There are some articles that just roll off the page.
Then there’s writer’s block. I’ve had it for two weeks. No relief in sight, so as the deadline for this column approached, I did what any mother would do. I took a late-night phone call from my son and pitched him a deal:
“Hey, wanna make a few bucks and write my column? It’s due tomorrow. Tomorrow morning. Bright and early.”
“I got studying to do, Mom, but I can brainstorm with you a little. What were you thinking about writing on?”
And there it was. He helped me brainstorm this column.
While I’m not writing about what we talked about, though it would make a great future column, I am writing about what it felt like to have a rich, life-giving conversation with my 20-year-old son. He actually did help me.
And you know how? He was willing to stop what he was doing, fully refocus on my needs, and let his mind run side by side with mine, weaving in and out of ideas without any particular goal in mind. It was a scavenger hunt of thoughts, and he had some great finds.
I admire that, because I can’t do it. I measure my days in blocks of quarter, half, three-quarter or one-hour increments. My life runs on a billable clock. Everything has an end goal, a deliverable, a box to check. How do you measure a long, winding conversation that ends with a simple, “See ya later”?
Maybe it’s a generational thing. One thing I’ve noticed about my kids and their friends is that they are experts at just hanging out. No agenda. Like young love.
When our Serbian exchange student and her boyfriend would get together at our house after dinner, they would sit on the couch for hours, just talking. Seriously – just talking. I couldn’t understand a word of their conversations, which made me pay that much more attention to their body language, the way their words ebbed and flowed, the deep, unhurried cadence of true connection. No screens. Just presence. I admired it.
When I was pregnant for the first time, I was a typical, excitable mom – buying all the things to make the room just perfect: matching cribs and rockers, rugs and curtains, bureaus and books. One day, my grandmother gave me a piece of advice that has lingered for 20 years:
“Just remember Honey, none of this will matter to your baby. They just don’t care. They just want you.”
Here I am, finishing a phone call with a full-grown man who used to be my baby, and a thought just struck me: I think I finally understand what Grandmother was talking about.
What truly matters in relationships with our kids is universal to our relationships with everyone. It’s the act of being fully present – having conversations without clocks, and experiencing moments you can’t measure, bill for, or check off a list.
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too.”
“Okay. See ya later.”
When wearing her work hat, Lisa Mozloom is a media and presentation training coach and PR practitioner at The M Network, but at home she is a woman passionate about raising three teens and loving her husband.
(Lisa Mozloom)
Lisa Mozloom