Rhythm and Feeling

I showed up half an hour late for my music lesson yesterday. "I was working with a very unusual circumstance," I told my music teacher, Ben. "I want you to know how much I value your time and the learning and growing I do here. I don't expect it will happen again."

"Kristin, stop," he said, holding my eye intently. "I would like for you to be late more often. I want you to be less perfect. I know what this means to you. Relax."

Later in the lesson, sitting under a grandmother apple tree playing the uke, I marveled at his modeling. The many times I did not keep up with the changes of chords, his eyes were far away, seemingly absorbed in the music, but when I went through a transition in time with him, he immediately turned my way, smiled and offered a word of recognition. Oh, how I would like to support my children's learning with such spaciousness!

I told him how much appreciation and wonder I felt in witnessing his example. He laughed and said it was easy. He valued the opportunity to share it with me, and if I knew it all already, I wouldn't be there. I cherished the modeling of such presence and value in our connection.

"Besides," he said, "if you just keep a good rhythm going -- you know, something folks can dance to -- and play with feeling, nothing else matters. You don't have to be perfect at all."

I think of my parenting. How many times do I wonder what the repercussions will be for those moments I'm afraid my attentions, guidance, or protection was not enough? The idea of "enough" is tied to a model I hold within my mind, my vision for their well-being. What if I could relax into leaving more to the universe, even when things are painful for them, for me? What if I could just keep the rhythm and stay connected to my feelings as we raise each other in this beautiful gift of family?

It would be performance art that touches the heart and vanishes into the ether.