Posted tagged ‘permission’

Observations – Teenage-People, Child-People, Adults

December 12, 2009

Some people are born teenagers.  This is not to say that they don’t age and grey—sometimes with unfortunate clothing and very heavy make-up—but only that they have a certain kind of self-centeredness that focuses their whole lives.  They want what they want with little apology, their sense of entitlement profound enough to smother most glimmerings of guilt.  They can be antic and fun, spoiled and indolent.  They are pretty good at “moving on” from sadness and loss, less good at moving on from a perceived offense; a certain narcissism (which is different from self-confidence) makes the offenses of others feel pretty serious, also making forgiveness come hard.

Some people are born children; usually “good” children.  As good children, they  crave approval so much that the absence of it (a simple silence) can feel like implied castigation.  Child-people want to feel taken care of, by a benign fate as well as a loved one.   (Often, this doesn’t happen; the child-people are concerned enough about pleasing that they tend to do a fair amount of caretaking.)  Even so, always in search of signs of such care, they look for “silver linings,” justifications, explanations, nuance.  They can hardly bear not finding what’s “right” about something wrong, and go through endless convolutions trying to make it right.   This convolution makes it difficult for such child-people to make decisions, an abstract difficulty magnified by the obstacles child-people have identifying their own needs.  A sense of entitlement not natural to them, they need “permission” to satisfy their needs.  Because others may not be paying close attention to these needs  (the teenage-people in their lives, for example), the child-people may have a hard time getting this permission.

Some people are born adults.  They can make thoughtful decisions, understanding the concept of cutting losses.  They are happy to help others, but also understand the airplane rules of the dangling emergency oxygen mask (put your own mask on first.)   They also understand the limitations of help (i.e. that the helpee must be willing and able to be helped.)

Each of these types of people can be happy, indifferent, troubled, content.  (Well, I don’t know about content.)

Blocking Writer’s Block – Part V – No Permission Needed

August 4, 2009

Rule No. 7  – You don’t need permission to do your work

Sometimes if you are a parent, a partner, or even just someone living with others in this world, your writing, painting, music-playing, yoga – whatever it is that you aspire to keep doing in your private life, whatever it is you do to feel fully you—gets overlooked because you’re convinced you don’t have the time.

Rather, you’re convinced that you don’t have the “right” time.

You wait for the opportune moment; those precious minutes in which there’s nothing else you think you need to do, nothing that you think others need you to do.

Then, even when there really isn’t anything, or not very much—dinner is done, kids and partner are, sort of, settled in–you wait a bit longer.  Partly because you’re tired, and partly because the moment still doesn’t feel right.  You don’t feel free enough to begin.  Something is still missing.

Often what you are truly waiting for is to be given permission, permission to turn to your private work, permission to take time to be solely yourself. Sometimes, especially if you are on the insecure side, you are even waiting to be urged, encouraged, exhorted.   You want someone to give you a cue, to tell you that the moment you have been waiting for has arrived, to get you going.

Don’t do this.   It will not get you to your work nor will it endear you to your loved ones.  (Or at least, it won’t endear them to you!)

Because even the most enlightened children are not going to turn to you and say, “hey mom, don’t bother to make those cupcakes, why don’t you just go write for a while?”

Your loving partner is unlikely to volunteer: “I’ll just turn off the t.v. dear, so you’ll have peace to work by.”

Unless you work in a zoo, your employer will not come out with “we’ve noticed you like drawing elephants.  Why don’t you just stay home and practice Fridays?”

Not even the dishes soaking in the sink will quietly give you the freedom to go and write that sonnet.

Don’t get mad at them.  (Especially not the dishes or the children.  The partner maybe.)

Because this is a battle you have to take on yourself.  If you want to do your work, you have to allow yourself to do it.  (More than allow, you have to make.)

This means accepting that no permission is necessary; that there is no “right” moment, just this moment.

If you succeed in seizing the moment, accept in advance that you are unlikely to win any kudos.  The children, husband, dishes, may listen to your sonnet; but they probably won’t congratulate you on it.  Not enough to make you feel completely justified anyway, to give you retroactive permission.

At least not at the beginning.

Hopefully, as everyone ages, they may be happy that you were able to be fully yourself.  They may recognize that you were giving them permission to be fully themselves too.  Even though no permission is necessary.

And even at the cost of those cupcakes.

Check out my counting book with beautiful paintings of elephants (no permission was necessary) on Amazon.  See link to 1 Mississippi.