Journal

New Doors

by M.C. Greene July 20, 2021

written by M.C. Greene

It’s the middle of summer, and, here in the South, the sun is high in the sky, stretching our days. Balmy mornings give in to late afternoon showers and the smell of freshly fallen rain on the summer grass.

In our home, The Greatest Kid On The Planet is contemplating a new adventure that is quickly approaching. It seems like only yesterday when I was writing about his first day of middle school, and, just a short time ago, we celebrated his last. He’s officially a high school freshman now, and I can barely type those words. Where did the years go? So many are asking this same question as our children begin preparing for what lies ahead, even while holding tightly to the quickly passing days of summer.

For so many of us, after a year marked by loss and uncertainty, life is slowly returning to normal, and we are heading into the second half of this year with a sense of relief and anticipation. But, for others of us, nothing is the same anymore. The new year brought about changes and challenges we weren’t anticipating much less prepared for, and we find ourselves feeling lost and wondering where to begin.

It’s a question I’ve heard from so many since the beginning of the year. How do you start over when everything looks different?

These are the things I have been pondering over the last several weeks as I’ve found myself doing something I’ve done before. I’m packing and purging. I’m wondering through my house putting things into boxes, some that will go with us and some that will go to charity and Goodwill and other places, and it all feels so familiar. I’ve done this many times before, and the last time wasn’t so many years ago.

If you’ve been following along throughout the years, then you know The Greatest Kid finds his passion on the football field and has since he was eight years old. His love for that game has never waned. It’s only grown along with him. He has a vision for himself in his mind, and it’s one he sees clearly, and it has taken us down many roads and to so many places. And it is that vision that is, again, leading us to a new place away from where we are now.

July 20, 2021

How Do You Want To Feel?

by M.C. Greene April 3, 2020

written by M.C. Greene

It’s seven a.m. here in Georgia, and I’m sitting on my back porch waiting for the sun. Over the last week, Spring has brought new life to the view from where I’m sitting and, with it, the promise that a new season is upon us. Slowly emerging buds have awakened into a parade of verdant hues stretching toward a sky that is, finally, more often blue than gray. And the cherry trees, hesitant only a few short weeks ago, are, at last, in full bloom. Everywhere you look, their delicate petals drift through the air as evidence of their long-awaited return. Already, I can tell today is going to be another amazing day.

Yesterday, The Greatest Kid On The Planet and I started the day with a late breakfast of pineapple pancakes, and then there was online learning to be done. Afterwards, we spent a good part of the afternoon throwing around a football. I couldn’t have asked for a better day with my kid. I know so many are struggling through the current situation, and I pray for anyone who finds themselves in hardship during this time. For me, I’m grateful The Greatest Kid and I are safe and well, and I love having him at home with me. I’m trying to savor every moment while I can.

These days, I stay away from the media. There is no CNN in our home, no local or world news. I’ve never been one to take more than a glance at the headlines, but, right now, I stay away from even those. Fear, panic, and blame seem to be the order of the day, and with so much of it circulating around us, I’m feeling, more than ever, the need to protect my inner peace.

This is a conversation I seem to be having with a great many people, especially over the last few weeks. In February, I published a post about the difference between hurt and hate and how we get to grace, and I wrote that we can choose not to take the actions of others personally, but, rather, give grace to those who act in a hateful or hurtful manner. I was surprised by the number of emails I received following that post and by the sentiment shared by so many who find themselves struggling with grace and, sometimes, forgiveness.

While most agree giving grace is best, both for ourselves and for others, it isn’t always easy to do. We would like to think we’re above it all, but we are not immune to the words and wiles of other people and to all that is going on around us.

So, at a time when so many, it seems, are hell bent on spreading anger and hatefulness, and with so much negativity coming at us from every direction, how do we guard ourselves against it?

April 3, 2020

Being Well Journal

A Grand Adventure

by M.C. Greene December 17, 2019

written by M.C. Greene

It’s early Tuesday morning, and I’m staring out the window at a clear, blue sky with the occasional wisp of a cloud. If I could reach through the glass, I could touch one of them. The Greatest Kid On The Planet and I are thirty-four thousand feet in the air, traveling at five hundred and forty miles an hour across the rocky mountain landscape below us.

