Recently, a friend posted on Facebook about how it is almost impossible to be open and direct 100% of the time in any relationship- specifically when attempting to provide candid feedback to personal situations. The issue raised was that the bond gets broken or at least altered for the worse when bitter truth makes into everyday conversations. The only exception speculated for this was children. That last part made an impact. As the mother of an almost five year old that just today yelled out a horrified "she is wearing grey lipstick" within the ear shot of the helpful volunteer on the road wearing grey lipstick, I can totally relate to it. And this weekend provided me with ample opportunities to reflect on these thoughts.
I was quite nervous about signing Raaga up for 3.3mile hike with 800ft elevation gain on Friday night. More than the distance (in both Y and Z), I was skeptical about Raaga doing this hike because of her fear of trees; and there were lots of them where we were going. (I once asked her what it is about trees that scares her, it is not like they have legs to come after her! She replied that it is because they move with no legs). So I was very proud of her finishing that hike, I only had to say "Trees are our friends" just a couple of times during the hike, and she only complained about her legs hurting once. At bed time, I showered lavish praises and I completely meant them all. It was an honest and open feedback.
Today, we went to north Portland for Sunday Parkways. We have done this a few times in the past so the path and the terrain held no demons for Raaga. Even her father joined - only the third time all three of us rode our bikes together. Raaga chose to ride on her own this time as opposed to sitting in the trailer. So we had a very confident rider, favorable conditions and full cheering squad presence. Nothing could go wrong! Well, no. Raaga lost her favorite gold earring as she was putting her helmet on at the first park. Within the first few seconds of our ride, her training wheel came loose and due to a missing bracket, she had to ride with lopsided wheels. It was hot and she was hungry half the time. The round trip we did was well under 3miles but we had to deal with her whining and complaining the whole way. We constantly cheered her, motivated her, and gave her a push on the back at every turn of the road. And yet, at bed time, I told her that it was awesome that she was able to ride for so long and that she was very brave, I was honestly very proud of her. I might not have been entirely open- I did skip the part about how it was extremely frustrating to have to ride slower than walking pace and about how she would not have had that crash (minor scrape, no blood) had she paid attention to the road instead of looking at the kids on side walk.
This reminded me of my own encounters with candor. I come from a Carnatic music loving family. My grandmother was a very good Carnatic singer. All the aunts on my father's side were trained in classical music. My sister and I naturally were sent to music classes from a very young age. After a few months of tolerating me, our then music teacher suggested that maybe I can come back after I get my tonsils fixed. And thus my music stint ended prematurely. My sister continued to learn and got very good and went very far with it. I grew up listening to her sing, committed many Varnas and Keertanas to memory and sang them in my head every time my sister sang them out loud. At a college function, I decided to sing a classical song on stage with live orchestra. I did an extremely lousy job, evident by the violinist's expressions. And yet, all my close friends said good things about my singing- except the one classmate who said he clapped to encourage me even though he knew I was struggling with it up on the stage. He was not a close friend or anything, but I would like to think that my relationship would continue to be fine even if we were close. A few years ago, at a karaoke party in Portland, I sang 'Nothing's gonna change my love for you', after which a friend came by and said, "You are not scared of anything, are you?". She likely meant my being scared by my own mediocrity. I just laughed out, and remained cordial with that friend until she left Portland. Long story short, I have been extremely lucky to get some very candid feedback on my singing throughout my life. None of that stopped me from wanting to become better at it. I even signed up for singing classes! I just need to sing a couple of songs later this week for the teacher to figure out my starting level.
At bed time, I asked Raaga what song she thinks I should sing for my assessment. She suggested that I sing a Saraswathi prayer. I was overjoyed, it's one of the songs I had been considering singing too. But before I could clear my throat and sing, she said "please don't sing it now". And then she fell asleep. Yes. Kids can be brutally open and direct.
