An Optimist Stops Searching for Silver Linings
How I learned not to fix, but to listen
I love a silver lining, a glass-half-full, a light at the end of the tunnel. Is this hopeless optimism or willful ignorance? Survival mode or delusion?
My daughter, now a young woman of twenty-two, comes to me with problems. Some are small: she FaceTimes me to help her lock the lid on her Instant Pot, to analyze the surface of her yogurt to make sure the tiny bubbles aren’t spots of mold, to look at a rash on her leg to reassure that she doesn’t have bedbugs. Sometimes the issues are bigger, college essays that she’d like me to edit or recommendations for medicating a cold. And then there are the immediate, heart-of-life issues: a broken heart, a job that overwhelms her, a disagreement with a friend.
Each of these conversations begins breathlessly, with urgency, so it takes a moment to assess the threat level. As a child, she would burst through the front door calling, “Mom, I have so much to tell you.” The topics could range from a funny encounter on the subway to a prize she won at school. No matter the significance, she could not wait to unburden herself of the story, to express her outrage or to hear me laugh.
I am a mother who fixes. I listen, I react, and then I get resourceful. You need to meet with your teacher for…
