Discipline

Writing is akin to raising a child. It requires tremendous discipline, and not the sort that is loud or aggressive in nature, rather the sort that is measured and even-handed as much as possible. At Portsmouth's Music Hall this past Wednesday evening, Isabel Allende responded to an audience member question (albeit predictable) about what it takes to write. Of course, her response was, "to write" and to write daily--that it would act as a cumulative building up of energy and muscle much like that of an athlete. (Again, a resounding -- of course.) So, through the rosy lens of my post-Margarita haze, I thought to myself that I might be able to do that- to write daily. Maybe I would only have the chance to write for five minutes, but five minutes would be better than zero minutes, right? In college I used to write essay upon essay upon essay. Where did that discipline go? Was it simply the structure of a classroom and teachers working their magic? Or was is my own drive to, Do well! Succeed! Get the "A!"

So now to the raising a child piece. My three little ones have been giving me many lessons in discipline. Enter Stage Left, Child Number 2, strong-willed, fiercely independent, artist-at-age-4, and relentless in his uprisings against any traditional form of discipline. He cannot be bought or bribed (except perhaps with the occasional donut hole, and then only for mere minutes of "good behavior.") Rather he forces me to engage with him in a very different way. A measured way. He demands that I be disciplined in my approach to him. This is a very challenging task.

I am finding that discipline is far less about punishment than it is about teaching. How do we remove the social baggage, the emotion, the hazy gauze of past experience that blinds us momentarily when dealing with our children? How do we access the truth of the thing, the moment, the narrative? Therein lies the real work.