Conor Grennan's Blog, page 6
January 3, 2018
already failing my new years resolution
Already Failing My New Years Resolution
I am a micromanager. You can’t believe how much I micromanage. I will almost never let anyone do anything because I am positive that I can do it better and quicker.
Which means that I have a habit of correcting my wife. Which she LOVES. Because we know that all women love to be corrected. She is brimming with gratitude that I suggested a different way of loading the dishwasher or putting the milk back in the fridge or driving to the movie theater. LOVES it.
I do the same thing with the kids, of course.
Liz is naturally good at letting the kids make their own mistakes. Let them mess up, she says. What’s the worst that can happen? Which, I know, makes sense. And still, I try to make brownies with them and I just can’t let go.
“Can I pour that in?” Lucy asks.
“I’ll do that, honey.”
“Can I use the mixer?” Finn says. “I’ve done it before.”
“Lemme do that, buddy.”
Liz watches me. She sees how on edge I get. She has reminded me, lovingly, that making brownies with the kids is supposed to be fun. And yet I seem to be radiating out tension like a Chernobyl reactor.
That’s just making brownies. Can you imagine how annoying this is for the kids? Very. More importantly, it stunts their development, makes them less confident, and probably a heap of other negative things.
That’s on me. When it comes to my kids, I have a hard time letting go of the wheel.
So I have a New Years Resolution. Now, this Resolution feels impossible to me, so I’m praying that Jesus zaps me with some serious power on this front, which the Bible says He can do.
Here is my Resolution:
I am Going to Change My View of Failure.
Micromanaging is rooted in my fear of being out of control.And my fear of being out of control is my fear that I will fail. So the answer, clearly, is to try to control EVERYTHING and EVERYONE around me.
Making a New Years Resolution is usually an exercise in thrilling and excitable futility. (We can rebuild him. Make him better than before. Stronger, faster…) The Resolution lasts about a day and then I am once again sitting in a big puddle of disaster juice.
So this year is different. I’m making a strategy. Here it is:
Three Steps to Changing My View of Failure
1.) Let My Kids Fail.
Who cares if they spill water when they’re getting a glass of water for themselves? Water is literally the easiest thing in the world to clean up. You use water to clean things! It’s GOOD if they spill water! They’re not transporting the Mona Lisa. It’s fine.
2.) Let My Wife Fail.
Now, in fairness, I’m not sure Liz would agree that the way she puts spoons in the dishwasher is technically a failure. But peek behind the curtain of Conor’s brain and you’ll see that that is exactly what I am thinking. This, despite the fact that the spoons come out clean every time. I’m going to try to let that go, the spoon in the dishwasher thing. We have more spoons. And Liz is smart and seems pretty confident about how she’s doing it. So…yeah. I’m going to really try to be okay with that in 2018.
3.) Let Myself Fail.
This part of the plan, I’m not crazy about.
I’ll be honest – my original resolution was different. It was to do new, creative things. But I found myself immediately self-correcting on this. I began shutting down any idea that I thought might fail, even if I loved the idea.
Which drew me to the conclusion that I knew all along but that I was dreading saying aloud.
It isn’t that I hate failing. It’s that I hate failing in front of people. I am afraid of shame and I am afraid of humiliation. I am afraid of people being disappointed in me. I am afraid of not being who my wife thinks I am, or who my kids think I am, who my friends think I am, or who people that have read my book think I am, or who my pastor thinks I am, or who my colleagues think I am.
I am afraid of these things and I don’t want to be.
And if I want to change, then I have to find a way to be okay with who God created me to be. Which means, in turn, that I have to be okay with failing. Which means, in turn, that I have to be okay with giving up control. Which means, in turn, that I have to try to stop micromanaging.
I’ve already failed at this in the first days of 2018, as Liz and the kids will tell you. But I’m not giving up this time. So get ready, people. It’s fail time.
December 19, 2017
the birds and the bees and santa claus
The Birds and the Bees and Santa Claus
We told Finn and Lucy the truth about Santa. They are only 8 and 6 years old. Which means there will be people reading who will give me wide-eyed looks of horror.
