Making It Count

I admit it. I have an obsession. I want to count. I want to matter. I have had this ever since I was a young child. Maybe everyone feels this way – I’m not sure. But ever since I was young, I was terrified of being ordinary. I always wanted to be special, stellar, an ace, the best. I lived off accolades from other people (one of the many reasons why I loved acting - where else do people applause every time you are done working?). As I grew up, this shifted from a rather self-centred drive to be the best (at anything) into a longing to make an impact. To leave a positive mark on the world before I die. To change something for the better. 

Actually facing my own death made this a bit interesting. After diagnosis, I reflected on my life and wondered what, exactly, I had done that would leave any mark whatsoever. I hadn’t worked in refugee camps. I hadn’t published anything of note. I hadn’t started my own charity for impoverished children. And then I looked at my kids.

Right. Those little humans.

You see, I have started to notice an interesting thing about this generation of young mothers. While there is, of course, nothing new about the unending conflict between staying home and going to work (and the so-called “mommy wars”), what I have been noticing is a large internal conflict in many of my friends between wanting to “be something” and wanting to be a mother. As if those two are mutually exclusive.

Because, for some reason, many of us don’t count raising a human being as something significant.

Of course, logically, we know it is significant. Endless pages of words have been written about this issue. And yet, when that is our sole focus, when we put our career aside in order to care for young children, many of us feel like it is not enough. It is not prestigious. We are reminded as we wipe peanut butter off our jeans and clean up the kitchen for the fifth time in one day, that we are “just” mothers. (As if there is anything “just” about 24/7 parenting.)

I want to share with you a quote from one of my dear friends, a friend I’ve known since childhood who is a lawyer and a very accomplished career woman, but like many of us, has made professional sacrifices in order to be present for her daughter. This is what she wrote to me, when I told her that not working outside the home made me feel like a professional loser: “When done well, raising humans is noble.  But only hippies talk about it. Professional people apologize for and/or cover up anything related to their children, because after all most of the human race has managed it.”

Perhaps this doesn’t resonate with you, but it really hit home for me. I am not judging anyone’s work or stay-at-home choices. But when I was in therapy post-treatment (and believe me, therapy after cancer is a must), I was lamenting the stall in my career and how I might die without doing anything “important.” I wanted to get back in the game, to have a career, to “lean in.”

My therapist gently pointed out that I was raising two kids. Wasn’t that important?

 
Of course it is. It is, as my friend put it, noble when done right. It is the most important (and exhausting) job in the world. How could I think anything otherwise? But at times, we need reminding. These little tyrants who mess up our houses and assault our eardrums and wake us up all night are also the future custodians of our planet, future doctors, actors, writers, world leaders, and future parents of future little tyrants. 

That is no small thing.

On Saturday, I had to bring my daughter to the children's hospital because she fractured her elbow, horsing around with her brother. I was so grateful that I was alive and healthy and able to comfort her through that ordeal. The first broken bone is not a milestone to be missed. And her mommy was there.

On Tuesday, I got to bring my son to his first day of school. Five years old. Kindergarten. It was hard to believe. Once I got home, I became quite emotional as I realized that I could have missed that day. I almost missed that day. Had it not been for my donor and my doctors, I would not have been there to hug him and send him off. I would not have been there, waiting on the step, as he bounced off the bus with a huge grin on his face.

Of course, I still want to be extraordinary. That will never go away. But I am learning that there are many different ways to do that. I heard a great quote the other day that said: "Don't be realistic. Realistic is where ordinary people live ordinary lives. Be unrealistic. That is when you will do and be amazing things."

Indeed. So now I am striving to be as unrealistic as possible. I want to live until I'm 90, disease-free. I want to publish many, many bestsellers (that are all turned into movies, of course). I want to make a difference in the lives of impoverished children and at-risk teens. I want to move our family to Vancouver. I want a house overlooking the ocean. (Hey, if I'm going to be unrealistic, I'm going all the way.)

So as I lean into the value of motherhood, I also recognize that I still want a career. Not the same one I had before cancer. I’m letting that go. I’m simply not interested in an academic life that demands fifty hours (or more) a week. My life is too short, and too precious, to work that hard, to invite that stress into my life. But I do want something. And so now I explore. I find a way to fit my work into my life, and not the other way around.

Because I’m still here. Right now. For however long that may be. And if I die young, I want my kids to remember that I was always there for them, no matter what.

In the end, that's what counts.