Tag Archive | Parenting

A Letter to my Father

Aug14

I set you free from everything you couldn’t be for me.  And I set myself free from everything that I couldn’t be for you.

I am posting this with hesitation. It is perhaps the most vulnerable thing I have ever written. It took me two days to even be able to share it with my husband. Even then, I told him that he wasn’t allowed to react, or give me sympathy, but I just wanted him to know what has been going through my very muddled head. He put on his straight face and read. When he was done, I caught him wiping his eyes so I gave him permission to share his thoughts. He encouraged me to share it because it might be healing for me, and it might help someone else who is dealing with the same kind of confusion and grief. If you are in my circle and you didn’t know anything about this, you are in good company. I told almost nobody, except for those with the most intimate knowledge of the complicated history.

I post now not for sympathy, but in the hopes that it will help me or someone else.

To my dad.

You died on August 1.  The frayed thin thread that connected us was severed forever.  I have been waiting to feel something – some kind of grief, some kind of loss, some kind of void.  There have been no tributes on my feed, no announcement to friends and coworkers, no interest in a funeral.  Every once in a while, I get a feeling in my stomach, and I feel a well deep down (like when I was getting ready to post this), but there is a part of me that won’t let it out, won’t or can’t face what lies beneath the surface. I don’t know what feels worse — the nothingness or the threat of something big and powerful that I’m not ready to face.

As I’ve tried to make sense of the void, I have thought a lot about grief and what it looks like for you, a person who had already left my life.  Is the size of the grief connected to the size of the connection?  Do the ties that bind us, also unravel and turn threadbare; and does the grief that follows match the size of what is left? Is there a finite amount of grief that a heart can hold?  Did my heart hold all of its grief for you when I was born, and instead of it being released all at once at the end, did it release itself over time? Or is it still there, looming, waiting?

When does grief come? Can it set me free?

As a child, I grieved when you left. I grieved the loss of the family I was promised.  I grieved the loss of trust and security.

When I was in elementary school,  I loved the times you picked me up before school and we just drove around talking.  This is when you introduced me to your love of classical music.  In all my life, that is when you felt most present to me. You told me these visits had to be secret because  “[She] wouldn’t like it.”  Even then, I knew that a child should always feel like they are worth fighting for. I grieved for you then, when I lost the sense of belonging without limits.

As my school years went on, there were moments of connection and disconnection.  Visits were regular, but the time between was a void.  In those times, I grieved the loss of your presence.  Jim did his best to fill the gap that you left, but the absence of you became a constant presence for me.

On my wedding day, you spoke about the tapestry of life and how we are connected.  I felt your apology and love that day.  I don’t even remember exactly what you said, but I know that a piece of me healed.  This was the first time I forgave you.  There were many times after that, but that was the first.

At my college graduation, I grieved not just because you didn’t come but because when Steve called you on it, you said “I didn’t know it was important to her.” This is when I realized that forgiveness must be tended to, revisited, peeled back.  I grieved that I didn’t have a father who would know me without being told. 

You weren’t there when your grand daughters were born.  Physical distance was a good reason the first time.  But when the second birth came, and you lived 20 minutes away, I grieved when it took two weeks for you to meet her, to visit me.  You came late and without excuse. I told myself then that my daughers would never feel left behind, unimportant or disregarded by me, and I wouldn’t let them feel it from you either. I learned in time that in order to hurt someone with our disregard, there has to be a relationship. You took away your own power to hurt them by staying mostly away.

When there was trouble in your marriage, I saw you nearly every week.  It was the first time in my adult life that you were a regular, every day presence in my life.  I felt bad that it was because you were so lonely and sad, but I still grieved when the visits stopped as abruptly as they started. Your marriage was restored, and there wasn’t room for me in it.  A child should be more than filler in a parent’s life.

As an adult, we always had Christmas, as fraught as it could be, clouded by memories and past hurt.  Until one year, we didn’t.    That was the year that I called over and over asking how I could help, when we could gather.  I never got an answer.  Then Christmas Eve came, and for the first time, I didn’t call.  I needed to know if I would at least get that from you.  Your phone call didn’t come, then or any other year after that.  I never saw you or received a call from you on Christmas again.  Some cursory gifts were mailed in both directions, until they weren’t.  The year that Christmas wasn’t was the year something broke in me.  I stopped trying, because to try inevitably meant re-opening old wounds and trying once again to forgive.  My grief was bigger than the holiday that year and has held a place in every holiday since.

