Human Connection

It's another one of those mornings where the universe is conspiring to send me a message... this one about human connection.  I had my weekly "thinking Tuesdays" day yesterday -- a day blocked off for zero work, just thinking and reading and reflecting (which, as a nice perk, often results in an amazing insight and idea for work -- though that's really just a perk and not the point).  When I'm not thinking/reading/reflecting, I'm at Create Wellness for my weekly massage and back appointment (man, I'll miss Korea); and we just hired our nanny to work at night once a week so we can resume Tuesday date nights.  So basically Tuesdays are now my favorite day of the week :)

I was telling Tyler that I had a bit of an epiphany yesterday... something shifted between me and someone I used to find quite annoying and shallow.  That "shift" was just in opening up and understanding her larger story.  Asking her questions and truly "seeing" her allowed me to have much more compassion and be much less judgmental.  I thought about the Socrates quote: "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

It reminded me of a blog post I recently read from a former coach of mine... talking about how she always used to make fun of her friend who would never go on vacation because she didn't want to leave her dog alone... until she finally asked the question in a genuinely curious, open way -- and realized it's because her friend had left her dog with a sitter, only to find out he had been beaten and abused.  She felt shame and never wanted that to happen again.

It seems to have become human nature in this time of social media and "virtual" connection.  We've somehow started to isolate ourselves more in the physical present.  Nowhere has this become more obvious to me than in joining the ranks of new mommy-hood.  It feels an ever-present tug-of-war between feeling so intimately connected to other parents who are going through similar things... yet at the same time, feeling this culture of such judgement, competition, holier-than-though-ness of parenting.  It's like a recent article I read about the tragic incident in Disney of the alligator killing the two-year old boy.  Rather than circling around and supporting the parents ("we are you too" -- like the country did for accidents like Baby Jessica falling down the well), we've put up pitchforks, not only separating us from them, but making us superior to them ("I would never let that happen to MY child").  I'm certainly guilty of this, with my first thought being -- "oh gosh, who are these parents who let their kids pose for pictures near wild animals?!" (which of course, was far from true, with the father jumping into the water to try to rescue his son).

This morning, I got two emails around this topic of human connection.  The first was a challenge from the creator of the Five Minute Gratitude Journal, which many of you know I love:

So this week I am issuing a challenge! Make an effort to be fully present with each social interaction you have, especially with employees or customer service people. For extra credit, see if you can brighten THEIR day.

And the second is a blog post sent by my friend Robert that's so powerful, I'm attaching the link that the post is excerpted from and pasting the text here:

How Is Your Heart Doing? by Omid Safi [Listen to Audio!] In many Muslim cultures, when you want to ask them how they’re doing, you ask: in Arabic, Kayf haal-ik? or, in Persian, Haal-e shomaa chetoreh? How is yourhaal? What is this haal that you inquire about? It is the transient state of one’s heart. In reality, we ask, “How is your heart doing at this very moment, at this breath?” When I ask, “How are you?” that is really what I want to know. I am not asking how many items are on your to-do list, nor asking how many items are in your inbox. I want to know how your heart is doing, at this very moment. Tell me. Tell me your heart is joyous, tell me your heart is aching, tell me your heart is sad, tell me your heart craves a human touch. Examine your own heart, explore your soul, and then tell me something about your heart and your soul. Tell me you remember you are still a human being, not just a human doing. Tell me you’re more than just a machine, checking off items from your to-do list. Have that conversation, that glance, that touch. Be a healing conversation, one filled with grace and presence. Put your hand on my arm, look me in the eye, and connect with me for one second. Tell me something about your heart, and awaken my heart. Help me remember that I too am a full and complete human being, a human being who also craves a human touch. I teach at a university where many students pride themselves on the “study hard, party hard” lifestyle. This might be a reflection of many of our lifestyles and our busy-ness — that even our means of relaxation is itself a reflection of that same world of overstimulation. Our relaxation often takes the form of action-filled (yet mindless) films, or violent and fast-paced sports. I don’t have any magical solutions. All I know is that we are losing the ability to live a truly human life. We need a different relationship to work, to technology. We know what we want: a meaningful life, a sense of community, a balanced existence. It’s not just about “leaning in” or faster iPhones. We want to be truly human. W. B. Yeats once wrote, "It takes more courage to examine the dark corners of your own soul than it does for a solider to fight on a battlefield." How exactly are we supposed to examine the dark corners of our soul when we are so busy? How are we supposed to live the examined life? I want us to have a kind of existence where we can pause, look each other in the eye […] and inquire together: Here is how my heart is doing. […] How is the state of your heart today? Let us insist on a type of human-to-human connection where when one of us responds by saying, “I am just so busy,” we can follow up by saying, “I know, love. We all are. But I want to know how your heart is doing.”