Five days ago, we were doing this very same thing, but we were heading in the opposite direction toward the land of cable cars, Ghirardelli, and the Golden Gate Bridge. This morning, we’re heading back to Georgia after one of our grandest adventures. But we say that about all of them.

The Greatest Kid On The Planet is asleep next to me, and I wish I could do that. I never sleep thirty thousand feet in the air. I’ve done this particular trip many times before, both with and without The Greatest Kid, but never just the two of us, and, for me, that’s what makes this one so grand.

This particular adventure is one I took many years ago with a man The Greatest Kid knew for only a few short years. It’s a story I’ve relayed often of life with his dad before he was born, and that I’m taking it now with this younger and, surely, better version of both of us makes me feel as if a circle is closing.

Two nights ago, we were sitting under the stars and bright lights on a clear, California night cheering on our team, a random spot of green lost in a raucous sea of red. It was a night filled with anticipation, amazement, and excitement, and it ended in a crushing loss. It was a loss The Greatest Kid likened to a bug under the heel of a boot, and I couldn’t have agreed more. But it was not the first for our team, and, surely, it won’t be the last.

Still, it was a loss that hurt, and I asked The Greatest Kid in the car after the game what he thought about it all. I’m always amazed when his thoughts echo my own, and this time was no different.

“It was a tough loss,” he said, “but this is still the best time ever. And I would do it all over again.” I let his words settle around us as we passed under the city lights on our way back to the wharf. There was little for me to say. I couldn’t have agreed more.

The Buddha says we are all energy, a stream of consciousness, not a body with a soul, but a soul within a body. And that we will continue on, and we will live our adventures over and over again, one life after another, a continuous cycle without end.

It is also believed that we bring pieces of ourselves with us from one life to the next. That we are, in fact, forever evolving, and everything we were and knew and lived before makes us who we are now and who we will be.

Part of me believes this to be true. We’ve all experienced that sense of déjà vu, that feeling that comes and goes so quickly we can barely grasp it, the certainty that we’ve been here, that we’ve done this, felt this, lived this moment before.

And part of me wants to believe this day and this moment are brand new, that the days ahead of us are unknown and unwritten, and this adventure is still yet to be lived and determined.

Because, what if it isn’t?

What if what the Buddha says is true, and we have, in fact, been here before? Then, surely, it begs the question, and I have to wonder: what did my previous adventure look like?

Am I reliving the same one? Or did I take a different path from the one I’m on now? Did I do all the same things, love all the same people, have all the same hopes and dreams? Did I have all the same doubts and all the same fears? Did I make all the same mistakes? And did I ever learn my lesson?

Did I talk to the moon and stare at the stars?

And did I have all the same questions?

Did I feel the same amazing, unquestionable, unconditional, irrefutable, unexplainable and inexplicable love, joy, awe, wonder, pride, and amazement I feel today?

These are the thoughts I ponder at thirty thousand feet as we race through the air skipping over hours into the day. The years behind me are a kaleidoscope of colors and thoughts and feelings, and fragments of days and hours and moments, and words said and unsaid and things done and undone, and all the pieces come together as the wheel keeps turning. They create a picture in my mind of where I’ve been and how I wound up here in this time and place, and I wonder, if I could move those pieces around, if I could, in fact, do it all over again, as The Greatest Kid said, would I?

Years ago, I could not have imagined myself where I am now. I was busy and selfish and thoughts of family never entered my mind. The person I was then had no idea what she was missing or that life would change her in ways she could not imagine. And that it would be heartbreaking and overwhelming and painful and amazing. But now, here, today, a lifetime, seemingly, from who and where I once was, I cannot imagine myself anywhere else.

So, if I could do it again, would I? Would I make the same choices? Or would I choose to rearrange the pieces and do things differently? Would I choose to relive the hurt and the healing, the hardship and the loss, to get to where I am today?

