As a current Washingtonian but forever New Yorker, I have had to reconsider lately what it means to be safe. As Wikipedia tells me, "safety" is the state of being "safe" (from French, sauf), the condition of being protected against physical, social, spiritual, financial, political, emotional, occupational, psychological, educational or other types or consequences of failure, damage, error, accidents, harm or any other event which could be considered non-desirable. That's a mouthful... I surely didn't feel safe the day of the Navy Yard shootings while CNN informed me that another shooter was possibly at large and roaming about our Nation's Capitol. My heart raced getting through to my daughter's daycare and my, "um, ah, just calling to see if Maika's alive?" (did I really just say that?) question bordered on absurd as I heard the words roll out of my mouth. But that is all I cared about in that moment and hearing that some DC schools were on lockdown in that neighborhood made my stomach turn for those parents. Yesterday's high speed car chase by the White House was also another jolting threat to my concept of "safe." I found myself worried for that young toddler, though, more than anyone else and the implications of a life lived without a mother and a legacy of being orphaned by a threat to national security.
My amazing, bright, confident medical assistant mother of two asked me yesterday, "Do you ever worry that someone could crawl into Maika's room and snatch her out of her bed in the middle of the night? I do. Is that crazy?"
No. No, that's not a crazy thought. Becoming a parent has come with a whole list of irrational fears about this little warm ball of a baby (okay, toddler) snuggled in the crook of my arm.
I think I could live my whole life in fear of the things that might happen to Maika. Whether she will fall and get a concussion at the playground. Whether or not she needs to grow up in a green field or that maybe the bustle of urban life is better and will make her cultured and street smart. Whether growing up with a working mom will scar her sense of emotional security. Whether her elementary school has a pedophile nearby, I even think there's an app for that! I could spend my life worrying about keeping her safe and making secure measured choices that expose her to no risk but I think neither of us would enjoy that very much.
There are no guarantees in this life.
Safety, be it physical, emotional, financial... I am not sure what that really means now. I know that I have feared taking risks with my career and parenting choices and that has left me feeling somewhat unfulfilled and restricted, crippled by fears of failure. My husband often tells me not to make perfect the enemy of the good. I am guilty of that, of worrying too much about what I am "supposed" to do as opposed to making exciting, go with my gut choices. As a little girl I wanted to be a painter, live a gritty, rich, passionate life. I feared conventional adulthood and minivans and weeks of frozen casseroles. I am not exactly there yet but I think playing it "safe" could lead me down that path. At some point we stop believing that we can do anything, conquer any obstacle, learn new things. We have a short time on this earth...I get one chance to do this right. I want my daughter to have a bright, vibrant mother who isn't encumbered by conforming to societal norms. I don't want to be a hovering, anxious mom. I can keep her physically safe but I can't make every possible right choice for her to ensure outcome and a perfect life. There is no such thing. Living a truly great, exciting life may mean feeling "unsafe" once in awhile. I can't live in fear of shootings, air pollution, autism, ADHD and parabens. I have to go outside. Maika needs to leap and be okay with falling once in awhile. It's the only way she'll ever get anywhere.
Xo,
M
