That’s great, but…

Aloha, and...

Somewhere along the line, the word “but” and I must have had a nasty argument. I can’t recall exactly when it was that I decided to ban the word from my every day dialogue.

I vaguely recall coming to the realization that we use the word “but” in ways that are compulsive and abusive at the same time. There is the “I’m sorry, but…” and the “Thank you for sharing, but…” The latter of the two, a former boss said with such regularity that the word became implied and even when left unspoken, a harsh judgment.

What would life look like if there weren’t any buts? I like to think we might exist without motive. Our urge to make excuses and disregard an idea without really giving it time to settle might just disappear. There would be implied sincerity in “I’m sorry” and “thanks for sharing.”  We might all feel just a bit more connected to each other. By simply replacing our “buts” with “and.”

Over the years, I have come to realize that I am a witness and purveyor of communications. Most of it happening unconciously – as with the word in question. But.

I’ve been making this very slight, yet powerful word substitution for a long time. And not until I said it out loud recently – to a friend who was sharing her frustrations – a personal story laden with buts – did I realize this subtle and powerful change in my own behavior.

I could attempt to explain it. That the roots of my decision to go “but free” are deeply embedded in all of my experiences to-date. I guess I’d rather be grateful to recognize the shift, reveling in the possibilities of And.

A Hand to Hold Onto

I find myself laughing inside as the Rabbi leading today’s prayer asks a room full of business people to hold hands. Apparently she’s known for doing this as my new friend Bob (to my left) pre-empts the request by whispering “looks like we’re going to be holding hands…”

So, there we are. A roomful of strangers. Singing a Yiddish song none of us have ever heard of, holding hands.

I survey the room and see that there are people who have actually left the lunch, to avoid holding their neighbor’s hand. There are other tables that have “opted out” altogether and yet others, like ours, who play along – loosely joining hands.

I read a story recently about an elderly couple that was in a car accident. As they lay in hospital beds next to one another, they held hands. Long after her husband had passed away, his wife’s heartbeat registered on his heart monitor – because she continued to hold his hand.

Over the years, I have held a lot of hands. And only now, in this roomful of people, do I realize this. In churches, where I’ve always been somewhat uneasy, to funerals - same song, different dance, to fundraising events, weddings and birthdays to death beds. It’s only this time that I am struck by the irony of it all.

You see, I believe there is something magic that happens when we reach for someone else’s hand. It is earnest. And caring. And our way as people of showing – through a simple touch that we care.

The song is coming to an end, but my mind continues to wander. And to think about the people who left – rather than hold someone else’s hand. And in that moment, I am both happy and sad. Happy that I’ve recognized the magnificence in this one small act, and sad that it has to end so soon.

New Beginnings

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end..."

Those song lyrics are swirling around my head as I drive my (now) eight-year-old boy to his first day at his new school - Pathfinder. It's a gorgeous, sunny, brisk morning and the light and shadows are playing a game of cat-and-mouse.

Rowan's excitement is palpable - as he tells me how he's going to write a letter "to those people who write the animal dictionaries and ask them why they left out coelacanth's - the oldest living fish?"

We park, tumble out of the car, and begin the long walk (58 stairs to be exact) up to Rowan's new classroom. I've got butterflies. "This is gonna be crrraaaazzzzyyy," he says with a big grin.  "Yep, I laugh out loud. Crazy."

We are expecting Miss Caroline (Rowan's guitar teacher and the admissions director at the school) to be waiting for us, along with his teacher Miss Kate, but there are a few unexpected friends too. Mr. Carl, the Head of School, my friend Anne Stanton, and a handful of other parents and teachers who just "stopped by to say hi."

Today's view after starting something new.

We agonized about Rowan's first day at his new school - not knowing what to expect but knowing in our hearts it's the right thing for our boy. This morning is just the validation I needed. A tight-knit group of parents, crowded into the too-small entry of a second grade class, with two pint-sized dogs wandering about - it was the perfect new beginning. For all of us.


Returning to the car relieved, I sink into it's warmth. The lyrics are back again. Although I can't quite figure out who sang them?  The glint of sun interrupts my thoughts and I realize that all of my questions have been replaced. By a feeling. One I can recall on early-Spring runs. Exhilaration. The feeling that goes hand-in-hand with starting something new.