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I’ve been a judgmental bitch.

There was a time I approached everything with the curiosity to understand. Even what I considered the most heinous of ideas would drive an almost childlike wonder about how someone landed so far from my own ideas; what in my life drew me down one path, and what in someone else’s life drew them down another?

Sometime between realizing my country was never what I thought was and watching me and my fellow citizens try to make sense of our volatile, dangerous, and frightening world stage with its plague and systematic brutality, my compassion gave way to judgment; my thirst for connection and understanding was incinerated by my horror at what we, as a species, are capable of.

Add to that, or perhaps exacerbated by that, I had my own spectacular melt down from an unrelated-to-world-events event. Which nailed the coffin in which my compassion had been laid to rest.

There is one person in my life who challenges me like no other; and for whom I’m eternally grateful. I don’t mean the hands-up-against-the-wall, beat-you-down kind of challenge but the challenge of curiosity; the sincere wondering what, how, and why I’m thinking what I’m thinking or experiencing what I’m experiencing.

And the realization that I’d come so far down the path of judgment leaving compassion as a mere glimmer in my eye was because of this person’s curiosity. This person pried those coffin nails up and threw back the lid, allowing me to take a deep breath and reminded me of what I’d lost.

I suppose I still needed space to be upset and angry about my own loss as well as the suffering on the world stage (and grief can be difficult and ugly), but it’s time now for me to accept that loss; to understand that this is the state of things; and to remember that my path isn’t to lead an army. My role is that of the small cog in the middle of a vast machine; it is to interact with people one-on-one. To meet them where they are and to share our knowledge and wisdom with one another. To do that effectively, I must come from a place of understanding, empathy, and compassion. This is my home, and it’s where I (sometimes uncomfortably) belong.

I’m not home yet, but I’m in the driveway, and I know what’s around the corner.

When my eldest child was under 3 months old and I had taken us to a nearby mall to escape the cabin fever that gripped me. I sat on one of the many available benches; I didn’t know malls could be that empty until I was on maternity leave and saw them when most of the rest of the world was working. A lovely older woman sat next to me and struck up a conversation.

“He’s beautiful,” she said.

I would have brushed this off as something everyone says, but I’d had too many people physically stop me to tell me how beautiful my son was. It didn’t really matter; he would have been beautiful even if he looked like a lizard.

“Thank you,” I said, still not knowing exactly how to respond. She wasn’t really complimenting me, but I settled on a thank you on behalf of the little boy I loved so dearly.

“Mine are all grown and moved away.”

“I’ve heard it goes fast.”

“May I give you a piece of advice?”

I looked at her. Rarely did anyone ask before bestowing their view of the world on another.

“Yes.” And I really did want to hear it.

“Enjoy your children for what they have to offer at each stage in their life. When mine were babies, I couldn’t wait for them to talk. When they could talk, I couldn’t wait for them to be able to tell me what was wrong. When they were teenagers, I couldn’t wait for them to mature into adults. So, I never got to enjoy them when I had the chance to. I was always waiting for the next stage.”

I was blessed not only because this lovely woman chose to share her story with me, but because I was in a place where I could hear it. Every time I wanted to ground my children until they were thirty, or had to leave the room to take a deep breath, or wanted to throw one of us out a window, I heard her voice. And I continue to hear it even though the eldest is an adult and on his own.

Now I’m sending her advice out into the world for those who are in a place where they can hear it, only I’ve put a bit of a spin on it. Enjoy your children at each stage in their life for who they are. So many of us pile our hopes and fears on our children and don’t allow them to become the people they will be. We think we can mold them into what we want them to be. We fear for their safety and drape our need for their success on their shoulders.  Let all that go and simply love them.