To my Thomas
This week you bought an outfit for our upcoming trip. Not just an outfit, but every accessory you would need to look just like the real thing. It's something you like to do, spending hours in front of the mirror to make sure every facial expression is just like the expression on the face of whichever hero you aspire to be that day. I used to worry about that tendency. I carved, "Esse Quam Videri"--To Be Rather Than To Seem--into your coat of arms when you were barely two years old. I did it because I had seen these tendencies in you already and I was afraid you would be a chameleon. I was worried you would be one of those people who becomes just like whatever surrounds him. Someone who goes to great lengths to act the part, to look just right. I was afraid appearances were everything to you.
But as you've gotten older, I've been able to glimpse a different angle. Your obsession over having just the right outfit and just the right expression has very little to do with looking the part, and everything to do with being the part. Whatever you do, Thomas, you do it with your whole heart. Every ounce of yourself is poured into every single thing you do. You will not give less than your best to anything you do--from dressing up like a Star Wars character, to helping a friend at school. You're incapable--or at least unwilling--to give half your heart to any effort.
Wow. Sometimes I have to stop and let those words settle over me. You won't give half of yourself to any effort. Nothing is so small that it deserves less than your best. Nothing.
Imagine what that says to the people you talk to. Imagine how it feels, insignificant as an interaction may be, to know that it was worth the investment of everything you have.
It's what drives you to throw yourself into play, into friendships. It's what makes the constant volume of your voice something so loud it echoes through our house. It's why I joke that my white noise machine used to block "every sound except Thomas," because you walked so firmly, with such purpose, that I could feel the vibrations throughout the house. You are all in in everything you do. My wonderful, life-filled son, you are all in.
All in in every decision that you make. All in in every bit of character that is forged in your soul. All in in every relationship. All in.
I wish I could live up to your example. Some days I fall far short. Many days, actually. But you, in your exuberance and full-on living, are teaching me. I catch myself now, on the days when I'm tempted to give only a half effort to the work in front of me. Nothing is too small. Nothing. The shadows of how you live your life brush over my conscience, and I am reminded that I am here to live, and live fully. Every effort, every interaction, every relationship should get the best of me. All in.
Thank you. Thank you for a lesson that I sometimes thought would push me to the brink of exhaustion. Thank you for living out fully who you are and what you do. Thank you. Because you've pushed me and taught me and shown me how to live my life in completeness.
I wouldn't trade one loud, exhausting, perfectly-costumed moment. Not one.
But as you've gotten older, I've been able to glimpse a different angle. Your obsession over having just the right outfit and just the right expression has very little to do with looking the part, and everything to do with being the part. Whatever you do, Thomas, you do it with your whole heart. Every ounce of yourself is poured into every single thing you do. You will not give less than your best to anything you do--from dressing up like a Star Wars character, to helping a friend at school. You're incapable--or at least unwilling--to give half your heart to any effort.
Wow. Sometimes I have to stop and let those words settle over me. You won't give half of yourself to any effort. Nothing is so small that it deserves less than your best. Nothing.
Imagine what that says to the people you talk to. Imagine how it feels, insignificant as an interaction may be, to know that it was worth the investment of everything you have.
It's what drives you to throw yourself into play, into friendships. It's what makes the constant volume of your voice something so loud it echoes through our house. It's why I joke that my white noise machine used to block "every sound except Thomas," because you walked so firmly, with such purpose, that I could feel the vibrations throughout the house. You are all in in everything you do. My wonderful, life-filled son, you are all in.
All in in every decision that you make. All in in every bit of character that is forged in your soul. All in in every relationship. All in.
I wish I could live up to your example. Some days I fall far short. Many days, actually. But you, in your exuberance and full-on living, are teaching me. I catch myself now, on the days when I'm tempted to give only a half effort to the work in front of me. Nothing is too small. Nothing. The shadows of how you live your life brush over my conscience, and I am reminded that I am here to live, and live fully. Every effort, every interaction, every relationship should get the best of me. All in.
Thank you. Thank you for a lesson that I sometimes thought would push me to the brink of exhaustion. Thank you for living out fully who you are and what you do. Thank you. Because you've pushed me and taught me and shown me how to live my life in completeness.
I wouldn't trade one loud, exhausting, perfectly-costumed moment. Not one.
