund for the boys). Because I married Gary and Will has a stepfather, he also has very loving, generous grandparents who love him. He's closer to Gary's parents, than he is to my parents.

There is no way that staying my first marriage would have been good for Will, or me. He'd have been abused and frightened and manipulated by people with questionable motives. We both would have been.

There is also no way that remaining single and never remarrying -- avoiding the dreaded step-parent -- would have been a better situation for Will. It would have meant remaining the financially struggling only child of a single Mom, stuck in school, no money for college, no opportunity to have me at home in his teen years. It would have meant no Dad to love him, guide him, or care for his mom (me).

I cannot express the joy and wonder Will would have missed by never having younger siblings, or a huge loving extended family (dh's family). Just the opportunity to have a Dad in itself would have been denied my sweet boy!

I don't know, can't know, if Gary loves Will with the same depth he has for our two younger sons, his biological children. I do know that Gary loves Will more than Will's bio-dad (my ex-husband) ever did. I do know that Gary provides a better life for Will -- who's back home after losing his job last Dec, while going to college (a very generous gift from *step* grandparents) -- than I ever could have alone.

There are times when a step-parent does make a difference for the better. And I'm ever so grateful for that.

to label or not to label

Earlier today, I joined a discussion of *unschooling special needs kids* over at the Radical Unschooling forum.

I think many people find homeschooling or unschooling because their child doesn't fit into society's box, but I'm not convinced that labeling is helpful for every child who doesn't fit into that box. It's really a very small box.

In my experience, once you go through the diagnostic process with your child, whether you're given a label or rule labels out, the questions only grow. If a label *fits* your child, then what do you do next? Do you try to fix your child, to make him normal? Which method, drug, or treatment plan will achieve the goal of normal? Or, do you embrace his differences and find ways to support who he is, moment by moment?

Sometimes parents ask if the labels -- medical or behavioral -- mean their child can't unschool. They are afraid to fully trust their child to learn without some kind of imposed structure. Sometimes they have several children and worry that the special needs child should be treated differently. Really, all children should be treated differently, uniquely, because each child is unique.

Even without labels, I find myself doing different things with each of my 3 kids, because they're very different people, and their needs from me vary. My needs in my relationship with them vary, and each situation calls for an individual response. I'm very aware that Will's Mama is not exactly the same as Andy's Mom or Dan's Mom -- but I do my best to be the best mom to each of our boys. Really, they don't need the same Mom. Each boy needs his Mom to be respond to him in the way that best supports him.

I agree that there can be times when a child's particular needs result in different responses to situations. Knowing my child will be who he is for much longer than the time he'll spend living in my home, I'm committed to finding ways he can get his needs met, so that when I'm not there to tell him what I think he needs to do, he'll be able to figure it out for himself.

In recent years, the numbers of kids with spectrum qualities has sky-rocketed. I think that is in large part due to a narrowing of the definition of *normal* for people. There have always been people who don't fit the average expectations for a population at large. Looking back into my own family, from stories I heard over the years, I can pick out the *odd* ones. The uncle who never married, and lived in a travel trailer in the family's backyard; the aunt who re-defined *eccentric cat lady* are only two.

If the online screening tests I've seen are any indication, I fall somewhere on the autism spectrum. The difference is that 40 years ago it was perfectly okay if a smart girl was shy, and read lots of books, and was a little different. Really, we're an odd bunch overall, so it should surprise me that medical science has now found a label for several of us? Not a bit!

Andy, our intense, sweet, generous, amazingly funny, and very unique son, has had some challenging times this year. I've heard -- and well remember -- that being 13 is like that. For me, it was the transitional nature of the teen years. I'm really no good at transitions. I fight change tooth and nail. I like things just. the. way. they. are, thankyouverymuch. Even when things are not easy, I like predictability. Andy's like that, too, so the seemingly never-ending change of the past year has been a bear. Not always our wondrous Andy-bear, more like a raging, hungry bear. It's been rough not just for Andy, but for those of us who love him, too.