A morning of celebration

Yesterday morning, we celebrated Tyler's first fathers day and Elliot's five month old birthday!  I cooked a paleo quiche (surprisingly good, if I do say so myself).  To our mutual delight, I discovered that I'm able to cook with Elliot sitting on his chair in the kitchen if I bring him all of the ingredients for him to look at and feel (he's become extremely fascinated with food lately... no doubt linked to the emergence of four teeth!)  He sits amused with the plastic spinach bag and sparkling water bottle for minutes on end (which equals about 45 minutes in baby-time).

Five months will be a fun time, I can already tell.  He is super smiley and so engaged... always wanting to be part of the action (he clearly gets this from extroverted Tyler).  He laughed for the first time last week! -- alas, all of us missed it.  Tyler was at work, I was running errands... even our nanny, Jhona, missed it because she was in the bathroom, but came running to Elliot thinking he was crying.  Instead, he had a giant smile and had been laughing into his handkerchief.  He had just woken from a nap and saw the giant yoga ball moving by itself, blown by the fan.  He stopped laughing when Jhona came in -- as though this was an inside joke for him alone.  Oh, this kid...

Since then, we've been on laugh patrol (Tyler tried making the yoga ball move by its own by kicking it when he got home... Elliot wasn't buying in).  Alas, he seems to be rationing his laughs...

Besides that, what else is new in Elliot's world... Let's see, he's transitioned from needing to sleep in his bouncy chair at night, to wanting to sleep on the floor mat (we sleep Asian-style in the meditation room - turned his bedroom).  He sprawls his arms overhead (also like Tyler) and passes out.  Lately, he's been rolling around tons at night over to his side... he moves throughout the night so that by morning, he's usually completely opposite where he's started, with his head where his feet had been.  Since we keep sheets and blankets away from him at night, he's also discovered that he can roll onto his side, grab a fist full of the fitted sheet, and stuff that into his mouth (so that one night, I woke up to find him face down, chewing on the fitted sheet in his sleep).

Our favorite morning game is still "who's that baby in the mirror?" -- with Elliot flashing a giant smile every time he sees his reflection (someone told me that babies actually don't realize it's themselves -- they really do think it's a different baby).  When he's crying, I'll often go to the hallway mirror, and he'll go from smiling to crying to smiling to crying like those happy/sad theater masks.

Some pics from our morning celebration.  Happy Five Months, Elliot!

To change your life, change your habits

I've been thinking about behavior change a lot lately.  After all, it's been at the heart of my work for the last nine years since finishing grad school.  How might we change a woman's behavior so that she chooses to deliver her baby at a hospital instead of at home?  How might we change a nurse or a doctor's behavior so that once the woman arrives at the hospital, she is given high quality care that helps ensure healthy outcomes for her and her baby?  Of course, it's much more complicated that one single person and this person's choice.  It's all about the system itself: how the system has enabled the current behavior and outcome ("a system is perfectly designed to get the results it gets"), and what can be changed at a systems level to generate improvement.

Some say you're drawn to the very work you need yourself (others say the work "finds" you for the exact same reason... those drawn to heal are those who themselves need the most healing, these folks argue).  And maybe that's true for me.  My work revolves around the very human gap between what we know and what we do.

And as I continue to learn, a key driver of that vast gap are the habits that we -- as individuals, organizations, and systems -- have instilled that now bind us, whether for good (brushing our teeth every day) or for bad (knowing we should go to sleep but watching just one more episode).  There's a quote by John Dryden I like that says: "We first make our habits, and then our habits make us."

