I last posted in July. While many words have since tried to coalesce into post ideas, not a one of those potential posts seemed to matter, when looking at the state of the world.
Since my last post, Jen has gone off to college, and Will has left one job and found another. While that doesn’t even make a ripple for all of you, my boat was rocked.
Also, in the months since my last writing, we celebrated an anniversary, of sorts. It’s been 15 years since the kids and I moved out of their dad’s house.
Speaking of rocking boats and the state of the world …
How Do I Know It Works Out?
Recently, with an abundance of time on my hands, I found myself going through digital photos. (Take it from me, if you don’t have a system for organizing digital photos, STOP reading this post and make a system for organizing all your photos. Do it now.)
. . .
I’m assuming you are much more organized than I am, and that you are still reading because you created files on your laptop for years and months and birthdays and Halloween carvings and dying of Easter eggs and first lost tooth. I’m envious of your organizational skills and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you are more disciplined than I, and that makes me worried that we can’t be friends because I’ll always feel that my lack of discipline is disappointing you in some way. (Wait. I think that only applied to my romantic relationships. Never mind.)
Anyway, as I was scrolling through a hard drive full of unorganized digital photos, I noticed a common theme: kinks or bumps along the way always tended to work themselves out.
The pics of Jen before braces present a case in point. I loved that face so much that I didn’t want it to change with braces. Besides, I didn’t know where we would get the money for them. She wanted them so badly, even though she knew it would be tough to find the money. I would tell her, “Don’t worry, honey. It always works out.” Scroll forward a few years, and I love her new face just as much as I loved her before-braces face. It worked out.
More scrolling, and I see a set of photos from Will’s first vehicle. “Mom, where will I get the money to buy a truck? Can we even do something like that?” He and I made lists of lawns he could mow and walks he could shovel. I looked at him and said, “It always works out.” It did. After many lawn mowings and a small loan from his sister, he bought a truck. That was a couple trucks ago.
Then there are the pictures of the kitchen with the old appliances. The old range had quit working right before one of Jen’s birthdays. She wondered how we’d be able to make her cake. “It always works out, honey.” That year we baked her cake at grandma’s house, and found the funds to purchase a new range a few weeks later.
When Jen went off to school, those first few weeks were rough for both of us. We would count down the number of “sleeps” until her next trip home. We both put Post-its on our bathroom mirrors that said, “One day at a time,” because it was clear to both of us that even though this was going to work out, we were going to be muddling through one day at a time, at first.
. . .
I’ve learned that I have to time the delivery of, “It always works out.” In the depths of stress and worry, that can sound trite. No one wants to hear that expression when they are venting about how the Universe seemingly created a roadblock out of thin air. I wait to say it until after we’ve bumped over the roadblock, found the new route, and cruised a bit. Then, it’s safe to remind them that it does always work out. Sometimes I’m met with an eye roll, but they will begrudgingly admit that it does work out.
Back when they were little folk, I could have said, “It always works out, but it might end up looking different than you thought it would.” Or I might have said, “It always works out, and one day you’ll be glad that it looks different from what you were hoping for.” Or, “It always works out but it might beat you up a bit before it does.” My goal, then, was to encourage them, not dash their hopes with realism.
I didn’t consult a crystal ball to know it would work out, and I don’t know how to read tea leaves. Even if the coffee sediment in the bottom of the saucer looks like it means something, I can’t tell you what it means. But the three of us learned to have faith and trust that with a little effort and “some leaving alone” things would always work out, even if sometimes we had to remind each other.
What About in Today’s World?
Now, given the threats on women’s rights, voters’ rights, the climate, and our very democracy, can I truly tell my kids, “It always works out?”
Can we put Post-its on our mirrors and hope for the best? Who has the crystal ball that will reveal the future? Will this be a future with women’s rights, opportunities for all to vote, a climate that isn’t taking its last breath and our democracy still intact?
Will it work out for women if we lose bodily autonomy? (Untold numbers of women around the world have never even tasted that freedom, and we could very well lose it.) How do you reassure your daughter, while there are those who want to take away her rights? Will it work out for all those who lose their right to vote? Will it work out if we ignore all the signs telling us that climate change is not just a political talking point, but an inevitability? Has it been able to work out (albeit only for a lucky few), up to this point, because we’ve been navigating the bumps and roadblocks within the framework of this democracy?
More importantly, while it has often worked out for my little family, does that even matter if it doesn’t work out for everyone?
In another 10, 20 or 50 years, when this country looks in the mirror, will it like what it sees? Who will it work out for then?