Later, when you had surgery, we connected again.  I showed up.  I visited.  I called.  I hoped that this time the connection meant something.  I didn’t jump all the way in though.  Caution and fear and good advice held me back.  I needed to see what you would do.  You didn’t do anything.  What was broken remained broken and I vowed “never again”.   I would answer. I would respond. I would go when invited.  But I wouldn’t extend another rejected invitation or connection that wasn’t returned.

On your retirement day, you invited me and I came.  I was proud of you that day.  You lead your church well and they loved you for it.  Your family showed up to celebrate you.  I got emotional watching you give your benediction for the last time in that sanctuary.  I still have the video on my phone.  Then, I grieved because you could be so much to so many, but not enough for me.  Now, watching that benediction feels like good-bye. I will do my best to hold onto the pride I felt that day, and not just the grief.

After you called me to tell me you had dementia,  we did better for a short time.  I called, you answered, you updated me the best you could.  But then you stopped answering.   She wouldn’t answer.  It finally occurred to me, that the time for reconciliation and healing had passed.  When you were no longer a reliable narrator of your story, when staying connected meant passing a human barrier, I knew you were lost to me forever and I grieved.  I released myself from more hurt and more fighting and I grieved.

When I found out you were in your final days, I broke down.  I sobbed for shattered dreams,  for unmet expectations, for not being worth fighting for.  I grieved for the father that you could never be.  I grieved for the little girl and the grown up girl. I grieved because of the absence of what every girl wants – a dad who is present, who fixes things, who gives advice and knows what is important in his daughter’s life.  I grieved for you – that you didn’t know us, didn’t get to build a relationship with your amazing grandchildren.  I grieved for the passage of time, and the reliving of old hurts and all of the things that never were. I released myself from my own guilt with gut wrenching, wracking sobs.  As my husband held me, and the sobs died down, I also released you.  10 days later you died.

To borrow some paraphrased words of Rob Bell from his podcast about the death of his father,  I offer this to you:

I set you free from everything you couldn’t be for me.  And I set myself free from everything that I couldn’t be for you.  I will try to make peace with what we had, and all that we didn’t. 

I said good-bye and I’m still saying good-bye.  I’m letting go and I already let go.  I hope for the time that I can feel relief that it is over and grief because you died, and whatever peace I can make from that. (source: https://robbell.podbean.com/e/still-the-son-of-a-judge/)

I forgive you and I will forgive you, as many times as it takes. 

I love you because you made me, and I accept the love you were able to give in return.  It was your best and it will have to be enough. 

A Time for Everything – Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

1 There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

2     a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3     a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
4     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
6     a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7     a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8     a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.

May the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, the communion and fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you and us always. Amen.  (Your benediction, November 3, 2013)

Go in peace.

You will always have the love of the little girl who never stopped wanting a dad.

With all the love that I have left to give,
Joy

11/28/13 Today’s Advice to My Beautiful Daughters: It’s ok to cry.

Nov28

For most of my life, I have tried not to cry.

Somewhere along the line, I got it in my head that crying was a sign of weakness or manipulation and the idea of “don’t’ ever let ‘em see you sweat” took on a broader meaning.  I thought I needed to choke it back, push it down, stifle it so that everyone could see that I was strong.  When I was 15, I stopped eating because emotion has to be dealt with.  If I couldn’t cry, something had to give.  And it gave.  I lost weight until my mom was frantic.  And then slowly, I recovered enough from the emotions that plagued me and I got back to normal, without having to spend time in an eating disorder clinic.  My “strength” took a toll.

As I have gotten older, I have turned into a total sap. I can cry at just about anything, happy or sad.  I have shed more tears over internet videos than I ever have for myself, my own pain, my own joys and sorrows.  Crying for others highs and lows is so much easier than crying for me.

When I cry, I cry alone…in hotel rooms or when everyone is gone, or in the dark when everyone is asleep.  I still can’t release with others, even though I can release for others.  Every once in a while, I cry in church, and hope nobody notices.