Truth be told, the past several months have been challenging on so many levels for our family. Andy's just our second-most reliable bellwether, after me. That's because we're both just big empathic sponges, and incredibly intense. I'm just more experienced at managing the onslaught. It gets easier after 4 decades or so.

We recently considered having Andy diagnosed. I talked it over with him, asking whether he thought it would be helpful to have a label that might give us some new tools for coping. I was feeling very out of tools, and at a loss for how to help him with some issues. Some years ago, in talking about school and Will's time there, I had mentioned to Andy that the kind of different he is, they have names for. Andy knows he's not like most people, and having carried that around most of my life, I see no reason to avoid talking about differences. For us, they're just a part of life, of who we are.

Andy and I discussed the possibilities with his regular doctor. It was a difficult conversation, in part because we explored just how unhappy Andy has been, which had me in tears. It was helpful, tho, in that I heard things from Andy that he'd been keeping from me because he didn't want to add to my burden, or to Will's burden. He was willing to hack his way through the jungle alone, but it was just becoming too much.

We got a referral, thought about it for a few more days, called to set up an appointment, and never heard back from the doc. In the meantime, there were more conversations, where I found out more of what was going on inside his thoughts and heart. This lead to brainstorming solutions. I think it also helped relieve Andy's feelings that he's alone in this. A common thread for Andy is he worries that if he asks me for help, he'll never figure out how to solve problems on his own, so he tries to get by without help.

Along the way, I looked more into myself and gained some insights -- some easy to follow, some less easy to explore and sit with. With those insights and a move to find strategies to help me be more present, more aware of our needs, solutions have come to light.

Today I'm feeling it's good we didn't get to actually talk to the referral doc. We've found new tools and insights on our own, and I'm confident that, right now, a label wouldn't really add anything helpful to our life. Andy was really back and forth about seeing another doctor. He'd have gone, but I don't really think his heart was in it. He's not interested in having a label, but would have let us get one if we thought it would help us.

Labels just aren't what we want in our lives right now. They're not likely to bring us more joy, which is what we want in our life right now.

the good and the bad

Someone recently asked me what I thought about authenticity, in the context of how the unschooling life is depicted online. I think there is, in human nature, a tendency to depict ourselves in ways that promote the wonderfulness of our chosen life. We all want to look capable and successful. We want privacy for our flaws and foibles. We naturally feel a desire to protect our less-than-wonderful moments from the harsh judgment of others.

When we're talking about and encouraging others to understand what we love, like unschooling, it's easy to share the good and triumphant moments, and we're understandably reluctant to share the rough moments. I've always felt that's unfair to others, because sharing only from our good file can make whatever we're doing look unattainable to anyone who is slogging through the trenches. People new to unschooling sometimes reply that our kids must be easier to live with, which is unfair to their kids and ours. Some days we're all in the trenches, so it's not even fair to ourselves to pretty it up all the time.

When I share the difficult moments, I do my best to do it in ways that don't malign Gary or the boys. I don't always share everything, because as a mom, I feel a responsibility to respect my sons' privacy. The same is true for my relationship with Gary. Just like I don't complain about his flaws (no, it's not just because he's perfect), I also respect the privacy of our more personal conversations.

I don't share any bad on the family blog, and not a lot here either. I'm thinking that's about to change -- at least on this blog. The family blog address has been shared with the grandparents, and I'd rather not share my bad days with them, thankyouverymuch.

Whether I'm posting in an online unschooling forum, or talking in person with other unschoolers, when I share the things that make me look bad or petty, it's because I want to be called to task, to be reminded of my higher standards and goals. I don't want someone to tell me it's okay that I'm falling short, that my kids will forgive me or that we all fail sometimes. Still, it helps me to know that everyone fails sometimes -- not to excuse my failures and mistakes, but to let me know perfection isn't required and that I can keep trying, even when everything has me feeling like I should just give up.

