Posted on by The Other Jennifer Potter

Being Right

My son lives in New York City. He has a very small apartment that costs significantly more than my suburban home. He is surrounded by a seemingly infinite amount of people. He has never owned a car. He walks and bikes a lot. He has his favorite bodega and neighborhood bar. He has access to every style of food. He is excelling professionally by working among the best of the best in what is arguably the most competitive market in the world. He loves big city life and is taking full advantage of all that it has to offer. There is a rhythm to his life, like an orchestra of instruments that somehow, almost magically, creates this kind of symphonic experience.

I love to visit him and step into his world. I love to see the city through his eyes. It is busy, chaotic even, and beautiful. And after a few days, I am ready to return to my way of living. I miss the spaciousness. I miss the birds and squirrels. I miss my fire pit. I miss the quiet and solitude.

At his age, I think I could have adjusted and even thrived in his environment. By the age of 32, I’d lived in 11 states, 14 cities, and moved 20 times. At 52 and having lived in the same house for 20 years, I have come to love my life. We don’t have a huge house or yard, but we have more than enough of both.

Who is living the best life, my son or me? The answer is, we both are.

We live in a time where being right is so important that we are willing to lose relationships over it. Better to be right than kind. Better to be right than loving. Better to be right than inclusive. Better to be right than generous. Better to be right than humble. 

All this rightness has made each of us experts. Our sources are accurate. Our allies supersede all others. Opinions have become truth and leaders have become prophets. In this reality, there is no room for disagreement. Too much is at stake. 

Beliefs influence my convictions and actions, the way I vote, prioritize, spend my money and time. I imagine the same is true for you. When did that stop being enough and being right become essential? When did your life in the city become my business and my life in the suburbs become yours? I get the perceived notion that there is much at stake. For example, I am a proud supporter of LGBT rights. Legislation that seeks to further marginalize the Transgender community angers and frustrates me. I tell myself that being right saves lives. And yet my anger has not changed one person’s mind. And there seems to be a thin line between righteous anger and self-righteousness. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. Voting, supporting certain organizations, being an ally does help. I need to remind myself of what helps and what doesn’t help. 

When I talk with someone who holds very different opinions yet neither of us is trying to convert the other, we have a very different kind of conversation. We listen and feel heard. We often learn from the other. I love these opportunities, though they are becoming increasingly rare. More often, conversations with diverse opinions are more like verbal fighting. There may be a winner but there will definitely be injuries.

But I find myself coming back to the life that my son lives versus the life that I live. Arguing about who is right not only wouldn’t accomplish anything, it would actually get in the way of each of us living the life we want to live. Not too long ago, someone suggested that I had too much education and therapy, implying that my beliefs had been tainted by progressive sources. Initially I was offended. Now I see it more as a city person telling me that my suburban life is wrong. Maybe for him that is true. But I am quite happy with my life.

If we insist on seeing the world and its issues in black and white – one side is good and the other side is evil – we will continue to splinter and drift further apart from each other. And I don’t think we can be whole within ourselves when we live divided from each other. My son and I certainly couldn’t have the relationship we have if I insisted he emulate my life or I emulate his. We find common ground. We respect and often appreciate our differences. But then again we began with a sense of love and trust, both of which seem to be in short supply these days.

Posted on by The Other Jennifer Potter · 2 Comments

The Problem with Love

The problem with love is that it’s hard work.

Movies make it seem like the hard work happens until love shows up. But life isn’t like that. At least my life isn’t like that. Life is hard work. Love shows up. Life continues to be hard work. And now you’ve got the work of relationships too. So in fact, love makes the hard work harder.

I don’t just mean romantic love. All love is hard work. There are wonderful perks to love – companionship, friendship, affection, camaraderie, fun… lots of things that make the work more than worthwhile. But make no mistake, love is work. Lots of work.

Wouldn’t it be great if love were easy? If love solved our problems, not caused more problems?

I’m not down on love. I’m just feeling the need to be clear about the reality of love. While I look at those I am closest to and couldn’t be more grateful for those relationships, I also see the effort we have put into those relationships to make them work as well as they do. The relationships that have grown and strengthened and lasted aren’t the ones that have been the easiest. They are the ones that have been mutually worked on.

Certainly in the case with my kids, I did most of the work through their childhood. But I also sought to teach them their responsibilities in a relationship and eventually expected that to occur in our relationship as well. I would not have the relationship I have with my adult kids if they did not at some point start participating in and contributing to it.

Is that to say the relationship with my kids is perfect? Hell no. They’d be just as quick to say that as me. We get annoyed or frustrated with each other. We need breaks every now and then from each other. But I would say (and I hope they would to) that the relationship we do have with each other is deep, reliable, helpful and often enjoyable. And that no matter what, we will always show up for the other when truly needed. We might show up late. We definitely show up imperfectly. But we always, eventually, show up. That is why, while love is hard work, it is worth the work.

The reason I found myself thinking about love today is as I continue to figure out how to survive this awful year, I was reminded that at the center of my faith is love. It is the center of all the commandments according to the Christian faith. It is the most important responsibility. And it’s hard, especially when there are people who are hard to love. But I know that there are always people who are hard to love, including or maybe I should say, especially me.

