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In Culture, Identity, Movies/TV, Nurture, Parenting, Relationships

Sincerity is Cool

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

I dream of living in a world where it’s cool to be sincere. I’ve had this desire for about the last four decades, because our North American culture became increasingly cynical from the 1980s up to and including today, and it’s so much more interesting to be sincere.

This month, my husband went to California for a week and while he was away William and I watched a couple of movies from the 90s (a re-watch for me and a first-time viewing for my son). The first one was Jerry Maguire, from 1996, when Tom Cruise was young. I was also young when I watched the movie the first time, so watching it now, close to thirty years later, made me yearn for a time when the internet wasn’t the sole focus of our lives, and if you had a cell phone it was a massive, heavy brick with no real range.

I felt something in my soul cry out with joy when sports agent Jerry writes his earnest “mission statement” about how his industry has become too jaded. He decides the path forward is “fewer clients, less money.” He’s promptly fired, but an accountant at his enormous agency decides to quit, leaving safety and security behind to join Jerry and start a new company.

In the scene where Jerry leaves the company he founded, with all eyes on him, he states, “There’s such a thing as manners.” This got me thinking (and talking about this with my eighteen-year-old son, who is about to embark on his own adult journey outside of our home) about how little we discuss manners anymore in our fast-paced world.

But they do matter. Politeness matters. Sincerity matters. Like Dorothy’s character says, “Mostly, I just want to be inspired.” Isn’t this true for all of us? Even now, in 2024? I worried that William would find the sincerity of Jerry Maguire dated. Like a relic from the past. But he didn’t. I think the movie struck a chord, particularly when Jerry talks about how we live in a cynical, cynical world. It was true then and it’s even truer now. Even typing these words makes me both sad and angry.

After Jerry Maguire, I wanted to show William another favourite of mine from 1992: Scent of a Woman with Al Pacino. This is another movie where the themes centre sincerity and integrity as valuable commodities. Chris O’Donnell plays a teenager with a big choice to make, and as Pacino states in the stirring finale, “This boy’s soul is not for sale.”

I’m going to prioritise sincerity higher from this point forward. I don’t want to be afraid to say what really matters to the people I love. As I learned from Ferris Bueller when I was a teenager, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” I don’t want to miss it, by being too busy or by being cynical and rude. I long to hope again, to believe in something, to be earnest. To have such a thing as manners. To be inspired.

Who wants to join me in making sincerity cool again? What does sincerity look like to you?

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, Travel, Writing

Recalibrating Identity

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

I just returned from a trip to Kelowna, BC where I was speaking at a teachers’ conference. In previous years, Jason has come with me on this work trip, but this year I decided to go alone. I listened to music, and some episodes of the Smartless podcast, but realised partway through the 5 hour drive that being alone in the car helped me to recalibrate a sense of my own personal identity.

As women, and mothers, so often our identity becomes intertwined with the identities of those we love and nurture. It can become challenging to separate out our individual needs and desires, because we exist in a context of our other relationships (and identities).

While driving to Kelowna, I found myself weeping for no apparent reason. I decided to let the storm of feeling pass through me, so I cried on and off while I drove. This continued even after I checked into my hotel room and ordered myself dinner.

As the evening progressed, I started to realise what was causing this storm of tears. I pulled out my journal and began to write. I worked through some things that had been building up during the summer. Questions about this new stage of life we’re about to enter as parents and as a family when William leaves for university in January.

I’m certain these feelings would’ve made themselves known whether I was at home or in Kelowna, but there’s something powerful about prioritising our own solitude from time to time. Over the two nights I was away, by myself, I could feel my identity recalibrating back into something I could recognise as my own.

Earlier this summer, we did a family driving trip down the coast to Los Angeles, one of my favourite places on planet earth. We had days of sun and soft sand and salty ocean air and palm trees and In-N-Out milkshakes. It was glorious. But it was a family trip, which meant all of our decisions were made together, with everyone’s needs and interests considered.

In the middle of August, I had a work trip to Alberta to speak at a writers’ conference and teach classes at a number of different libraries. For that trip, it was just Jason and I, which meant I left my Mom identity behind but remained in my Marriage identity. We had a wonderful trip, and I’m glad we went together, but I needed the alone time in Kelowna to understand the difference between solo trips and together trips.

When we give a lot of ourselves to others, it’s important to take time out for ourselves. I’ve been teaching this over the last six months in the form of nurture classes for writers and Nurture Starts with You sessions for teachers. But sometimes I fail to give it enough attention for myself.