Some say it’s all wishful thinking, that this is our one life, and there isn’t anything after this. That, after we have lived all the days we are given, there is eternal peace and rest for the weary but nothing more beyond.

Perhaps this is true. And if it is, and we do not, as the Buddha says, live our adventures over and over again, then, surely, it, too, begs the question, and I have to wonder: what are we doing with the mere moments we have, with our one chance to do and be who and where we are?

Are we being true to ourselves and to others? Or do we take it all for granted? Are we living our best life and helping the ones we love do the same? Or do we choose comfort over courage? Are we following our dreams? Are we as happy as we can be, living the life we want to live, loving whom we want to love, and doing what we want to do? Are we making the right choices and asking the right questions? Do we choose to trust and to love, to forgive and show grace, to be kind and feel gratitude, and to be brave and believe?

Do we look around each day and feel unquestionable, unconditional, unexplainable and inexplicable love, excitement, joy, wonder, pride, and amazement at all that we are and all that we see?

These are the things I ponder as we fly through the air at thirty thousand feet. There are a few bumps in the road on our way back to Georgia, but, mostly, the sky is peaceful. The Greatest Kid is still asleep, and I’m sure I can see him growing before me. These days his height rivals my own, and I have less than an inch on him which I will surely give away before twelve-years-old is over. I make sure he sees only the smile in my eyes, but, in my heart, there is an ache mixed in with the wonder. The things I see in him and all he is becoming are a combination of a man I once knew, who I am now, and the person I hope he will be.

It occurs to me now that, even as I sit here in the middle of my adventure, I am watching The Greatest Kid live out his own. His started barely thirteen years ago, and so much of it still lies ahead of him. And I wonder what the rest of it will look like.

And if, one day, years from now, somewhere in a time and place and a universe I cannot imagine, he will do it all over again.

Right now, we are getting close to home. Winter is settling into Georgia and bringing with it a chill that comes and goes. But that’s the way we like it in the South. In the coming days, we will spend our moments with family and friends, and the air and the days will be filled with excitement, and our kitchen will smell of sweet potatoes and cinnamon and warm pumpkin pie. And then, almost as if overnight, the cozy scent of evergreen will mingle with the sounds of Andy Williams and Mitch Miller and John Denver and the Muppets.

These are the adventures waiting for us at home, the ones that I can see.

Maybe, as the Buddha says, we will do it over again and again. Maybe it never ends. Or maybe this is our one grand adventure. The only one that we get.

There is no way to know. I do not know what adventures are waiting for us farther down the road in the coming months and years and seasons and, maybe, in a time and a place I cannot conceive.

But what I do know is this.

I know that every piece of every moment I have lived up until this day, every time I have laughed and every time I have cried, every day I have hoped, prayed, wanted, worried, every wish that I wished that somehow came true and all the wishes I wished that didn’t, every triumph and tragedy, every mistake I have made, every person I have loved and everyone I have lost, every joy and every dream and every fear and every blessing, every day and moment and season of uncertainty, pain, and heartache, every little piece has come together and led me to where I am now.

And whether this is our one and only, or our one of many, this adventure right here, right now, hurtling through time and space next to the greatest kid on the planet, this day, this moment, this life is the one I would choose to live again and again, because this grand adventure, this one, is the greatest one ever.

M.C. Greene

P.S. I wrote this post three weeks ago on our way home from San Francisco after a weekend spent skipping around the wharf and watching the 49ers lay havoc all over the Green Bay Packers. I tucked it away when we returned and celebrated Thanksgiving with The Greatest Kid and family and friends and all the amazing things we are forever thankful for. Last week, The Greatest Kid On The Planet and I were staring out the window at the last full moon of the year while the scent of evergreen danced in the air along with the sounds of Andy Williams. We were mulling over all this past year has bestowed upon us, and The Greatest Kid looked at me and said, “This was the greatest year ever,” and I couldn’t have agreed more.

We love this magical season, and we’re looking forward to all that is ahead of us in the coming weeks and in the start of a new year. For me, 2019 meant love and family and friends and connecting with so many amazing people. I am forever grateful for everyone who has shared with me, and I’m looking forward to picking up where we left off.

