We’ve got a new walker in the house. A lurching little biped, proud as punch of her new skill. But, like any newly toddling child, she falls down a lot. At first she fell after a single wobbling step, then it was two strung together, then six; now she makes it across the whole room before toppling over and resuming her frantic crawling after her brothers.
I was struck by an idea as I watched this quick progression, and scribbled this poem down1:
when did we learn that falling is failing? when wobbly first steps propelled us forward, straight onto our faces? when scraped knees bore proof of adventure, our trophy wounds of trying? when did the proud look how tough you are morph to a sneering, should have known...? when did we learn that failure is anything but the invitation to try again?
It’s an important question. When did we learn? And who taught us?
One of the things I struggle with most is my pervasive shame around not being able to predict the future. I analyze my past decisions as if I were my present self and arrive at the conclusion that I’m ridiculous for not being clairvoyant. My desire to control erases the possibility that life is complicated and things happen without it being anyone’s fault. Changing course means we were wrong, right?
This is like saying that a baby should know how to stay upright once they take some steps. Once a child learns how to walk they’re never allowed to crawl again. Only walking for you, little 11 month old! You know better, now do better2!
It’s absurd. Do we really expect our growth to be a smooth, upward trajectory in which we never experience skill regressions or revert back to the old patterns that feel safe and secure? Doing new things is hard! Intuitively we understand that a baby who is assimilating a giant developmental leap might be a little needy, and can’t always practice the new skill. The Wonder Weeks app has little storm clouds around developmental leaps as if to say:
WARNING: your baby is under construction!
The first few weeks of January were going pretty smoothly; we’d settled into a nice new routine and I felt almost competent. And then three out of five children stopped sleeping, we had a major life decision to make, the toddler decided he was finally ready to potty train and I had a pain flare-up that left me nonfunctional for a few days3.
WARNING: you are under construction!
They haven’t developed an app that predictably warns us adults when we’re about to need a little extra grace. I guess we’re expected to recognize the signs, but so many of us don’t.
Instead of realizing we’re having growing pains, we often despair of progress and give up altogether. Instead of exhibiting the shameless tenacity of a determined toddler, we learn to play it safe. Crawling gets us places. Sure, it wears out our pants and we collect the dirt on the ground like a human lint roller, but it saves the trouble of falling down. You don’t have to fail if you never try.
We hide from trying, because it’s messy. It means fiddling in Canva for hours while your head hurts and then realizing you made a stupid mistake 24 hours later and having to re-do things. It means learning a new way of talking to yourself and being uncomfortable when relationships don’t always grow along with you. It means saying yes when it feels scary. When everything is a learning curve it’s hard to realize how much growth is happening because you might be feeling like this:
And in the midst of this trying we all want to know we’re doing okay. We’re desperate to know if we’re measuring up. The disciples once asked Jesus,
“Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?”
and he answered them in the way that he always does, by confounding their question.
And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.“
(Matthew 18:1-4 ESV)
Those disciples. They just wanted to know if they were the best. Don’t we all? Instead Jesus tells them to become like a little child.
I’ve always thought this passage was about being innocent or trusting — having simple faith like a child. But maybe it’s also about being shameless, relentless, and determined like a child. Maybe being childlike means that when we fall down, we don’t run away from God, but run right back towards him — fussing and whining, but attached and dependent nonetheless.
It’s a thought I’m willing to chew on.
I fall down. I can get up. Begin again. And again, and again, and again.
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Lately:
Listening: This song, by the Avett Brothers. This song by Mipso, and this song. This playlist.
Reading: I finished Till We Have Faces a week ago4, and I’m still thinking about it. It seemed serendipitous that
reviewed it this last week, and everyone else was talking about it too! I’ve started several books, and am enjoying none of them, so trying to figure out if I DNF or push through for the sake of a checked box. I fell off my tech boundary wagon this last week, so re-establishing might help my reading. Hello, pain and lack of sleep. Begin again! This is why monthly goal setting is nice :) I did start into Healing Complex Children with Homeopathy, but it’s not exactly linear reading.Laughing: The almost three year old looked over at me at the dinner table and said, “Thanks for dinner… Babe”. 😂😅 I guess he’s trying things out. He called me “Boss” in the same evening5. Did I mention we’re coming to terms with the fact that he may be ready to drop his nap before 3 ? I am unwell.
Tapped it into my Notes under a sleeping baby. The millennial equivalent of scribbling.
I actually love this Maya Angelou quote, but knowing better doesn’t automatically means we know HOW to do better. That chasm feels impossibly wide at times.
And I launched a second Substack 🙃
I pulled a late night reading session… you know it’s a good book when it persuades you into a space time continuum.
Darn straight I’m the Boss. and don't you forget it little pint size dictator 😜
Another timely post, Annelise. Going through growing pains with a tween currently; it’s painful all around. And I have a hard time with patience and letting the construction (all around, child and parent alike) happen. Thanks for this.
I read this post when it was first published and the words of the poem have stuck in my mind. I think God knew I would need the reminder in a few days time. So just coming back here to say thank you for reminding us that falling is not failing x