I was quite nervous about signing Raaga up for 3.3mile hike with 800ft elevation gain on Friday night. More than the distance (in both Y and Z), I was skeptical about Raaga doing this hike because of her fear of trees; and there were lots of them where we were going. (I once asked her what it is about trees that scares her, it is not like they have legs to come after her! She replied that it is because they move with no legs). So I was very proud of her finishing that hike, I only had to say "Trees are our friends" just a couple of times during the hike, and she only complained about her legs hurting once. At bed time, I showered lavish praises and I completely meant them all. It was an honest and open feedback.
Today, we went to north Portland for Sunday Parkways. We have done this a few times in the past so the path and the terrain held no demons for Raaga. Even her father joined - only the third time all three of us rode our bikes together. Raaga chose to ride on her own this time as opposed to sitting in the trailer. So we had a very confident rider, favorable conditions and full cheering squad presence. Nothing could go wrong! Well, no. Raaga lost her favorite gold earring as she was putting her helmet on at the first park. Within the first few seconds of our ride, her training wheel came loose and due to a missing bracket, she had to ride with lopsided wheels. It was hot and she was hungry half the time. The round trip we did was well under 3miles but we had to deal with her whining and complaining the whole way. We constantly cheered her, motivated her, and gave her a push on the back at every turn of the road. And yet, at bed time, I told her that it was awesome that she was able to ride for so long and that she was very brave, I was honestly very proud of her. I might not have been entirely open- I did skip the part about how it was extremely frustrating to have to ride slower than walking pace and about how she would not have had that crash (minor scrape, no blood) had she paid attention to the road instead of looking at the kids on side walk.
This reminded me of my own encounters with candor. I come from a Carnatic music loving family. My grandmother was a very good Carnatic singer. All the aunts on my father's side were trained in classical music. My sister and I naturally were sent to music classes from a very young age. After a few months of tolerating me, our then music teacher suggested that maybe I can come back after I get my tonsils fixed. And thus my music stint ended prematurely. My sister continued to learn and got very good and went very far with it. I grew up listening to her sing, committed many Varnas and Keertanas to memory and sang them in my head every time my sister sang them out loud. At a college function, I decided to sing a classical song on stage with live orchestra. I did an extremely lousy job, evident by the violinist's expressions. And yet, all my close friends said good things about my singing- except the one classmate who said he clapped to encourage me even though he knew I was struggling with it up on the stage. He was not a close friend or anything, but I would like to think that my relationship would continue to be fine even if we were close. A few years ago, at a karaoke party in Portland, I sang 'Nothing's gonna change my love for you', after which a friend came by and said, "You are not scared of anything, are you?". She likely meant my being scared by my own mediocrity. I just laughed out, and remained cordial with that friend until she left Portland. Long story short, I have been extremely lucky to get some very candid feedback on my singing throughout my life. None of that stopped me from wanting to become better at it. I even signed up for singing classes! I just need to sing a couple of songs later this week for the teacher to figure out my starting level.
At bed time, I asked Raaga what song she thinks I should sing for my assessment. She suggested that I sing a Saraswathi prayer. I was overjoyed, it's one of the songs I had been considering singing too. But before I could clear my throat and sing, she said "please don't sing it now". And then she fell asleep. Yes. Kids can be brutally open and direct.
One of the many times when Raaga refused to pedal and we had to coax her
Yagna Jyothy Vemuri Vivek garu, I could not stop thinking about your post about being open and direct. Here are my reflections on the matter. Thanks for your thought provoking post!
ReplyDeleteJune 23 at 12:42am · Like
Yagna Jyothy Vemuri Suhasini, I was thinking of you patiently listening to my practice sessions in the ladies room that Catalysis day! Can you guess the guy who told me my singing was awful to my face? wait till we meet for lunch one of these days
June 23 at 12:34pm · Edited · Like · 2
Vivek Ajjarapu Hi Jyothy, great post! I thoroughly enjoyed reading the blog.
June 23 at 1:28pm · Unlike · 1
Karen Williams Trees are our friends...unless they steal our bananas!
June 23 at 2:55pm · Unlike · 1