Even though I know that tears are healing, I think I will always struggle to embrace them. This is not a good thing.

So for you and for me…it’s ok to cry.  It. Is. Ok. To. Cry.

There are times when the enormity of a place, a moment, a time will overwhelm you.   Whatever emotion that brings is healthy and good.  It often will reveal your humanity, your compassionate heart, your love.  When you cry for others, you love.  When you cry in front of others, you allow them to love.

This week, I visited the 9/11 Memorial with 120 high school students.  One of those students was overcome with the enormity of the place.  She cried.  Her tears revealed her compassionate soul, her care for the world that was forever changed when she was just 4 years old.  She cried for people she had never met, and all that grieved because of  that day.  And as her friends tried to distract her and cheer her with hugs and words that would make her smile, I thought to myself, “Cry.” In her tears on that day, I saw her heart in a new way and I saw her friends have the opportunity to love her and it was good. Her tears revealed her humanity and the humanity of those who care about her.

Sometimes it takes a kid to teach us something.  In this case, it reminded me that the thing I have spent a lifetime stifling is the thing that heals, that shows love, that is good.

It is ok to cry.  With your help, I will try to remember that.

9/11Memorial

12/21/12: Today’s advice to my beautiful daughters ~ Don’t let your expectations steal your Joy

Dec21

As seen in the posts of the past few days (here and here and here), this is one of those lessons that I had to learn the hard way…and then some.

And although I am still learning and struggling, today, I have a greater sense of understanding about how our expectations about where we SHOULD be, how we SHOULD feel, how the world SHOULD line up for us gets in the way of where we are.

Joy is not happiness.

Joy is the peace that comes from the knowledge that we are where we are supposed to be. In this moment.  Now.  Even if we don’t like it.  Joy is the deep knowledge of God’s grace.  Joy is finding the opportunity in the place where your hope and fear and happiness and pain intersect.  It sets aside what we want and what we expect and makes space for who we are meant to be.

Your opportunity in the place you are right now is not a mistake.  It might not feel good or comfortable, but it is not a mistake.  The real opportunity for you, the real joy, comes from how you respond to where you are, and is born from the acceptance that everything that has led you to this place and has prepared you.  It has prepared you to be exactly who you are right now.  The pain has prepared your heart for compassion.  The challenges have prepared you to overcome.  The loneliness has prepared you to reach out.  The roadblocks have prepared you to persevere.

Life is full of a mixture of pain and happiness, loneliness and contentment, peace and turmoil.  God uses all of those things to make you the person that He wants you to be.

Your expectations can make you miss it.  If you are too busy looking for what you want, what you expect, what you think you deserve, you may just miss the JOY that comes from the now, from this place, from the reality that combines all that you have been with all that you can be,  if you can just stop expecting and start accepting.  The you that is unencumbered by all the pressure of expectations is so much greater than the you who might miss it all.

Grace.  Joy.  You.

Don’t let your expectations steal any of them.

9/25/12 Today’s Advice to My Beautiful Daughters – Broken hearts really do mend

Sep26

Broken hearts mend.

If there is anything in the world that I wish I could spare you, it is the a broken heart.  But I know that to avoid broken hearts, also means to avoid the greatest joys and accomplishments.  It means avoiding love and trial and hope and the best parts of friendship.  It means avoiding being a mother and watching YOUR beautiful daughters grow and learn and fly out of the nest.  Those are the best parts of life, but with them comes some heartbreak.  Today, my advice is that you are just going to have to trust me on this…hearts mend.

One of the things I have learned about being a mother is that it really is true that your heart is walking around outside your body.  When things happen to you, it happens to me.  With every heartbreak you feel, my heart breaks too.  But the shattering and the mending builds a stronger heart.  It builds a heart that understands pain so can empathize more.  It builds a heart that understands strength so it can hope more.  It builds a heart that understands love so it can love more.  A broken heart will mend, and it will be stronger than it was before.

When my heart feels like it has shattered into a million tiny pieces, these are the things that matter:

  • Your smile (you have no idea how many wounds your smiles can heal)
  • Hearing your voice
  • Hugs
  • Flowers from a friend
  • All the little ways that friends reach out to let me know they are out there when I am ready
  • Seeing you happy
  • The peace that comes from knowing you will be ok
  • The patient love and understanding of my best friend and husband

I’m not sure when I will be ready to write about the last month in its entirety, but I am ready to say that my heart has broken but it is mending.  Things are different now and it feels weird to have some pieces of the mending happening in Lansing, Michigan.  Every picture and phone call from my smiling Spartan and every special moment at home with my “only child”  is stitching my heart back together…different, stronger, new.