But here’s the thing: We’re going to Orlando for Christmas, and it felt like a hassle to try explain how Santa got a keycard to our room.
Lizzie’s reasoning for it was, thankfully, was slightly more thoughtful.
Her reason was this:
We believe in Jesus. And let’s face it people, this sounds and feels like a fairy tale to a whole lot of people. Having been an atheist for the first 32 years of my life, I know exactly how crazy this Jesus thing sounds.
Because we believe in something in something unseen, Lizzie reasoned, and because the faith of our children is important to us (even as they make their own decisions on it), we decided that it was time to clear up any potential confusion with our kids between Jesus and Santa.
There was a risk, of course. Who doesn’t love the Santa tradition? He’s the best! And nobody outside of Whoville actually wants to kill the magic of Christmas. Hence my nervousness. But we’d made the decision. And once we started the conversation it was like accidentally shoving a piano out a window: Nothing good was coming and you’re just hoping nobody gets crushed.
Here’s how it went:
We sat the kids down in the living room. We first talked about what we really believed, and why the Christmas season was so important. (They already knew, of course.) Then we talked about how, as parents, we wanted something to represent the magic of all that, and Santa was a wonderful representation of what we believe Jesus to be. Santa gives awesome gifts, he focused his attention on every boy and girl enough to supernaturally descend a billion chimneys in one night, he was just pure and good and liked cookies. Kids could get that a little better than some of that old language you sometimes get with the Bible.
Finn was way ahead of us. He pretty much had figured out the whole Santa thing. Lucy had heard rumors but hadn’t believed them, but she didn’t seem particularly sad, more interested in getting the information. (We also made them promise to NEVER tell other kids, and they stuck out their pinkies for Pinky Promise, which is apparently a kind of blood oath for the elementary school set.)
The conversation felt over. I thought we were out of the woods.
We were not out of the woods.
The whole conversation about “We as parents don’t want to keep secrets from you” began to backfire quickly.
Suddenly we were deep into the tooth fairy, the Easter Bunny, and leprechauns. We were into stories of how their friends had personal experiences with these things, and were their friends lying to them? We were into the mechanics of how we had fooled them with sneaking around in the middle of the night – and now they knew their parents were master thieves and con-artists. They now knew about the stupid Elf on the stupid Shelf.
And now I’m getting more and more nervous about the territory we had stumbled into. But the kids were loving this conversation. They had this look on their faces, like they had just discovered the magical treasure box of Secrets-Parents-Keep and they were now gleefully rummaging around in there like the Monopoly top-hat guy in a chest filled with gold coins, flinging their arms up with delight.
So Liz and I decided, having gone this far, that we should probably go all in.
It was time for the Birds and the Bees.
Again, the reasoning was this: The information they were getting on the school bus was, at best, misguided. Fourth graders of this world – the oldest ones on the bus – apparently believed that they had the market cornered on the human reproductive system. (They do not.)
Thankfully we had a book that our friends recommended to teach us EXACTLY how to talk about this because this one could go WILDLY off the rails. And if you thought I was nervous telling them about Santa, I was practically light-headed as we breezily said “We want to talk to you about where babies come from! Or whatever! No biggie!”
Then we sat them down at the dining room table with so much candy piled in front of them that they could barely see over it. And I just read the book aloud.
Amazingly, they were totally receptive. Also, it turned out to be different than what they had heard from Teddy, the fourth grader on the bus who gave Finn some details on the matter that, frankly, didn’t even make much sense because……well. You can imagine.
When we were done, Liz looked at them and said, “So do you guys have any questions about that?”
Or at least that’s what she told me she said. Because man, I was done. I had finished reading that book and my brain had taken the emergency exit out my ear like the inflatable slide out the side door of an aircraft. It wanted no part of follow up questions.
Liz, the level-headed good parent in these situations, answered their questions thoughtfully with neither embarrassment nor euphemistic phraseology. Because she rocks. And then they ran off to go play.
