Smoke in Mirrors

You have to go to the real world. You can go back to your regular life, and forget any of this ever happened. Or you can know the truth about the universe. -Weird Barbie

Warning: a few tiny Barbie spoilers.

Another school year has begun, just like that, back into the rhythm of drop offs and pickups, new rosters of students, the unfolding of another soccer team, seedlings of growth pushing up to the surface in the change of a season. Someone commented that we are lucky in education because we get a refresh at the beginning of every school year, and it’s true. New shoes, new planners, clean classrooms, open hearts. No two years are ever the same.

We spent the week before fumigating our home for termites, which was a whole thing with 3 kids and 5 pets and only one adult. Not exactly a relaxing end to vacation, but it needed to be done. These seemingly mundane tasks of adulthood feel so much bigger when you are a solo parent, and let me tell you, house problems plagued me this summer. So much so that I lost four pounds running my tail off. I’ve never worked so hard at my homestead. In the midst of this chaos, deep family ties were severed—a type of fumigation in itself— making space for the kind of clarity I’ve needed my entire life, not without grief. But we also had many amazing experiences during our time off, such as samurai training in Japan, fly fishing in Mammoth, horseback riding in a stunning wildflower superbloom known as the “artist’s palette” while patches of snow still clung to mountain sides in the late summer from an unusually cold Calfornia winter. I think of this summer as what Glennon Doyle calls “brutiful,” both brutal and beautiful. 

That’s life, right? 

Have you seen the new Barbie movie yet? So much to unpack and untangle and chew on.  An early review I read described Barbie as a terrible role model, but a “mirror” for all. 

Another fantastic article said this was a story of enlightenment, an awakening to a reality that includes impermanence and suffering. Barbie has a chance to live in her perfect, plastic world, but she chooses to become human. Despite the inevitable suffering in a human world, there is also a heck of a lot to appreciate and enjoy, and she goes for it. She wants it. The real world is authentic and full of meaning; it has feelings and emotions. A plastic world doesn’t have any of that, and an enlightened Barbie doll realizes that’s a boring, unfulfilling existence. She wants more. One could argue that Barbie—and the character of Ken— are representations of people wanting to be accepted, loved, and fully expressed, but are trapped in a world that does not allow that freedom. I found a wall decoration at Target that said “Come as you are,” and I hung it in my kitchen, feeling inspired by Barbie and wanting that emphasis on acceptance in the little world I am creating for my children. 

Yet another review talked about the patriarchy in the movie and how it oppresses and suppresses both men and women. I think this was the major theme that stood out to people, especially those who got their feelings hurt because they are so-called anti-feminists, whatever that self-loathing existence is. Certainly, the patriarchy and all of its complexities was an important theme. But it is narrow-minded to dismiss this movie as just a rage against the patriarchy. It was commentary on a lot more about society. 

Barbie didn’t end there. I read an article about a woman who thought the movie made her more appreciative of her mother, who she hasn’t always agreed with over the years. There were a lot of references to mothers. Toward the middle-end, Rhea Perlman’s character says to Barbie, “We mothers stand still so our daughters can look back to see how far they’ve come.” This line was a hit with many of its viewers.

The movie truly was a mirror, allowing people to extract deep meaning about whatever resonated. 

But also, all of the themes are interrelated. Everything you saw was somehow connected to what I saw and vice versa, themes intersecting and criss-crossing to weave a tapestry that tells the story of our humanity. 

We showed up to work on the first day and the administration unveiled their theme for the year: kaizen. It’s a Japanese word that means “continuous improvement.” It was used in Japanese manufacturing after World War II, embraced by companies such as Toyota. Cue the eye rolls. Teachers can’t help it. We’ve heard it all. The pendulum swings back and forth. We’re always told we aren’t doing good enough in not so many words. To be told that more continuous improvements are needed doesn’t sit well.

I think it’s because teachers want to feel like they’ve finished a job. We want a finish line. The high of a job well done. But the thing is, humans don’t have a finish line (other than death), so when you work with humans, it’s always working in the middle, sludging through uncharted terrain, untangling, sorting, reconfiguring, searching, hoping, digging, uncovering, connecting as our brains seek meaning. 

Nobody has ever said this out loud. We get told we need to do better, instead of being told working with humans is a moving target we will never hit. There are too many changing variables. Impermanence. The best we can do is to always try for a little better. 

On a personal level, when I watched the Barbie movie, the mirror that reflected back to me was a feeling of deep resentment that the only Barbie dolls I ever had as a child were the ones I could buy from my neighbor’s garage sale while one of my parents gambled away more money than a mortgage. This same parent once told me I was their least favorite child and thought a lifetime devoid of emotional connection could ever blossom into a meaningful adult relationship, let alone the fact that without respect, there is nothing but fear and blood precariously holding everything together. It’s a resentment I’ve tried to let go, but one that has remained unresolved without the opportunity to be truly heard. My other parent is a tempermental narcissist who constantly criticizes all of us and would rather shatter mirrors than look into one. Since they are human, they have other sides to them that are not so dark. Plenty of people like them. They have their strengths. They’ve done good things. But speaking as their oldest child, I no longer want to second guess the experiences I had.  My lived experiences are valid.

My mother didn’t love her mother and her mother didn’t love her, and she passed that right on to me. 

It stops with me. 

