Shadow Boxing

Being an adult is strange. Especially because we have to interact with other adults, some of whom are fully baked and developed and well rounded, others who are only partially done developing, arrested and bruised. It is especially daunting when we realize that depending on the day, either one of these is a great description of ourselves.

A linear time line like age isn’t all that helpful of a frame of reference. It would be much easier if we were all wearing T-shirts that gave updates to our state of mind, so that we could know “I’m in the middle of a difficult time with my husband/boss/sister and my heart hurts” or “I was up all night with a teething baby and I am just trying to survive until bedtime.”

But the thing that I am finding increasingly true about growing up is that we are who we are who we are. There is an essentialness to ourselves that was there from the get go, and no schooling, no vocation, no amount of time, and  – with the exception of miracles and trauma – no big life events are going to alter it. We can grow, for sure. When we do, we are just becoming more of ourselves.  The hardest thing for me is how our true selves are often residing in our blind spot.  Buried so deep under business and work and a full life. It’s difficult and exhausting to discover what has been there the whole time. But so necessary.

Confusious, that sage Eastern ancient philosopher, said “Know thyself; it is the beginning of wisdom.” Didn’t he know how hard this is? What horrible advice to give when the task is so impossible. Especially for our current age, since there are so many distractions. The woman 60 years ago who was trying to run from herself had gossip and sherry and bridge. At least these involved community and weekly scheduled events. Today she has Instagram and wine and on-line shopping, all of which are at her fingertips, solitary, and immediately gratified. She can run much faster away, much more frequently. I stood at a pre-school outing about five years ago where one mom said, “I used to think motherhood was really lonely, and then I joined Facebook.” I was unsure what to say; Facebook has never cured the isolation of motherhood for me. Reading great writers, running with friends, volunteering to teach cooking classes at the pregnancy shelter, dinners with friends and family do.

As much as other people may drive us crazy, relationships and community teach us about our essential self. Alone, we tend to be shadow boxers and wear blinders. Alone, as Anne Lamott says, we are doomed. So as our communities tend to decay into isolation, our essential self gets harder to discover. We may know exactly what is going on in the plots of our favorite shows, our kids baseball schedule, and our paycheck but barely anything about the state of our heart – or our neighbors heart – unless we are checking in.

My own days are teaching me that this disconnection – from myself and from other people – is always painful. I am trying to make time for these connections. And I am trying to take time to figure out what is essential to me – to save on heartache, yes, but to live more deeply too.

I never fell for the whole perfectionist trap of motherhood, thanks to my large family upbringing. The Mt. Vesuvius laundry pile that lived in our basement, along with perpetually clogged gutters really eased me into the imperfect nature of family life. I did, however, fall for the illusion of control I liked to think I had over my life. I could think my way out of any problem. But the problem of ourselves, or finding our essential, authentic selves, is it has no book, no manual, no road map. By its very nature, authenticity is uncharted territory.

Anna Quindlen in her book ‘Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake’ shared this same angst. She wrote, “it’s odd when I think of the arc of my life, from child to young woman to aging adult. First I was who I was. Then I didn’t know who I was. Then I invented someone and became her. Then I began to like what I’d invented. And finally I was what I was again. It turned out I wasn’t alone in that particular progression.”

The task of becoming ourselves is at times hard, boring, and frustrating stuff. But when I take stock, and notice what is real, was is lasting and meaningful and true, it is very often the least interesting and hardest parts of my day. The parts we want to avoid. Having the tough conversations with your spouse. Being the person who is making the doctors appointments and lunches, checking on a neighbor, making the dreaded phone call to iron out a disagreement, helping the kindergartener practice her sight words for the hundredth time, doing the dishes so the next day can begin fresh, without today’s mess. These are not tweet worthy moments. They are not framers. But they make for strong families, communities, readers, and lives.

The real work of life, of discovering ourselves takes patience, which is hard in a world that wants instant gratification. Good books, good friendships, good food and good wine all take time. What makes us think a good life would be any different? It is tempting, when we are waiting to feel whole, to settle for lesser things. But going hungry in our deeper selves doesn’t ever work. We have to feed it, one prayer, one poem, one conversation at a time.