Decision Day and "No Mud, No Lotus"

Someone somewhere--probably a college admission officer--decided to market May 1 as "Decision Day," the day that high school seniors announce their choice of where they are going to school in the fall. This concept did not exist before social media. Moms in my circle (rarely dads, TBH) might post a picture of their child in front of a sign with the school's name, and kids might wear a shirt from their future university.

All of this makes me want to barf.

I could write that parents waiting for their kid to get into a top tier school is a toxic rite of passage--as was written a few years ago in the New York Times. The goal is to graduate high school and move on. Celebrate the teenagers moving to their next step; don't make kids feel like a failure if they don't get into their dream school.

Why does this Decision Day make me nauseated? I feel like this is a day for parents to congratulate themselves and say "Yay! My kid got into a fancy private school! I passed parenting! I am a success!" For the kids to say, "I got an A+ in childhood! Woohoo! Look at me!"

I don't want to feel miserable about this, either. As much I as I loathe Decision Day, I am not unhappy for these kid and their families. One of Pedro's old friends is going to be a Division 1 athlete in an academically top state university that has produced multiple Olympic medalists in the sport. By all accounts, it is impressive and I wish sincerely wish him well. I have a friend who has two daughters: one got into Cal Tech and the other into MIT. I know both girls and they are so deserving.

Yet, when I think of the three kids on Pedro's old soccer team who got into Princeton, I think of a saying about a former U.S. President: "The guy was born on third base and he thinks he hit a triple." No doubt these kids who got into Princeton are smart and work hard. They also come from well-educated, affluent families. Maybe these kids weren't born in third base, but second?

Last week, I was telling my therapist about my new painting. I told him I loved the painting because it showed the mud and "the muck" in addition to the bright, cheerful cloud and bold blue sky. 

"It reminds me of the expression, 'No mud, no lotus.' The lotus flower floats on the water, but the roots in the mud." 

The next day, "No mud, no lotus" was the topic on my mediation app. The expression came up a third time later in the week, as well.

Now I am slowly changing my mind, mid-blog post. With the Decision Day announcements, we don't see the sleepless nights of kids studying for exams or writing term papers. We don't see the parents fretting over financial aid for these schools. We don't see the blisters on the hands from the kids rowing crew. What is wrong with stopping to celebrate the accomplishments of these kids, these families?

I think what is bugging me is that sometimes when I look at the outside world, I see all lotus, no mud. I am not asking everyone to post every ugly moment of their family life, their struggles, their challenges. Maybe it is because the last few years I have been spending a lot of time looking at the mud, studying it, meditating, praying, whatever, on how to get out of it. 

"Lauren, your life still can be beautiful with the mud," my therapist said.

Yesterday, Pedro called. Earlier in the day, he had competed a Spartan race, which was a 3 kilometer race through a trail with mud pits, obstacles and 1000 feet of elevation gain. He was thrilled. Less than a year ago, he had knee surgery. Sunday morning, he wore his knee brace, and powered through the course in one hour, one minute and one second. He said there was an amazing view of Flathead Lake at the top of one of the hills. He didn't stop to look long because he was focusing on his time. In the end, Pedro placed 14th in his age group -- 18 to 24! 

On Saturday, there were also Spartan races, and Pedro and the other guys in his house volunteered, watching the obstacle stations making sure no one got hurt. The Saturday races were longer -- like 13km and 50km. At the end of his story, Pedro told he saw a twenty-something guy was no legs making his way using his arms through the 13km race course.

I was amazed. And shocked and felt like a slug for the little I do with my two legs. Here was this guy, slogging through miles of dirt and mud on his arms and stumps of where his legs should have been. I imagine this guy was a veteran, and perhaps lost his legs in combat. No one forced this guy to do this Spartan race. He did this on his own free will. Talk about tenacity and grit and courage and determination. 

This guy had made peace with the mud. He embraced it. Perhaps he even loved it.

And therein lies the lotus.