I think the risk of sharing only good, happy moments is that people can become ashamed of their own ugly moments, which can result in not sharing the bad, and what's never given the light of day can't be improved. It becomes just more secret-keeping, which is crazy-making for kids. All this said, I still struggle with it today - how to keep my kids safe from prying eyes, (I'm reluctant to share my kids' bad moments because I don't want those moments to define them forever) while being honest with myself and my kids, and finding answers to our struggles -- all without ever really detailing for someone else all of our struggles... it can become a vicious cycle that increases shame.

Sometimes I need a good kick in the pants, and I count on my friends to do that for me. I've read the argument that posting about our shortcomings and failures won't help people to come to unschooling/peaceful parenting faster. Some people apparently feel that talking about failing for a moment (or several) gives the impression it's okay to be unkind to your kid or partner when you're having a bad moment/day; that if we admit that even long-time unschoolers sometimes yell at their kids (I know I do on occasion, when I'm overwhelmed) we set the standard too low. So ugly moments are seldom shared, which can leave some feeling that 'real' unschoolers never have ugly moments. Trust me, we all have them.

And maybe, I'll be sharing some of them here, when I'm feeling the need for a good kick in the pants... Now, tho, I'm off to find online info about the James May's life-sized lego house.

To ask or not to ask, and for what?

It seems everywhere I look these days, unschoolers are either embracing the law of attraction (loa), or completely refuting it. Over the past few years, I've wondered about the loa.

I have a long history with the loa, and for many years it made complete sense to me, in the way it was presented as part of Christian Science. Since leaving the church in 2002 (after spending most of my life with that as my only religious practice), I've thought about the loa a lot, wondering how much of it I could keep while growing out of the rest of the package. In my days as a religious person, I really liked the loa, and giving it up was scary. It appealed to me as a promise that if I just *knew* the right truths, and incorporated them into my life, I'd manifest only good. Of course it wasn't that simple -- no philosophy practiced in everyday life ever is.

An early question for me was whether or not I believe it is actually possible to 'manifest' or call things into my experience. I've seen many instances where, even today, I absolutely believe I have 'called' things into my experience. I've seen healings of physical conditions (really, I can't call them anything else). I've also seen physical conditions unhealed, despite the same fervency of prayerful reliance on God.

People quoted and recommended books, and I read a few of them -- The Law Of Attraction, The Power of Now, You Can Heal Your Life. I found that each book offered some things I thought were helpful to me, but none of them really spoke to me in whole.

The idea that you can simply ask the universe and it will provide what you want -- fabulous wealth, physical health, the job of your dreams, etc -- is attractive in its own right. I was open to the possibility that there might be something to this, but still hesitant, having seen too many moments when the loa seemed not to work for some people.

All the books I read hinted that anyone not experiencing all good in his/her life just wasn't trying hard enough. None of them come out and say it, but the overall gist seems to be 'if you're not manifesting everything you want, you're just not trying hard enough", or maybe "you're asking for the wrong things for you" (maybe having enough money isn't everyone's right thing, I guess?). Does this mean that not everyone can expect goodness to come to them in the same way it came to someone else? Why not? Why can't the loa -- if it's as all powerful as its proponents suggest -- simply manifest more stuff for more people, in an endless supply of stuff? Could it be that life really does come with limitations? Ah! If that's the case, then one person's abundance might well come at the expense of others who won't be able to attract wealth because others got there first.

I understand the reason I so much wanted to believe the loa during my religious years, and why I wanted to find some way to believe it works in the years since, too. I like guarantees. Plain and simple. I like to be able to trust that if I do all the right things, things will be okay; that I don't need to be afraid. And, hey, a handy list of all the right steps gives me the power to control my experience, and I'm all about control. Those are just my reasons, tho -- I can't speak for anyone else's reasons for believing in the law of attraction.