Broken hearts do mend, and whenever you are facing your own shattering and mending, I will be right there with you…helping you find YOUR different, stronger, new.

8/22/12 Today’s Advice to My Beautiful Daughters – You are not that girl anymore.

Aug22

You are not that girl anymore.

This covers so much territory and it really is about the hurt child in all of us.   “Old tracks” play on auto loop and tell the story of who we used to be.  We tell ourselves constantly that we are still the forgotten daughter, the “smart one” (aka NOT cool), the overweight, underweight, clumsy, acne-prone girl who boys didn’t like.  We are still the self-conscious girl who starves herself to feel in control, the girl who sleeps around to prove that boys like her. We are still the girl who failed at marriage and screwed it all up.

That is the story we tell.  That is the story I tell.  That is the story of “that girl”.

I have spent the better part of my adult life in an argument with that girl.  The grace that God has abundantly bestowed on me, as evidenced by the bountiful joy in my life, is often overshadowed by the lies that I allow that girl to tell.

If there is one thing that I want you to know about your future and who you are, it is this. You aren’t that girl anymore.

You aren’t the girl who got rejected by friends and therefore feels unlikeable.  You are not the girl who boys don’t like because you don’t look right or wear the right clothes, or act cool enough.  You just aren’t that girl.  No matter how many times that story plays in your head, no matter how many hurts you encounter, those hurts don’t make the girl.  You are so much more than that.  You are the delightful, beautiful girl who loves people and is loved in return.  You are the girl who works hard and does her best.  You are the girl who learns from her mistakes and works things out.  You are the girl who isn’t afraid to get back up after a fall.  You are the girl who is loved beyond measure and has so much to offer the world.

You are the girl who really believes she is a princess and expects the world to treat her with princess-like care.  You are the girl who is so convincing that you can talk a friend into picking up dog poop so you don’t have to.  You are the girl who runs races through pain and doesn’t quit.  You are the girl who does her own thing, makes her own style and doesn’t just follow along.  You are the girl who knows that being smart is a gift and works hard to honor her gift.  You are the girl who laughs so much and long that she gets a belly ache and always cares about making other people smile.

When I look at you, I see all the beauty and possibility in my life.  I forget about my “that girl” and can remember that my mistakes don’t define me and the stories that I tell myself can make or break me, but it is my choice.  I see in you the truth about God and His love and know that Truth is so much bigger than the lies I tell myself when I put my track on auto-loop.

When your confidence is shaken, and that girl tries to make an appearance, shake her off.  She is not your truth and you are not that girl.

*****************************************************************

This post was inspired by two pastors in my life.  Last Sunday, Steve North shared part of his emotional journey as he learned the truth about the man he is and the man he used to be.  In his poem, “Becky’s Thunder” he described the moment when  another pastor, Becky Przybylski, helped him see  that “You are not that man anymore.”  Listening to his story, I realized how much I let my own past tell me lies about who I am today.  I let “that girl” beat me down with the mistakes that changed the course of my life.  I continue to accept the guilt that girl heaps on, perhaps as punishment, perhaps as atonement and in the process, I forget who I am today.  I forget that those mistakes have shaped me, but they don’t define me.  Steve’s message helped me to  remember that the girl I am today has learned and grown and been blessed by those very mistakes, and that my life provides evidence every single day that God forgave me long ago and continues to prove it by pouring His grace into me.

God truly does set the brightness of our today into the dark mortar of our past so that we can see the contrast that He brings to us.

Thank you to Becky for being Steve’s thunder.  And thank you to Steve for being mine.

8/17/12 Today’s Advice to My Beautiful Daughter – It’s your time to shine.

