TL;DR: This week taught me something about wanting. Knowing the answer. And letting myself act on it. 

On Wanting

TSN 26.22

Hiya 

After Sunday’s ride in North Marin County, I stopped by two places. 

The croissant I like comes from one bakery. The cappuccino I wanted comes from another. I’ve known this about myself for a while now. And on Sunday morning, reflecting on the miles, I let myself act on it.

Not indulgence. Not selfishness. A quiet answer to a question I’ve learned to ask more often.

"What do I want?"

It’s a harder question to answer than it sounds. Than it should be

Early in the week, the home health aide called to cancel. My mom’s morning shower for the day, gone. I stood there for a moment, then made a decision.

I got her into the car, buckled her in, and we drove to Marin French Cheese Co., a place we used to visit when I lived with her, before I left in 1987. 

She was wearing her big hat and sunglasses. Holding a couple of CDs in her lap before we even left the driveway. 

As we started the drive. She looked at each of the CDs slowly, turning them over, considering. Finally, she said, “This one.” 

Perla Batalla. 

On the way there, she shared a fragmented memory. One I didn’t have. We held it together for a few minutes, quietly, and then it passed the way moments do when you don’t try to keep them. 

On the way back, as the 7th track came on, there she was. In a strong whisper, my mama was singing.

In Spanish. 

I don’t fully understand what the brain holds onto and why. But I’m grateful it held onto that. 

That evening I made dinner. With her help

I laid out all the ingredients on the counter and invited my mom to put the salads together. She did, carefully, deliberately. 

And then, one at a time, she brought them to the table. Plate balanced on her lap, one arm working, one foot pushing, wheeling herself from the kitchen to where we were waiting. 

I didn’t help. That was the point. 

There’s a Venn I’ve been thinking about all week.

Agency on one side.

Advocacy on the other.

Agency is the ownership I take, the effort, the willingness to move toward something. Advocacy is what others offer: the belief that someone has my back, will speak up, and will fight when it’s time. 

Most of the time, I’ve treated them as a handoff. 

“Do for yourself until you can’t, then someone does for you.”

But that’s not what I saw in that kitchen. Both were running at the same time. And holding both, for someone I love, is its own kind of work. 

It’s also complicated when the people who love the same person hold different pictures of what recovery looks like.

I’m sitting with that one. Carefully. Still. 

On Thursday, I sat with a colonel who has 22 months left in his seat. We followed an analogy he came up with, turned it over for a good twelve minutes, and somewhere in there, he saw it. That his all-or-nothing approach, the one that feels like clarity to him, can land on others as "you're with me or against me." Not because he's wrong or right; and not because they are wrong ...or right.

Because there are more pictures of what's real than the one he's been carrying. He found that himself. I just stayed with him during the coaching session.

Oh, and I talked with a mentor this week about working to think through a three-year plan. (I know, I have a lot going on in the next 12 hours, every 12 hours...)

The word that stayed with me was "partner." I want to be seen as a peer who wants the best for the people I work with. Not try to be the answer to a question they don’t have. 

On Friday, my sister, mom, and I went to an appointment with the neurologist, and words I didn't want to hear, but knew to be true as they came out: "11 months post-stroke, and Nancy has not made the progress that I thought she should."

I'm re-reading "Big Potential," and that quote about the ECOYSYSTEM is running true for me... bit time.

I know that quote is true. I know my mom suffered. I know my sister is in trauma. I know this situation is unfortunate.

Now... how do I hold it all... including hope?

So, on the way back from that appointment, I asked my sister if we could stop at Indian Valley College. And, I got my mom to a place that is special to me, and I know she knows it. If you're reading this, and you know me, you know that I live by a philosophy... a baseball.

108 stitches that hold it together (I made a short video I'll share, if you want).

So, I got her to the diamond. And, I had her stand at home plate...

What I keep coming back to is this.

The people I serve need both sides of that Venn. They need conditions that invite their agency and relationships that offer advocacy. And someone has to hold that space, not by teaching it, not by naming it loudly, but by being it. 

Fortitude, not comfort. Honest conversation, not resolution. 

That’s what I’m working toward. In a coaching conversation on Thursday. In a kitchen in Novato on Wednesday. At a table with two items, one from each place, on Sunday morning. 

Knowing what I want is not a small thing. 

Letting myself have it might be the whole practice. 

JW