This Is Not A Mug.

This is not a coffee mug. I’m guessing neither are some of yours.

Following September 11, 2001 it’s fair to say I was repressing feelings about the loss of a friend in the attacks. At some point months later, I was seated at the desk of my home-office speaking with my wife at the time when I began to sob. I just erupted. I cannot recall the exact trigger but it did not make sense in that moment.

Emotions. At that time there were not only negative feelings many of us kept throttled down. There were also strong positive waves of energy, music, cooperation and camaraderie between friends and strangers, and they were beginning to layer on top of those deep dark internal fault lines. Life plans, career paths and personal goals changed, en masse, partly in response to the beginning of an anemic post-crash economic recovery but also out of necessity. It was a time of great self-reflection. Which was healthy. Because there was a clear indication that war was at hand for our country. The range and intensity of differing emotions built and crossed each other like the swirling winds of a severe off-shore storm soon to hit.

We began to prize what was precious.

In my case, I had both a toddler and a newborn, two baby girls. What would my decisions, my values mean for them in the future? What actions would I take? One knee-jerk response was to send my resume to many acronym agencies in the DC area, an attempt to serve my country and leverage my college degree. This would be a huge career pivot. I had a profound desire to respond…to lash out, to act, to contribute. I despise helplessness and I was stewing in it. So I helped older neighbors, I re-designed and landscaped a backyard to create an idyllic little haven for my daughters and a place to gather with friends and family. What else?

Then, one December day, I picked up my two year old from daycare where, smiling hopefully, she looked up and handed me the not-a-mug. 

Even though it happened in slow motion, this is another moment that’s a bit of a blur to me. 

This little act of kindness, this personalized gift was not just another typical school project. This was Frida Kahlo handing me the Holy Grail. I felt like she knew beyond her years she must entrust me to be worthy of its weight. This knight gave her a big delicious hug. I wish I could remember if tears welled up by the time I strapped her into her baby seat or if I held off until some point during the drive home.

 

Hers was a swift action of the heart. The kind so many of us were trying to take, for each other and for ourselves. Here was a toddler showing how it’s done. The most vulnerable creature on the planet was not mired in helplessness. She held intention.

It inspired me. It encouraged me to continue to be the best Dad and Husband I could be no matter the obstacles in the road ahead. And there would be many.
This priceless prize possession, as Indiana Jones would say, “belongs in a museum,” because to me it’s a vessel holding the prism of time and space. The little girl who took action, artfully and with heart that day, grew up to be the same way. The gift and the feelings that came with it created a lens through which I have always seen her. She has always kept true to her internal compass, authentic intentions still keeping her on that path now decades in the future.
Recently I was in a relationship and living arrangement that I fully signed up for but that came not without sacrifices. One was not having the benefit of keeping certain personal items and artwork where I was. For those of you who know what I’m talking about, and you do if you’ve ever been married or in a long-term relationship, we do this because we understand compromise. Because while a little object like this can be a trigger-signal to someone else, it is permanently transcendent to me. No longer is it a physical vessel for my morning coffee. It is a state of mind and maybe even a path to enlightenment.

But I will say it sure does feel good to embrace it once again and drink in all the reflections, reminders and encouragements it holds. Do you have one?