And me, I felt like Neo in the Matrix, limboing backwards to dodge bullets after that conversation. Victory! Talk finished forever! Santa! Check! Birds! Check! Bees! Check!
Then, this past weekend, they watched Miracle on 34th street.
You know. The one where NOBODY believes in Santa and the parents DEFINITELY don’t believe in Santa but the kids PROVE that Santa exists?
And Finn, after some whisperings with Lucy, pauses the movie and looks at us.
“Are we SURE Santa doesn’t exist?”
“Pretty sure,” I mumbled.
“But you said Jesus performed miracles. That He could do anything, and He created the whole world…”
“Mmmmmm,” I said, now frantically reaching for the remote trying to get the stupid movie to start playing again.
“Couldn’t Jesus make Santa Claus?”
(Sigh.) “Well, technically, He could…”
“So Santa MIGHT be real?”
“….I mean…”
Finn and Lucy gave each other excited looks. I pressed play on that cursed movie.
I’m glad we were honest with our kids. I’m glad that it’s difficult to truly rob kids of the magic in this world. And maybe in the end that turns out to be a pretty great thing when you believe that there are things like magic in this world. Things that have to be felt instead of seen. Things that bring the kind of joy that can light you up inside like a Christmas tree.
December 14, 2017
don’t make this a december to remember
Don’t Make This a December to Remember
Listen, I’m all for capitalism. But these car commercials at Christmas – what is up with that? Who is watching this commercial and deciding that is what you’re getting your spouse? Are they sitting on a couch made out of diamonds? Don’t they find that uncomfortable, a diamond couch?
Worse, these car commercials make it look like the spouse is, like, totally psyched to get a new car. Yeah. No kidding. A December to Remember, they call it. You know what Liz would Remember about December if she woke up to a brand new $60,000 Lexus in the driveway with a bow on it? She would remember how her husband had hollowed out the kids’ college fund for a car that she didn’t need.
Commercials tell us that we deserve the best and that we can have it. And they are frighteningly persuasive.
When Finn was five, he was watching some show on TV. Now, our kids almost never see network TV – they watch Netflix. Finn had literally never seen a commercial in his life. So I’m in the kitchen and he wanders in, this serious five-year-old look on his face.
“Dad. What kind of car do we have?”
“Jeep Grand Cherokee. Why?”
“Is that the same as a GMC?”
“No.”
He slapped his hand down on the counter. “Okay. Because there’s this car called a GMC? And it’s the best kind of car. It won a trophy. We need to get one of those.”
“We’re not getting a GMC.”
“But… it’s the best car.”
I tell that story because it’s kind of funny and cute and reminded me how impressionable kids are.
And because – alas – it reminds me how impressionable I am.
So this is where I confess that while I am susceptible to many, many lies, here are….
THE TOP FIVE LIES THAT CONOR BUYS INTO LIKE THE IDIOT HE IS. (in no particular order):
Ready?
1.) The Lie of the J. Crew Mannequin
I don’t know who makes J. Crew mannequins, but they should be hired to make the next generation of robots. They are just so handsome. Every time I see a J. Crew mannequin – every time – I imagine if I just get that outfit that the mannequin is wearing that I will look exactly like that mannequin.
I will not. That button down shirt will not give me (literally) rock hard abs and a (literal) chiseled jaw. Also, it is molded out of plastic so its shoulder to waist ratio makes it look like an elongated upside-down triangle. But my credit card is already out and I’m buying those clothes and I just can’t help myself.
2.) The Lie of the Instagram Braised Lamb.
I put a lot of effort into cooking for my family. I like doing it. But these cooking photos. They’re all these risottos on ancient farm tables made from a single thousand-year-old great sequoia and fresh cut sprigs of thyme are floating around it like woodland fairies and the napkins look like they were sewn by Betsy Ross. The braised lamb looks like an oil painting.
Meanwhile I’m running around and praying I can just get the food onto a plate with some paper napkins and that none of it falls on the floor. If I can do that, I’m pumping the air with my fist like I just won the Tour de France.
