When Do You Take A Knee?

“I’ve made a decision tonight that this is going to be my last show. There’s a lot more to me than playing on the road and this is the last one I’m going to do.” Elton John, 1977

“This is my farewell tour. I’m never coming back. I swear to God.” Cher, 2002

Many musical artists declare their final tours—over and over again. Is it for money? That allure of performing? Connecting with their fans? The rush of creativity? Not knowing when to stop even if their voices have weakened?

As we get older why is it so difficult for people to take a knee?

Granted, I personally don’t know any rock stars or live that glittery life, but I do witness people not stepping down in other areas. I’m always observing how women approach their athletic decline, wondering how I’ll be and whom I’ll emulate in the coming decades. I’ve witnessed stubborn tenacity, a willful ignoring shrug. Last year in my tennis contract a sweet 70-ish woman could not hold her own with the rest in the group. At the end of the season she surprised us by declaring that she was coming back—certain she would have bowed out.

On the flipside last week I was blown away by a different older lady on the court. After our ninety minutes she slowly walked to the bench. As we gathered our things she quietly uttered, “I need to find a different group. My playing is weaker than yours—and it’s not fun for you or me.” Of course we gave her our support, saying we’re just playing for fun, she should think about that decision. But I was so impressed that she was willing to take a knee. She emitted a graceful honesty—true, laced with some sadness—but how differently these two women interpreted their abilities struck me.

There’s a consistent rush with always having hope, that thinking you can improve, that you are still up to par—and I admit that inertia creates an exciting energy. There’s a youthful elixir brewing in that spiritual force of strong belief in self. But at some point you’d think you’d look in the mirror and reflect. Do some checks. As I’ve been considering this post and its meaning—my theory is taking that knee requires a lack of ego, a welcoming acceptance, and an honest respect/awareness of others.

I’ve seen legends like Ray Charles and Tina Turner perform past their prime, and I had goosebumps in the audience watching them, grateful to experience their brilliance. But in real life—most of us aren’t legendary artists. We all age. We all weaken. We all become a different version of ourselves. I hope when that time comes—in whatever life arena---that arthritis or stubborn self-denial will not prevent me to purposefully take a knee when I choose to. Like Cher will sing during her 2018 Here We Go Again tour, I hope I’m “strong enough.”

Grace or Grit: Taking the High Road For Our Kids' Disappointments

While watching the latest royal wedding one word buzzed through my head—grace. How everyone—the bridal party, gospel choir, commentators—displayed true grace as they went through the motions. Perhaps the perfect 70 degree, blue sky weather helped set the mood, but even without that backdrop the royals’ event would have gone on without—(and with)—a hitch.

But not everyone’s life mirrors pristine perfection like that day. As someone who feels emotional cuts like sharp wounds, I try to muster grace, even when challenged, to reach a Zen-like state. Taking the high road is not always easy--especially as a mother when you feel that crushing, belly busting hurt others cause your kids. It’s not easy to let go of the heartache, disappointment, and anger. I struggle.

Should we be more graceful as we get older?  

This past spring—and even last week-- I experienced that tidal wave of outrage that I had to stifle. For the first instance with my daughter I turned the event into a teachable moment, trying to inspire strong character, when behind the scenes I didn’t sleep for nights and cried for her disappointment. Last week I opted to not bring it up with my son—waiting for the right moment when I wouldn’t feel my chest ache so I could be more present and level-headed.

I recently watched Rocky IV with my two youngest boys. I hadn’t seen that movie in decades, but what I remembered, (besides Apollo Creed dying), was the powerful montage of Rocky Balboa training for his bout with Ivan Drago. The beard, the snow, the leather jacket…and Sylvester Stallone somehow running, climbing, even clawing his way to the top of a snowy mountain. He alone at the summit.

I’m no heavyweight fighter nor do I physically train like one, but as a mother I do carry my children’s heavy emotional pain akin to Rocky lifting timber in the Russian tundra. I think most moms do. When it comes to my kids’ disappointments I take a different high road than if something happened to just me. Maybe it’s because I hurt more deeply. I care more. I wonder what’s swirling in their minds. I worry about the effects that could manifest in the future. I think about their self-esteem, confidence, and their reactions. I know kids should learn from losing, getting bad grades, and being disappointed—I get those lessons. I’m talking about HUGE crushing blows.

