I wasn’t the best on monkey bars, but it did make me feel invincible, especially while imitating my gymnast friend in elementary school. I was sure she would be in the upcoming Olympics of 1996, and I was sure that if I was near her, I could probably make it too.
So, there we were on the tiered monkey bars, she on the higher and I on the lower. She swung back and forth and so did I. She stretched out her legs and folded herself in half at the bottom of each swing. Terribly, so did I. She repeated her moves until she exploded herself up on the bar, only to fold over again. Her back stiffened beautifully during that split second while hoisted up on the bar.
I attempted bravely and did some versions of all her motions until I folded myself in half and heard the loudest rip, causing me to immediately jump down in confusion. I didn’t feel any pain, but I did hear laughter. When I felt the breeze through my white denim shorts, the laughter got louder and muddled into a reverb of high pitch ringing.
I was so embarrassed. It was a tough afternoon in fourth grade that day.
As the intense and sensitive soul that I was, this felt world-ending. So, when my mom showed up with a cute outfit from her boutique that I’ve been eyeing for the last month, I was relieved and even proud to return to class. I wanted to strut and show my classmates that even though they had seen my underwear, my outerwear had been redeemed with a bow and shoes to match.
I don't remember everyone’s reaction but remember feeling much better when my mom was there for me. So, when I got the fateful call for my son one Wednesday afternoon, I wanted to rescue him in the way I had been rescued.
We are or were very different children. He was not too phased by his pant-ripping incident. He changed clothes and ran back to recess. But the modeled memory of presence in failure or fear was one I was moved to act on as a parent.
Now the start of a new year is here, with resolutions and perhaps expectations of grandeur packed inside of a 100-liter bottle of shaken-up expectations -- ready to blow.
But we can make it an opportunity. We can choose not to wince at a time of year that can seem redundant, like we’ve seen it all before. We can instead declare personal or professional goals or a theme for 2023.
It can be as simple as resolving to eat only one bowl of ice cream per month, rather than six times a week. Beyond that, we can help our kids and family members arrive at their own new goals and benchmarks for this whole new year.
Dr. Caroline Leaf, communication pathologist and cognitive neuroscientist, states that: “The process to achieve the goal should have more of our focus and energy, rather than reaching the goal itself.”
She continues to support this statement by explaining that the importance of the journey is in reaching our goal with gratitude and expectation along the way. Many of us have heard that and know it, but when it comes to our personal journeys and families, we seem to forget it.
What if we take the Thanksgiving challenge of a thankful mindset and roll it out right through the new year? We can use a grateful mindset to change how we pursue a goal and keep it going even if we “fail.”
So, make the goals, create the resolutions, and encourage family and friends to do the same. More importantly, we can be a pillar in their corner whether they devastatingly rip their pants or just crack up and return to the game unphased.
We don’t plan to fail, but to rise together -- as a family and individually -- in lasting ways.
We can resolve to love the process, whatever that looks like, and be okay with it.
This 2023, be open and in the moment … and keep an extra pair of pants in your trunk.