good, bad luck
November 8, 2014 § 2 Comments
A week ago I felt saddled by an inconvenient accumulation of, presumed, bad luck. My husband was distraught over an intentional harm that informed fissures in a familial and professional relationship that could no longer be bridged by hope. My son was struggling with the space of independence in his school day, creating new anxiety. My daughter was showing signs she had returned too soon to the frivolous busyness of her routines after a brief bout of strep only to succumb to a new bug that would sweep the coming week’s schedule into messy disarray.
For a moment, caught in the chaos of those I care for, my perspective was tinted in self. A common denominator to each individual, I wrestled with a responsibility to heal each harm; good intentions clouding my judgement with an assumption of “I”. Even my best efforts to heal were hollow as I hurried from victim to champion, saving everyone from an experience of growth in a reckless misappropriation of care.
It was only when my daughter’s unexceptionally, average virus demanded stillness that I could see the goodness in each uncomfortable experience. When my days were stripped of distractions and routine, instead bound by more immediate, simple acts of care, my gauge for need and measure of strength were informed by a different expectation of well-being. While my daughter healed in quiet restfulness, my efforts to tend to others were bound by practical limitations; anchoring hope in something outside the span of my control.
My husband’s hand had been forced to commit to change, but the decisions he faced were longstanding. The new trajectory of his days created greater availability for possibilities that had otherwise been detained in a dateless, someday soon. Our calendar for change had become tangible, dreams more attainable. The unpleasant circumstances that had been an uncomfortable catalyst simultaneously allowed us to look more honestly at those who had created the harm allowing us to create a guard against further injury through a more genuine scope of honesty; seeing those we love with a balance of truth.
As my husband navigated personal and professional change, I looked more closely at markers of concern for my son’s ability. When we, parents and educators, aligned need and effort, support and independence, it became clear the places we had overlooked room for care and undervalued ability. In speaking directly to my son’s teachers I was overwhelmed with the positive words that eclipsed the generic language of numbers. The same numbers that might have been cause for concern became reason to believe. Moving more independently in a new space and without specific support, I saw a child treading water successfully with confidence in self and care for others.
Misfortune was too easily defined by expectations and assumptions crafted by projected measurements of success and contentment. In reality, my daughter is healing with an exercise in care, my husband is growing into a new identity of self that challenges old roles, and my son is learning to thrive more independently. I am honoring my family’s individual measures of growth by mapping a new space of self that informs a quieter message of confidence and care for those I love. Embracing new challenges and redefining luck.
scribblechic 
Change, always change. Sometimes it’s welcome and all too often it’s something to be endured. One must always look for that hint of silver lining. Though not expansive it may offer a measure of comfort.
Without change we would be stagnant, never evolving past a singular moment. In this way, even the most challenging of currents invites hope.