All I can say is that taking the high road allows us to reach the cleaner air and gain a clearer perspective. The strenuous emotional workout to the mountain top is worth it—because even at our age, we have a lot to learn, to still grow stronger, and to inspire ourselves to embody royal grace. And if we can’t emit that cool, loving, serenity we strive for—I suggest taking a grace period—sometimes distancing yourself with space and time does wonders. And then you’ll be ready for the bell of the next round…

Passion or Passivity: What Will You Pursue?

Last Friday I flipped through stations on my tired 2004 car radio and didn’t like the music, so I settled on a news program. Four women discussed Bitcoin and cryptocurrency. Normally any financial conversation would make my ears blur in confusion, and a blanket would cover my disinterested brain. But for some reason I couldn’t flip the channel; I was captivated by these women and their zeal discussing blockchain technology and its future. These women cared about something so foreign to me. I respected their focus. Their passion.

Especially now, after experiencing a ton of life, seeing injustices, and witnessing these tumultuous times…one would bet we all feel passionate about something. Seeing videos and photos of students protesting gun violence in schools gave me hope that people are fighting for what matters. But I’m just sitting on the sidelines, more like in my comfy La-Z-Boy recliner, and hoping that someone else is fighting for my causes.

Should we all be fighting for the issues near and dear to our hearts? How does deeply caring translate to actual action? What stirs up your passions enough to do something?

Without taking a breath I could list the issues that make my heart beat faster. Aside from reading articles and books, posting and liking on facebook, sending letters to politicians via ResistBot, and having spirited chats with friends and my kids…I’m not doing anything. Does being a voter and a concerned citizen not suffice anymore? I get angry when politicians tweet “thoughts and prayers” after innocent people are murdered because condolences are not enough…politicians need to DO something. But am I no better?

In 2000 friends and I did an AIDS charity bike ride from Boston to NYC. The experience was an explosive effort; hundreds collectively encouraged the cyclists along the way. I felt exhilarated being part of a greater good—joining together for 3 days of supportive and hopeful joy. So I thought—maybe I could get out-of-shape me to find something like that again. When I googled charity bike rides I found hundreds of opportunities. You can pretty much pedal for any cause: literacy, Alzheimer’s, childhood hunger, cancer research…the endless list gave me hope.

During the recent snow day my kids and I watched Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle. The characters get trapped in a video game and have to replace a jewel in a jaguar statue to go home. Each person is given three lives—which are tracked as tattooed lines on their arms. Who knew I’d listen to Kevin Hart and take his words so seriously? “We all get one life; decide how you’re going to spend it.”

So whether you spend that one life volunteering, giving money, protesting, contacting politicians, cycling for a cause, pursuing cryptocurrencies, or running for office—if you feel the burning passion to make your voice heard…many outlets and opportunities exist. Seek them. Do something. Get up from the La-Z-Boy and act with purpose before that passion fizzles into excuses and powerless pleasantries.

P.S. Yesterday I took my own advice and attended the inspiring and hopeful March for our Lives rally in West Chester, PA. For many reasons I’m glad I did—but mostly because I was in awe by the students who spoke with poise, determination, and emotion. They reminded the thousand who attended that we all have something at stake in securing the safety of our children in schools. I urge you to get involved in a cause that gives you goosebumps and keeps you awake at night. With your energy and effort you can make a difference.

Tact or Friction?

Over the past month friends and I have discussed our aging parents. We agonized over a dad’s Parkinson’s disease, moving a dad into assisted living, and a mom’s heart problems/treatments. My smart, sensitive friends and I realize that we will be challenged by similar issues in a few decades. So when I googled the top aging issues to see what else we’d face—(osteoporosis, arthritis, diabetes)-- I was surprised that one wasn’t listed: the lack of a filter. Think of that curmudgeonly, crusty uncle who thinks he can say whatever he wants because he’s already lived his life.