3.) The Lie of the Jeep Wrangler
We already have two great SUVs. But everyone driving a Jeep Wrangler with the top down looks like they could drop kick misery out of their lives forever because their hair is blowing in the wind and they are probably driving straight to Yosemite to scale the face of El Capitan and when they’re at the top they’re going to high five the moon. And my life would be a never-ending parade of summer fun with surfboards and my legs would always be tan and I wouldn’t look like a shaved potato when I went to the beach.
4.) The Lie of Best Buy’s TV Display Section
If you’re a guy, you want a bigger TV. We bought a new TV last year for the first time in about a decade. I thought I knew exactly what size I wanted. But then I go to Best Buy and the TV I wanted was next to a bigger TV and I started to think man, my TV looks pretty tiny. And by the time I had talked to the salesman he made it sound like this TV I had intended to purchase was WAY too small. Like I’d need to press my face against the screen just to make anything out. Like the TV I was about to buy was actually the same specs as the iPhone X and am I really going to watch Star Wars on that?
5.) The Lie of the Sweaty Guy Drinking Powerade at Sunrise
Look, I want to be in good shape. I want to be Daniel Craig emerging from the ocean, yes, but at the moment I’d settle for, at 43, being able to pick up my kids knowing that my back won’t hurt. I want to feel strong and able and I want to be able to lift heavy things and not grunt. And I’m starting to feel like the only way to do that is to join a high school football team and get yelled at by a coach about how “This is just the warm up, baby!” after I’m already leaking sweat like a burst water balloon.
That’s not going to be me. But every time I see that ad, and I’m sitting on the couch covered in Dorito dust, I feel depressed.
All of this reminds me why I was so happy in Nepal, living in that orphanage, when I had nothing. Because there were no mannequins or Instagrams or Jeeps or Best Buys or Powerade-Drinkers. Nothing to remind me of what I was missing out on.
Which only tells me that I’m measuring my happiness not by what I have but by what I don’t have. Which seems particularly unbiblical, for one thing, and I feel like Jesus was pretty clear about that. And also just generally ungrateful, which is sort of the same thing.
I am enough. I have enough. And I don’t usually believe that – do I ever believe it? – but identifying the problem seems like step number one. And the bible is probably step two. And maybe turning off those Lexus commercials wouldn’t hurt either.
December 11, 2017
sexual harassment and merriam-webster
Sexual Harassment and Merriam-Webster
My entire life, one of my great pet peeves has been the misuse of the word “literally.” You probably know what I’m talking about. When people misuse literally they are literally using it in the exact opposite way it is intended to be used – i.e., your head did not literally explode when your first child was born. (Because gross.)
“Open a dictionary!” I would command those who would misuse literally. And one day my buddy (who had just made the outlandish claim that basketball star LeBron James was literally carrying his team on his back through the playoffs) retorted “You open a dictionary.”
So I pulled up Merriam-Webster on my phone. And staring right back at me was a new definition of literally, following the first formal definition:
Literally. Informal. Used for emphasis or to express strong feeling while not being literally true. (Gah!!)
I recall that moment now, as I have listened over the past weeks to one sexual predator after another – captured in the media spotlight like a jail breaker scaling a fence – express regret for “mistakes” made in how they have treated female colleagues.
So I have a new grammatical pet peeve, albeit one with higher stakes now.
That. Is. Not. The. Definition. Of. Mistake.
A mistake, our friends at Miriam-Webster tell us, is when you intend to do one thing and you do another by accident. For example, you mean to buy black beans but you accidentally get kidney beans. (Did that this weekend. Mistake.)
Well, Merriam-Webster, if you’re adding a second, informal definition of “literally” just because everyone is already misusing it (and if everyone else jumped off a bridge would you do it too, Merriam-Webster?), then it is time to add an informal definition to the word mistake.
Mistake: Informal. Regret that one was caught doing something totally disgusting and/or criminal and is now hoping that the word ‘Mistake’ will imply that their limbic system had been hijacked by an alien super-race that turned them into a perverted marionette forced to bend to their will.
