Get uncomfortable

by julie on May 20, 2013

One of our girls’ swim coaches uses the word “uncomfortable” as a means of helping kids gauge whether they’re putting the appropriate effort into practice. I think it’s the ideal descriptor, and I’ve adopted it in my own training.

The old mantra “No pain, no gain” is counterproductive, and “Feel the burn” is narrowly applicable (and can easily become counterproductive as well). But “Am I uncomfortable?” sets a low-risk bar for exertion that still delivers rewards (with consistent practice, of course).

Think about it. Does running a 5K feel like sitting on the sofa? Of course not. It shouldn’t be acutely painful, but it’s supposed to be uncomfortable by comparison. Incremental steps of increasing discomfort are the way to sustainable gains. I learned this lesson the hard way, going from stress fractures in my twenties to running a marathon when I was 40.

“Uncomfortable” applies well beyond athletics. Putting ourselves in a new situation (or finding ourselves there, not of our own accord) is uncomfortable, whether it’s a new school, new activity, new job, new neighborhood, or new family member. Sometimes we fall into place easily, but usually it takes a whole lot of effort. We have to work hard and be patient to make that transition from uncomfortable to familiar. (Some situations will never be, and shouldn’t be, entirely comfortable.)

Being okay with being uncomfortable is a lesson we strive to teach our kids. For example, both girls were apprehensive at their first long course swim meet. It was a new situation and a challenging one, both physically and mentally. But they were adequately prepared for the challenge, they gave it their best effort, and they did well. Their success bolstered their confidence, and they’re ready to take on greater challenges in the future.

long course pool

50 meters is a long way for a little girl

Likewise, our son heads to kindergarten in August. We’ve been preparing him for months, to help him understand what will be expected of him in that new environment. Even so, it will be a significant transition for him. Perhaps he will adapt easily; perhaps not. Either way, the newness and the associated discomfort are non-negotiable, and it will take effort on his part for school to become familiar. That’s not something we (or anyone else) can do for him.

Finally, we’re honest with our kids about our own discomfort and the steps we take to prepare ourselves. When I took my oldest to her recent well-child checkup, we both had to get immunizations. Knowing that I would feel the same jab and burn helped her understand that she’d survive. When we drove to a swim meet in an unfamiliar part of town, and I sailed past the right exit, both girls saw me calmly reverse course and find my way back. It’s been eight years since I discovered the first yellow jacket on the inside of our family room window, and while that situation has become regrettably familiar, I’ve never quite gotten comfortable vacuuming them up.

But my kids know that I’ll do it anyway, and that we expect them to meet their own challenges, no matter how uncomfortable they may be.

 

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One of the few aspects of child-rearing that hasn’t required much discussion between Kyle and me concerns education. His parents were public school teachers, my mother and maternal grandparents were public school teachers, and he and I each attended public school, kindergarten through graduation, in our respective districts in Oregon and Ohio. When we lived in New Jersey, I meticulously researched school districts and would have bought a shack in Millburn to get my kids into that district. When we moved to Colorado, we narrowed our home search based on public school performance. Our commitment to good public education for our own kids has been a consistently high priority.

This week, the levy in my hometown school district failed. Here in Colorado, our own ballot issues have failed, and there’s been continuous tussling between the board/the superintendent and teachers/parents since the power shift on the board in 2009 and the hiring of our new superintendent in 2010.

None of this is surprising. When I fundraised in middle school and high school, I routinely fielded questions about why weren’t property taxes enough, why did I have to ring doorbells and beg? (This is one reason I donate my time and pay fees without griping; my own kids don’t need to be sounding boards for disgruntled adults.)

In some cases, I went without participating in activities for which I hadn’t raised enough on my own, like our drill team trips to perform at Disneyworld and the Orange Bowl. Sure, I was disappointed to have to stay home, but even then I understood that tax dollars (and my own parents’ money) were better spent elsewhere.

The struggle to fund education in a way that satisfies everyone isn’t new, and it isn’t going away. Technology evolves, the economy shifts, priorities differ, and demands escalate. The world is changing and expanding, and education in any format must follow suit in order to remain both viable and valuable. If we want education to do more and deliver more, it will take more time, money, and energy from teachers, taxpayers, and parents.

Think of teachers as the wait staff at a busy and highly-acclaimed restaurant, while we parents and our kids play very much the same role that we do as diners, complete with broken crayons on the floor. We selected this particular restaurant (school or district) because of its reputation, and the wait staff (teachers) may be the only faces we see, unless the manager (principal) makes the rounds, asking about our experience. Do we ever interact with the owner (superintendent) or board of directors (board of education)? Unlikely. Yet they are often what makes a difference in the service we perceive that the wait staff (teachers) are rendering alone.

In short, teachers get more blame and less credit than they deserve, along with often minimal cooperation from those they serve, just like the wait staff.

But unlike the restaurant analogy, we parents have to take an active role in shaping and realizing those services. We’re not back in a restaurant kitchen, carrying trays of food or shouting “Medium rare, I said!” at the chef, but we’re helping out in classrooms, chaperoning field trips, creating yearbooks, overseeing fundraisers, and working with our kids at home to ensure they get to school ready to learn.

Public education doesn’t mean outsourcing your kids’ development; it’s an ongoing team effort where cooperation is essential. Funding, whether it’s deemed adequate or not, doesn’t absolve parents of our role as facilitators. Let’s work on being good education customers.