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Yesterday, two students thought they were too ill to take the mid-term exam. Today, they both showed up. Today, people called to say they planned to attend our leap day fundraiser. When people rally, I notice. They are taking a leap of faith when they commit to showing up. There are always many, many good reasons not to show up AND a big part of leaping is making room to fulfill our responsibilities and to support big dreams.
To the left of these words is "Add your leap here." The leap wall is growing and it is beautiful. Click on it and share your leap. Share the link with a friend or family member. We are two days and counting, almost one. What people have shared so far is inspirational and yet doable. A leap is inspirational and doable. I will stand by.
We're counting down to Leap Day. Think about how you will spend Leap Day. Even if you have to work and engage in all of your regular commitments, make room for one leap, post a leap through this blog or imagine what you will do between now and December 31, the last day of the Leap Year. It is a day we only get every four years. Here in Durham, we plan to host our Comfort Food Party and Contest. Many of us will spend the evening together raising money for the Backpack Program and eating great food. We will also be celebrating our accomplished and planned leaps. Come on. Play, dream and leap.
One of the most common words you will hear parents say is OK. "We will be leaving in five minutes, OK? Don't hit your brother, OK? Blow your nose, OK? Once I became sensitized to this phenomena, the OKs began to drive me nuts. So, I gave up OK for about a year. When one of my kids did not respond to me, I dealt in silence instead. Slowly, OK crept back into my parental vocabulary. What I am beginning to realize is, people (and kids in particular) need to respond when they are ready. Forcing immediate compliance is not OK. My leap for today was to notice when and where I said OK and then to try to stop.
The issue of plagiarism has hit the presidential campaign trail hard recently. Does attribution really matter? Is credit where credit is due important? When kids copy each other in school, we tell them it is flattery. Why not with adults? One of the most vexing aspects of graduate school is attribution. Even with the assistance of the internet and helpful software, I can still make a mess of my references. There are several acceptable styles. Different styles insist upon different arrangements of periods, commas, parentheses and semicolons. My life would certainly be a lot easier if I could engage in scholarship without attribution. In the meantime, I am taking the leap and doing what does not come naturally. I learning how to conform and give credit where credit is due, surrounded by the proper placements of commas, periods and exclamation points.
Tonight, I talked with a woman who feels guilty about an encounter she had three years ago. After moving into a new neighborhood, an elderly neighbor brought over a pie. Time passed. The pie baker died. To this day, the woman I talked with feels guilty about her lack of reciprocity. She never made the time to visit. She wants to encourage her neighborhood to reach out and bring food and good cheer to other elders in the neighborhood. As I mull over this woman's experience of guilt, I am beginning to think there is good that can come from guilt. Sometimes leaping can be fueled by the unresolved, uncomfortable moments in our lives. It is called unfinished business.
A dear friend, who is the mother of teenage twins, says being a mother is the experience of being constantly pecked. Kids excel in persistence. As we grow older, some of us forget that to "get our way" or to truly leap, we must be persistent in our requests of other people. I know I suffer from cowardice. I don't pick up the phone because I think it is probably not the "right" time to call. I make a request by email because I fear head on rejection. I do not know if pecking always works and I do know that trying to take leaps without pecking can be futile.
On my daily commute, I cross a pedestrian crosswalk one block from my home. Cars hardly ever stop. One time, a car honked at me as I attempted and aborted passage. It took every ounce of restraint and fear of retribution to not flip the driver off. It makes me angry when people do not yield to pedestrians. Yesterday, my mom and I were walking arm and arm under a slight drizzle. We stood at this pedestrian crosswalk and no one stopped. Then, a Cinelli's Pizza driver stopped. My stereotype of the wreckless pizza delivery driver was suddenly disproved. My leap is to constantly question my multitude of stereotypes. You never know who just might help you out.
I am directionally challenged. When people give me directions, I zone out. I certainly never read directions. Mostly, I get by. Tonight, my son Trygve and his friend wanted to play Clue, appropriate for ages 5+. The game has the most complicated directions I have ever seen. Here I am. I don't like board games and I don't read directions. For ten minutes, I pretended that I was reading the back of the box. They took a leap and started to play their own version without me. They moved beyond me and I left the room. Perhaps a good leap for me will be to read some fine print in the future. Maybe not.
Sweetheart candy, red lollipops and Sponge Bob "Will You Be Mine" cards are scattered in a big pile of Valentine loot on our pink living room carpet. My daughter Frances is lying on the couch with a 103 degree temperature. The two of us are home together on a sick day. Three hours ago, she said in a pathetic tone " Will you stop talking on the phone and come talk with me?" I was mortified. I thought she liked hearing my voice as she lay on the pillows and comforters I had arranged for her. No, she wanted me instead. So, I took a leap. I got up from my lap top, my lists and my ambition and crawled in under her comforter. We both fell asleep.
