One of my big kids sometimes feels paralyzed in making decisions.  
 
For months he was anxious to be accepted to a different yeshiva.  His current yeshiva had its plusses, but he was clear it was not a long term fit.  Last week he was finally accepted to his school of choice.  Immediately, he became terrified of switching. 
 
Fascinating, no?
 
He had detailed analyses on why each school could be both the right place and simultaneously a real mistake.  He was swinging like a pendulum while loading up on more and more outside input to help solve his clarity problem. Emotionally and physically exhausted, he was also becoming frightened:  what’s wrong with me that I can’t find my way?
 
When he shared all this me, a few things seemed clear. 
 
1) His fear was not the problem.  It was his misunderstanding.  Like a toddler frightened by his shadow, my son was frightened by his own fear.   Both the shadow and the fear are real perceptions; they’re just not dangerous. 
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2) He was trying to vanquish his fear.  Vanquishing fear generally amplifies it. 

I shared this with him to be the best of my ability.  And then at a certain point I suggested, “You are exempt from making this decision.”

“Huh?” he said.

“You are spinning in circles, you sense it, but you can’t stop.  So you’re an oness,” I said, using the Jewish legal term for one who is incapacitated and thereby legally exempt from responsibility.

“But I still need to make a decision!” he cried.

“That’s true.  So ask someone you trust to decide.  Your work will be in the humility of accepting your limits.  The decision itself is not your work right now.”

He paused.  He seemed uncertain.  On the one hand, he knew that challenges require hard work.  On the other hand, he saw that he had no clue how to work harder or better. 

“I don’t know about that,” he offered. 

A day later, he called back.

“I’m still not sure which way to go,” he said.  “But I’m not panicked.  I see I could actually be fine with either choice.”

“Really?” I asked.  “That’s good news.”  I could feel the difference in his voice.  “How did that happen?”

It was a somewhat leading question.  I knew he didn’t do it.  I knew it was a Divine gift. He had been stuck.  He had wanted out.  He couldn’t make it happen.  And then it happened.  He had an Exodus. 

“Honestly, I don’t really know,” he said.  Then he reconsidered.  “No, God took me out of my stuckness.” 
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Seeing what we are not capable is an essential part of accessing more of our capabilities.

There’s a cartoon I like that depicts a greeting between two fish.

Fish 1: “How’s the water?”
Fish 2: “What water?”

I’m like Fish 2 regularly. I am living in a flow of Divine energy/thought without noticing it. 

Take parenting.  At times it feels like I’m living in the reality of my kids’ present behavior and future prospects.  It’s uplifting or frightening.  But I am beginning to watch myself with my kids.  I’m starting to see a disconnect between them and my moods.  In that disconnect lies some freedom.  Here’s a scenario.

I called to my seven and nine-year olds to change and brush for bedtime.  They happily continued their lego work.  I noticed a bubbling agitation within me.  I could start yelling right now, I thought, as I observed their unresponsiveness. But, could I ask again, without raising volume?  I tried it. 
 
“Guys?” I said, and then paused.

“Yeah?” my son answered.

“Can you please make your way upstairs now for brushing and changing?” The tone was remarkably similar to the first request.  

“Oh, yeah,” he said as if awoken from a dream.  And both ran off to brush.

Later, after bedtime was over, my son left his room and headed off to his sister’s.  This could spell disruption.  Again I watched an agitated feeling start to bubble.

“Where are you off to?” I asked.

“I’m putting these books away and then going to sleep.”

I followed him in to his sister’s room.  The books fell out of his hands.  He carefully and slowly began to pick them up one by one.  Agitation bubbled higher.  Bending over, he noticed his sister from behind the book shelf.

“Hi!” he said cheerfully.  My agitation rocketed.
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“No,” I blared, “you are here to return the books and go back to your room, not hang out!”  I was no longer watching the agitation – what agitation? – I was simply swimming in it.

A few takeaways.

#1: I am fascinated by my capacity to be peaceful and responsive at times yet stressed and reactive at others – despite the circumstances being highly similar. 

#2:  I attribute this varying mood to a flow of Divine energy through my heart/mind.  Just as we possess a physical heart that pumps both oxygen/nutrients and CO2/toxins, we have a spiritual heart that flows with both trusting, expansive energy and its opposite.  

#3: Like a fish in water, we live in that flow.  And like the fish, we don’t always notice it.

#4: King Solomon said the beginning of all wisdom is to know what’s true.  The world, my kids, the future and all other circumstances out there are not directly shaping my moods.   There’s a quiet understanding that interposes.  In that understanding lies freedom. 

“Ta,” my daughter asked me with frustration, “the boys took out all their swim stuff from our closet and left it all over the floor.  Why should I have to put it all away?  Why should we be their storage place?” I felt her agitation.

I followed my 9-year old son upstairs and asked him to come with me to survey the scene.

“Can you please gather the boys’ things and bring them to your room?” I asked.

“I don’t want to,” he said. 

“Well, you don’t have to want to,” I said calmly.  “I’m just asking you to do it.”

“But I don’t want to and I’m not going to.”

 “Well,” I responded, “like I said, you don’t have to want to but you know what I’m asking of you.” I left.

“But I don’t want to and I’m not going to,” he called after me as I walked downstairs.
    
Fifteen minutes later I had reason to head back up.  I peeked in to his room and saw the bag of boys’ clothes, neatly in a bag on his bedroom floor as I had asked.
 
Several days later, this same 9-year old informed me that he was stopping to attend his English phone classes five minutes before they were set to begin.

“I’m not calling in anymore,” he announced.

“Really?” I asked.  “Why not?”

