“It’s better to know it now than never know it at all,” she wisely offered, taking my hand in hers. I closed my eyes and prayed such a mature remark meant she was starting to know it too.
The next morning Natalie’s words were fresh on my mind as we prepared for school. Avery was standing in front of the mirror parting her hair straight down the middle. She completely ignored the back of her hair, and as a result, it resembled an angry cactus plant.
I could see Natalie eyeing her little sister’s disheveled mess. She reached out her hand to take the brush, but then quickly drew it back without saying a word. Avery, unaware she was being observed, walked out humming to herself happily.
Natalie looked up at me. I was about to find out just how much our discussion the night before had resonated with her. “The old you probably would have fixed her hair, and she probably would’ve cried.” After pausing for a minute she admitted, “I thought about telling her to change it, but then I decided not to say anything. It’s better to just let her be who she is. People’s feelings matter more than how things look,” she said with certainty.
Natalie ran off to gather her backpack while I stood there relishing what had just transpired. As I stared at my teary-eyed self in a mirror splattered with toothpaste, the most beautiful thought occurred to me. Maybe second chances are not given to us but instead are something we offer to ourselves by using new words and new actions. And maybe the undesirable traits that were passed on to us and passed on to our children don’t have to stick like permanent tattoos. Maybe they can be birthmarks instead — beautiful reminders that we don’t have to live perfectly, but rather with small, positive steps and daily doses of God’s grace.
HANDS FREE LIFE DAILY DECLARATION
Today there might be mismatched socks. There might be not-so-healthy food choices. There might be messes, bulges, and fine lines where I don’t want them to be. But today I will be at peace with my less-than-perfect day, my less-than-perfect body, and my less-than-perfect life. I refuse to waste precious time or hurt precious people (including myself) in my unachievable pursuit for perfection. After all, love doesn’t have to be perfect to be nurturing or nourishing.
TAKE THE PRESSURE OFF TO LIVE LIFE FULLY
“I want be on the swim team like Natalie,” Avery announced shortly after she turned six. She’d even put on Natalie’s team suit and Speedo goggles to show that she meant business. The suit was drooping in the rear and the goggles were on upside down, but this was no laughing matter. In fact, this was cause for celebration. Standing before me was the girl who’d let out agonizing cries whenever her hair was washed for nearly her entire life. The bath-time hysterics had only stopped a few months earlier when she witnessed her baby cousin get soaped and rinsed while wearing a smile. “Please, please, please can I join the swim team?” begged my guppy wannabe, who no longer had an aversion to water.
“You’ll have to get your head wet and swim laps,” I clarified. It felt it was important to point out that swim team wasn’t just playing cards, eating Twizzlers, and chugging Gatorade like she witnessed many swimmers doing at her sister’s meets.
Avery did understand what being on the swim team meant and actually breezed through the initial evaluation to swim the length of the pool without stopping. In just a few short weeks of practice, Avery was demonstrating proficiency in the various strokes and kicks — and always with a smile. When it came to diving off the block, however, the situation quickly deteriorated. (Cue the quivering lip and tearful protests of hair washing gone bad.)
For weeks, Avery’s coaches patiently spent time coaxing, encouraging, and trying everything short of bribery to get her to dive off the blocks. Finally, one momentous day, she did it — but it was a fake-out. Although she’d looked fully prepared to enter the water in appropriate dive form, her entry turned into a feet-first jump as soon as she left the block.
While this imperfect dive might seem acceptable to the average observer, official swimming guidelines deem this practice unsafe. Avery was informed that because she was not dive certified, she was not permitted to dive off the blocks in the upcoming swim meets. Thinking this restriction probably made her feel sad or different, I offered to work with her on a headfirst dive. Her eyes instantly filled with tears. “Mama, it’s too scary to look down into the water and think of my head going before my feet,” she cried. “Can I just keep jumping in from the side?” she asked hopefully.
Before my Hands Free journey, my response likely would have been a sharply delivered, “Well, if you are on the swim team, then you need to learn to dive properly.” (After all, what would people think?) Before my Hands Free journey, I would have insisted Avery keep practicing, despite fear and tears, until she dove properly from the blocks. Before my Hands Free journey, I was far too concerned about what “other people” thought. I wanted my children to keep up with everyone else’s children. I wanted it to appear as if we had it all together. While traces of my inner competitor/perfectionist still remain part of who I am, I knew this was not the time to force my child into doing something she did not feel comfortable doing. This was a time to let go and let be. I knew that Avery would become dive certified in her own time. And if she was content to begin her competitions by jumping off the side, then I should be too. Little did I know the impact she would make when given the freedom to decide when and how she would break the surface.
Our family had driven an hour to attend a large swim competition that included several other YMCA swim teams. After a quick warm-up, it was time for Avery’s twenty-five-yard freestyle event. She stepped toward the blocks with the other competitors. As the other girls climbed onto the blocks, she stepped onto the edge of the pool where she was accustomed to doing her Fake-out Dive Jump into the water. Avery extended her arms so they covered her ears and was in dive position waiting for the start buzzer.
