Winning

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Photo by ANDRIK ↟ LANGFIELD ↟ PETRIDES on Unsplash

 

I’ve taken a long, intentional hiatus from this blog.

For one thing, there’s a lot of incredibly wonderful writing out in the world these days, and I find I spend most of my time reading it. I’m reading really excellent journalism, fiction, narrative nonfiction and books on the craft of writing.

Sometimes – actually, too often – I read tweets. On my better days, when I’ve tired of reading long form, I read Real Simple or Southern Living, or I just stare at beautiful things on Instagram. I’ve been writing, too, but not for public consumption – not yet, anyway.

In the midst of this reading and private writing, I’ve also been mothering my quickly growing children – children who are, suddenly, no longer babies. And I’ve seen the emergence of a theme, perhaps, a national epidemic.

Unlike so many things today, this isn’t something that can really be politicized, although it certainly contributes to our country’s fractious conversations. It isn’t something I hear a ton of parents debating. It isn’t something that people feel obliged to discuss as right or wrong as it applies to privilege or lack thereof. It just rests, as an undercurrent, beneath the surface of all that is and, according to now, ever will be.

I’m talking about winning.

There have been plenty of studies and articles pointing to teenagers who are over-committed, anxious and stressed. Lots of books have been written about grit, determination, and character development. Doctors and psychologists insist that it is okay for kids to fail – that parents should let them fail.

All that’s fine and good, but I’ve found it flips the issue upside down. If we feel compelled enough by a study, essay or article, we’ll do our damndest to apply the wisdom. We will work hard, really hard, on letting our kids fail with the same fervor we pursue so much of what characterizes our highly-curated lifestyles today.

Our kids will be the failingest kids in the country … and gritty … and determined. Why? Because we’re Americans. We can win at failing, too.

If you look at what’s trending in today’s media, so much is about who’s winning and who’s losing. Everyone has to choose a side, and there is no middle ground. This is an element of today’s culture that I find so exhausting and anxiety-provoking that it makes me want to throw my iPhone in the Harpeth River and let it sink to the bottom.

What our obsession with #winning tells me about where we are as a country is that we are truly, deeply failing, and failing in a way that actually matters. Our collective failure, laid especially bare over these past several months, is a failure to embrace nuance and teach it to kids who need most to understand it.

Nuance. It’s one of my favorite things, really. It’s a reading between the lines, an effort to understand. Nuance offers a holistic approach to life. It requires critical thought, a second, long look. Nuance is useful because, truly, nothing – nothing – is ever, actually, as it seems.

If we lose our ability to acknowledge and appreciate the depth and dimension of all that is at hand, we lose. End of story.

Recently, a friend and I were discussing my children’s lackluster athletic pursuits. The fault of this lies squarely on me. My oldest, now nine and a half, has the form and physique of an athlete. She looks like she was born to do something – to run, scrimmage, or cartwheel her way down a field in pursuit of some big win. She’s tried out a few sports: pirouetted down the soccer field and catapulted her way through gymnastics, sprinted through the water in summer swim team. She’s taken piano and guitar.

But because of my reluctance to upend our entire family’s routine, I haven’t pushed any of these extra-curricular activities, and have even found myself dissuading her from a few based on the time required.

Now that she’s decided that she genuinely loves to swim, I’ve allowed her to pursue it, but, at nine, she’s gotten a late start, and while many of her classmates are on competitive teams, she’s still perfecting her form.

If I didn’t embrace nuance, this could be really hard.

Parents take a lot of pride in their kids’ accomplishments. And the dedication and determination of many young athletes truly is remarkable. Many of these kids are more disciplined than mine are, but there’s a trade-off, too, and that’s what keeps me from turning our weekends into a circus.

Our pediatrician sometimes looks at me curiously when I say my kids (9 and under) are only casually involved in after-school activities. “They’re active, though, right?” he says, knowing me well enough now to anticipate that they’re not spending their afternoons in front of the TV.

Active, yes.

Winning? No.

Because, here’s the thing, and this is what slowly came to light following my middle child’s most recent well check:  What I thought had everything to do with scheduling actually also encompassed this larger conversation. I don’t like today’s insistence on winning; I reject the constant pursuit of prestige to an abnormal degree. I want my kid to be a kid, in the old-fashioned sense, where her interests and passions grow from tiny seeds, not trophies.

Do I think this means my kids will never do anything of value? That they’ll never learn to be disciplined, or to find their passions, or that they will fail so constantly that I’ll be the winningest mom in allowing her kids to fail in the history of the planet? Of course not.

I trust that my kids will find their way, that they will insist on pursuing the things they love when they find them. We will encourage them to move their bodies for the singular joy of moving their bodies. We will expose them to opportunities that might lead to participation, but not push them to try everything, in search of the one thing where they can, with some level of certainty, win.

Plenty of you out there grew up enjoying competitive sports and probably have a different perspective on this than I do, and that’s fine. Your kids are probably more athletic than my kids, too. They may receive real joy from their three practices a week, and you might be able to impart invaluable wisdom to them thanks to your own athletic experiences. That’s great.

Or, you might be a parent who has intensely determined kids who have found a passion that you don’t quite understand, and yet, you’re going with it because they love it. And I’m okay with that, too.

All I’m saying is this: what if we promoted experience and participation over success? Our kids are paying attention. If we champion the gray area a little bit more, it won’t lessen their discipline or determination, but it might make them kinder, more compassionate human beings. And heaven knows we need more of those right now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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