Ten years ago today my wife and I signed a mortgage statement and moved into our first and only home in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin. The following day I began my residency training. From the two of us and our lovable, pitiable cocker spaniel, our family has transformed to the two of us, two children and a lovable, pitiable hound. My training finished six years ago, and I have been building a practice ever since. Taking stock of these milestones, I affirm that I am fortunate and blessed.
And yet today, much more than a decade ago, I am afraid for the future. I have tried to keep this blog (or "blah-g" as my friend Rose would say), optimistic if irreverent. But today I need to use this space to externalize that which I fear. As a father, I fear that my childrens' world is more hazardous than mine was growing up. Concretely I worry about an active shooter at their school. Abstractly I worry about the earth's capacity to support their lives. Concretely I worry about a driver, drunk or distracted, hitting them as they cross the busy street near our house. Abstractly I worry about war and the disintegration of the rule of law. My concrete fears do not abate, and my abstract fears tend to become more concrete. These fears have not generally consumed me moment to moment in the past, but it definitely feels that way of late.
Having recently read the biographical novel What is the What by Dave Eggers, detailing the perilous life story of Sudanese refugee Valentino Achak Deng, I am aware that hell has a place on this earth and I am far from it. Through volunteering at the St. Benedict the Moor Community Meal, I am distinctly conscious that my life is one of privilege, comfort and security. My next meal is certain, my roof is stable, my health is holding, my children are able to laugh and play.
My life is blessed. And yet I fear.
Hopefully now via this medium I have exorcised this fit of fret and I will be able to sleep. But before I go, perhaps an indulgence of hope.
My wife and kids planted a butterfly garden in our front year -- milkweed and other native plants on our little lot hopefully part of a larger chain of sustainability. The indoor and outdoor composting systems are generating plenty of rich soil supplement. Five new fantastic doctors graduated from our residency program today. Working closely with a patient, I was able to wean her completely off benzodiazepines after many years and she feels good about it. My son learned to ride his bike without training wheels. Tomorrow is the longest day of the year.
Parents are allowed to be afraid. Parents are not allowed to lose hope. I will not lose hope. I will try to be a source of strength and courage for others, if they will do the same for me.
And yet today, much more than a decade ago, I am afraid for the future. I have tried to keep this blog (or "blah-g" as my friend Rose would say), optimistic if irreverent. But today I need to use this space to externalize that which I fear. As a father, I fear that my childrens' world is more hazardous than mine was growing up. Concretely I worry about an active shooter at their school. Abstractly I worry about the earth's capacity to support their lives. Concretely I worry about a driver, drunk or distracted, hitting them as they cross the busy street near our house. Abstractly I worry about war and the disintegration of the rule of law. My concrete fears do not abate, and my abstract fears tend to become more concrete. These fears have not generally consumed me moment to moment in the past, but it definitely feels that way of late.
Having recently read the biographical novel What is the What by Dave Eggers, detailing the perilous life story of Sudanese refugee Valentino Achak Deng, I am aware that hell has a place on this earth and I am far from it. Through volunteering at the St. Benedict the Moor Community Meal, I am distinctly conscious that my life is one of privilege, comfort and security. My next meal is certain, my roof is stable, my health is holding, my children are able to laugh and play.
My life is blessed. And yet I fear.
Hopefully now via this medium I have exorcised this fit of fret and I will be able to sleep. But before I go, perhaps an indulgence of hope.
My wife and kids planted a butterfly garden in our front year -- milkweed and other native plants on our little lot hopefully part of a larger chain of sustainability. The indoor and outdoor composting systems are generating plenty of rich soil supplement. Five new fantastic doctors graduated from our residency program today. Working closely with a patient, I was able to wean her completely off benzodiazepines after many years and she feels good about it. My son learned to ride his bike without training wheels. Tomorrow is the longest day of the year.
Parents are allowed to be afraid. Parents are not allowed to lose hope. I will not lose hope. I will try to be a source of strength and courage for others, if they will do the same for me.