Skip to main content

The Shut-Down Vibe

About four years ago, I told someone I look up to and trust that now that I've studied Spanish, I wanted very much to learn French. I'll never forget their look of general disdain as they asked me pointedly, "Why?"

Their reaction surprised me. I don't remember how I responded. And sadly, I let that moment shape me. I put French on the shelf. I can't blame my confidant for my lack of effort. But I do think that the "shut-down vibe" as I'm going to call it is far to common in our tone as we converse with those around us, and that strain of negativity destructs the speaker and the recipient.

Some other examples--a dear friend of mine (as a teenager) asked his mother if she thought he could finish the Book of Mormon in a week's time, she told him "No, I don't think you can." When I asked a talented classmate of mine some tips she'd have for me while I prepared for a high school choir audition, she responded that I shouldn't even try because I was certain not to make it. I've even, ashamedly, fallen into this shut-down vibe myself a few times when my husband suggests his eagerness to learn how to cut our son's hair or grow rainbow roses from itty-bitty seeds. Why did we allow ourselves to slump into pessimism to the point of snuffing out the potential brilliance of another?

A family therapist I deeply admire, Dr. John Lund, once gave the advice to couples not to "become dream-crushers." He talked about his dream to buy a cabin in Park City, and sometimes when he would start to vocalize this dream, his wife would start to panic (her financial alarms were screaming in her own organized brain) and start to list off the limitations to such a possibility. Dr. Lund explained to her that he wasn't going to flippantly go out and buy a cabin without planning with and consulting her first. He said it's often healthy for him to just dream a while, and how he needs his wife to support him in that dreaming and "what-iffing," if you will.

I want to do that for my husband. I want to do that for my children, my students, my friends. What if we just held a strong, positive "I think you CAN!" mentality? What good vibes would we send that could change the entirety of our own confidence and productivity, as well as that of others?

Last week I learned how to say "Je m'appelle Mikayla" and "Je suis un prof." So I'm learning French now, if only a few phrases as a time. I don't want to let the doubts of others confine me to empty hopes of yesteryear. And I pray and plan that I can change and not spread the shut-down vibe myself. If one of my kids comes to me in ten years and says, "Mom, I want to learn the Tuba." I want to say, "Well that's amazing! Tell me why you want to learn the Tuba? Let's come up with a plan to help you do that."

*********************************************************************************


Day #311

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Problem with Chick Flicks.

I really, really, really enjoy a select few movies that I willingly watch over and over again. Pride and Prejudice is one of them. You see, Elizabeth's defense of her family, her sense of self respect, her ability to admit that she was wrong and to appreciate Darcy despite all his quirks, and quizzical brow-ness... it's marvelous. My husband doesn't share the sentiment, could you tell? ... and that's okay. There's rare a chick flick I enjoy near as much as I enjoy Pride and Prejudice or A Walk To Remember , and I wanted to explain why. You see, there's more than just a few problems with (many, not all) chick flicks:  (and if you have a chick flick that escapes many of these pitfalls then please oh please leave it's title in the comment section!) The heroine (or suitor) is less than honorable. I have a hard time rooting for a girl to get a gentleman when she's spending her time being scandalously loose with other men ( #thenotebook) . An...

Where's Number Three

A neighbor in her mid-thirties. A woman in her seventies. Their single commonality? They both asked me: Where's number three? I have a son, his name Charlie And then McKay, he's not quite three In my heart, both fit perfectly Yet others ask: Where's number three? Perhaps it's that I miscarried, My spouse's infidelity, The ache of infertility, A battle raging mentally, Illness on a crippling spree, Our family is complete, maybe. The reason's one or more of these, Yet you dare ask: Where's number three? In this question, running free Are judgements, jeering icily "You're not enough, Mik, can't you see? Buck up and give us number three!" I used to flounder, squirm, agree Or curl up small, cry, and plead. With time, I've seen things differently. I won't explain for number three. The questions of maternity Are just between my spouse and me And Parents, guiding Heavenly So please don't ask: Where's number three? Artwork Credit: Be...

Ponyta

So Kevin got to my blog before I did today 😂 He wrote it from my perspective. This is what he wrote (all of it accurate, admittedly): "Today I lost a ponyta. My dear husband who is still 9 at heart owns the game Pokemon Monopoly. We play it with a few friends this evening and things started out very well. 30 minutes in and everyone but my husband had 5 or 6 properties and a good chunk of change, while Kevin only had Articuno (the equivalent of water works.) 3 and a half hours later I declared Kevin as the victor. The tables turned and we still don't understand how. I love horses. One of the properties has a picture of a horse that is on fire (Pokemon is weird), but it makes me happy when I get the chance to own it. I had to give that fire pony property to my husband because of game rules and poor dice rolls." He knows me well. Owning a fire pony (even in a game) is legit. And Pokemon Monopoly is the best kind of Monopoly there is.