Not about chickens. At all.

Authenticity is hard.  

We live in a world where we are taught that appropriate response to “How are you?” is “I’m fine and you?”  

I’m rarely fine. I’m frequently elated, triumphant, frustrated, rushed, anxious, excited, grumpy, or sad, or any combination of the above.  I can’t remember the last time, “fine” was a legitimate description of my state of being.

But I say it all the time.  I have a three-year-old. We talked about feelings- being true to how you feel, navigating your feelings in a healthy manner- to the point that he is sick of it.  Even he responds with “fine” most of the time when people ask how he is.

Why?

What would really happen if we answered honestly?  

“How are you?”

“I have a knot in my stomach the size of Kilimanjaro because I’m drowning in work deadlines.”

Or

“How are you?”

“So freakin’ happy I can’t stand it because I just watched my kid do this amazing thing that he’s been working so hard on and the pride on his little face just about broke me in half with joy.”

What is so wrong with either of these answers? Wouldn’t it lead to more honest communication?  

But no. We live in a world of 140 characters or less and images that must adhere to the norm of the narrative people expect to see and that just makes it all so much worse. Instead of talking to strangers on the bus we stare into our phones and think, “Why isn’t my life like this?”

Well, because no one’s is.  I’m so guilty of that. Every picture of our little place is adorable. I crop the shot to shut the background mess out of the frame.  The lad is smiling and impish or sleeping angelically in every shot. I don’t whip out my camera for the scream sessions.

But the other day, I was struggling.  The lad had been going on two weeks with nightmares plaguing his sleep at least twice a night.  I had used up all my tricks and my brain was numb from fatigue and I posted a plea for help.

Within minutes I had beautiful empathetic responses and super helpful suggestions from fellow parent friends. Within hours several people reached out in private messages and phone calls to support and commiserate.  I was practically moved to tears but how wonderful they all were.

When we allow ourselves to be authentic, we open the door to real communication. We offer others the opportunity to say, “Yes. I’ve been there too. Here’s what helped.”  We give each other the chance to struggle together or celebrate together.

And the world just needs a whole lot more of that.

So how are you, my friend? Really.

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