I’m reading the biography of the Bouvier women which highlights the sometimes contentious relationships among Janet, Jackie, and Lee. Mom Janet’s characteristic flaw was never holding back any criticism of her high profile daughters. Even as Jackie Kennedy walked down the aisle to marry Aristotle Onassis Janet whispered to Jackie, “Don’t do it. It’s not too late to back out.” As I turn the pages it’s evident how Janet’s consistent strong words affected Jackie and Lee throughout their lives.

Which got me to think: as we get older is it more important to use tact or even make up something supportive to maintain a harmonious relationship? Just how hurtful can words be?

Last weekend I saw my friend’s son as Henry Higgins in a middle school production of My Fair Lady. Aside from being wowed by the many detailed lines he memorized for the very long show, I was fixated on one of the main themes: that words—and how you say them—can transform a person from being a lowly flower seller to a high society lady. How Eliza Doolittle learned to speak from Higgins truly did shape her life. Language matters.

What if we all paid more attention to the actual words we say—and the delivery of them? Would the world be a nicer, more loving place? Or would it create a fake version of reality if people aren’t being truthful?

Personally I have been bruised by stinging words said to me, phrases forever scarred in my brain—thus straining relationships and making me more conscious of trying to stay mum when angry. When pushed to say something I usually side with tact…or opt for silence in order to avoid conflict, keeping in my true feelings. Yet occasionally the imperfect mom in me explodes—just like when Eliza Doolittle reverts to the Cockney in her, just like Janet Auchincloss domineering her daughters-- and I can see first-hand the ripple of words rattling my kids. And I try to rebound to my vow of remaining kind and supportive to my children.

Osteoporosis may weaken our bones as we age, but our resolve to watch our words should stay strong. I do believe tact can avoid friction. Language is powerful ammunition—for good and bad. As Doolittle sings, “Wouldn’t it be loverly” if at any age we stopped to consider what we say and how we say it?

Ring in the Old Me

Two years ago my daughter decluttered her room and put ribbons and trophies in a box to discard. I was shocked she would dispose of memories and accomplishments. Her response as she looked at my sappy eyes, “Mom, I can take a picture of them.” On the opposite side of the spectrum my second born has created a shrine in his room and never wants to trash anything.

I’d like to consider myself somewhere in the middle of my two oldest. Ideally, at this age when my entire household collects SO much in terms of paper and unessential things…I’d REALLY like to be more minimalist, unattached to possessions.

Is it crazy to be attached to material objects? Especially when we know we’re passing through this life and can’t take them with us when we die?

I was shocked this year at how hard I took losing an object that I didn’t realize held so much meaning.

In November I lost my college ring. I remember the day I lost it. I treated myself to a massage, put it in my wallet, and reminded myself, “I can’t forget it when I’m done or I’ll lose it.” Of course, that relaxed feeling post-rub down soon became hurried thoughts of to do’s, and I zipped out of the spa.

Two weeks later I looked for my ring, and it was gone. Immediately I felt an emotional hit, like a sucker punch. Memories flooded my heart. A collage of undergrad moments spun through my mind. And I reached for my tissues. It wasn’t just a gold signet ring missing; I felt like I lost four unbelievable years, a proud association with my college, friends, and professors, and, even though I didn’t want to admit, a huge chunk of my youth—gone.

I looked on the Balfour website and thought that even if I wanted to spend the money, I couldn’t really replace that ring. The one with the tiny scratches. The one I’ve worn off and on for 23 years.

It’s not like when I die this ring will mean anything to my kids. That’s when I started looking around my house full of stuff and thought: I promise to purge, dispose of dust collectors, and clear clutter. Only keep objects that bring joy. Every article and quotation about possessions make people who collect and covet sound hollow, like they’re missing the spiritual, higher value of relationships, experiences, and moments, especially amidst an American culture of consumerism and consumption. I am not like that, I thought. Things in my life aren’t most important to me.

Yet three months later when I found the ring in my car—an energy returned. Maybe this object, a possession with symbolic meaning, possessed some of that twenty-one year-old spirit. I also realized that even when those minimalist urgings surface, there is value in having things that inspire, remind, and tell our lives’ unique story. These valuables can be like an old friend—and there is a treasure in that.

Push It...But is it Real Good?