Now that we're starting to transition from survival mode to one of more sustainability on the home front, I've been giving this topic of habits and rituals more thought recently -- primarily along the lines of considering what rituals I'd like to start with Elliot (I basically define a ritual to be like a habit, but with more intention and purpose, and infused with meaning).  The habit and ritual I'm most proud of is doing evening gratefuls with Tyler -- a ritual we began during our engagement.  We're far from perfect about doing it every day (especially now with Elliot and our usual schedule being turned topsy-turvy), but we do it more days than not.  It's a ritual popularized by Dr. John Gottman (and shared with us by our pre-Cana teacher), and while he focuses on several daily rituals for a happy marriage (asking what your partner is most excited for each morning; focusing on reconnection when you come home from work (our teacher called this "beating the dog" in excitement to see your partner); and the six second kiss), we've found the nightly gratefuls to be the real lynchpin (in fact, when we start to feel less connected or start to snap at each other, I've learned to ask myself: "how have we been doing on our gratefuls?" instead of going down a negative spiral).

This morning, as I watched Elliot sleep, I started to think more about habits and rituals -- even getting my copy of Charles Duhigg's "The Power of Habit Out" (I don't know if this is the marker of a great book or an awful one, but I bought this copy in the airport on my way over to Korea... only to discover when I started reading it on the plane that I had already read it!!!).  (As another aside, I had a huge a-ha moment when I realized once Elliot woke up this morning that I can read anything to him for morning reading time... especially when the cover is bright yellow and red, with tactile designs, thank you publishers.)

In it, Duhigg talks about habits both in individuals and in organizations, and writes about the "golden rule" of habit change: every habit consists of three components: a cue, the behavior, and a reward; effective habit change consists of keeping the cue and reward the same, but changing the behavior itself.  What I like about this (though Duhigg himself doesn't use these words) is it also incorporates mindfulness and introspection: being very mindful and present to the specific cues (feelings in one's body, thoughts in one's mind) and being very analytical and specific about the actual reward itself (e.g. thinking I want that warm, soft cookie simply because it's delicious versus triggering something in my brain around warmth, comfort, safety, and security).

At the same time, though, as I quickly scanned the book for some magic formula to help me with habit change, there was a voice inside me saying, "You know this already..."  Ah yes, that big gulf between what we know and what we do.

So for my benefit (as well as perhaps yours if you find this helpful), here are my top five learnings about individual behavior change over the last year... it's certainly a journey and I'm far from perfect, but these have become my guideposts:

1. For what matters most, choose one linchpin core habit.  This is the whole idea of focusing on gratefuls, for instance, rather than the whole list that Gottman provides when it comes to my connection with Tyler.  For me personally, morning meditation is another linchpin habit -- focusing on doing that then enables me to do other things I want to do by being more grounded, focused, alert, and clear on what matters... it gets me on the cycle of positive reinforcement for the rest of the day.

2. Link a new habit to something you're already doing.  I started writing in our five year journal more, for instance, when I started linking this habit to eating my breakfast.  We've started spraying our plants more when we linked this with putting down our black-out shades each night.

3. Don't focus on getting rid of bad habits.  Instead, focus on the good.  A couple months ago, I wrote about my decision to stop using my smart phone while breastfeeding (I had no idea so many friends read my blog until people started remarking about that! -- definitely struck a cord).  Truth be told though, I started off full sprint, but then started to wane.  Even the times when the phone was far from sight, my "rule" defeated the purpose of creating this habit in the first place, as all I could think about was all the things I wanted to check on my phone after I was done nursing (instead of simply connecting with Elliot).  Now I'm testing a new approach: no more focus on the smartphone.  But instead, linking breastfeeding with meditation (see #1), with the specific intention of connection through the meditation itself.  I had missed a very basic rule of behavior change: you can't just tell someone what not to do; you have to give them something to do in its place.