It felt strange to say to Jason that I wanted to go to Kelowna on my own this time. He had loads of work to do and was happy to stay at home to look after Ted since William happened to be visiting his sister and some friends on the island when I was gone. But during my trip I realised how much it mattered that I listened to my own intuition. I gave myself time to feel things and a little bit of space and distance to better understand some relationship dynamics that were challenging to see up close.

This solo trip restored me to myself. It gave me time to reflect, and to cry, and to plan for the coming months. It helped me recalibrate my own sense of who I am.

How about you? As we say goodbye to summer and approach the brand new fall season, what steps could you take to recalibrate your own identity?

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships

Learning to Receive

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Every year, I pick 3 words to focus on. For 2024, those words are savour, intentional, and receive. When I picked these words in January, I had a sense that receive would be the hardest challenge for me. And it has been.

But I’m getting there. I’m learning, ever so slowly, that giving and receiving is a dance. For so many years, I was spinning in circles on the dance floor of my relationships, giving and giving and giving and not believing that I deserved to receive from those who loved me.

It’s different now. And better. More balanced and fair. When Jason and I were going to marriage counselling last spring for the first time in our nearly 27-year-relationship, I said to him, “I want a wife to care for me the way I look after you.”

At first, he had no idea what I was saying. It took us both a long time to figure out that I had been so skilled at nurturing him, while simultaneously blocking any attempt he made to be loving and caring back to me. I created a pattern in our marriage where I gave and he received. Over time, this centred his needs and interests over mine.

I was resentful about this. And angry. Our relationship felt lopsided and unfair, and the worst thing was that Jason couldn’t understand why I would be feeling unhappy.

So much of our lives is invisible to us, because we create habits around our patterns. Then we behave instinctively around those patterns, until the inner workings of the relationship dynamics are mysterious to us, even though we were the ones who set those patterns up in the first place.

But 27 years is a long time. He couldn’t see that he was the centre of our relationship, and I couldn’t see that I had been the one to put him there. We were both so lost in trying to reach each other during that painful and isolating time in our marriage.

Until we took a road trip last spring from BC to Alberta, and talked with no distractions for hours on end. Suddenly, we both found clarity on a few of these key issues. He began to understand what I was asking for from him, and I could finally glimpse the inner workings of my inability to receive the care and nurture he had been offering to me.

We both started to change on that trip last June. And now, it’s more than a year later, and I’ve been learning how to receive the care I’ve been longing for. From Jason, from my grown kids, from my close friends. Even from my beloved cat, Teddy. I opened the door that I had closed in order to protect myself from being hurt or let down by others. I started to trust again, and it’s been a beautiful thing.

In my monthly zoom nurture sessions for writers, I’m amazed at how often this issue of giving vs. receiving is coming up. So many women are conditioned to give and not to receive. Sometimes it’s an issue of self-worth and protection, like it was for me, and other times it’s tied to a feeling of obligation, like nurture is a debt we owe to someone else.

I know there is a lot more to discover on this topic. I’m just scratching the surface of understanding how complex and nuanced giving and receiving can be, especially between women and men. I’m so grateful that Jason and I can both see the inner workings a little bit clearer within our marriage, which means we can talk about it openly and make small changes to be sure we are both feeling loved and loving within our relationship.

It’s been a revelation to me, how much stronger and more generous I feel when I practice receiving that love and care from others.

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Travel

Another Bridge to Take

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

In the song “This Ain’t Goodbye” by Train, there’s a lyric that brings me to tears. Every time he sings, “Another bridge to take on the way to letting go” I think about how hard it is to release my grip when I want something to stay the same.

But as we all know, life means change. Stages and seasons and growth and pain and learning to let go, over and over and over again. I really kind of hate this. You’d think we’d get better at this as we age, but some things give me a lump at the base of my throat, and keep me awake at night, and cause me to cry when I least expect them to.

One of those things is my youngest child graduating from high school. William has his school dinner/dance this weekend, and his commencement ceremony in a few weeks. This is a big bridge to take. When Ava graduated three years ago, I thought to myself, “William is only in grade nine. There’s lots of time left with a kid at home.”

And now the day is almost here. It’s a time to celebrate all that he’s achieved, and how bright his future looks ahead of him, but as the mom and dad, it’s also a time to grieve the end of his childhood. I’m really feeling the truth of the saying, “When raising children, the days are long but the years are short.”