Last weekend I took my daughter on a mother-daughter date. I make it a point to tell her that she is smart and talented and beautiful. I try to show interest in the things that she cares about, even when I don’t particularly care about those things. I talk to her. I encourage her. I ask questions to better understand her. I do everything I can to not perpetuate the cycle of mothers who don’t love their daughters, and daughters who don’t love their mothers, because it’s a sad, lonely place to be and I want my daughter to know that I love the heck out of her. It is my greatest honor to travel through life alongside her. I want her to be better than me. I want to be better for her. I want her to know that she 100% can disagree with me, challenge me, question, suggest, teach me. There is nothing off the table, because if I am successful in cultivating this relationship, it will be one rooted in deep love and respect.

It’s difficult to even raise complaints about my childhood that saw food on the table and no physical abuse other than what I imagine was typical 80s and 90s spanking of children. I know some of you have had terrible childhoods. I also think we all know that there is a spectrum of crappiness, and I know deep in my bones that my constant feeling of inferiority and the anxiety I am plagued to this day came straight from that household where nothing I ever did was good enough. I was called a bitch and kicked out of the house in high school for having too much attitude (I graduated in the top 10 of my class, didn’t drink or do drugs, and was a total nerd.) There is psychological damage when you know your parents could take you or leave you. 

The last straw was earlier this year, when my 8-year-old was upset at something they did to him, and he said to me, “Can’t you say something? You’re a 41-year-old woman. Aren’t you in charge of your own life?” 

And the truth is, when you’re dealing with narcissists, you can’t. You can never be your fully expressed self. You can’t have opinions that differ from theirs. You will always have to contort yourself into something that is safe and palatable to them so you don’t set off their rage, or else they will cut you off or take away whatever it is they think you need. 

The solution is to reject the carrot being dangled in front of you. Their shallow love. Their fake acceptance. Babysitting. Fixing a sprinkler. Someone to vent to. You cut it off, because those bread crumbs of care and concern always came with strings attached. 

I was scared of being cut off. As a widow, it’s not wise to ruin your safety nets. Until you know the feeling of filling out emergency contact paperwork or designating names on your living trust and wondering who you should put because there is no partner as the obvious choice, you might not have thought about safety nets. I’ve tried my best to do almost everything on my own, rarely asking for help. For a reason. There have always been strings attached in my experiences. I have trust issues. I am riddled with self-doubt. I learned narcissists run dysfunctional households based on three methods: don’t talk, don’t feel, and don’t trust. 

But this was the summer of being tested. Of having a pile of crap fall down on my head every week and figuring it out on my own, and not being scared of being alone. Of realizing that my 8-year-old was correct: I shouldn’t have to tiptoe around anyone to be loved. 

I’ve gone through so many cycles of wondering if this is the appropriate course of action. Years. As a Buddhist, I’ve learned about non-attachment and letting go. The impermanence of feelings and emotions. The poisons of anger, ignorance, and greed. The necessity of loving others in this interdependent world. I’ve berated myself for feeling this way. I’ve been embarrassed to say it out loud to people I know, especially to the people who know my family and have only seen one side of them. But when 3/3 of your kids no longer talk to you, and not all of your kids even talk to each other, I know that it is not just in my head. I’m not the big, bad black sheep. I’m not crazy. I’m just a middle-aged woman carrying around a wounded little girl who needs to stand back up, dust herself off, and keep moving forward. Now, I am tasked with being the protector of her. 

What I’ve learned is that appearances are deceiving, and relationships require work. I pour myself into my family knowing that relationships require an emotional connection that you must continuously nurture, and I like my kids! I don’t just love them, I like them! I want to hang out with them even when they are middle-aged. I want to go to dinner and hear about their work and hobbies. I want to know what they did during their day and what book they are currently reading. I want to hear about their friendships, what excites them, what worries them. I want to show up just like I would have when they were little and playing a soccer game. True relationships do not come automatically because of blood or obligation or fear or tradition. It doesn’t form because of what you have done for someone once or because of social expectations or because that’s the way it has always been. Successful relationships only exist when all parties can completely be themselves and still be unconditionally loved without fear of being cut off. This bond is made with respect for one another, and without respect, there is no relationship.

That is what I think Barbie is about: navigating a complex world with all of its baggage and obstacles, trying to be loved as completely yourself, being respected, and feeling like you have purpose and a place. 

Not a small task, but one in which we have the rest of our lives to continue working on, doing the kaizen thing, doing whatever it takes to achieve something better than what was handed to you. 

Recently I listened to an essay written by Reverend Ellen Crane about her mother’s experiences surviving the bombing of Hiroshima. It’s a tremendous story. Her mother harbored no ill will toward anyone, even though she had every reason to hate the world. She explained that it was because she knew numerous causes and conditions led to the moment and you couldn’t point your finger to any one person or thing. 

I found this inspiring as I sifted through the rubble of my own life. It’s easy to want to blame. There are too many causes and conditions to put your finger on one thing. Find your own clarity. Set your own boundaries. Love the child inside of you. Protect her or him. Find your peace. Live your life. Do better. 

I feel really healthy and at ease this August. More than I have in a really long time. It makes me want to examine the other people and things in my life that have added toxicity to my being. A sort of mental and social fumigation. We must be ruthless with what we allow into our headspace. 

Easier said than done, but it’s a worthy journey to the real world. It’s okay to be afraid. You just need to have the courage to believe that you deserve it.