4. Get others involved to increase accountability (and make it more fun!).  This one's pretty basic (that's why you have gym buddies, yoga buddies... Tyler goes a step further and seems to always have some sort of bet going with one of his colleagues around working out -- right now, it's about doing pull ups).  For an introvert like me, I'm finding coaching apps to be incredible for this.  I'm using an app now called something like "Couch Potato to 5K" (the name says it all).  I've never been so on-track with running and an exercise routine (also, the fact that it's so very feasible -- 3 days a week for no more than 30 minutes each day -- surely plays a role).

5. Solidify the habit on vacation.  I've found that vacations are the key to making or breaking a habit.  It's a whole new schedule, new environment.  There are things that are completely normal for me on vacation that certainly aren't part of my every day (dessert after every meal! ice cream every night!).  I've found that I can be on track with a habit or ritual long past the 21 days they say creates a habit, then go away and find it really hasn't stuck at all (new research says the 21-day maxim is all bunk anyway).  On the other hand, I can be on a habit for just a week or two, and find that actually doing that habit on vacation is what makes the habit stick.  I think it's partly because doing it on vacation makes it move from what you do (a verb), to who you are (a noun).  For instance, running during my long reunion weekend in Boston over Memorial Day weekend created the transition from a habit I was trying to cultivate (running), to changing my own perception of myself and who I am ("I'm a runner.  That's why I run shortly after checking into my hotel.")

So that's what I know about creating habits.  On the gulf between what we know and what we do... well, that's harder.  Knowing that Elliot is going to wake up soon from his morning nap, here are just a few insights on sustainability and ongoing improvement:

1. Rapid testing.  Tim Ferriss is a guru of this, and Duhigg talks about it in his book as well.  Test what works (and doesn't), and make these cycles as rapid as possible (this is exactly what we do and teach at work too, except we use the fancier improvement science term Plan-Do-Study-Act).  This helps you understand what works for you and build on it.

2. Measurement.  There are two quotes I nerdily love about measurement: "You can't improve what you don't measure" and (from my African colleagues): "You can't fatten a cow by weighing it."  Tracking helps keep us on track and measure improvement.  I personally have found checklists to be super helpful (and used all the time during pregnancy to make sure I was eating well and drinking enough water).  And Tyler talks all the time about gamification (partly why I love my 5K running app so much -- it's so much like a game, and who doesn't love seeing all their stats).

3. Ensuring the benefits outweigh the costs.  Basic economics from the woman who changed her major from econ in college... A positive habit has lasting power when the benefits of doing it outweigh the costs (of course, this has to be seen and internalized in present day utility terms, not sometime out in the future.... which is why getting people to quit smoking because it causes cancer sometime in the distant future hardly ever works).  I've seen this myself in day-to-day life -- not only in the case of our gratefuls (spoken about above), but in myself as well: when I start to feel irritated and annoyed at life, I stop and consider how I'm doing on my habit/ritual of morning meditation.  When I start to feel depressed and down, I stop and consider how I've been doing on my habit of getting to bed by 10pm each night (both easier and harder with a baby).  The cost of twenty minutes of morning meditation is quite low compared to the benefit of that joyous calm for the rest of the day.  One of my teachers replies to the common excuse, "I don't have time to meditate," with: "But you have time to feel like crap?"

4. Getting everything ready beforehand.  For me, this often means doing things the night before to get me ready for the day.  To get into the habit of drinking enough water each day, I would heat water and put into a Kleen Kanteen the evening before -- getting me started early the next morning and building momentum right away (my current test is boiling eggs the evening before to make sure I'm eating protein the next morning -- when ready-to-eat muesli is so much easier).

So with this, I again return to what habits and rituals I'd like to instill with Elliot.  At first, I had a whole long list, but remembered my own golden rule of linchpin habits (which is what started this blog post in my head in the first place).  So my daily ritual with Elliot is simple and is simply this: to dance with him every morning.

Ask me how I'm doing in a few months :)

Nowhere else I'd rather be

I read an amazing blog post this morning, written by a sports writer who takes his 14 year old daughter to see Hamilton (link here, on NBC Sports of all places).  The article resonated with me on so many different levels (not least of all because I'M GOING TO SEE HAMILTON THIS AUGUST!!!!... but that's the subject of a different future post).

