Lessons From My Daughter

After a hectic, but wonderful weekend in Manhattan, my wife, daughter and I waited at Newark airport for an early evening flight back to Richmond. Nimisha and I, grateful for a little adult time with friends, happily recounted our memories from the weekend. Not to be outdone, our 2-year old Diya, regaled us with tales of "Nani and Dada" spoiling her as only grandparents can with trips to the park, bowls of ice cream, and even an introduction to Mr. Chuck E. Cheese!

We were all in high spirits, but also eager to get home. Moments before our scheduled boarding time, Diya asked if she could use the potty. Impressed with her "big girl" decision, mommy eagerly complied, and they went to the restroom hand-in-hand with smiles on their faces.

A couple minutes later, a loud shriek broke through the ambient noise of the hurried travelers. As a relatively new parent, I've been there myself. My heart went out to the poor parents who had to deal with that situation, but I was also grateful that my daughter was in such great spirits. But when I heard it a second time, and then a third, and the voice got closer and even louder than I might have thought possible, I realized that those "poor" parents that I pitied were US! These loud, terrible shrieks seemed to echo and reverberate through every corner of EWR's tiny, cramped, and severely outdated Terminal A. And they only stopped when she took a breath, which meant that each successive scream was louder than the prior as they came from deeper and deeper within her soul!

As I said, I've dealt with meltdowns before. Every parent has. But I usually have an out. At home I have more levers to deal with the situation. And, I can always leave a store or restaurant (with Diya, of course!) But here at the airport, "trapped" just beyond the security gate, and in open view under all those hostile, judging faces, it felt like an entirely different game. Like any other toddler Diya is a perfect angel, except when she's not. That's what you expect...she's a kid. But now it felt personal, she was being unreasonable and she wasn't being fair to me or my wife. How dare she do this to us? And after such a great weekend after all?

I went on in my head like this for a while before I caught myself realizing that I was turning my daughter's discomfort - which, BTW was TOTALLY reasonable after several very action-packed days away from home - and making it about ME. Rather than focusing all my attention on what my daughter needed, it was focused on the stares and the judgment of complete strangers that I don't even know, let alone care about as much as my daughter. Every eye roll, scoff, and disgusted "here we go again" face dug at my ego. My need to appear competent and in control was threatened and I didn't like it one bit.  

The fairy-tale ending would be for me to tell you that the moment that I realized this error, I tuned into Diya's needs and was able to calm her more effectively. But this ain't a fairy tale. But, what DID happen was just as magical. The very moment I realized my error I stopped giving a damn what anyone else thought and as I stopped keeping track of the dirty looks I'd gotten, I found that the real "problem", which was my ego and not Diya's crying, was solved.

Ironically, a few months ago I was a guest on a podcast about living one's values where I shared some important lessons I thought I'd learned on this very point. Through my life's experiences I'd learned long ago not to pin my happiness on others' approval. But, Diya took it to another level. She showed me that while wasn't an approval seeker, disapproval still stung. And, my sense is that the happiest and most successful among us have developed an immunity to both conditions.

Thank you, Diya. Watching you grow up is helping me grow up, too. And I appreciate the many lessons you've given me and the ones we have yet to share.