The Rosebush and the Dog Shit
‘Color Magic’ rose, transplanted from my childhood home
There's a rosebush with a pile of dog shit underneath. Which are you gonna sniff: the rose or the shit?
I actually said this to my middle school-aged son. A-1 parenting? Maybe not, but I was exasperated by his knee-jerk pessimism and wanted to get across that even in less-than-ideal circumstances, he had choices.
It's not about denying hard things or pretending they don't exist! It's about taking a wider view and deciding where to focus your attention and energy.
He probably gave me an eyeroll. It wouldn't be the first time. People have been rolling their eyes at my sunny disposition since college.
I went to UC Berkeley in the late 80s. The culture was hyper-intellectual and cynicism was the approved garb. Cooler peers dismissed my upbeat enthusiasm (and, by extension, me) as not deserving of serious consideration. How could anyone that cheerful possibly be smart?
Those years were lonely but I eventually found my people. Funny to think back on that time now that I'm in my IDGAF years. If I encountered that attitude today I'd respond with my own side-eye & the finger.
This comes to mind as my own kids, now liberal arts graduates, consider their next moves. They face a daunting job market, career trajectories haunted by AI, an obstacle course of dating apps and a truly dark state of the nation. Even with their many advantages, it's rough out there.
The college-to-real-life transition is bound to be intimidating and messy. But I'd argue that our kids are uniquely affected because each has their own strengths, weaknesses, interests, histories, and neurotypes. The smooth path from graduation → job → life is less straightforward than many are willing to admit.
Before my kids will listen to me talk about roses, they want me to acknowledge the dog shit.
They need to know I believe them when they say things aren't like they were when I graduated. Hell, things aren't like they were since they started college.
And I do believe them. I made that rosebush quip in the mid-2010s. The world looks very different now, and I acknowledge a bewildering volume of dog shit I couldn't have imagined when I was their age.
🥀💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩💩♾️
But I maintain my commitment to personal agency in the face of difficulty. What do we have beyond the power to choose our response?
I don't want to minimize the treacherous difficulty of it all — I want to normalize it. I want to say: You're not alone in this. This is the challenge of your life. Keep going. You may not find THE way, but trust you'll find YOUR way.
There are no guarantees or timelines. There will be good and bad days. Good and bad choices. Good and bad luck. Which events and experiences will you weave into the narrative of your life? What will you file away as something you did versus something you are?
You could choose to tamp down your enthusiasm, cross your arms against possibility, and wave off hope. Cynicism carries the illusion of protection. You'll seem cooler, perhaps even smarter.
But what if you asked yourself a braver question:
Do I have another choice?