But I am never one to wish the time away. Right now, The Greatest Kid and I are enjoying this adventure and the excitement that is in the air, and I hope everyone else is, too. Wherever this magical time takes us, my hope for everyone is that this season brings everything that is wished for and an abundance of love and hope and blessings, and that these days and these moments will be the best ever.

December 17, 2019

As a Parent Journal

Growing Pains

by M.C. Greene October 7, 2019

written by M.C. Greene

It’s almost midnight, and I’m sitting outside on my back porch staring at the most amazing crescent moon. A waxing crescent is said to symbolize growth and action and new things to come. It’s the perfect moon for the perfect night. A lively, little breeze is lifting the leaves, and for us here in the South, we’re beginning to feel the promise of a new season.

For the past week, The Greatest Kid On The Planet has been on Fall break. It’s a bit of a misnomer as temperatures here were soaring in the nineties. But for us, it was the best Fall break ever. And even though we say that every year, this one came right when we needed it.

Being in middle school means playing middle school football, and for The Greatest Kid, the season couldn’t have been better. Playing school ball brought a host of challenging firsts: new coaches, new teammates, and new opportunities and opponents. It was an exciting season of personal growth and achievement.

But it was also the first time The Greatest Kid ever had to sit on the sidelines. A week on crutches turned into two and a visit to an orthopedic surgeon which vetted another week in a boot. It was a visit that brought relief to my worries and dismay to The Greatest Kid who learned he would miss yet another game.

Words like metatarsals and growth plates mean little to a twelve-year-old who is in despair. All efforts to console and explain went unregistered in a cloud of disappointment, and, finally, I found myself saying something I never thought I would hear myself say.

It’s just growing pains.

It was no surprise those words met more silence. I’d heard those same words years ago when I was young, and I never knew what they meant. I remember wondering if growing pains were real, or just something mom said when she didn’t know what was wrong.

Fast forward to today, and, yes, growing pains are real. As I’ve watched The Greatest Kid stretch and fill out over the last twelve months at a ridiculous rate, all I can think is that it has to hurt. How many inches can a human being grow in one year? And should a foot stretch three sizes in a matter of months? These are the questions I ponder as I watch him in wonder. My mom brain has accepted The Greatest Kid is no longer a small child, even while I browse through the racks and stubbornly settle on youth-extra-large. I purposely dismiss anything in adult-small because The Greatest Kid is still a youth, and while I can admit he is growing, I refuse to accept he should be wearing an adult-sized anything at age twelve.

These days I’m starting to understand why my mom kept so many things to herself. I find myself measuring The Greatest Kid’s height next to mine whenever I stand with him in front of a mirror, and, each time, my heart collapses just a little. What kid needs to know that their mom looks at them with wonder and joy and pride but also the tiniest touch of dismay that, while the best is always yet to come, there are some things that are gone forever?

These thoughts settle in the back of my mind as I, again, try to explain to a distraught twelve-year-old why he has to sit out during the most important time of the year. No, it’s not fair, we both agree. And it’s not right, and, yes, it really sucks. And we both really hate it (a word we never allow ourselves to use, but this time it’s true). It’s simply the way the world works.

It all sounds too convenient and easy and not at all helpful. So, finally, I say all I can think of to say.

You’re going to have to sit out of the game for a while. And it’s going to be hard. And it’s going to be painful. But you’ll get through it. Take the time you need to heal and feel like yourself again. When you’re ready to come back, you’ll be stronger than before. And you’ll be ready to take on the world again.

It’s just growing pains, Champ. You’ll be okay.

And then The Greatest Kid asks me the question I should have seen coming.

When do they stop?

What I want to say to my twelve-year-old who still expects me to have all the answers is “when you get older and stop growing”. But even before the words come out, I know they are so far from true. If I were being honest, I would tell him they don’t stop. But that is yet another thing I keep to myself.