There are days I don’t feel very loving, and days I don’t feel very lovable. I try to figure out how to love anyway. For those I’d rather dismiss, those who annoy me, those who don’t seem very deserving, those I’d rather not hang out with, I try to love anyway. It’s hard to keep showing up. I fail regularly, which gives me the opportunity to practice self-love as I learn to do better. We know that we can’t be very good at offering love if we aren’t good at receiving love.

I wish the point of faith was to be right. Or to be rich. Or to be protected. Or to be blessed. Those sound so much easier. But since it is not, at least not for me, I am thankful for what my loving relationships have taught me and give me in order to learn to love others, to keep showing up for others. I’m not sure I’ll ever get to the point where I can say I love all. But that’s the goal.

Ugh. I grimace as I write that last part. Because the problem with love is that it’s hard work.

Posted on by The Other Jennifer Potter

My Favorites

Sometimes I am with people who seem to bring out the best in me. Sometimes it’s the opposite. The people I’ve learned to hang onto are the ones who see the best in me. It’s not that they overlook my faults. But they see my strengths – my love, loyalty, deeply-felt feelings, intentionality, humor – in spite of my shortcomings – impatience, pushiness, tendency to correct whether one seeks a correction or not. These people are My Favorites, the ones I love more than life itself.

I think it’s a choice, that we can actually authentically be who we are regardless of who we are with. But that is a hard, maybe lifelong skill to learn. It’s normal to allow insecurities or uncertainties or hurts or anger to adjust our demeanor. In fact it’s really hard not to be defensive with someone you don’t trust. But what My Favorites teach me is that I can be my authentic self no matter who I am with. They remind me I am worthy, and in turn can make others feel worthy too, of love, of friendship, of kindness, of gentleness, of patience though God help me with that one.

Life feels very different when I am in that place of grace, even though circumstances might be exactly the same. My perspective softens. Hope is a bit more tangible. And with my ongoing existential crises, I’m deeply in need of both.

On March 5th, I’m getting my first tattoo. I’m 51 years old. I never really wanted a tattoo. I had a hard time imagining what I would want on my body for the rest of my life. And then my daughter, Liv, told me she was getting a tattoo of a flower drawn by one of My Favorites. I knew immediately that I wanted that tattoo as well. It felt right before the thought even fully formed. I asked Liv how she felt about her mom getting the same tattoo. Thankfully she thought it was a pretty great idea. March 5th, 2020 will mark six long years of Catherine being physically gone, a reality that still hurts so much.

This morning I’m realizing the tattoo will mean so much more than an homage to one of My Favorites. It will be my reminder to see myself as she saw me. It will be my reminder to be my best self no matter what. I think she’d like that a lot. I just wish she were here with me, but so continues the journey. She will always be one of My Favorites.

Posted on by The Other Jennifer Potter · 3 Comments

Tough Love

I have been the recipient of tough love on several occasions. I am referring to the experience of being told something I didn’t want to hear because it was hard to hear. But as the pain ebbed, I could see that I needed to hear what was being said. It is that moment of truth you initially push aside because it hits a little too close to home; a truth that challenges the narrative you have chosen to believe; a truth that feels like a mirror being held up too close to reveal a flaw you would rather not see.

Rarely does a tough love moment work the first time its message is conveyed. Its effectiveness usually requires multiple supporting messages and a recipient willing to listen or at least unable to ignore. One of my tough love moments was about money. And in hindsight I realized how that moment had been years in the making. I didn’t enjoy my tough love moment. But I was changed by it, for the better.

Initially I didn’t believe any logical and loving person could vote for Trump. When he was elected, I was shocked. When I realized some of my friends and family voted for Trump, I couldn’t really talk about it. I was so incredibly uncomfortable with the thought that one could believe Trump deserved the office of President. The only argument I heard that made any sense was the struggling coal miner who believed that Trump might revitalize the coal industry. I didn’t believe Trump would actually do that. But I could wrap my head around it.

I still can’t comprehend how a logical and loving person supports Trump. I’m not saying that a Trump supporter can’t be logical and loving. I am saying that a Trump supporter has a malfunction going on in both logic and love. That is my tough love message. Trump is a malignancy and in order to support him, you must deny the damage and ignore the hurt he is causing.

It doesn’t matter how he advances your convictions, who he puts into power for you, or what you gain. Nothing is worth the damage this president is causing at the expense of others. Without love, we are nothing and we gain nothing. And so we need to cut out the fucking cancer. If you are a Trump supporter, put forth a decent candidate for 2020 who represents you without decimating decency. Put forth a candidate who is able to argue his or her ideas rather than relying on cruelty towards another. Put forth a candidate who serves more than his or her own ego. Put forth a candidate with integrity. I believe with all my heart that Trump supporters need this tough love moment.

I am aware of a paradox here. While I articulate my belief that Trump supporters need to do better, I am convicted of the reality that I too need to do better. I must move past my disbelief and discomfort and have the conversation with my family and friends who support this president. I need to speak and listen, which will not be easy. I propose, if you are also willing, that we try to give each other room. Thank you for reading this far. Now tell me what it is you are fighting for. Tell me what the tough love message is for me. It might be difficult to do, for both of us. But isn’t it time we choose something other than division or superficiality?

I have one final thought to share. It is not only our convictions that reveal who we are, but it is the substance of our lives: the quality of our relationships, the sense of peace versus fear we carry, and the love or lack thereof that we give. I hope my life is about love, whether I am standing up for the marginalized, or listening to someone I completely disagree with because love never fails.