In his blog post, Joe Posnanski writes:

The thing about seeing Hamilton RIGHT NOW at its peak moment is that even before it begins, the entire theater is filled with wonder.  Every single person would rather be here than anywhere else in the world.  As a sportswriter, I often feel that sort of energy at the biggest events, at the Masters or the Super Bowl or the Olympics, but it's even more pronounced in this theater.  People look at each other with the same wide-eyed expression: 'Can you believe we're here?'

Just reading that paragraph makes me giddy.  Tyler and I are suckers for what we consider peak, unique experiences -- like our current discussion of how we can squeeze in a rugby match watching the All Blacks play their rivals: South Africa (rugby, Haka, Invictus all rolled into one incredible moment!) when we're in New Zealand this September.  It's become a joke that you can get me to do just about anything with the words, "When in your life will you ever again..." (with that, I almost got tickets with a friend to see a hologram K-pop concert here in Seoul..almost.)

Hours after reading that article, that paragraph still stayed with me.  And I realized that while there are surely moments of "there's nowhere else I'd rather be" for all the big-name, high profile stuff (Hamilton, U2 concerts, game 7 of the world series...), that same sense of "nowhere else" appears in every day settings too -- albeit in a much quieter flavor.  It happened during my college reunion in Cambridge over the weekend, as I sat in Sanders Theater with two of my closest friends from college, listening to professors talking about their recent research.  It happened later that night, as I sat on a hammock at Leverett House with two other close college friends, away from the party scene and just catching up on life.  It happened this morning, as I nursed Elliot and watched him gingerly touching and feeling his hair (his new recent calming obsession).  "There's nowhere else I'd rather be." (don't get me wrong, let's be real -- that's not always how I feel while breastfeeding, but when I do, it feels magical).  

And then I got started thinking about how amazing life would be if we felt this feeling -- that there's nowhere else I'd rather be -- every day.  This same sense of gratitude and wonder, albeit in a calmer, everyday version.  Sure, clearly not in every moment or even every hour, I'm not trying to be Pollyanna here.  But if during more moments of the day than not, there's a sense of: "this is exactly where I'm meant to be" -- how wonderous and magical would life be?!  

And perhaps if we feel that way less frequently than we care to acknowledge, that's a sure sign that it's time to shake things up and perhaps think of a different path.

So what would you be doing right now, if there was nowhere else you'd rather be?

Weight, Height and Happiness

Elliot turns four months old today!  When I sent these photos to Tyler yesterday (with Elliot and I both emerging from our mid-morning nap), he wrote back: "Such a little boy!  No longer a baby!"

Likely over 20 pounds now (he was 18.5 at his last pediatrician visit nearly a month ago), our little boy wears nine month old clothing and has already nearly outgrown his crib.  I'm watching him on his swing now (as he looks at our bonsai tree and smiles) -- legs already dangling off, and wondering how much longer he can stay on it.

I got an awesome text from one of our best friends this morning: "How's he doing?  Weight?  Height?  Happiness?" -- and it nearly stopped me in my tracks because why isn't this something that's talked more about at the doctor's office? (it's like a blog post I wrote about for the Maternal Health Task Force when I was pregnant here).  Not saying we ought to be checking babies for baby depression (oh geez, I can only picture that...), but isn't disposition also a key piece of overall health and well-being?  We check weight and height almost excessively (there was a two week period when Elliot was sick with an awful cough/cold and we needed to take him in almost every other day; his weight and height were taken every single time!)  While his doctor calls him a "high growth baby" (indeed he is!), there's no way too much was changing every other day.  Yet meanwhile, I've never been asked about his general disposition, temperament, or all-around happiness.  Obviously something like "happiness" is hard to quantify, much less compare and plot on a bell chart (not that you'd even want to); whereas weight and height are easy to plot and graph and turn into percentiles.  But the danger in that is it can easily become obsessive -- I remember Tyler and I being bewildered when our friends would spew all of their children's statistics and percentiles, and now I have to prevent myself from offering that information to anyone who asks a simple: "How's Elliot?"

