Dear Courage,

My 12-year-old daughter is studying government in school and has been following the presidential campaign, along with becoming more informed about how our town works. She and her friends attended Town Meeting this year and loved seeing people talk about what’s important to them. In general, this process has been fun. It has been rewarding discussing issues with her and listening to her questions. Sometimes her questions spur me to do a little research, a thing I’m grateful for because I haven’t really had a lot of time in my life—or interest, quite frankly—to follow politics (I was born a few years before Watergate and I think I’ve always distrusted politicians). Other times, however, I find it hard to quiet my cynicism and have to work hard at not sharing too much of my tainted perspective. But the other night, watching the Republican presidential debate, I am afraid I became a little too vocal about my opinions and I don’t feel great about the example I set for her. I actually yelled at the TV at one point. I feel so upset about how crass and hateful Candidate Trump is but I don’t know how to encourage my daughter to not let cynicism derail her potential to be an active citizen. Do you have any advice on how to be a good role model in an area that is not my strong suit?

Signed,

Politically Bereft

Dear Politically Bereft,

Oh dear. I can just imagine how you—and your daughter—felt during that debate, particularly in Candidate Trump’s opening statements, during which he essentially suggested that a person’s fitness to lead is in some way related to his or her physical attributes. The implications of this correlation are especially difficult for people educating children about what their roles are in serving and leading our country as the future unfolds. Because we are, all of us, cultivating the future, and when a public figure espouses a view we don’t agree with, we must challenge ourselves to respond with that future in mind.

No wonder you got mad. No wonder you yelled at the TV. No wonder you feel bad about setting that example for your daughter. BUT: getting mad and yelling at the TV are okay. Your daughter needs to see you get mad. Your daughter needs to see you have a reaction when something you believe in is threatened. Conflict is not to be feared. On the contrary, it is the engine upon which our system is built. Thank goodness we all have different opinions; realizing this allows us to listen with compassion to other humans. What we need to teach ourselves, in addition to addressing conflict rather than avoiding it, is how to listen—a skill I’m still developing at my ripe old age. It sounds like you are too.

It is as important that, after yelling at the TV, you and your daughter talk. Ask her what she thinks about the ideas that were just discussed and let her find a way to ask you. Take the time. Take a breath. Make the time to go to Town Meeting—a profound Vermont tradition that asks us to be in the same room with our community, even when we disagree, and arrive at consensus together. And if you can’t make the time to go to Town Meeting—we’re are all busy with work and life—make sure you celebrate and educate your daughter on the voting process. Because the political process is at a crossroads in this country, and your daughter is poised to make it new. You’re already helping her by educating yourself and acknowledging how you want to do better. Keep it up.

Signed,

Courage

Dear Courage,

I am at a major turning point in my life and I feel completely unprepared for it. My husband died two years ago and my daughter and son think it’s time now for me to sell the house and move to an active adult community. Part of me knows they’re right—I can’t keep up with maintenance, cleaning, etc.—but most of me is set against the idea. This is where our family has lived for thirty-six years and I can’t just walk away from it. Every time I stand at the kitchen sink and look out the window, I can’t imagine not seeing my lilac bushes. I can’t imagine not hearing the creak on the third step before bedtime. I can’t imagine painting over the kids’ height marks on the pantry wall.

I know it’s not grief. I don’t feel nearly as raw as I did in the year-and-a-half since my husband died, which was more intense than when I grieved each of my parents. I’m past the hard part. And I certainly don’t think I’m afraid, which is what my daughter and son tell me not to be when we discuss it. I just think the time is not right. “In a few years,” I tell them. “I’ll be ready in a few years.” They get frustrated with me but they are exercising some patience, I can tell. I think my son has taken up yoga, for how deeply he breathes during our conversations.

Lately, though, I wake up in the middle of the night and worry that I’ll never be ready, and that I’ll never be able to imagine leaving until the house crumbles around me. How can I keep pleading my case to them if I’m starting to doubt it myself?

Signed,

Rooted…or in a Rut?

Dear Rooted,

My eight-year-old granddaughter just took a week-long sailing camp, something I gave her as a birthday gift this year. In one of their first exercises in the water, the instructor intentionally capsized the boat so the children could practice how to save themselves and each other during an emergency. When I asked her if she was afraid when she went under, she said, “Even though I knew it was coming, I still got scared. But then I just did what I had to do. We all did.” Her face was beaming when she told me about the experience.

This anecdote could be helpful for you to remember, Stuck, as you learn how to move through this major adjustment. There are things we can prepare for in this life, absolutely. We can make lists, accomplish goals, develop plans, and prepare ourselves for what’s to come. We can call a realtor, pack up boxes, apply fresh coats of paint on walls that have been well loved and will be loved again. We can make new friends and have different views out of our kitchen windows. We can get in a boat, knowing that it’s going to capsize, and feel confident that we’ve figured out what to do to right it again.