Having small kids usually means playground outings. My least favorite thing was pushing my kids on swings. I felt like they should learn to do it by themselves—so I could take a five minute breather, drink coffee, and sit on a bench to watch the kids play.

Even though my youngest is only 6, those carefree park times happen infrequently. But it’s not like I’ve given up the role as “pusher.” This winter I could easily count the frustrated arguments of “making” them study and do homework, practice piano, get ready for swim practice, eat one delicious string bean, and clean up their room.

I fully realize the line of parent vs. child and our role to teach them sensibly how to survive, (and yes, they need to eat even spinach), but I often ruminate about when kids can make their own decisions. And by doing so, will they own their choices and be more responsible?

How much pushing is right? Will they resent the activity? Get angry with me? Burn out? Become anxious? Should I make them play sports that I know are good for them? Should I sign them up without asking to speak in church? I struggle with knowing what’s right. Every time I push I can hear the squeak of an old chain-linked swing swaying in the breeze.

Maybe I should adapt our family to a Montessori-like way of managing their lives. Montessori education is when kids “self-direct their activities and make creative choices in their learning…teachers guide the process.” But when time commitment and money—and an adult perspective—come into play, I’m not convinced they can lead the way. Should we ascribe to the “It’s not fun anymore” litmus test and move on to what seemingly interests them? Can a 9 year-old decide? An 11 year-old? A teenager?

I think about a boy at my son’s middle school who was bullied by three kids—he was physically pushed around by boys who were then suspended. I’m not saying I’m a bully to my kids, but I do wonder about the effect of pushing. I worry that they could get turned off of an activity. But worse—they could get turned off of ME.

Last spring I sat at a baseball game with a friend, and I asked her, “How do you know when to quit an activity for one of your kids?” She responded with an earnest, “When you can’t answer the ‘For what’?” That conversation plays on repeat in my mind when I’m making decisions.

I don’t have the answers, and I’m curious what works for you and your family. I worry about my kids being lazy, not finding their niche, and being indecisive. This year I’m making a promise to be more aware of my kids’ feelings and evaluate their interest level...balancing with what I “think” I know what is good for them. And like that younger version of me in the park, I pray they will learn to push themselves…

Does Distrust Lead To Pot Holes in your Heart?

Welcome to that time of year—when we all play the reality driving game of swerving around the many pot holes peppering most roads. I try my best to avoid them and wonder when they will be fixed.

Last Friday I maneuvered around the countless chasms and drove to a business lecture taught by a communication expert. The man provided case studies of organizations facing crises—and how they responded. The companies that broke their consumers’ trust by miscommunicating and mishandling situations had to spend countless dollars and time to fix what happened. The speaker stressed how difficult it is for companies to rebuild trust—and sometimes even after much expended energy brands ultimately could not reconstruct their images and customer relationships, thus going bankrupt and failing.

I thought to myself—there’s a blog post here that transcends the business marketplace.

After the recent harrowing killing spree of innocent lives in Parkland, FL I again became blue and disenfranchised with our government. As a mother I cried for those victims—and for the parents and survivors whose lives will forever be changed. I felt our government let down its citizens again—and I feel distrust with elected officials who protect their pockets vs. people. While by nature I’m an optimistic, trusting person it’s going to take some action to rebuild my belief in elected politicians.

The same feeling can be applied to relationships in life. 

Have you had relationships/friendships fail because you lost trust in someone?

At this point in our lives I’d be shocked if most people haven’t lost someone because trust shattered. Just like potholes aren’t created overnight, often relationships slowly wear down, leaving them damaged. When one is dishonest, inconsistent, and perhaps even betrays another, a bond ruptures. A definite line is drawn. It could be a protective barrier, a boundary created. It could be a desire to not just not deal anymore. Because you’re tired of being hurt and let down. And you think--there are too many trustworthy people to devote your time to—I’m just going to swerve around this emotional pothole. But that doesn’t mean you should avoid forgiveness.

Does forgiving come easier as we get older? In some ways with a greater perspective and broader experiences, yes, I think it’s easier to forgive now than when we were younger. As Maya Angelou has said, “It's one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself, to forgive. Forgive everybody.” And then she goes on to say that it doesn’t necessarily mean you want to invite them to your table.

