I remember when friends starting having their first babies. Not being interested in this particular human project, I was always curious where the desire stemmed in them. Their answers were as varied as the newly-forming lines on their faces but one response stuck with me: we want to do it differently than our parents. In other words, I heard, we want a shot at not f*****g this up.
Not f*****g this up seems to be a common, if not entirely achievable, goal among most parents.
On a recent episode of Modern Family, Phil reassures his daughter Hailey, who is freaking out over accidentally letting her babies watch some freaky television, that “it’s natural to worry about your kids; it just means you love them.”
“So I’m always going to feel like I screwed them up somehow?” Hailey asks.
“Kind of,” her mom, Claire, replies. “I mean, eventually, you’ll be able to laugh at it. Probably around the time you’re reassuring your own children that they didn’t screw up their babies.” (And if your children don’t have children? Permission to laugh on your own schedule.)
A co-parent to three adopted girls now, I get it. I worry, too, about how my small failures of kindness will shape their ability to give and receive love when they’re older. In fact, I’m already plotting my first work of fiction on it. Three girls. Talking to three different therapists. All with three different ideas of the woman they called Erin, er, I mean, Corrine. I only hope that Claire’s truism can also work in reverse sometimes: That around the time you get grown, you can laugh at some of your parents’ bungles, too.
Not f*****g this up is, of course, a desire that extends past parenting. You might experience it on the job. Or in a romantic relationship. I’m experiencing it on the regular in my creative life, now that I’ve got the urgency of a new book to tend on what feels like a topical landmine. Most days I wake up with this desire hiding in some fold of my body. My small intestine. My pre-frontal cortex. The left nostril. It’s always there, like a fresh nugget waiting to be picked.
I’ve learned strategies to quiet its longing. To get curious about its needs. (Isn’t it amazing how just asking your body what it needs can soothe it?) In fact, that’s exactly what I was doing on my back porch last week when my pen scribbled the most surprising and salty thing I’d heard from God in a long time:
It’s all mine.
You’re all mine.
And I am un-fuckup-able.
(Yes, my God swears. Yes, I think swearing is good for you. Yes, it’s okay if we disagree about this.)
There’s a lot we can and do f**k up in our own lives and country. The care of the overlooked and underresourced in our communities. The response to global health pandemics. Our democratic elections. And we should take seriously the call to make our corner of the world at least 5% kinder than it was yesterday. (Some of my favorite ideas around the internet on how to do that during the coronavirus craze are to practice the Namaste bow, to check-in on a neighbor, to tread softly in nature, and to donate your would’ve-been-spent travel or professional development dollars.) But we also need to take seriously the call to stop killing ourselves with the idea that good decision-making alone will save us or our children.
The good news of this life is that the God of the universe withstands our worst and loves us anyway. The good news of this life is that we have that same unbreakable Spirit loving within us. Loving us with fresh breath (and boggers) every morning. Loving us with lusty breeze every afternoon. Loving us with an easy forgiveness every night.
Some things, praise be, are truly un-fuckup-able.
XO,Erin
Want more tools for practicing purpose?
Tend your soul. Last week, I got to hear Melody Moezzi read from her melodic memoir, The Rumi Prescription: How An Ancient Mystic Poet Changed My Modern Manic Life, and am convinced it’s the remedy we all need to live with more intention and ease. Her Rumi translations are a tonic and the story of her father’s teachings along the way even sweeter. All you need is within you. But, still, buy this book for when you forget.
Join a book club. This month’s selection for the Everything Happens book club is RJ Palacio’s young adult novel, Wonder. I love that at the heart of this book is the reminder to “always try and be a little kinder than necessary.” If you’re feeling stir crazy, agree to read with a few friends or neighbors and then chat using our discussion questions!
Support an author. Authors depend on book events for spreading the word about and making a living from their writing. With many of those events being canceled, it’s even more important that we support their work. Analog Church by Jay Kim, Defiant by Kelley Nikondeha, and Resilient Threads by Mukta Panda are three new release worth your time and shelf space.