“All the kids are free exactly when I’m in class,” he said of his siblings.  “I miss out on all the fun.  And we don’t do anything in class anyway!”

“Well, let’s set you up for today and then I really want to solve this problem,” I offered.

“There is no problem.  I’m just not going,” he said.

“Well,” I said calmly, “I see that you are really not happy about this class.  I’d like to help, but I don’t think it’s right that you announce to your parents what you will and won’t do.”

I was not arguing.  I was not forcing behavior.  I waited.

“So what can I do?” he asked.

Honestly, I don’t remember what happened next.  We came up with some solution and he got on the call late.  He hasn’t resisted the call since.
 
Here are some takeaways from this story.
 
#1: In the moment, I did not resent or fight his resistance.  He’s a human being.  He gets to push boundaries.

#2: Plenty of time I do resent his resistance and get reactive: “Somebody’s going to win and it’s not going to be him.”  That doesn’t go very well.

#3: I was not clear what to do.   Questions came to mind as I walked away.  What if he doesn’t listen?  Would I back down?  Would I consequence him?  Would that ruin the warm atmosphere?  It is normal to lack clarity.  Parents are partners with God in raising children.  I accept that I need Divine insight to do this.  In that acceptance, wisdom regularly shows up.
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#4: I am always lacking on some level as a father.  My kids will not only survive that, they can only get what they need through God’s employing a deficit-filled human being as their father.

One of my kids wanted a pet.  The other night he got very persistent in his requests.  I could feel myself getting rattled. 

“He’s going on too long,” I thought.  “He’s acting like a brat.  Squelch his sense of entitlement or you’re a bad parent, etc.” 

 “Why can’t I?” he complained.

“Neither Mommy or I want an animal in the house,” I said calmly.

“Why not?”

I stopped to ask myself that question.  Was there something that felt right?

“I’m not sure why,” I replied. 

He paused a moment in the face of my non-reaction.  He was ready to battle.  I wasn’t battling.  Then he found a new entry.

“But Ta, you had animals when you were a kid.  Why can’t I?”

He was right: I had had gerbils, dogs, fish.  I wanted to please him.  I did not want to be Mr. Harsh.  I also didn’t want to be Mr. Cave In.  I was confused.

“That’s true,” I said, “I did have animals as a kid.”

“So why can’t I?” he asked.

I could feel his pain.  And I was staying put.

“It seems to me I answered that question.” 

I don’t remember what happened next.  I’m just grateful I didn’t venture into his storm.   He must have moved on because I’m writing this blog right now and not still weathering his requests.

Here are some takeaways from this story.
#1: King Solomon says, “When the spirit of that ruler comes upon you, don’t leave your place.”   The “ruler” he refers to is the internally generated chaos God built in to each one of us.   It tends to sweep in like an ornery storm front.  Eventually, it passes.  There is wisdom in staying put – not running after the storm. 

#2: Sometimes my loved ones’ deficits feel incriminating:  “What’s wrong with you that your son acts like this?”  While I am deeply invested in the direction he takes and the character he develops, he and I are two separate people and he gets to be where he’s at in life – impatient, self-centered, whatever.  Besides, he’s not always like that. 
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#3: My wife and I are the authority.  I want to be benevolent, but I’m not running a democracy.  I needn’t be overly concerned by my internal polling.

One of my kids recently asked for access to an online video game in which players design 3-D  game props.  Our policy has been not to allow our kids web or video games.  He assured us this is more about the graphic design.  And he offered to set up tight limits to his daily use, all linked to scholastic achievements and chores.  
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My gut was to say no.  It has been helpful to limit my children’s exposure to these things.  They read.   They play with each other.  They interact. 
 
Still, I was conflicted.  I like to say yes to my kids.  I like to give, to fulfill their requests and see them happy.  He’s such a good boy. 
 
I was uncertain.  I felt pain, and though unaware of it in the moment, I wanted to blame someone or something for this pain. 
 
My son.   If he weren’t so insistent on something I find yucky, I wouldn’t have been in this position.  What’s wrong with him?
Myself. What’s wrong with me that I don’t know if I’m being responsible? Or a control freak?  Or harming the warm bond between us? 
 
I didn’t like it.
 
At some point I remembered a beautiful line from child psychologist Chaim Ginott: “Children act good when they feel good.  So how do you help kids feel good?  Accept what they feel.” 
 
Strong feelings come and go.  A surge of feelings can feel frightening, something either to fight or flee.  Kids’ acting out is their attempt to fight or flee scary feelings.  But when a parent is not inclined to fight or flee his kid’s feelings, the kid isn’t either.  And then the feelings pass.
 
Sometimes a parent needs to parent himself.   My surge of pain can feel like something to fight or flee from:  ‘What’s wrong with him?  What’s wrong with me?” 
 
But I can remember that these feelings are basically safe.  I needn’t react to them.  And then the feelings pass.  The child and the parent ride an updraft and taste the buoyancy of their own spirit.
 
In the end, I told my son no.  I felt his disappointment, I listened, and I expressed sincere regret that he wasn’t getting what he wanted.  Thank God, our relationship moved on.  And I continue to trust in our updraft.
 
Here are some takeaways from this story.
 
#1: You have permission to not know in life.  It’s not a failure.  It’s a sign of competence and humility to acknowledge something’s not clear, to refrain from deciding simply because others want you to.
 
#2: Things we don’t know are a type of deficit.  Deficits are human; they allow us the chance to form a partnership with others, God, or both.  There is nothing more human than that.
 
#3:  Difficult feelings, while painful, are not dangerous.  You get to discover that about your own feelings, and then your loved ones pick it up without you even saying anything. ​