They lay next to each other and listened to the rain.
So life hasn’t turned out right for either of us, not the way we expected, he said.
Except it feels good now, at this moment.
Better than I have reason to believe I deserve, he said.
Oh, you deserve to be happy. Don’t you believe that?
I believe that’s how it’s turned out, for the last couple of months. For whatever reason.
– Kent Haruf, Our Souls at Night
It’s an honor to feature Jessica Lahey in this How She Does It profile. Even though we’ve never met in person, I feel like I know Jessica. I was thrilled that she joined the lineup of writers in This is Adolescence, and I read her writing – in the Atlantic, on her blog, in the New York Times – regularly.
And her book, The Gift of Failure: How the Best Parents Learn to Let Go So Their Children Can Succeed
In short, reading the The Gift of Failure felt like staring in a mirror. The book’s central tenet is one I share without hesitation intellectually, but it is also one I fall short of meeting in myriad ways on a regular basis. Jessica’s persuasive writing helped me see what stands in the way of my being the parent I want to be. Since reading it I’ve given Grace full responsibility for making family dinner one night (she did great, and told me afterwards that she felt proud of herself), stopped re-folding clothes in Whit’s closet that aren’t as neat as I’d like, and given both children more daily jobs around the house. I also watched Grace make a mistake with her job (she walks a local dog twice a week) and work her way out of it, including direct communication with the adult on the other end. I stayed out of it, even though I could easily have helped. It was a learning experience all around, though there were certainly some tears.
I’ve been telling everyone I talk to about The Gift of Failure: How the Best Parents Learn to Let Go So Their Children Can Succeed
Tell me about the first hour of your day? (I often describe mine as being “fired out of a cannon”)
Don’t hate me, but I spend the first 20-30 minutes of the day in bed, awake, eyes closed, allowing my mind to wander. It’s that untethered, stream-of-consciousness thinking that helps me come up with ideas, plan my day, decide what to write that day, and get ready to work. I used to get up with my kids when they went off to school, but when I suffered a bad concussion in 2013, I found I needed a lot more sleep, and that has persisted. My kids responded by getting more responsible and self-sufficient in the mornings, and my husband helps them out if they need it.
Do you have a work uniform that you rely on for getting dressed? What is it?
Jeans, my purple Glerup slippers, and a comfy t-shirt/sweater. The clothes may vary, but the Glerups are a constant. I love them.
How do you and your spouse reserve conflicts about scheduling?
We use a shared calendar so I can see his call schedule (he’s an Infectious Diseases physician) and he can see my schedule and the boys’ schedules. I run every speaking date by him before committing, and try not to schedule them when he’s on call.
Do you second-guess yourself? What do you do when that happens?
Every time I’ve second-guessed my gut feelings about what I should do, I am wrong. I’ve learned to trust that immediate gut reaction. If I’m really not sure about something, I talk to my husband. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s often right about what I should do.
What time do you go to bed?
9 or 10.
Do you exercise? If so, when?
I walk, I horseback ride. I hike in the woods. I take bike rides. In the winter, I skate ski (cross-country skiing that’s fast) at least three days a week near my house. I used to run a lot but it’s not fun anymore, so I just don’t do it. I usually get out in the late afternoon, while my kids do their homework, because I work until they get home.
Do you cook dinner for your kids? Do you have go-to dishes you can recommend?
Almost every day. Go-to dishes are “salmon and noodles” (salmon, broccoli, soba noodles, and teriyaki sauce), roasted veggies and a chicken from our CSA farmer, sushi rice and some kind of raw fish, shrimp, whatever is fresh at the store. We also have what we call “scavenging nights” where everyone fends for themselves.
Do you have any sense of how your children feel about your working?
They have always liked that I’ve kept teaching hours because I’m home when they are. I don’t think they really get what I do as a writer, because they don’t see me do much other than read books and sit at my computer and do some social media and talk on the phone. I think they think it’s cool that I’m in the newspaper or on television, but they’d never admit it.
What is the single piece of advice you would give another working mother?
When you stop working to spend time with your family. Stop. Shut it down and pay attention to your family. That’s hard for me, but I’m working on it. My agent does not respond to emails on the weekend, and I totally respect that about her.
And, inspired by Vanity Fair, a few quick glimpses into your life:
Favorite Artist?
My father. He does architectural watercolors.
Favorite jeans?
The ones I get at the thrift store for $2.50 to garden in.
Shampoo you use?
Whatever my hairstylist sister tells me to buy or gives me as a present.
Favorite book?
84 Charring Cross Road
Favorite quote?