But surely you know by now, having said goodbye to your parents and your husband, that grief doesn’t make lists or follow plans. Grief has one goal, and like it or not we are at its mercy. Grief prepares us for death, a thing we all have to do. But luckily, grief prepares us for life too. Whether or not we’re scared when we learn its lessons, we know, ultimately, we will be able to do what needs to be done. And in the meantime, we must navigate our lives so that we realize how glorious it is to move through the world with intention and be with ourselves and others in ways that make our faces beam. You’ll know when you’re ready. By writing to me, you probably already are.

Signed,

Courage

Dear Courage,

I am sad. I got a new doll for Christmas from Santa. She is an American Girl doll named Caroline. Her hair is beautiful. I took her to do errands with my mom. I also took my stuffie named Panda who has been with me as long as I can remember. He has sweet eyes and a piece of plastic bamboo in his paws. I never want him to get a bath he smells so good. Well, I lost Panda because I was playing with and telling stories to Caroline. I must have dropped him. We looked everywhere but nobody in the stores saw him. My mom hugged me and said Panda will come back. I know she loves me but I think it’s not true. What am I going to do without him?

Signed,

Sad Panda

Dear Sad Panda,

It is a very hard thing in life to lose a friend and wish he wasn’t gone. Most of us feel sad about losing someone special to us at some point in our lives. I tell you this so you know that when you feel sad, you are not alone.

You can keep looking for Panda while still doing all the other things you love to do. Play with and tell stories to Caroline, spend time with your mom and family, and maybe even draw pictures that imagine all of the wonderful things Panda might be doing on his own. You could even write him a letter, imagining him reading it someday not too far in the future. You could tell him, ‘Dear Panda, I am sorry you were lost but I am glad you are safe and sound now. After you get some rest, I hope you’ll tell me about your adventures as a bear alone in the world. I am thankful you’re here and want to hug you a thousand million times.’

Even if Panda doesn’t make his way back to you, you will have your pictures and letter to remember him and help you heal your heart, which is broken right now but won’t be forever. In this way, you will know that life is worth living, even when you feel scared or sad, because feelings change and unexpected gifts arrive all the time.

Signed,

Courage

Dear Courage,

My sister and I spent last weekend cleaning out our parents’ home so we can sell it this summer. In the attic we found a picture of our family from the last time we were all together—years ago. My mom, dad, sister and I are sitting on our old picnic blanket in the backyard under a maple that today shows its age through its gnarled trunk and black-dusted leaves. When I looked at the picture of us, picking at bread and cheese and shielding our eyes from the sun (and my grandfather’s stubborn attempts at amateur photography) I remembered that my sister took the old picnic blanket when she left home for school when we were young. When I asked her if she still had it, she told me she lost it sometime during her last year of college and never found it. I am angry with her that she could be so careless with something that meant so much to us. That blanket is one of the only things linking us to our time as a family and I can’t believe she didn’t protect it. I know it’s just a material thing and I shouldn’t be upset but I am. How can I forgive her for her thoughtlessness?

Signed,

Cross in Calais

Dear Cross,

There are few relationships that can rile us up quite like the ones we have with our siblings. Every time we have conflict with them—no matter how small or large—we simultaneously have to deal with the opposing forces in us that gave rise to the conflict in the first place. After all, as siblings, we are nurtured in the same nest. We build our understanding of ourselves and how to be in the world alongside one another. When we grow into adults, those internal and external dynamics shift, not only because we mature but also because other changes in the nest—the death of one or both parents is the most jarring—shake the tree in which we thought we were so securely perched. The wind that shakes the tree, my dear, is life.

Material things have a way of obscuring what’s really going on, especially when closing up a family home. Your sister’s loss of the picnic blanket has upset you for reasons that you are only now beginning to deal with. And the way you and she deal with that loss, and others, will change as the wind continues to blow. Being upset with someone else is absolutely natural, and you have written to me because you don’t want to be upset with your sister forever. This tells me there is love in your relationship, thank goodness. Now you must get to work expressing your upset feelings to your sister in a constructive way—one that helps you listen to each other through the sound of the wind. You also need to be ready to release your sister from the expectation that she feels the same way you do about the blanket. This is the harder work of life, and speaks to the true meaning of forgiveness, something we too often confuse with forgetting in our culture. Because I suspect that the loss you both lament isn’t the blanket itself but the banquet spread out on it. Excessive metaphors be damned, but put on your windbreaker and unpack your picnic basket!

Signed,

Courage

P.S. — Call your local tree warden to take a look at that maple. The black dust on the leaves may be fungus and not merely an imprint of time’s march. Healthy aging can be embraced, but disease is often treatable when proper precautions are taken. Good luck!