It will be okay

“Okay,” according to some etymologists, was an acronym for “oll korrect” (which is slang for “all correct”). Coming from a dysfunctional family has taught me many valuable lessons. But this lesson was one of my dad’s last parting gifts. He would always comfort me with the words, “It’s going to be okay.” I believed he had some ability to know that his statement would come true, but now that he’s gone, I realize exactly what he was trying to teach me.

My dad never pampered or coddled us. He never taught us to believe in fairy tales or miracles. Some people may view this as a disservice. I view it as a gift. My father had his shares of loss, pain and heartache. His experiences in life would never allow him to promise his children bliss. He never said, “It’s going to turn out perfect,” or “magnificent” or “brilliant.” Just “okay.”

So what does “okay” mean to me? “Okay” in no way involves perfection. My life has never been perfect and never will be. If you are alive, you’re guaranteed a few things: you will experience loss, feel grief, have regrets and suffer heartbreak. But you can also look forward to moments of happiness, joy, gratitude and contentment. In life, there are no revisions. If you are fortunate, the amazing moments will outweigh the mistakes, errors and blunders.

Coming from a mild climate in California has always allowed me to be a weather wimp. I dread one season in North Carolina: I hate the stiff Arctic breeze that starts in December and subsides in March. Every fall, I know what’s around the corner: the cold, the darkness, the slumber of winter. But somehow, when we survive this frigid and harsh season, spring is always that much more enjoyable. The sun warms your bones, life is revived, all is correct.

My dad seemed to understand that life can be cold and harsh, the wind unrelenting. He also seemed to know that if you could survive the frigid dark days, then the bright and sunny were sure to follow. So when I am at my lowest, I hear the words my dad uttered so many times: “It’s going to be okay.” These five words give me strength. They give me the courage to proceed, without high expectations but with a realistic view of the future. Life is far from flawless, but no matter what comes my way: It will be okay!

Wisdom

Wisdom is not the inability to make mistakes, it’s the ability to learn from them. I make stupid mistakes every day of my life. Sometimes they cost me money, sometimes they cost me time and sometimes they cost me dignity. I am actually proud and willing to tell you how dumb I can be. I recently had to tell my oldest daughter just how good her mother was at making mistakes. She was having a bad day and had gotten into trouble for hurting her little brother. In the course of her discipline she told me that she felt like she was always making mistakes and couldn’t do anything right. At that point, I had to spill the beans about my own inadequacy.

I am not sure if telling her about of all my bad choices made her feel any better, but I wanted her to understand that no one is going to make all the right decisions. Sometimes, because our heart leads us astray or because we have false information or because we have not weighed all the evidence or because emotions get the best of us, we do really dumb things. And unfortunately, we may have to live with the consequences for years to come. If we are not making mistakes, we are not growing, we are not learning, we are not gaining wisdom.

If I gave you a choice of being slapped in the face or living with a lifelong chronic condition, which one would you choose? The slap in the face is painful and embarrassing, but the pain will quickly fade. It’s the same when we make a blunder. No one wants to be told they have done something wrong or wasted time, money or energy. It hurts! It’s embarrassing! But if you feel the pain, if you let it sting and accept the fact that you are NOT perfect, you can learn from it, and the pain will quickly fade. The other choice is to ignore the mistake, pretend it wasn’t your fault and repeat it again in the future. This will provide you with a lifelong condition of chronic suffering.

When you own up to your bad choices or errors in judgment, you are on the road to becoming truly wise. There will be no need to repeat the mistake over and over. Instead, you learn from it: “Wow, that was stupid, but I’m sure glad I got it out of my system. Don’t need to do that ever again.” Choosing to own up is a road less traveled, but one that is much more enjoyable. There is a fine line between wisdom and stupidity, and there is actually only one key difference: a truly wise person will learn from their mistakes; a stupid person will repeat theirs.

I am just like my mother

My mother is amazing! She is generous, creative, industrious, loving, determined and independent. I am thankful that she has raised me to have some of these same traits. When we were young, she always stayed at home with us, when most moms were working. She was my world and I adored her.

Then, around the time I became a teenager, my parents divorced. As many of us know, divorce changes our perspective on everything. And that included my mom. I saw that she was not perfect after all. She made mistakes. Yet, despite these trials, I somehow managed to survive puberty with our relationship intact.

I am still unsure of the day it happened, but I know from experience that most woman reach an age when one fact is unavoidable: they are just like their mother! This is not on purpose. It is probably not even conscience. These are the things you do when no one is around, the decisions you make on a day-to-day basis, how you handle stress, how you treat your children, how you talk to your husband. Yep, all learned from good old mom!

