It's Official. I'm the Worst Mother in the World

Two weeks ago I dropped my one and only child off at college and I haven’t looked back. I’ve called him once — just once! —  to make sure he was alive. (He is.) But otherwise I haven’t obsessed or worried or even shed a tear. There must be something fatally wrong with me. Right?

1st day of kindergarten

For years, I dreaded the day Jack would leave my home and go off to college. Sure, I wanted my son to succeed, but the thought of my only kid leaving me made me queazy. 

This was the boy I taught to fish and play tennis, spent untold hours reading bedtime stories, playing Hot Wheels and building elaborate tracks for Thomas the Tank Engine. But thankfully, children grow up slowly -- and there's this thing called puberty that really helps you detach, or at least put some distance between you and your son's stinky feet.

In January, when Jack was accepted to his first-choice college, Auburn, with an academic scholarship to boot, reality kicked in. My son was leaving me behind to begin living a life that largely would not include me. The thought made me sad. 

But then I realized … it was just a thought. And a thought in and of itself  has no power over me — or shouldn’t — unless I give it power. And often I do. 

My thought goes like this: “Jack is leaving me behind! He doesn’t need me anymore. I will be alone.” But that’s not true. Yes, my son is leaving to go to college, and I am not going to move into his dorm room with him. (And everyone is really happy about that.) And he doesn’t need me anymore in the way he did when he was younger. (Thank God.) Nor will he be living under my roof 24/7. (Again, thank you!) 

A more accurate thought is this: “Jack is moving towards his own goals and dreams which don’t need to include me, which is healthy. And I am moving towards my goals and dreams which don’t always include him, which is also healthy.” (The “I will be alone” statement is just over-the-top melodrama. I mean, I could be alone if I want to be alone, but that’s also a choice I make.)

When it comes down to it, all my attitudes are a choice. I can choose to look at a turn of events as a loss or a gain. I can choose to be happy for my son and for myself in this new stage of our lives, or I can choose to be nostalgic and maudlin. Why would I want to choose to be miserable when my son is experiencing a sense of accomplishment? Why would I want to dwell on the negative when it’s just as easy to find the good? 

First day of college

Last Wednesday, as I made the two hour drive home from Auburn after depositing Jack and his worldly goods on campus, I considered how easy it would be to feel sad. But I chose to feel satisfied, contented, even happy for him and for myself. After all, sending a kid to college is a great accomplishment even under the best conditions; and we had, shall I say, our share of challenges along the way. 

So no, I’m not sad about Jack’s departure. I don’t feel lonely or depressed. The dreaded day came and went and I’m relieved and happy that he’s on his way to adulthood. I almost feel guilty for not feeling sad. Almost. Instead I’m happy with the knowledge that our lives are unfolding exactly as they should. This is what Buddhists call non-attachment. Although it may sound crass it is actually a form of unconditional love. Imagine that?

I certainly didn’t always make the best choices as Jack was growing up. In fact, I made some really bad ones along the way. But somehow it seems that maybe, just maybe, I’m not the worst mother in the world after all.

Ask, Seek, Knock ... That is All.

Today — as on many days — a Facebook friend asked for prayers. Almost immediately replies poured in. "I'm on it!" "Praying for you now!" Others posted the little emoticons of folded hands or hands reaching up in the air.

I didn't respond. Does this make me an awful person? I hope not. I just have a different idea of how to pray.

I used to pray all the time. I thought of God as a gumball dispenser of "good" stuff. But when the situation was not resolved my way, or in a manner that seemed positive to me, my faith was rocked. Of course, I see now that this wasn't God's shortcoming. It was my shortcoming. When I prayed to God for a specific outcome, I set myself up for disappointment.

I recently read a quote by Soren Kierkegard about prayer and it crystalized the real value of pressing my palms together, closing my eyes and having a heart-to-heart with the Divine. He said, "Prayer doesn't change God, it changes him that prays."  Or as Mother Teresa said, "... I used to believe that prayer changes things, now I know that prayer changes us and we change things."

So how does prayer transform me?

In my experience, prayer is transformative when (and only when) I ask God to change my perspective on a situation. I am not asking him to change my ex-husband or my son or the woman who bugs the crap out of me in the check-out line at Publix. I'm asking God to change me, to change the way I see and respond to the situations and people who challenge me. When I make that request, something miraculous happens even though I'm usually not conscious of it right away.

The moment I let go of my fixed approach to a situation or person and I allow that maybe, just maybe there's another way to resolve the situation, I feel relief. Maybe, just maybe, there's a new thought or idea that could shed a peaceful light on the day. That's what prayer does for me. It creates a little crack in my closed-up-tighter-than-a-drum-mind and that crack allows another idea —a better idea—to enter.