Suddenly, the official held up his hand and told the girls to relax. He said something to Avery’s coach. Scott and I nudged each other. We knew this delay had to do with our child — the freckle-faced girl with unruly curls peeking out beneath her swim cap. I could see the official shaking his head. He was telling Avery she was not permitted to dive off the side. Through hand gestures, I could see he was giving her two choices: dive off the block headfirst or start from the water.
After approximately ten seconds of careful consideration, my daughter made her choice. And when she did, I had an unexpected emotional reaction. Warm, silent tears began dripping down my face. My daughter did not climb on the starting block and make the dive of her life. Instead, she gently slid herself into the water. After giving one last look up at her competitors standing high up on their respective platforms, she gripped the side of the pool. With one hand extended, she was ready for takeoff. When the buzzer sounded, the other girls dove in and Avery pushed off the wall with all her might. As she propelled herself to the other side of the pool, I could not stop the tears, nor did I try. Despite a tumultuous start, my child was smiling. I could see that joyful, goggle-clad face each time she turned her mouth for air. No interpretation was needed. I am on the swim team just like my big sister, that enormous grin said.
After reaching the end, Avery hopped out of the pool and briefly conversed with the lane timer. Her eyes scanned the crowd looking for me. I was already heading her way. As my child walked toward me, I swear she looked taller. Stronger. More grown up. My new hero walked toward me.
It might seem odd. I write this story as though some grand achievement occurred. If I were to view this experience using twenty-first-century standards of success, there is nothing noteworthy here. My child did not win her race or any of her other three events that day, nor did she dive from the blocks. But I didn’t view this experience through the eyes of mainstream society; I viewed it using a Hands Free perspective — and that makes all the difference, a life-changing difference.
What I witnessed in the water that day is the essence of grasping what matters in an environment that can so easily swa
y you to focus on what doesn’t matter. Forever etched in my mind is Avery sliding herself into the water as anxious onlookers looked at their watches and tapped their feet. Their annoyed facial expressions revealed their inner thoughts: Get on the block already. We don’t have all day.
How easy it would have been for Avery to say, “I am not good enough.”
And walk away.
How easy it would have been for her to declare: “I am not a real swimmer.”
And refuse to try.
How easy it would have been to shamefully hang her head in defeat.
And give up.
How easy it would have been to miss an opportunity to shine.
And never try again.
But Avery did not take the easy route. Instead, she courageously did what she needed to do to participate. That meant rejecting the pressure to do what everyone else was doing and do what was comfortable to her. Avery may not have dove in headfirst, but she gave it her all. She didn’t let an unusual entrance ruin a perfectly good swim, a perfectly good meet, a perfectly good day, or a perfectly good life. Suddenly this child’s moment of weakness became her moment of unimaginable strength.
By witnessing this moment of unconventional triumph, I garnered four truths that I refer to whenever I feel the need to conform, to push, or to pressure others or myself:
1. Living life fully takes courage — you must be willing to do things differently than everyone else.
2. Living life fully is not in the first-place finish, the shiny blue ribbons, or the flawless form; it’s in the joy you feel in your heart because you were brave enough to try.
3. Living life fully doesn’t require diving in headfirst, sometimes it means getting your toes wet to see what you are made of.
And finally . . .
4. Living life fully means becoming an unsuspecting hero to those who mistakenly let perfection sabotage their happiness — because if you haven’t heard the news: Happiness beats perfection. Every. Single. Time.
Just watch the happy kid in the swim cap.
She is living proof that it takes an imperfect dive to fully embrace every drop of your glorious life.
HANDS FREE LIFE DAILY DECLARATION
Today I will use words that I hope will echo in my loved ones’ heads in times of challenge and failure: I love you exactly as you are. You are worthy of love and kindness. There is nothing you can do to make God love you any more than he already does. I am happier simply because you exist. You are more than enough to me. Today I will be a voice of courage and encouragement to others, including myself, even if the words feel awkward coming from my lips. Today the voice of pressure and perfection will not prevent me from taking the chances I’ve always been too afraid to take.
TAKE THE PRESSURE OFF TO EMBRACE GOOD ENOUGH FOR TODAY
On occasion, I am interviewed via Skype about establishing healthy boundaries between technology and life. While I love sharing the Hands Free message with new audiences, live interviews are my least favorite way to share it. I much prefer writing about it so I can tweak my sentences until I get them smooth and flawless. Not to mention, when I’m delivering messages from my keyboard, appearance is not a factor. My writing “uniform” consists of comfy Dri-FIT workout clothes, socks that may or may not match, a Life is Good ball cap, and a ponytail sticking out the back (hair brushing optional).
I have no doubt that my preference for writing over public speaking has been influenced by the years I spent pursuing perfection, namely pressuring myself to sound and look just right. For every self-deprecating message I said to myself, a wound was left on my spirit. That wound deepened to the point that I declined social gatherings if I did not like my reflection in the mirror. My wound deepened to the point that I refrained from sharing my thoughts and ideas if I feared they would come out wrong. My wound deepened to the point that I shied away from living, laughing, and pursuing my dreams because I compared myself to others and believed I wouldn’t measure up.