As I'm starting to figure out, "happiness" for a new parent is a tricky thing.  Ask nearly any American parent what they want for their children, and they'll say, "I want them to be happy" (I've inserted the modifier because I've also asked dozens of low-income Indian mothers want they wanted for their newborn baby through my work at LifeSpring.  By far the most common answer: "education".  Tells you something about the two cultures, but that's the subject of another blog post).

Yet how do we instill happiness in our children?  For someone who thinks about (and reads about) happiness quite often, it's funny that I haven't really thought about this very deeply since Elliot was born.  It's not that I didn't care about his happiness, of course.  But as new parents, we were still quite low in the parental equivalent of Maslow's hierarchy -- taking turns staying awake at night, for instance, to make sure Elliot was still breathing, for goodness sake.  When a college friend resumed work after maternity leave, she posted on FaceBook: "Operation Don't Kill the Baby is complete."  I laughed because there's truth (or at least feels like there is -- babies are thankfully so much more resilient than we give them credit for).  At business school reunion, another friend told me that her mantra for the first three months post-partum was: "Feed baby. Heal mama."

And so with Elliot's birthday today to mark the end of Q1, it feels like a major transition point.  We are no longer afraid to change his clothes for fear that his little arms would break (seriously, why don't they make newborn clothes easier to put on?? -- the only times Tyler and I would snap at one another during those blissful early weeks was when we were putting clothes on him -- "I thought you knew how to do this?? Watch his head!")  While we still wake up twice every night to feed him, he now knows the difference between night and day, and goes right back to bed after feeding, barely even opening his eyes through the process (rather than being up and wanting to play at 2am).  For the most part, we can now differentiate between a tired cry and a hungry cry and a gassy cry, and respond accordingly (which makes us feel like super hero parents, rather than hopelessly clueless and incompetent -- WHAT DOES HE WANT?!?!)  

And with this transition, I find myself thinking more about happiness: how do you raise a happy child?  With Elliot, it seems to come naturally: he smiles in the morning as soon as he wakes up and sees you; he smiles at the baby in the mirror; he smiles at shadows and the literal dance between darkness and light; he smiles at Mr. Panda; he smiles on the diaper changing table (which, much to our surprise, has become his "happy place").

All morning, I've been thinking about that poem that I just posted: "You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth."  It's an amazing visual and analogy.  Being strong and sturdy and stable... yet remaining flexible, yielding -- with the ultimate purpose of setting the arrows to flight.  It reminds me of an amazing quote by Hodding Carter I read shortly after giving birth to Elliot: "There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children.  One of these is roots; the other, wings."

As I reflect on these quotes this morning, I realize that happiness is important but not sufficient as an end in and of itself.  Besides, I can't give Elliot happiness anyway; it's his own journey to find that on his own (while I could have guessed that Mr. Panda would bring smiles, I never could have predicted that looking at shadows would bring such wonder and delight).  Plus we all know happiness is fleeting.  

Instead, what I hope to help instill as he grows up is meaning -- reminding him of our shared roots as a family -- his tribe; while helping him discover his own wings as a unique individual.  Because perhaps meaning itself is what helps us move from situation-specific happiness to something even more lasting and fulfilling as we move throughout life: joy and purpose.

A baby blessing

The Prophet - by Kahlil Gibran

And the woman said speak to us of Children.

And he said:

Your children are not your children.  They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.  They come through you, but are not from you.

And though they are with you, they belong not to you.

You may give them your love, but not your thoughts.  For they have their own thoughts.  You may house their bodies, but not their souls.  For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.  Let your bending in the Archer's hand be for gladness.

For even as God loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Perfectly imperfect

Ever feel like the universe is trying to tell you something?  These were two of the pics that showed up on my Instagram feed this morning:

A couple of years ago, sitting over beers in Nicaragua, one of my best friends and "twin" told me her favorite quote, which became my phone's wallpaper for a while:

This morning sitting in meditation, a thought occurred to me that takes this insight one step further: "There is a crack in everything... that's how the light gets out."  It's not in projecting the perfect images of ourselves that we connect; it's by being real, honest, and vulnerable that our true light emerges and real connections forge.