The good news is this: No matter how hard I pray, I don't believe God is not going to change his approach. He's not going to say, "You know, I was going let you to suffer, but now since you asked so nice and said pretty-please, sure I'll spare that terminally ill person's life, allow you to come into a small fortune, or keep your child from being arrested for a crime he committed." The God of my understanding is too wise to work that way. And yet, I used to give God suggestions for how and why to effect our lives —as if God needs help knowing what to do!

Years ago, I realized I had no idea how to pray. I was trying to amend my control freak ways, and dictating my wish list to God just didn't seem like the best way to go about things anymore. So I googled, "How to pray for God's will in my life?" Within a second, there were more than 20 million answers/results. Among them was an answer that was so obvious it made me laugh: The Lord's Prayer. As it turns out, Jesus was once asked the same thing by his disciples. His answer? "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done ... give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and deliver us from evil ..."

In The Lord's Prayer, Jesus didn't ask God to transport him into a world without suffering. He asked for acceptance, for forgiveness and to be sustained. Later, in that same New Testament passage, Jesus goes on to tell his disciples that not only will God answer our prayers, but he will always provide a healthy answer — never one that causes pain and suffering.

According to Luke 11:9-13, Jesus put it this way, "So I say to you, ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. 10 For everyone who asks, receives; and he who seeks, finds; and to him who knocks, it will be opened. 11 Now suppose one of you fathers is asked by his son for a fish; he will not give him a snake instead of a fish, will he? 12 Or if he is asked for an egg, he will not give him a scorpion, will he? 13 If you then, being (human)*, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him?”

Jesus says, "ask." Simple. He doesn't say, "specifically ask for what you think is best." He just says, "Ask." Ask for help, guidance, relief.

And then, he says, "Receive." Although he doesn't exactly spell this out in Luke, I believe he means accept the answer, accept what is given to you. Receive the outcome. Don't whine that it wasn't what you thought you wanted. And I love that Jesus goes on to clarify and affirm by essentially saying, "Hey, God isn't a sadist. He's not going to give you poison. He's going to give you 'good gifts'." But I must be open to the possibilities, and accept that whatever comes is a "good gift" — no matter how crumby it might appear to be at first.

Although Buddhists don't pray to God in the same way Christians do,  Buddhist Zen Master Kyong Ho provided this beautiful perspective on prayer:

“Don’t wish for perfect health. In perfect health there is greed and wanting. So an ancient said, ‘Make good medicine from the suffering of sickness.’

Don’t hope for a life without problems. An easy life results in a judgmental and lazy mind. So an ancient once said, ‘Accept the anxieties and difficulties of this life.’

Don’t expect your practice to be always clear of obstacles. Without hindrances the mind that seeks enlightenment may be burnt out. So an ancient once said, ‘Attain deliverance in disturbances.’”

Buddhism has taught me to not ask for an outcome that only benefits me, but to pray for an outcome that will benefit many, many people — if not everyone in the whole, wide world. That's how karma (cause and effect) works; its ripples extend out to the shore. Things that happen in this life are not all about me. Events that occur are not even all about my family, or my extended family, or my community. But I can sit there and ask for a specific outcome because I know what's best ... Right.

So if you post a request for prayers on Facebook, I may not respond, but I will pray for you to make a place in your heart for acceptance of what is. Ultimately, I believe that’s how God answers all of our prayers: He creates a place in our hearts for reality.

* The Luke translation actually reads "if you being evil," but I contend evil is a little over the top. I translate this to mean that if even parents who are human and flawed want to give your children wholesome things, then you can imagine how God, the Divine, who is not selfish or fearful, would want to give his children only the best.

What I Learned in Obedience School

Rocky at 3 months.

Somehow I managed to avoid dog ownership until last year when Jack finally wore down his dad with requests for a puppy. He picked out a mutt from the Human Society shelter and named him Rocky. He was a mixture of God only knows what breeds. The vet's best guess is that he is part Australia Cattle Dog. He's a sweet pup with boundless energy.

Rocky took up residence in my ex-husband's backyard and I agreed to help out as needed. He is "Jack's dog" but of course, as is typical for kids, the ownership is only in name. Since I knew next to nothing about dogs when Rocky reached about 6 months old we signed up for obedience class at the local Petsmart. From the first class it became apparent that Rocky wasn't the only one who needed training.