Aug17

 

 

It is kinda weird isn’t it?  You’ve never been the only child.  From the day you came into this world, you have always been the little sister.  Because you weren’t my first, I didn’t have to figure it out as I went along (at least not as much), I relaxed a little more, and I learned from my mistakes.  I enjoyed your “firsts” differently because I knew they would be the last. Your first steps were my LAST first steps.  I was in no hurry for them to get here because for every first you had, I had to say good-bye to something that I would never get back.  So I cherished the moments differently (maybe better) and I got to treasure all the ways that you were different than your sister, which ignited that awe of discovery in you, even though you weren’t my first.  I didn’t rush you to the next stage because I knew that it was important for to enjoy every fleeting moment.  And as you navigated the world, you always had your sister by your side.  During good times and bad, whether you were getting along or not, she was here.

Now, as your sister prepares to leave the nest, you have to contemplate this space without her.  You have to figure out how to be the only child…the good (the extra attention) and the bad (the extra attention) and you have to experience life for the first time without you sister by your side.  It will be weird at first, and sad.  We will all miss her, and we will have to figure out how to be comfortable in the space that she occupied every day.  But we will adjust.  We will figure out how to keep her in our day to day life even when she is away, and you will get comfortable in this space….and you will shine.

All the comparisons that are a natural part of being sisters will fade away, and you will get to be truly you.  You will get to be Becca.  You will find your way and your style and your light will shine more brightly because it doesn’t have your sister’s shadow holding it back anymore.

The next 3 years are your time to find out who you are apart from your sister.  You will come to love her in a different way, and appreciate the differences rather than feel diminished by them.  You will figure out that your style and your personality and your talents are the very best thing you have to offer the world and the world will respond by welcoming you into the spotlight.

Despite my many conflicted emotions about your sister leaving, I am looking forward to watching you blossom and grow and shine.  When you see my tears after your sister is gone, remember that I can be sad and grateful at the same time.  I will be sad that she is gone, but grateful that you are here, and that we have this incredible opportunity to get to know each other in a new way.

Prepare you light and get ready to shine.

 

8/16/12 Today’s Advice to My Beautiful Daughter – Life is full of contradictions

Aug16

How else do I explain the roller coaster confluence of emotions that are happening right now?

Intense pride
Joyful expectation
Heart squeezing anxiety
Impending dread
Resigned sadness

I can’t even explain the reality of feeling all of these things, sometimes multiple emotions in the same heartbeat.  In one minute I am describing my pride, the next minute my eyes are filling up and I am choking back my tears.

This is it….this moment represents everything we have worked toward and everything I have always wanted for you.  I can’t even explain how deeply I long for you to leave the last painful year in the rearview mirror and move on to lasting friendships and a fresh start.  I am living vicariously through you as I relive those exciting moments of preparation for leaving home for the first time.  My heart just may burst from the pride I feel in all that you have accomplished and all that I know you will be.

But as I plan the menu for the last week of your favorite home cooked meals, I think about the number of days remaining to prepare them.  I shop for the things you like and realize that you won’t be here long enough for them to be eaten…and it makes me so sad.  I’m like a mother bird getting ready to push her baby out of the nest.  I know it is necessary and good and right . I know that this is what I want for you and at the same time, I dread the final nudge.

How do I explain to you that the tears are as full of joy as they are of sadness?  That these tears are the fullness of all that I believe in and want for you?  They carry the memories of your first moments on earth, those first frenzied sleepless days, your first laugh (the most beautiful sound I had ever heard) and your first tooth (that great big lopsided grin that went with it) and your first steps (you were SO excited!), your first day of kindergarten (I was so terrified!), your first kiss (“Mama, Hayden kissed me.  Where did he kiss you?  He kissed me over there.  NO!  Where did he kiss you ON YOUR FACE????), first bike success (finally!!), and your first heartbreak (caused by hurting someone else).  The tears are a celebration of all of those firsts and all the others that came before this one.  The salt of these tears cleanse, they heal, they are the release of the past and the entrance of the future.  These tears hold all the contradictions of the last 18 years.  I release them and I release you with the all the joy, the sadness, the pride, the hope and the dreams that those tears carry.  I release them in celebration of releasing you.

So in those last minutes before our good-bye when I am trying desperately (and failing) to control the waterworks, and you feel that pang of guilt at my sadness, please remember that life is full of contradictions and these tears are so much more than they seem.

One Month

Jul27

My daughter goes to college in one month.  One month.