Like misguided businesses in crisis that break their consumers’ trust, governments that make decisions based on campaign dollars versus common sense, people in our lives can also break trust. Rebuilding that genuine, mutual trust is not as easy as patching it up with asphalt. If you find yourself on a path with dicey holes, carefully swerve to avoid a flat, offer up some forgiveness, and most importantly—trust yourself, your own instincts and move forward with confidence and caution. 

When "In" It, Get "Out"

Flipping the calendar to February I always feel a sense of accomplishment—for getting through a long, cold, dark winter month. Yes, I realize there are 45 more days until spring, and I will be wearing fleece-lined yoga pants and boots until April. For my birthday two weeks ago I laughed when I opened my new LLBean slippers and saw an enclosed sticker that said--“Be an Outsider”—because I practically hibernate in winter. Get out? Not me.

While it could be weather’s influence, I feel I’m in a slump of sorts. When people ask, “How are you doing?” I feel compelled to respond, “Overwhelmed and exhausted.” Not only does the daily grind continue, but now I need to plan for the spring and summer…sports, camps, teams, kids’ classes for next year, vacation…the many emails I manage around just these topics suffocate my inbox.

So I keep doing my best to manage. And feel way underappreciated for motherhood’s monotony.

How do you see yourself when you are “in it”? That place when you’re overwhelmed and exhausted?

Last week one of my MBA students delivered a speech and talked about her role on a US aircraft carrier in the Pacific Ocean. As she told about the many moveable parts, (navigating the ship, keeping her crew happy, scheduling the logistics for planes to take off and land), I thought of the mom role—and while we don’t have to steer in politically-intense, international waters, the many unpredictable and constant activities of raising children make me feel like ALL mothers need to be saluted. That we, indeed, are steering complicated vessels.

Because sometimes we all—mothers or not—are sailing in a flurry of to do’s and just doing the best we can. So I decided to interpret that sticker’s advice—as in, get an outsider’s view.

I polled my kids to get a glimpse of their thoughts on motherhood. I asked them four questions and here are their responses in order of youngest, (age 6), to oldest, (age 13):

What is the best thing about being a mother?

Spending time with kids.

Driving kids all the time.

Having kids and making them happy by cooking.

You get a chance to be a better parent than your parents.

What is the worst thing about being a mother?

Taking care of your kids.

Dealing with annoying kids and kids talking back.

Doing the schedule for everyone.

You don’t really get alone time. You can’t have sick days.

What is the best part of being YOUR mother?

We have fun together.

You feed me good things I like.

We both like the same music.

You don’t have to deal with anything. I’m really independent.

What is the worst part of being YOUR mother?

Cooking for me.

Yelling at me.

My persistence.

I don’t know—I’m not a bad kid.

Taking an outside view of motherhood and the relationship with each of my kids—even just sitting with them while answering my questions—made me step back and realize how lucky I am to have these four people in my life, even if the work and effort can sometimes be mundane, bone-tiring, and exasperating. Some of their responses, while not particularly profound, made me smile. And I could sense that even if they don’t say it, they DO realize the work of being their mom.

I encourage anyone who feels caught in a morass of drudgery or that hectic state of always being on deck of their own ship, to literally “get out”—seek an outside perspective. Find out how others view you. You may be surprised or entertained by their responses. You may feel appreciated. At the very least, it will be an “in”-teresting exchange, giving you a break from folding that mountain of laundry.

Are You Over the Underdog?

Who doesn’t love to root for the underdog? If you’re a Philadelphia sports fan-- we’re in the thick of it with Eagles loyalists donning German Shepherd masks. For me, though, sometimes I wonder if I have the stamina and emotional energy.

I live in a competitive community where people are educated and successful, and then, by trickle down—so are their kids. And while I, too, can confidently say my children have it good, by no means are they geniuses or on the way to the 2026 Paris Olympics. One of my kids feels like he’s stamped with “always being second best”—never quite getting over the hump to being amazing.

While I preach the importance of humility, work effort, and luck…I also think that someone will always be better, not everything happens for a reason, life can be random, and by doggone it, I’m simply tired of the pep talks and rosy outlooks. Because I admit it, sometimes I DO want that number one status—even for a fleeting moment—for that swell of unbridled joy that comes with such occurrences.