Over the course of our six Saturday morning classes, we learned—with help of dog treats and a blue plastic cricket clicker—how to sit, stay, shake hands and walk on a loose leash. But one of the most useful commands was "Leave it!" This is an all-purpose directive can be used whenever a dog shows overly enthusiastic interest in anything you don't want them to approach. The idea is that whenever a dog goes after something really desirable, such as another dog, or another dog's poop or a baby with an ice cream cone, or whatever, that you condition the dog to leave that desired thing and come to your side and sit. This repeated action of returning to their person's side resets the dog's urge to compulsively run after anything and everything of interest. Of course, favorable behavior is reinforced by providing treats each time the dog leaves the coveted item and sits down beside you. The idea is that—eventually—the dog learns to overcome his distractions by merely being reminded via vocal cue.

Jack with Rocky at Puppy School!

After our instructor explained the exercise, she set us loose  in the aisles of Petsmart to practice. I thought she was insane. Have you seen the aisles of Petsmart?  It's a fantasy land for dogs! We could only walk about two steps before Rocky tugged at the end of his leash. My arm was already growing tired from holding him back from shelves of chew toys and stacks and stacks doggie delights. At first, I was very frustrated. How could Rocky ever learn when there were so many wonderful scents? Rocky tugged this way and that, trying to get at all the wonderful dog stuff. He didn't want to "Leave it!" 

When the instructor stopped by to see how we were doing, she could tell I was a bit miffed—to put it nicely. 

"Can we go to aquarium supply aisle?" I whined. "There are just way too many distractions here! He'll never learn."

"He'll get used to it," she said, smiling patiently. "There are going to be even more enticing smells when you take him for a walk outside. Keep working with him. He's a smart dog. He'll learn."

I was dubious, but to my surprise after a few false starts and stops, Rocky began to catch on. As it turns out, Rocky's love of treats far outweighed his desire to sniff stuff. After walking up and down the aisles a few times successfully, Jack set out an entire obstacle course of sexy-looking chew toys. Rocky was able to navigate around them all without getting distracted. 

Each week, we worked on these skills and after the six week course was complete, we graduated from Puppy School with honors. Okay, we graduated. Okay, we completed the course and for that we received a diploma, but as the trainer warned us, the real work was ahead of us—out in the real world. 

Leaving a rubber, squeaky bone lying in the aisle of a bright, sterile pet food store is one thing, but a stroll through the neighborhood supplied an infinite number of opportunities to challenge Rocky's obedience degree. Every two inches there was a new distraction. We didn't get but a few feet down the street before he tugged the leash longingly as he lusted after the neighbor's azalea bush. "Leave it, Rocky!" I said sternly and clicked the plastic cricket.

As we rounded the street corner, he tugged to sniff a mound of monkey grass laced with the scent of a countless dogs, cats, rodents and God only knows what, but finally he came back to my side to gobble down his treat. After the first few blocks, we strolled along nicely until he encountered the one temptation that no amount of kibble could prevent Rocky from lunging after: grey squirrels. 

There must be a million grey squirrels living within a mile radius of Jack's dad's house. Every one of them came out to taunt and tease our poor dog. "Leave it, Rocky! Leave it!" became my mantra. Rocky wanted to run after them so badly, he almost launched himself into the air. Of course, he was tethered to  me by his nylon leash, but that didn't seem to matter when it came to all things squirrel. He needs more practice for sure, and the only way to break him of this habit of chasing after these teasing, fluffy-tailed distractions was to spend more time reinforcing the behavior to leave it—no matter what.

Of course, Rocky is not the only one who is easily distracted. My mind is often filled with "grey squirrels" that I desperately want to chase. I am easily side-tracked by chattering discursive thoughts. Some days they lead me to—quite literally—bark up the wrong tree. I can observe this tendency whenever I sit down to meditate, but when I'm not on the cushion, the squirrels in my brain can be much more damaging as they compulsively gnaw away at my positive mood and serenity. I'm going about my day and suddenly a negative or worrisome thought scurries across my mind and I lunge for it. Unlike Rocky, my mind is not on a short leash, so I can chase after that negative idea all day if I don't recognize my thought process and tell myself to "Leave it!" 

Setting aside anxiety is not easy. Even though there is nothing I can do about a situation—I know I have no power over the person, place or thing—I still want to race after it. My only hope of finding peace is to take my mind to obedience school and learn some new strategies for letting go. Like Rocky, I must  replace my habit of chasing squirrels with the desire to sit patiently and be rewarded. This takes effort and practice and it can't be accomplished unless I am willing to experience life on life's terms. In other words, I can't stay in the aquarium section.

If I want to improve the way I respond to life, I must be willing to experience the real crap that triggers my negative responses. What's my reward? Something much better than kibble. When I refuse to chase that miserable squirrel across the yard and up a tree, I gulp down a little peace of mind and the satisfaction. Good girl!