With all of these significant life transitions (or another bridge to take on the way to letting go), I do my best to prepare emotionally ahead of time. I really do. But there’s anticipation, and then there’s experience. The two are never the same thing, which is another thing I hate because I have no choice but to walk through it when the time comes. Advance preparation only gets me so far, and then the only way out is ever through.

Another one of these bridges I had to take this month was when Ava decided to fly to New York City on her own and stay in a shared-room hostel near Central Park. We suggested she go with a friend, but after our family Europe adventure last summer she wanted to try a solo trip. In theory, I thought this was a fabulous idea, and very brave when you are only twenty-one. In reality, I worried about her until she arrived home safely—feet sore from walking the city at all hours and full to the brim with excitement and stories and joy from managing everything on her own.

These are important foundational experiences for our children to undertake. They have to learn that the world is a big place and they can be smart and travel safely within it. But for the parents, this involves a lot of letting go. Of being there when our kids need us, but not taking over every arrangement so they have their own chance to lead and to shine. It’s exciting. And hard. It requires us to give up some semblance of control, and to lean into trusting our grown kids.

I’m taking a lot of bridges right now, with both of my kids, and I’m slowly (so slowly!) learning to let go of them. Like so many parents, I’m proud, and I’m sad, and I’m a bit lost, and I’m celebrating at exactly the same time. We never stop learning how to adjust to these changing seasons.

Happy graduation weekend to you, William! Congratulations, and we love you.

In Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships

Grown-Up Kids

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

In the last couple of weeks, my daughter and my son had birthdays that pushed them into a new category: grown-up kids.

I remember feeling amazed when Ava turned eighteen, and could legally vote as an adult in Canada, but at that time William was only fifteen. I couldn’t envision a future where both kids were adults. But now, Ava is twenty-one, and finishing up her second year of university, and William has turned eighteen, and is about to graduate high school.

It’s the end of raising children. I feel both weepy and thrilled, in equal measure. I can’t help looking back, and remembering when they were small and sweet and asked a zillion daily questions and begged me to read just one more bedtime story. I recall my friend with older children saying she missed their little voices in the house. I didn’t know what she meant at the time, but I certainly get it now.

Every ending has a new beginning baked into it. The final chapter of anything feels like a loss when it’s underway, but with a bit of time to get used to the idea, we can begin to envision a new future. I’m trying to summon a sense of pride for the job I’ve done in being a mother to these two precious kids, and I’m longing for that pride to at least compete with the grief I feel that my day-to-day responsibility for their well-being and care is now ending.

I do know that the job of raising kids doesn’t magically end on their eighteenth birthday. Young adults have their own complex set of challenges and stressors, and they need support through these years and all of the many stages still to come. But it’s different now. They both drive, and have part-time jobs, and income of their own. William is out with his friends several times a week, and Ava lives on campus in a dorm eight months out of the year.

It’s time for Jason and I to adjust to the imminent reality of an empty nest. It feels exhilarating to imagine my children navigating their way in the world with confidence and excitement. It’s also scary, especially in those fraught moments when things don’t go their way and it feels like the road is sharply uphill. As parents, we always knew that the job was to take dependent infants and turn them into independent adults. But it seemed like such a long time from birth to eighteen. And now I realise, like so many wise parents before me, just how short those years really are.

Right before Ava’s birthday, our thirteen-year-old cat Flower stopped eating and drinking. He went from healthy(ish, as he had feline diabetes for the last two years) to weak and barely able to lift his head in a 36-hour time-frame. When I took him to the vet, the diagnosis was kidney failure compounded by a bronchial infection and his dangerously low blood sugar. Suddenly we were having a discussion about the end of his life.

Flower was Ava’s beloved pet, that we brought home as a kitten when she was seven. I had to call her in Victoria to break the news, and she walked onto the ferry a few hours later to come home so we could be together when we said our last goodbye to him. William’s cat, Little Rose, went to sleep in that same vet’s office exactly three years and six months before her brother Flower. It felt poetic that the dates lined up so evenly. Sometimes, even when we are in great pain, we can find a trace of beauty in the suffering.

When Ava went to her counsellor to talk about Flower, the counsellor said, “You said goodbye to your childhood pet and then turned 21 in the same week. It feels like the end of childhood for you.” That hit me square in the heart.

We can’t stop time from marching on. We can’t stop our kids from growing up, and turning into adults. We can’t keep our lovely pets alive forever. But we can grieve our losses, and dream into the future, and search carefully for the new beginning that’s hidden inside of whatever stage is ending.