That’s not a great definition. But you get my point. These were NOT MISTAKES. These men intended to do the evil that they did. And it is evil. When you use your power to subjugate others, that is a conscious decision. It is literally the opposite of a mistake.
So there’s that.
But there is a larger point to writing all this in this blog: Look how easy it is for me to point the finger away from Conor.
Don’t get me wrong – I am not a sexual harasser. I, like you, am repulsed by the abuse of that particular power. And it is one of the great victories of our generation that these sick men are being brought down. Because if you know even one woman (and I bet you do), then you know somebody who has been affected by sexual harassment or assault – usually severely and often traumatically. These men deserve every scrap of the punishment and humiliation they get. I hope that justice continues to be served.
But back to me and my deflection of responsibility.
“Men! Don’t sexually harass women!” Conor and the Other Good Men of the World shout on Facebook, fist raised to the heavens. There! Problem solved!
It is safe for men like me to shout this from the rooftops, because we are not guilty of sexually harassing women (I should speak for myself here, at least). That’s their sin! Their crime! And it’s always easier to shout about stuff that you are not guilty of, right?
This is why civil rights movements like the #MeToo movement are so incredibly difficult to start. Because even if a movement does ignite, we immediately quarantine it so that it doesn’t affect our own behavior.
That’s about them. It’s about what they are doing wrong. And they should change! Change, other people!
But civil rights movements are about power and how people abuse power and how to shift that dynamic.
So let’s try this one instead:
“Conor! Stop using your power to control others who have less power so that you can control your environment and affirm that you are a worthy individual who commands respect!”
Ah. Not so easy, that one. Doesn’t fit neatly into a hashtag, for one thing.
Whom do I have power over and where does it benefit me to wield it?
What would people say about how I use the power I have? Give them truth serum before you ask them. People whom I work with, waiters and waitresses who serve me, my wife, my kids, the customer service rep from AT&T that I spoke to on the phone the other night and treated with utter contempt because I was upset that I wasn’t getting what I needed.
It wasn’t a mistake. I chose to act that way.
When I force my will on people, I do it out of a fear that their decision will turn out badly for me. So I take control of the situation. Less chance of getting hurt, less chance of feeling pain or disappointment. Avoid those feelings at all costs. Stay in control.
And then on Tuesday evenings, leading a bible study in my house along with my wife Liz, I talk about how God has a plan for me! And God is in control! And I want His plan, not my plan! And how I need to love others, and that means caring about people, and standing up for women, and protecting those whom society has left behind!
Then last week I’m ripping the customer service representative for AT&T.
Sexual predators are on the front pages these days. That’s a good thing. But in order to turn this civil rights movement into a bonfire that shreds away the inequality of women (and basically anyone that isn’t a white male) in our society – and we have a long way to go – then we need to start talking about how we all use our power.
I need to get purposeful about how I am using the power I have been given. I need to get the word Mistake out of my vocabulary and own my bad decisions and ask for forgiveness. I need to catch myself when I am using my power and examine if I am using it righteously and fairly or if I’m using it to make myself feel in control at the expense of others.
I will make mistakes. I will make poor decisions. I will work on them. And I will try not to confuse the two.
Sexual Harassment and Mirriam-Webster
My entire life, one of my great pet peeves has been the misuse of the word “literally.” You probably know what I’m talking about. When people misuse literally they are literally using it in the exact opposite way it is intended to be used – i.e., your head did not literally explode when your first child was born. (Because gross.)
“Open a dictionary!” I would command those who would misuse literally. And one day my buddy (who had just made the outlandish claim that basketball star LeBron James was literally carrying his team on his back through the playoffs) retorted “You open a dictionary.”
So I pulled up Mirriam-Webster on my phone. And staring right back at me was a new definition of literally, following the first formal definition:
Literally. Informal. Used for emphasis or to express strong feeling while not being literally true. (Gah!!)
I recall that moment now, as I have listened over the past weeks to one sexual predator after another – captured in the media spotlight like a jail breaker scaling a fence – express regret for “mistakes” made in how they have treated female colleagues.