But somewhere along the line, those wounds began to heal. Instead of looking at myself through critical eyes, I began to see myself through loving eyes, namely the eyes of my child. I am not certain I would’ve realized the extent to which this new perspective saved me had it not been for an unexpected day at home with Avery.
On the morning I’d agreed to do a television interview via Skype, Avery needed to stay home from school because of a sore throat. The day before, she’d tested positive for strep. With two doses of amoxicillin in her system she was feeling pretty good, aside from a little discomfort when she swallowed.
“So what are we gonna do today?” asked my pajama-clad daughter with a toothless smile. “I love having alone time with you,” she added genuinely.
I explained that I had a television interview at eleven o’clock, and I needed to spend some time practicing what I was going to say. I told her I would also need to shower and put on something a little more presentable. As I spoke, I waved my hand over my ultra-comfy, creative-thinking attire, assuming Avery would agree that my appearance needed improvement.
“I think you look good enough for a television interview,” said my child who would wear her pajamas in public every single day and use a brush once a week if she were allowed.
I chuckled at her wise and empowering “good enough” perspective, which she offered as an invitation to play.
“How about a game of Connect Four?” she asked hopefully. “Remember, you were the Connect Four champion of your family when you were little.” I am pretty sure she threw out that last bit knowing her competitive mother could never turn down a challenge.
As she hoped, I glanced at the clock and said yes. I figured I could play a few rounds and still have time to prepare for my interview. Connect Four was not nearly as riveting as it had been when I was nine years old, but there was something about sitting across from a child with disheveled hair and joyful eyes that made me lose track of time.
Suddenly feeling a little behind schedule, I told Avery I really needed to prepare for my interview. I set her up with a box of crayons, a blank notebook, and a glass of ice water. She quickly got busy on a full-page artistic creation.
I reviewed my interview questions only once. My inner perfectionist, who is known to butt in when I am trying to be Hands Free, forced me to consider reviewing them again. Yet Avery’s earlier words squelched the voice of pressure. It’s good enough for today, I thought to myself as I put the notes away.
I took a quick shower and put on the first outfit that appealed to me. Again, I hesitated and wondered if I should try on something else just to be sure this was the best option. It only took a quick glance at my favorite violet purple shirt and freshly washed hair to embrace Avery’s wise mantra once again. Good enough for today.
I walked out of my bedroom intending to use the remaining few minutes to prepare for the interview, but Avery had a notebook full of drawings she wanted to show me. “Here’s a picture of you. I messed up on your hair, but that’s not what’s important,” she declared with conviction. Avery’s portrait of me instantly confirmed my decision not to spend one more minute on that stubborn piece of hair that was determined to stick straight out. In my current state, I closely resembled the happy lady in the picture who held a yellow star in her hand — not a hairbrush.
Before I knew it, it was time for the Skype interview. I’d placed a few sticky notes around the edge of my computer as “cheat sheets” but found I didn’t need them. The news anchor was warm and friendly and had excellent questions. I found myself talking to her about my journey with ease.
At the end of the interview, I shut my laptop with a sigh of relief and satisfaction. To my surprise, Avery jumped out from around the corner where she had been listening quietly. “You did great, Mama!” she exclaimed. “Now let’s go out to lunch!”
I considered saying, “Not today.” I had a slew of writing deadlines to meet and more editing to do on my book, but I didn’t. It wasn’t every day that I had a lunch date — es
pecially one with a toothless smile. I said yes to Avery’s suggestion, and within the hour we sat across from each other enjoying the midday fare at her favorite restaurant.
Our attentive waitress noticed when our plates were empty and unexpectedly presented a brownie sundae to Avery. My typically chatty child couldn’t even speak. All she could do was laugh and laugh and laugh with giddy delight. I took a moment to contemplate the reason for Avery’s eruption of pure happiness. I came up with four possible explanations:
1. Because it is fun to be out to lunch when you are technically “sick.”
2. Because the sight of ice cream with sprinkles just makes a person deliriously happy.
3. Because the waitress’s unexpectedly kind gesture made Avery feel special.
4. Because she felt the overwhelming love coming from her mother sitting on the other side of the table.
I can’t be sure why Avery was so happy in that moment, but what happened next left me with no questions about how I wanted to live out the rest of that day and the days ahead.
The waitress, who had turned to leave, stopped midstride. Despite having food orders to take and empty glasses to refill, she paused to listen to the sound of Avery’s uncontainable laughter. Suddenly, the woman put her hand over the heart, looked up to the sky, and cried out, “Thank you, Lord! That laughter is coming straight from the soul! Straight from the soul! And it’s a mighty beautiful sound!”
As if on cue, Avery took the first bite of her succulent treat. After swallowing the icy-cold goodness, she looked completely surprised. “My throat doesn’t hurt anymore! It’s healing, Mama! It’s healing!” she declared so loudly that people around us looked over and smiled too.
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