One area in my personal life where I feel this is with my fourth grade son who has dyslexia. For any parent who bears the constant strain of building self-esteem in a child who thinks he’s dumb, who struggles with their child because he can’t memorize like his siblings, and who grows short-tempered and later guilty after fighting with your kid—all I can say is that this skin, which can sometimes be thick, weakens and holds fluctuating emotions…daily. It is not easy. I do look at my sweet, earnest, generous boy as an underdog. And at times I want to bark at the educators and kids who have made him feel this way.

Over the past year my perspective of education has shifted. And I understand the limitations of public schooling—specifically for students with dyslexia. My own home district won’t even utter that word—it’s a “reading disability” to them. I came to terms with a system failing my child, which, to this day, still shocks and disappoints me. I just wish that the general perception of dyslexia—and therefore, of my son—is that dyslexia is “anything other than a disadvantage” versus what it is--a different way of learning and thinking.*

Believe me, I worry about my son as he gets older and has to conform to the confines of our less creative and rigid educational system. Will he have the energy to succeed that Steve Jobs did? Albert Einstein? Thomas Alva Edison? Only in fourth grade, time will tell for my son. And as any mother would attest, even when I feel worn out, I’ll undoubtedly keep cheering for my kid.

Why do we root for the underdog? Because at times it feels like the world, (including Cowboys fans), is against them. Because we respect their strength. We appreciate their ability to get attacked and keep up the fight. We connect emotionally with their hope. And sometimes, whether it be a sports franchise or a son, it’s because of pure love.

*Kate Griggs, as quoted in the TEDxBrighton talk “The Creative Brilliance of Dyslexia”

No More Mr. "Right" Guy

I challenge any peer to hear Tracy Chapman’s song title “Fast Car” and not immediately hear those iconic, melodic guitar notes. I remember playing that well-worn cassette over and over in my pastel, pill-shaped boom box while sitting on my bedroom’s carpet. As I look back I wonder if what drew me to the song, and therefore connected me to it, was the song’s sense of hope and strength of character. I always loved the lyric, “Me myself I got nothing to prove.” 

Over the past few weeks I’ve been doing some soul searching and learning. I’ve read three books about toxic relationships. Among the compelling ah-hah moments one notion particularly struck a chord. That certain personalities get in a tug of war to prove that they are right, seeking validation. As someone with a strong sense of conviction regarding honesty and fairness combined with a pleaser, hope-filled personality I realized I was vulnerable, being trapped into thinking people would change if they better understood, if they knew the facts, if they accepted me for who I am.

Can people’s core personalities change as we get older?

As much as I think I’m right about certain things and would like to prove some people wrong, hoping to change their perspective, now I feel that can’t be done. Simply because the other person thinks they are correct. Their opinion, their version, their history, is how they perceive it—so of course, they think they are right. No one can change them. I surely cannot.

I even witnessed this while in my cushy movie theater recliner as my family and I watched The Last Jedi. Spoiler alert—Kylo Ren is who he is. Even people strong with the Force cannot turn him from the dark side. And they have lightsabers. Rey needs to accept that she cannot change him.

A friend suggested I listen to Oprah’s Super Soul Conversation podcasts. During my commute to Philly I listened to one with religious leader Rob Bell. Oprah asks him, “What life lesson has taken the longest to learn?” And my ears perked up. He replies, “There’s nothing to prove.” And like Frankie Avalon in Grease’s heavenly beauty salon Tracy Chapman hovered over my shoulder, and I hear, “Me myself I got nothing to prove.”

Is our self-worth wrapped in feeling vindicated?

What would life be like if people stopped trying to prove themselves to be right? That by knowing one’s own reality, that feeling comfortable with their own perspective, was enough? Why spend the emotional energy to pointlessly prove you’re right? And by accepting that others may have different perspectives, one can move on without the angst and disappointment of unsuccessfully changing them. Rey couldn’t change Kylo Ren. Tracy Chapman did not change her boyfriend in the song.

So what to do the next time you feel the urge to prove you’re right? You know what to do and can most likely sing along….

“Take your fast car and keep on driving…”