"Daddy, can we cuddle?" Ailyn asked last night while sitting on the sofa, about to start a movie to wind down her night. While not an unusual request from Ailyn, it's magical because how many more years do I have of it? When she asks that – not always at convenient moments – I try to stop whatever's going on and cuddle at least for a few minutes. In this case, I needed to first de-stench with a shower and then joined her on the sofa where she also asked for me to tickle her back.
After another few minutes, Sennen slid up next to me and laid his head on my right leg. Then he asked for a back scratch. So I was cuddling/providing light bodywork services for my kids while they watched The Hunchback of Notre Dame until they were each tired enough to want to go to bed. I had five things on my mind to get done and so I felt a little antsy when I sat down. After taking a breath, I realized all of those things could wait, none of them mattered that much and certainly none would be more memorable than sitting on the sofa with a kid cuddled up on each side. If the clock was ticking on any of the tasks I had to accomplish yesterday, it was ticking even more so on what was happening on the sofa. Cuddles aren't forever.
One of our goals for the summer has been to add art to the house. Ailyn plays a central role as our budding artist. In fact, the only piece of art in the house was a painting she made last summer of Chokolakas Beach with its very red and orange sunset that hangs prominently in the entry. Hard lives that they have, the kids decided they needed a day off from the beach – which made this the perfect day for Ailyn to get some art supplies and go to work. She's been pondering paintings for some time and wants to make at least three depicting different aspects of the Patmos experience and not necessarily all landscapes or scenes. First up appears to be a salute to gelato.
One of many things I really like about having bought this house on Patmos is how the kids and I walked into it together. I saw it only once before buying it – so last summer when we arrived, we literally on the first day walked in together (with my mom too). Sure, being the adult, I've done a lot more of the heavy lifting – but this house is OUR project and along the way, I've consulted the kids at each step. I hope one day getting, improving, transforming and enjoying our Patmos house is a major part of my kids' memories along with their summers on Patmos.
Having each of us add something – contribute to what the house becomes – seems most in keeping with the intent. Ailyn's art is an important part of the process.
More so than at any point until now (which admittedly haven't been that many yet), I feel myself wanting to let go of the outside world and just stay present. Just like the sofa last night, this entire time with the kids in Patmos is special. While we may have future summers here, none will ever be like this one. The kids are at this great spot where they are old enough to be independent and capable, but young enough to still want cuddles and time with me. I imagine in another couple of years, they'll have a crew of Greek or international kids to go hang with instead of wanting long dinners or days at the beach with me. As it should be – when it's time.
So for now, showing up for my kids while they too are present makes the most sense.
While far from a model of fatherhood, Woody Allen is often quoted as saying "Eight percent of success is showing up."
As I get older, I realize how true that is – especially in our relationships. Showing up for people is most of they want and need – and when we look back on ourselves, it's most of what we're proud of and remember.
On its face, Woody Allen's "showing up" sounds really simple – almost like being there at 8 am sharp is the hard work. In reality, showing up can be one of the hardest things we do. Most of us live in a very distracted, chaotic world where we're pulled in uncountable directions from the online questionnaire we have to complete in advance of a doctor's appointment to the groceries we need to make this week's dinners to the work deadlines and kids' sports events. We feel the family members we're ignoring, the friends slipping away not by anyone's explicit decision or choice, but because the tides of life pull people apart unless you make a conscious decision to swim against the current to get to them. Sometimes we comfort ourselves – or at least I do – by telling ourselves some people are just part of our lives for a certain duration – one part of the journey. But it always feels like a lie because that's never been my life philosophy.
I believe when we find good people – in whatever walk of life – we try to hold on. Connections can hold across distance and time. We invest time when we can and make the effort to stay connected – to remain linked.
In my twenties, I was great at this. I made calls, sent emails, took time to visit when I was in someone's town or city – planned trips to see people. I invested in my relationships. When those people I valued needed me, I showed up. And when they didn't need me – I still showed up. And we were there – together.
I didn't understand that comparatively, I had time to show up. Moreover, I had fewer ties and obligations to hold me back. I could find more paths to the people who mattered – and there were still fewer of them than there would be as time marched on.
If we're lucky, we meet a few great people at each step or stage along the way. Whether or not we're lucky, we encounter an increasing number of people to whom we have obligations and interdependencies. Colleagues, other parents, neighbors, in-laws, teammates, volunteers, congregants, new friends, situational friends, community members – people who come into our lives and to whom we are bound to and enjoy – or not – in various ways and to different degrees.
Sometimes the gravitation pull of life has me in very regular contact with people I don't care so much about and almost unable to reach out to the people who make my heart smile. Sometimes I look up and realize it's been a year since I've spoken to someone I deeply value while I spend considerable time or energy trying to get along with someone I'll never talk to again the moment I take another job or move or our kids are in a different class or school. Showing up – even at a basic level – for people I value can become hard when I'm wading through the muck of daily life.
Once in awhile, I talk to a friend, family member or former colleague who matters and I learn between our last conversation and now something major has happened – a loss, a baby, an illness, a wedding, a grandchild, a graduation, a scare, a major birthday, a personal struggle – and I die a little inside. How did I get so lost in my life, in my own shit that I missed something important with someone who at least in my heart I hold dear.
I suppose it could be considered a success to have enough people who matter – to find special and want to be close to – to have so many, you can no longer keep up. It could be a blessing to have enough people in my contacts whose names I would call if only I had time and thought they did too. It also feels like a failure. When did I decide that person wasn't important enough? When did I become so selfish I didn't follow-up on someone's loss or illness? I have good friends whose wedding I was at not so long ago and I forgot their anniversary!
Showing up is hard work. Not because any one instance takes up too much time, effort or expense – but because it does in aggregate. How many of us want to give up a half-hour at the end of a long, busy day to make a phone call? Or do we want to get a task done and unwind? And how many of the people we want to reach out to have the time and desire to give up their half-hour? Most people I know are swimming just as hard through the currents of their lives.
In the end, we can only show up in so many places and times. We have limits to how much and in what ways we can show up – and yet it's the thing that matters most. That eighty percent feels so challenging. The struggle is real.
Then I look at my kids. They deserve everything. Sadly, even if I'm bowling a perfect game, I can now only give them fifty percent. So showing up for them feels all the more important. How many cuddles do I want to pass up, or withhold because of a call I'll never remember? At the same time, how many friends or family members will I forget to show up for while I let the world slip away while being very present for my kids here in Patmos? We all know multi-tasking is really failing to be completely present – failing to show up for anyone completely. So if we want to do the job authentically, someone falls to the side.
This summer, it's been a number of friends and family members who in odd moments, I think of and wish I could talk to – show up for completely. People in interesting chapters of their lives. Or people whose energy is just a joy to be around. People I just want to know I love and care about them. Sometimes I do the lame thing and shoot off a text here and there. Sending up a signal is better than making no effort at all. As Dionne Warwick said, "Send 'em your heart, so they know that someone cares…"
Maybe in a few years, when the cuddles are no longer on tap, no one wants long summer dinners and the paintings are not so prolific, I'll have time to call instead of text. Maybe further down the line when the kids are doing their own thing in the summers instead of hanging out on lame Patmos with their even lamer father, I'll have time to visit more. I can find new ways to show up for people I wish I had always been showing up for. Maybe late is better than never and some is better than none.
Because showing up matters and in some cases – in some relationships – at some times – it may be the hardest and most important thing you ever do.