How does one explain to a twelve-year-old that we never stop growing? How do I explain that all he is going through now, all that seems so monumental and consequential, is nothing compared to the growth he’ll go through later and, presumably, for the rest of his life? That this moment in time that he describes as the worst thing that could happen isn’t the worst of the worst or even close to it? And that the real growing pains, the ones that will shape him into who he will be, won’t start until later? And they will continue for years to come, long past the time when his bones have stopped growing?

Those are the real growing pains, the ones my mom never told me about when I was young. But all of those things I keep to myself. I know there will be plenty of time for The Greatest Kid to learn all he needs to. Right now, I wish we could stop time, and, just for an instant, stay in this moment with nothing more to worry about than football, and growth plates, and science research papers.

But wish all I will, I can’t stop the second hand from turning. I’m watching time go by, and The Greatest Kid is growing faster than I can mark and measure. And I know that soon, ready or not, he will begin to understand all I am reluctant to say.

Soon he’ll learn that life will throw hurdles and obstacles into his path, and many he will overcome and conquer. But he will also suffer setbacks and disappointments. And he will come out tougher and wiser, and he’ll grow through each one. But, sometimes, they hurt.

And he’ll find that life will bring him every chance to chase his dreams, and if he can see it, he can be it. He just needs to believe it. But some days will be better than others. Along the way, he will stumble and falter, and, yes, even fall flat on his face. But those missteps and missed tackles are all part of the game, and they’ll strengthen his resolve to move forward. Failure will help make him strong. But it hurts.

And he’ll see that around every corner and down every road there will be lessons to learn and mistakes that he’ll make. And the years will bring him challenges and trials and highs and lows. But, often, the lowest times in his life will bring him to his greatest joys. And even though they take time and patience and resilience to get through, those tough moments will bring him clarity and courage.

But they hurt.

And then, one day, his heart will break. But it will mend. And then break again. And again. And each time it mends, he will grow. And it will hurt.

These are the things I want to say to my twelve-year-old. The growing pains that will shape him into the person he will be will be far worse than the ones he endures as a kid. And they will continue long past the days when he should have known better, and after he’s sure he’s learned his lesson and grown all he needs to. Because he will never stop growing, if he is lucky.

And he will remember each and every one.

Those are the growing pains my mom never told me about when I was young. And for now, I, too, keep them to myself.

For now, as I watch The Greatest Kid stretching and growing and changing into something far greater, I will still try to soften the blow of disappointment whenever I can. But I know there is only so much I can do to prepare him for all that’s to come. As I watch him navigate his way through the changes and challenges he faces, I will encourage strength and the ability to grow his way through. But I know it won’t be for much longer.

Soon, it will be me standing on the sidelines hoping he listened and learned. And while I can still guide him, I cannot protect him from suffering disappointment.

And I cannot soften the blow of failure.

And I cannot shield him from making mistakes and learning the hard way, or making the choices he’ll wish that he hadn’t, any more than I can keep the tides from turning.

But, oh, how I wish I could keep his heart from breaking.

For those are the growing pains he won’t easily get over. The ones that will harden his ideals and his beliefs, and, sometimes, his heart. And they will stay with him in the form of life-long lessons long after the pain has subsided.

But there is no way to stop it from happening. One day he will realize the world isn’t perfect, and, sometimes, promises are broken, and love doesn’t always stay.

And just as I did when he was younger, I will try to soften the blow. And just like my mom did with me, I will tell him all of the things I wanted to say. That life is an adventure we can’t easily predict. And sometimes we win, and sometimes we love and we lose. But it’s all that we experience along the way that makes it truly worth living. And the pain is all just a part of it.

And then, through the cloud of disillusionment and heartbreak, when he is finally ready to hear everything I kept to myself, this is what I will say.

You may need to sit out of the game for a while. And it will be hard. And it will be painful. But you’ll get through it. Take the time you need to heal and feel like yourself again. When you’re ready to come back, you’ll be stronger than before. And you’ll be ready to take on the world again.

It’s just growing pains, Champ. You’ll be okay.

M.C. Greene

P.S. This Is What I Know

October 7, 2019

Newer Posts

Older Posts