“I decided to make my life my argument.” – Dr. Albert Schweitzer
Favorite musician?
My guitar-playing teenager.
Favorite item (toy, clothing, or other) for your children?
Stinky, a stuffed version of Rotta the Huttlet from Star Wars. My younger son cried with joy when he received it as a birthday gift after a treasure hunt orchestrated by his big brother.
Our dessert at least week’s 15 year anniversary dinner. Appropriate also to celebrate a 9 year blogging anniversary!
Tomorrow, September 15, marks nine years I’ve been blogging here. Can we talk about that? NINE YEARS. No wonder I often feel like a broken record. But still, I have no plans to stop.
Last month, I read Vikki Reich and Nina Badzin‘s pieces (Nina’s inspired by Vikki’s) about whether or not people still read blogs with interest. I have certainly observed a decreasing amount of engagement here, and a flattening readership. But I still read blogs myself. Every day. I still miss Google Reader, but I read my newsblur subscriptions every single day. And the truth is, as I’ve written before, after years of feeling a lot of pressure and urgency around writing a book, I now think that what I am first and foremost is a blogger. Writer, maybe. Book writer, I’m not sure. Blogger, yes.
I love blogging. Writing here is a habit I have no intention of breaking or changing. I love the engagement with readers, the other writers I’ve gotten to know through the blogosphere, and am regularly deeply moved by what I read on other blogs. For me, the answer to the question of “are blogs dead” is an adamant no. Blogs are changing, no question, but they are still relevant to me. Maybe that conclusion makes me a dinosaur, but it’s definitely the one I draw.
I do share Nina’s view on list posts, as well as her admission that I’ve written them (probably my best-known piece is a list: 10 things I want my daughter to know before she turns 10 – as an aside, that daughter is about to turn 13!). In general, that’s not my jam, and I don’t love the way the bloggy world has embraced that kind of writing. As is true in many aspects of my life, in this respect I seem to have OMOF (the opposite of FOMO) – no worries at all about missing out.
Sometimes, though, I feel like I’m writing about the same things over and over again. Maybe it’s a spiraling, a getting deeper into a topic as I continue to circle around it. But maybe it’s a being stuck, too. I honestly don’t know. Perhaps it’s just part of the deal when writing regularly for nine straight years.
Nine straight years. For a long time, I celebrated this blog birthday by asking you what things you would be interested in hearing about. I don’t exactly know why I stopped, but I’d like to revisit that request today.
I’d be grateful if you’d share a few things you’d be interested in my writing about.
I look forward to hearing from you. And thank you, thank you, Vikki and Nina, for getting me thinking. I know I’m thankful for both of your blogs and hope you keep writing. As long as you do, I’ll be reading.
But she grasped the urgency of the moment, knowing what almost everyone in France knows, which is to say that life is not lived in the future. “Seize the moment,” she said. “Pay attention to your life right now.”
-Kate Betts, My Paris Dream: An Education in Style, Slang, and Seduction in the Great City on the Seine
How is it possible? Fifteen years went by in a blink.
The years have been turbulent and placid, full of adventure and calm, one house, two children, visits to four continents, and over 50,000 digital photos. We’ve had bad luck both hilarious and terrifying, cars totalled by falling trees that were struck by lightning (true) and children having anaphylactic reactions to nuts (also true). We’ve also had extraordinary, miraculous luck, in the enormous form of a heart transplant but also in tiny ways every day.
We summitted Kilimanjaro together within six months of meeting, but as the minister said on our wedding day, Kilimanjaro is nothing compared to marriage. And he was right. It’s been a walk both more difficult and more breathtaking than I could possibly have imagined. Our ascent of Kilimanjaro was marked by a golden late afternoon in the sun where you washed my hair for me and a long, slow slog to the top in a white-out blizzard. Both of those experiences in a single week, along with more than I can count along the spectrum both meteorological and emotional.
Just like life.
I look at this picture and I’m struck by the palpable joy, by the deeply familiar place (we still go there most weekends of the summer, and each time I walk through this space I stop and remember the strains of Maybe I’m Amazed and this exact moment), and by how young we both are. Young and optimistic and hopeful. Fifteen years have sanded the rough edges off of us, there’s no question about that, as well as allowed some of our tendencies to harden into traits. I hope there’s been more gentling than hardening. Honestly, I think that’s a good a wish for a heading-towards-long marriage as I can think of.
I love you, Matt. Happy fifteen years. Here’s to well more than fifteen more.
Anniversary posts from past years are here: 2014, 2013, 2012, 2011