My experiences also tells me it's not as easy as just asking and receiving. It's no secret to anyone who knows me that I wanted a daughter. It wasn't that I didn't want boys, just that I always expected that someday there'd be a little girl in my home. If it were simply a matter of asking and receiving, I'd definitely be the mother of a daughter or two. I'm not the mom of a daughter, tho. I have three magnificent sons, whom I love completely -- and I'd not trade any of them for a girl. I don't believe there was a was a particular purpose in all my children being boys. It just happened that way. I can assign a purpose to it if I want, but even that conveys some kind of qualifier that makes it okay that I didn't get what I asked for. I'd much rather see my sons' presence in my life as pure love and joy, so I'm doing all I can to take joy in the life I have today, and to not dwell on the things I don't have.

After all the reading and exploring and thinking, where I am today is a meeting of expectancy and pragmatism, I think. Here it is:

Life is unfair. Things happen -- some of them seem good, some seem bad. It's not because I was carelessly thinking about the right or wrong thing, or because I asked for the wrong things, or because I didn't pray/hope hard enough. When bad things happen, there's no inherent purpose in them. The can only have the purpose/s I assign to them. And, really, why would I want to assign power and purpose to bad things? I'd rather assign purpose and power to my response to those bad things.

So, when something bad happens, I have a couple of choices. I can surrender and let them win (never my first choice), or I can ask questions and make what I feel are my best decisions, those most likely to serve me and my family. I can respond lovingly, kindly, and with an expectancy of good. I can strive to be fair to everyone, keeping in mind that I cannot possibly know what the right path is for anyone but myself. I can trust that everyone's motives are good and that we are all, every moment, doing the very best we can with what we have and what we know.

When good things happen, I'll enjoy them, expecting that good will continue -- or at least that I'll manage to find the good in my life, no matter what's going on around me. I'm not comfortable taking credit for any good that doesn't result from actual steps taken by me, just as I won't take blame for any bad that happens despite my best efforts.

Maybe Shakespeare was right when he wrote, "Nothing is either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." Which brings me back to the whole idea of assigning purpose and value to events as they happen. If that's the case, all I can do is try to stay in a mindset of expectancy of good, hopeful that things will all work out for the best, remembering I have no real idea of what the best might look like for anyone else.

After all, if I have no idea what's really good or bad, how will I know what to ask for?

And if I don't know what to ask for, how will I know when *it* has arrived?

Is it supposed to be easy?

I just love today's note from the Universe!

Sylvia, it's supposed to be easy. Everything is supposed to be easy.
Everything is easy. You live in a dream world. You're surrounded by illusions.
And the illusions change when you change your thinking!

Tell yourself it's easy. Tell yourself often. Make it a mantra. Eat, sleep,
and breathe it. And your life shall be transformed.

It's supposed to be easy,

It just spoke to me so deeply. All our lives, our culture tells us "no one ever said it would be easy" and "nothing worth having comes easy" and "life is supposed to be hard".

In my heart of hearts, I've always thought, "why can't it be easy?" or more honestly, "why does it have to be so hard?" What I've found it that those voices telling me it's not supposed to be easy are the voices from outside me, squashing my own intuitions. I also find that it's hard because I'm getting in my own way, and I'm getting in my own way is because I'm listening to those outside voices.

I don't mean this to say there won't be effort involved or steps to be taken in order to reach our goals or become who we want to be, who we are meant to be, but that when we listen to our own inner voice and are authentic, whatever work must be done won't be onerous. The steps required may be mundane or inane, or simply routinely what must be done next to get from here to there, but they need not feel like insanely hard work.

This idea that all goodness must be earned leads to a feeling of inherent unworthiness, which in turn leads us to ask others for confirmation of our worth; to show us our path, instead of finding that path within ourselves, which allows us to reclaim our worth. Because we are inherenly worthy. And when you're worthy of joy and wonder, why would it be hard to have those things?

It's been a loud and distracting walk the past few days; troublesome and maddening at times, but throughout it all, what needs to be done next has been very clear to me and each step taken brings me closer to my center.