Then you have your own daughter, and it starts from the beginning. She learns from you. You are her role model, and all that you know is what your mom taught you. That is when you turn to Motherhood for Dummies, many self-help books and possibly years of counseling.

Unfortunately, it all comes back to this simple fact. You are just like your mother! Go ahead say it: “I am just like my mom.” Cherish it, embrace it. Take all those good and bad qualities she gave you and build on them. They are the foundation, and each mother is a stepping stone for the next generation.

Sainthood

It’s easy to turn those who have died into saints. You overlook obvious flaws and overemphasize the goodness. An ordinary, average person can become extraordinary the day they die.

Now that my dad is gone we only seem to remember his amazing attributes. This is a source of contention for my mom because we have not shown her the same forgiveness. We have turned my dad into a saint: St. William Arnold. He would get a good laugh out of the whole situation. His final revenge.

My dad was able to pull this same maneuver when we were teenagers. He left town for an extended period of time after my parent’s divorce. Even though I felt angry and abandoned at the time, I soon forgave him. Then and now, only remembering the good, bright and sunny moments can ease the pain. It somehow makes the separation bearable. I gain much comfort recalling the positive qualities my dad displayed. But he was not a saint. He had flaws, he made mistakes, he was human.

Around the time my dad died, I learned some valuable information about my great-grandfather, who had passed away when I was a child. All my life I had been told about his amazing, saintly attributes. But no one ever talked about his flaws. I was shocked to learn of his failings. To know he was human.

The irony is that when you die, you are forgiven of the mistakes that follow you when you’re alive. This is a natural human tendency: to memorialize those who are gone, to set them on a pedestal. The sad part is that we can’t seem to do this when the person is living. For most of us death may be the only time we achieve sainthood.

Sometimes they do know best

Most parents have years of experience that can outweigh our inexperience. Usually they have our best interest at heart. This can be hard to accept, no matter how old we are. When your parent gives you advice, you might want to stop and listen. You may be able to use only 1% of that advice, but that 1% may be very valuable.

A few months ago, my seven-year-old came to me with scissors in his hand and asked if he could cut his hair. Of course I told him “no”, and took the scissors away. He immediately went downstairs, found another pair of scissors, and proceeded to cut his hair anyway, removing sizeable chunks in multiple spots. If it hadn’t looked so ridiculously funny, he would have gotten into much more trouble, but we decided his punishment would be at least one day in school before we fixed it. When I asked him why he’d done it, he said, “I just wanted to see what it felt like to cut my hair.”

This reminded me of a few decisions I made as a child, when I thought I knew better than my mom. I shared these with my children, hoping that they would learn from my experience. The one that stood out the most was my cactus petting. After being told never to touch a small wooly cactus, I decided not only to touch it but fondle it. What did my mom know? It looked soft enough. To my surprise, it was extremely soft. I petted it, and petted it, all the while thinking my mom was a fool. My mother and I soon realized that despite its soft coat, it had left thousands of thorns in my hand, which my mom was not very happy to tediously remove.

Our parents do know us the best and have usually experienced something similar to what we are going through. They want to help, they want to give advice, they want to keep us safe. So listen, because sometimes they do know best.

We all live with our mistakes

This goes hand in hand with forgiveness, because sometimes we think it is our job to punish people for treating us badly. “I’m going to make them pay!” “They’ll regret ever hurting me.” “I’ll get them back!”

But I have some good news for you! When someone has a tendency to treat people badly and does not take others’ feelings into account, they will end up hurting themselves more than anything you could ever do to them. I’m not saying this will happen overnight. And sometimes we may not think it’s a mistake at the time. Take, for example, a parent who works excessively and does not have time to spend with their children. They may reason: I am working hard so that I can provide a nice home, clothing and a comfortable lifestyle for my kids. Truthfully, those are all good things, and there is no right answer. The problem will come twenty years from now, when the children are grown. How will they feel? Will they be thankful that you provided them with an abundant home, designer clothing and all the best money can buy, or will they be resentful because they felt you were never around when they needed you most?

Or let’s use a more black-and-white decision as an example: to have an extramarital affair. You can do it—many people do—and you probably won’t get arrested, but what consequences will you have to live with from that one mistake? Divorce, guilt, loss of trust. You may not see the consequences right away, because you are caught up in the moment, but there will be consequences and they will produce a ripple effect for years to come.

My parents, my grandparents, my aunts, my uncles, my brother and my sister, as well as myself, are all living with our mistakes. No one can do more damage than we can do to ourselves. So when you feel like it’s your job to get even, just step back and smile, fully confident that things have a funny way of coming back around.