Chapter 50
SO WHAT!
As we stay on the parenting frequency, this chapter will help you remember the importance of not sweating the small stuff.
I take Neo to my neighborhood lake almost every day. This allows plenty of room for exercise and bathroom breaks. He loves to go swimming. Even if it’s 50 degrees outside, he’ll wade out into the lake. I’ll throw a stick as far as I can, and he’ll make a beeline swimming out to grab it.
Drop it on the ground.
Repeat process.
I remember the very first day he got into the lake. I had set up my beach chair and was re-reading a book by Don Miguel Ruiz, called The Mastery of Love. The book isn’t a “relationship guide” or anything romantic. It more or less teaches one how to be “in love” with everything. Love your spouse; love your kids; love your friends; love your enemies; love nature, etc.
The book talks about how kids aren’t born “domesticated.” They have just come from the spiritual realm and generally follow their natural path of bliss—until they start learning the “rules of life” around age three or four. Their entire purpose seems to revolve around moving to the next place of joy.
Unfortunately, for most parents, that “next place of joy” ends up becoming crayon paintings on the wall, french fry missiles through the air, or a brand new waterpark outside of your tub.
The example given in the book describes Junior jamming out with his dad’s new guitar. In Junior’s mind, he’s just imitating his hero—his dad.
Dad had a rough day at the office, comes home to see Junior playing with his new guitar and hits the roof. “What are you doing, you little devil!? That guitar cost $500!” Dad grabs his belt and begins to take out his work frustrations on Junior.
What message does this send to Junior? It says: Following my bliss is bad, and my hero (my dad) has the potential to cause me pain. This psychological scar was created because of a frustrating day at the office and a material possession—a guitar.
Is creating that type of damage in your child’s psyche worth it—over something so petty?
Of course not.
Not long after I finish reading that story, Neo finally decides to exit the lake. He’d been swimming circles of joy for about ten minutes. Full of excitement, he runs right up to me and initiates the “dog shake.” Of course, water and mud is flying all over me and my book.
I react with frustration. “Neo!” I shouted. “Quit that!” And that’s when it dawned on me: I was training Neo to believe that following his bliss was bad.
He had just experienced the best day of his life. It was his first day in the lake, and I know now (a year later) how much he loves the lake. He had simply followed his bliss and wanted to share his excitement with his dad. And I yelled at him because I didn’t want to get my book wet.
The key to “training” your kids—or your dogs—is to look at their intention. If you tell Junior that he can’t play in the flower garden, but he does it anyway, that’s a “punishable” offense. He knew better and he still chose to play in the flower garden. However, if Junior is “following his bliss” and happens to destroy your beautiful flower garden in the process, you need to gently explain the importance of not playing in the flower garden. In those situations, it’s the parents’ responsibility. You need to train your child in regards to what’s acceptable and what’s unacceptable. Anything, of which, they’re ignorant, shouldn’t be a “punishable offense.”
Before the “dog-shake-water” incident, Neo had destroyed my cherry tomato plants. I left him in the backyard on a warm afternoon, and he decided to dig a “cool spot” where my tomato plants were. I couldn’t get mad at him; he’s a dog. Dogs don’t know what tomato plants are.
For the remainder of the day at the lake, I began to find humor in the “dog shakes.” I was already wet and muddy, so I decided to just embrace it. I found joy in the fact that I’d finally reached the level of awareness that said: I can’t believe my automatic response to some water and mud being thrown on me—was yelling; especially when it came from my dog, who didn’t know any better.
I remembered how meaningless the mud was. I remembered Junior playing with his dad’s guitar. I realized that my dog was just expressing his natural joy. I decided that my response to similar situations in the future would be: “So what!”
So what if I get a little dirty. So what if my dog gets a little drool on me. So what if he gets mud on the carpet. All that stuff is replaceable. What’s not replaceable is the bond I have with my dog—and his ability to feel comfortable expressing his joy.
The same thing is true in regards to your kids. Are there some silly areas that you can start saying “So what!” to? Wouldn’t it be fun to lighten up a little bit? Can’t you find the innocence in some of their annoying actions? Wouldn’t it be better to laugh at some of the things that used to cause you to scream?
I think so. It will be good for you both. Trust me; I’m a prophet. Unless, of course, I’m a false prophet; then you shouldn’t trust me. In that case, go back to yelling and screaming at your kids.
My Truth says ... learning to say “So what!” to innocent offenses can lead to a healthier relationship with your kids. Stop sweating the small stuff.
What does Your Truth say?