So I have a new grammatical pet peeve, albeit one with higher stakes now.
That. Is. Not. The. Definition. Of. Mistake.
A mistake, our friends at Miriam-Webster tell us, is when you intend to do one thing and you do another by accident. For example, you mean to buy black beans but you accidentally get kidney beans. (Did that this weekend. Mistake.)
Well, Mirriam-Webster, if you’re adding a second, informal definition of “literally” just because everyone is already misusing it (and if everyone else jumped off a bridge would you do it too, Mirriam-Webster?), then it is time to add an informal definition to the word mistake.
Mistake: Informal. Regret that one was caught doing something totally disgusting and/or criminal and is now hoping that the word ‘Mistake’ will imply that their limbic system had been hijacked by an alien super-race that turned them into a perverted marionette forced to bend to their will.
That’s not a great definition. But you get my point. These were NOT MISTAKES. These men intended to do the evil that they did. And it is evil. When you use your power to subjugate others, that is a conscious decision. It is literally the opposite of a mistake.
So there’s that.
But there is a larger point to writing all this in this blog: Look how easy it is for me to point the finger away from Conor.
Don’t get me wrong – I am not a sexual harasser. I, like you, am repulsed by the abuse of that particular power. And it is one of the great victories of our generation that these sick men are being brought down. Because if you know even one woman (and I bet you do), then you know somebody who has been affected by sexual harassment or assault – usually severely and often traumatically. These men deserve every scrap of the punishment and humiliation they get. I hope that justice continues to be served.
But back to me and my deflection of responsibility.
“Men! Don’t sexually harass women!” Conor and the Other Good Men of the World shout on Facebook, fist raised to the heavens. There! Problem solved!
It is safe for men like me to shout this from the rooftops, because we are not guilty of sexually harassing women (I should speak for myself here, at least). That’s their sin! Their crime! And it’s always easier to shout about stuff that you are not guilty of, right?
This is why civil rights movements like the #MeToo movement are so incredibly difficult to start. Because even if a movement does ignite, we immediately quarantine it so that it doesn’t affect our own behavior.
That’s about them. It’s about what they are doing wrong. And they should change! Change, other people!
But civil rights movements are about power and how people abuse power and how to shift that dynamic.
So let’s try this one instead:
“Conor! Stop using your power to control others who have less power so that you can control your environment and affirm that you are a worthy individual who commands respect!”
Ah. Not so easy, that one. Doesn’t fit neatly into a hashtag, for one thing.
Whom do I have power over and where does it benefit me to wield it?
What would people say about how I use the power I have? Give them truth serum before you ask them. People whom I work with, waiters and waitresses who serve me, my wife, my kids, the customer service rep from AT&T that I spoke to on the phone the other night and treated with utter contempt because I was upset that I wasn’t getting what I needed.
It wasn’t a mistake. I chose to act that way.
When I force my will on people, I do it out of a fear that their decision will turn out badly for me. So I take control of the situation. Less chance of getting hurt, less chance of feeling pain or disappointment. Avoid those feelings at all costs. Stay in control.
And then on Tuesday evenings, leading a bible study in my house along with my wife Liz, I talk about how God has a plan for me! And God is in control! And I want His plan, not my plan! And how I need to love others, and that means caring about people, and standing up for women, and protecting those whom society has left behind!
Then last week I’m ripping the customer service representative for AT&T.
Sexual predators are on the front pages these days. That’s a good thing. But in order to turn this civil rights movement into a bonfire that shreds away the inequality of women (and basically anyone that isn’t a white male) in our society – and we have a long way to go – then we need to start talking about how we all use our power.
I need to get purposeful about how I am using the power I have been given. I need to get the word Mistake out of my vocabulary and own my bad decisions and ask for forgiveness. I need to catch myself when I am using my power and examine if I am using it righteously and fairly or if I’m using it to make myself feel in control at the expense of others.
I will make mistakes. I will make poor decisions. I will work on them. And I will try not to confuse the two.
