"Making the cut"

From time to time, I feel inspired to write a blog post that is a bit more cerebral and a bit less "here's what the kids did this week." Because I know that most of the people who read my blog are family and friends who really want all of the kid-related stuff, I'll add another post very soon with pics, videos, etc. But tonight, I want to let my inner writer have free reign. I still believe I will someday write a really kick ass book that will be read by many, but until then, I'll just put some bits and pieces here when the mood strikes. So here it goes . . .

One evening after we had spent time with some friends, Dave commented to me that it is very hard to get into my inner circle. He said that I can be reluctant to work at friendships if they don't feel 'just right' to me. His comment guided me toward introspection on the topic. Am I too quick to judge? Do I shut people out when they could be adding something to my life that I am missing? What exactly are the parameters I use to decide who is 'in', who is 'out', and who is 'way out'? I began to form a metaphorical perspective on the topic, the rough draft of which follows.

"Making the cut"

Throughout my life, I've wielded various knives, tools which have carved, chiseled, and sliced away the friendships which I've found unfulfilling or unhealthy. Those remaining have formed a tightly-woven net from which I continually bounce back after a fall. The relationships that have made the cut are with those people who are most precious to me.

As a young girl, a dull plastic knife rested on the table as my busy hands mixed and molded the ever-changing pile of playdoh in front of me. Likewise, my circle of friends melded together, pulled apart and came back together slightly changed. At the end of a day, a week, or a school year, even those pieces which had been mindlessly trimmed away could be easily reincorporated.

As a young woman, the cuts were made with a butter knife. It was relatively painless for friends to cross back and forth across the blade, and many friends existed on each side of the divide. Forgiveness came easily, though forgetting sometimes did not. I met some of my dearest lifelong friends during this period in my life, but did not necessarily see them as such at the time.

As a woman, the knife I used developed a serated edge. It usually took a few swipes in each direction to make a clean cut and decide which side someone belonged on. The number of people I counted as true friends was getting smaller. I began to think more carefully about who I chose to spend my time with, which friendships were effortless, which were worth effort, and which could never offer what I was looking for.

As a mother, I seem to have chosen a much more sharp, smooth-edged tool, with one clear dividing line—-how someone treats children, especially mine. After a swift slice, it is almost impossible to get back in. I don't feel like I can truly be myself around someone who doesn't accept my kids for who they are. When I feel like a friend has passed judgement on one of my children, it is nearly inevitable that the friendship will begin to feel strained and unnatural over time. On a larger scale, I don't trust anyone who doesn't value children the way I do, who doesn't look at a child in need and feel some sense of responsibility, who doesn't feel like children are owed as much respect as I believe they are.

My hope is that time and experience have given me the sense and compassion to know when I need to reach back to that grade school table and pick up the most gentle of knives rather than quickly slashing away out of hurt or anger.