Barely over a mile in, and I’m sucking wind. So sad. It’s hard to believe that a few years ago, an exponentially
longer run resulted in euphoria, not fatigue. I’ve been moderately sick for
a few months and unable to run, so today was the big day. Despite perfect weather, adequate
sleep, and the strategically-timed cup of coffee, I limped along fueled by sheer
determination. I’m tired.
We have five children, ages 8-25, and currently have no
teenagers. Think about it. Our family makeup could practically be
used as a logic riddle. The last
few years have been somewhat of a “golden age” in our home with no little ones awake
in the wee hours of the morning, and no new drivers or high school parties
requiring late night parenting vigils.
Let me be clear – I love
much about the teen years. The
shift from childhood toward maturity, meaningful conversations, pivotal choices,
and a glimpse into what their adult life may hold, collectively make this phase
of parenting significant. But as
with any worthwhile endeavor, that which is of great value often comes at great
cost.
At one point, we had two teenagers, a pre-schooler, a
toddler, and a newborn living in our home. Our oldest
children are now in their early twenties and actually survived their teen years,
largely in spite of us. On this side
of the “parenting the teenager” journey, I’m increasingly convinced that much
of the stress and heartache along the way is largely reflective of the parents,
not the kiddos. That, by the way,
is a personal confession. In
hindsight, there is nothing like a normal, healthy teenager to reveal the
selfish heart and personal agenda of a parent. But somehow, we all made it through, and watching our young
adults make their way in the world has made it well worth the effort required.
In my 39th year, I confessed to a friend that
running a longish race was on my unspoken bucket list. She didn’t let me stop at a wish, and
pledged to run all of the longer training runs with me. Before I knew it, I had registered for
the race, printed out my training schedule, and purchased bright new running
shoes. I had no idea what the next
few months would hold, but was fueled by excitement, aspiration, and a
meticulously-loaded ipod.
I couldn’t have anticipated the cold, dark, insanely early morning runs
or the “gut through it because I only had four narrow windows each week”
runs. But somehow, we made it through,
and race day made it well worth the effort required.
As I embark on the familiar territory of starting to run again,
you’d think that it would be easier this time. I know what to expect.
I know my best times of the day to run, and the proper way to eat and hydrate. I’ve run much faster and further
with considerably less effort. But
for some reason, starting over today seemed harder.
During the last several months, it has become clear that it's time once again to lace up our shoes and prepare for parenting the next
round of teenagers (the oldest of our younger crowd is twelve). And as we embark on this second round
of parenting teens, you’d think that we’d be better prepared for an easier
experience. We’ve covered similar
territory before. We know what to expect.
Which may be why it feels daunting this time… but for very different
reasons.
Thankfully, what I’ve lost through the years in terms of
energy and brain cells, I’ve gained in other areas. Although this is the section where you might expect the “now
we’re wiser and more prepared,” well… here is what is different: This time
around, I’m more aware of my selfishness and the reality that I do indeed have
a personal agenda. I’m less sure
of the answers, and more curious about the questions. And most importantly, I have a glimpse of my general
tendency to parent out of my own strength and wisdom. The challenge this time isn’t getting it right.
It’s acknowledging that I can’t.
No doubt, we made a multitude of mistakes the first time
around. And my guess is that we’ll
make a whole new batch of mistakes with this second opportunity. But I’ve come to believe that the goal
is not to be the perfect parent, but rather to become a diligent pupil of the
Ultimate Teacher. And in doing so,
I hope to slow down and enjoy the scenery of the everyday. To focus less on the finish line, the
adults that we hope our teens will become, and focus more on the gift of each
step along the way. Even the
accidental rabbit trails I wouldn't have chosen, unexpected obstacles in the path, and weary muscles
are a gift. They are a necessary
part of the process, and will eventually be absorbed into our larger lives’
stories.
As dormant muscles are reawakened, healthier patterns are
established, and the initial shock to the system ushers in a “new norm,” my
hope is that:
- I'll be less likely to gauge my progress by the apparent pace of those around me
- I won’t take one step for granted - even on the hardest of days
- I’ll be mindful of the Source of all true wisdom, energy, and direction, and will parent accordingly
- I’ll count it an honor and a privilege to run this race… the second time around
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