And I love pondering the idea that maybe they're all wrong and it is supposed to be easy.

The nature of hope

I've been told both hope and trust are good things. I struggle with both, for reasons many and varied. Trust is too big to tackle in one blog post (or maybe in my entire lifetime) but hope is one Gary and I talked thru tonight. I know he doesn't really understand my perspective, but he does understand it's how I feel, which has helped him to reconcile some things about our current situation.

In my own life experience, tho, hope is a liar and a thief. Hope lets me believe that things might be better someday, if I just wait long enough. Which allows me to abandon efforts to make now better because, soon enough, it'll get better. If we can just survive -- not enjoy -- until the hope pans out, then we'll be okay. It's the abandoning now that causes problems for me, because in my sphere of existence, hope is like heroin. I can ignore all the yuck of today -- yuck I could change if I tried -- until the better of my hopes comes to be. And on those occasions when hope doesn't pan out, I'm devastated. I just can't do hope.

This past week, Gary heard about the potential for a local job/route, with the same company that employs him now. I tried not to let myself get too hopeful, not to be too attached to this job as the potential deliverance from this awful time. I hadn't realized how much I'd let myself hope until today, when he found out that job isn't really available after all. The company decided to keep on the driver they were considering letting go. And we're right back to the same reality, minus hope. He still has this job where he's gone 6 days and 4 nights a week.

Really, nothing has changed, except that I allowed myself a week-long trip on hope, and stopped trying to make things better in now-land. And giving up the hope of that job, means I'm stuck back on now-land, where things aren't as I'd like them to be.

The good part, for me, of abandoning hope is that once I refuse the drug hope is for me, I can get about the business of finding the best there is to have in now-land. Sometimes, it's simply an exercise in not letting 'em win -- this is the only time I'll live this day, and dammit, I'm going to enjoy if only to show them I can be happy. At least I used to work that way, but somewhere along the way I've lost touch with the girl who could be happy even when life sucked. In her place is disconsolate madwoman, and she's no fun to live with!

I'm starting to see, tho, that disconsolate madwoman is the outgrowth of doing hope. Since I can't embrace now and hope at the same time, and now is all I have, I'm swearing off hope.

Really, I feel better already. Gary doesn't understand it, but he's happy to say goodbye to disconsolate madwoman.

Is happiness possible?

A friend had a quotation on her blog "There can be no happiness if the things we believe in are different from the things we do." (Freya Stark) So, does this mean that once I agree to something I don't believe in, there's no way I can be happy? Really? What about if what I agreed to is consistent with another belief I hold? Is it possible to hold conflicting beliefs, or is that just crazy-making?

I believe it's absolutely essential for kids to have both parents (unless one is dead, of course) home at some point during the 24 hours that make up each day. Simply put, parents should sleep at home every night. I believe that when one chooses not to have both parents accessible to the kids, they're failing their kids. I really do believe this. Kids do not need absent parents.

I also believe Gary has a right to be happy in his work, to be free to try new things as long as there's enough income. So, 18 months ago, when Gary told me he'd like to try an over the road driving job, that it would increase his potential for better-paying jobs, and I could see it was really something he needed to try. I felt there was no way to say no to him, and be true to my belief that I want him to be happy.

So, I said yes. Knowing how much we'd miss him (tho we've missed him more than I could have anticipated). Knowing how much hard it would be for me (tho, again, it's been harder than I anticipated). Even tho I suspected the job market was soon going to tank, I hoped against hope he'd be able to try this, and get out in time to still find a job at home.

And here we are today, with me living a life that if anyone were living it, I'd say their unhappiness is just what they had coming. I mean, if you make a choice you know is in opposition to what you fervently believe, you can't expect happiness to follow.

Have I really given up any possibility of happiness by agreeing to something that opposes one belief, while supporting another? Man, I hope not. Which brings me to my next post......