For those of you who are wondering why I haven’t been blogging much….my daughter goes to college in a month.

One would think this would be the perfect time for advice, the perfect time to tell her all the things that I want her to engrave on her heart, and you would be right.  Instead, I am just sad and all of my words feel inadequate and I’m so overwhelmed by all of the things I want her to know that I don’t know where to start.

As she pulls away, I am painfully aware that it wouldn’t make much difference anyway.  Do you remember how smart you were when you were 18 and about to leave home for the first time?  In the last days of your mother’s desperate advice, how much made you pause and how much went in one ear and out the other as you worked on having it all figured out on your own?  This is the thing about parenting.  All of these years are preparation for THIS TIME…the time that she will go out on their own, learn to live without me, figure out her own answers, and stop listening to me…at least for a little while.  (Don’t worry…I know she will be back.  We all come back right?)

So if this is the goal, why don’t I feel accomplished?  Why don’t I feel like I made it?  Why do I feel so sad?

I will return to the advice when I can.  Right now I’m propping myself up for the emotional avalanche of the next 30 days. I’m thinking about how far we have come.  I’m reminding myself every day that she will be fine (after all, I’ve prepared her to not need me).  I’ll take care of the details like shopping for dorm room décor and making that first tuition payment and I’ll pretend I have more time, more time to imprint my heart on hers, to hope that the values I have taught her shine out of her like a beacon and that this separation is what it is all about.

7/7/12 Today’s Advice to My Beautiful Daughters – What do you want?

Jul7

One of my friends and blog followers posted a comment on my post about being right, and that comment got me thinking.  She said that she has been in situations over the last month that made her ask the question, “What do I want?”

Isn’t that brilliant?  What if we asked that question in every situation, in every argument, every conflict, every moment of doubt or celebration?  What do I want from this?  What is my goal?  What am I hoping to achieve in this conversation?

We may find that the answer is often that we want to prove a point or change someone’s mind or win.  What do you REALLY want the outcome to be, not just in the discussion or event in question, but what do you want the impact on your relationship to be?

What if I asked that question of myself the next time I felt ready to nag or say (in one way or another), “I told you so.”  What if the next criticism that is going to pass my lips first passes through the filter of “what do I want?”  Is it still worth it when you think about it that way?  Does winning or proving a point or changing a mind still have the same importance if you first ask, “What do I want?”

What do you want for others, and yourself, for your relationship?  How important is THIS comment, this conversation, this point?

What do you want?

Shout out to Sara K. for the inspiration for this post!

7/6/12 Today’s Advice to My Beautiful Daughters – Put others first.

Jul6

There are times where it is easier to be selfish.  It is easier to think about my own point of view.  I don’t feel generous or kind or patient enough to think about another’s point of view.  Those days are tough.  They aren’t tough because I feel guilty.  They are tough because when I put me first, I just feel lousy.  Those are the days that my irritability is high and my patience is low.  The things that go on in my head should never see the light of day because they are vile and ugly and mean.

What I learn from those days is that it feels crappy to be selfish.  It feels miserable to be wrapped up in myself.  When I feel like that, I don’t like me.  When I focus on me, turn my attentions and my desires only on what I want, I don’t like what I see.  And worse, those are the days that the people closest to me (you!) avoid me.  You tiptoe around, disappear into your rooms and try to avoid rocking the boat.  My selfishness becomes a poison in our house, and nobody is unaffected.

The times that you have been the most unhappy with each other is when you focus on your own point of view.

In contrast to all that, there are times when the focus points out.  There are magical days when we are all focused on each other, when we are more worried about what is happening to each other than what is happening to our own selves.  We defend, we laugh, we enjoy, we are happy.  Those are the very best days in our house.  I don’t think our good mood makes it so, because I think the good mood comes from the pointing ourselves out, giving ourselves to each other, sharing life from the collective point of view, instead of the selfish point of view.  It just feels better when we put others first.  I’m not sure what it says about the selfish thing that we actually benefit when we focus on others (is that a selfish motive??) but I do know it works.

The next time I am feeling snarky and self-righteous and mean, I’m going to work harder to turn it around, to focus on other, to see a different point of view.  Perhaps when I look through that lens, the cloudy veil of yuck will lift and we will all be happier for it.

Try it.  Put others first.