I've been proud of my (far-from-perfect) morning ritual, which I've been committed to for the last few years.  It's what I nerdily-call my "power hour" and consists of 20 minutes meditation, 20 minutes movement, and 20 minutes journaling.  Over the weekend, I watched a video from Robin Sharma (you either love him or hate him) that talked about his 5am club (the first time I heard that, I was intrigued but in my I-love-sleep phase... I'm still in my I-love-sleep phase but now 5am is a luxury).  He talks about 20 minutes intense movement, 20 minutes inner insight (through meditation, journaling, etc), and 20 minutes learning -- whether it's reading, watching a TED talk, doing a online course, etc.

I decided to try this last piece out and this morning finished an incredible book Tyler says has been trending in the dad blog space: Love That Boy by Ron Fournier -- who writes about outsized parental expectations, coming to terms with his son's Asperger's, and learning to love his son for who he truly is.  Even for parents whose children are not autistic, it's a book that hits home: "Dreaming big is how mothers and fathers seize control from chaos, which is the essential ingredient of parenting these days."  At the same time I'm highlighting passages like, "If you're an Ivy League graduate, you probably expect the same gilded path for your child," I find myself torn about buying books recommended by friends at my Columbia Business School reunion, with titles like "How to multiply your baby's intelligence" and "How to give your baby encyclopedic knowledge."  The marketplace for raising perfect children is immense -- starting from when babies are still in-utero (another friend and Harvard alum told us about a belt I could purchase and wear while pregnant, which plays classical music to the fetus to help spur development).

And yet while our apartment is slowly becoming inundated with baby gadgets and gizmos a-plenty (and woozits and whats-its galore... sorry, Elliot and I were dancing to Disney radio this morning)... I know that the biggest present we can give to Elliot is our presence (couldn't help the pun, sorry again...)  Seriously, though.  Last night, as Tyler and I were watching "The Americans" (our recent obsession) and balancing Elliot on his feet facing us (his recent obsession) -- he would just turn his head to each of us, smiling until one of us turned to him, and then would give us the biggest smile that would light up his face, mouth wide open.  We'd each smile at him for a few seconds, then turn back to the TV.  Finally, Tyler (in many ways the better parent of this duo), said we weren't being fair to him, turned off the Americans (okay, paused it for later, let's be real), and turned all our attention to Elliot.  He couldn't be happier, which made us happy, which made him happy... etcetera etcetra... 

It made me think about a lecture I heard a couple years back, about self-esteem.  The biggest foundation you can give a child around self-esteem is providing them two things: attention and acceptance.  I think about that a lot now with Elliot.

I'm committed to accepting Elliot for who he is -- now (when it's easy) and in the future (when it's no-doubt harder).  And I want him to accept who he is too.  But how can he do that without me mirroring my own self-acceptance?  Harvard's "Red Book" just arrived this morning -- a literal red book highlighting what all my classmates have been up to over the last five years (leading up to my 15 year reunion later this month).  Five years ago, I could barely even read through it -- when I did, I got caught up in waves of insecurity and competition.  This morning though, I read through it with surprising delight -- feelings of love, connection, and gratitude.  Partly, it's me and how much I've changed (no-doubt spurred by my morning practice); but partly it's also others and how much they've changed (my college ex-boyfriend writes about surviving cancer and what that's meant for him).  Of course, I can't pat myself on the back so much -- I can barely make myself read my own entry even this time around (like hearing your voice played back on a recording).  But going back to the Insagram posts and my own a-ha ("the cracks let the light out"), the entries that speak the most to me -- the ones that make me want to seek them out at reunion (including my ex-boyfriend... we parted on not-great terms) -- are those that are real.  And honest.  And far from perfect.

These are the lessons that I'm only realizing now (ever the late-bloomer), and ones that I want to teach Elliot and (god-willing) his siblings.  As a recovering perfectionist, I realize the quest is not one towards perfection, but about balancing the "perfect imperfection" of the present and growth towards the future.  We're all perfectly imperfect.  The courage is in not only accepting this, but actually embracing this -- in others... and perhaps hardest of all, in ourselves.