Chutes and Ladders

At a meeting yesterday, I told the counselor and the disciplinary vice-principal of my daughter's school that she is not going to have a straight-line kind of life. "And that's okay," I added. I had said that before but this time was different, because I meant it.


When I say "straight-line," I mean this: high school, college, work, maybe advanced degree, work some more. Date, marry, have kids. Entry level, mid-level, boss. These are the ladders that society sets up for us. 


Like a good Asian-American kid, I have spent a lot of time making sure I'm doing all of this right. I'm 37, and I'm near or at the top of the ladder I chose to climb. I am married, and have the only child I will ever have. I live in the only house I have ever owned, and I love it. I am a partner in my firm, which is the only firm where I have ever worked. I have the terminal degree in my field - apart from a very expensive and esoteric designation that I would probably not pursue. 


So when I say that my baby is not going to have a straight-line life, what I'm really saying is, she's not going to do it the way I did it. The way you're supposed to do it.


Until recently, I lived life by the Chutes and Ladders principle. If you're doing what you're supposed to be doing, you're moving toward the top. If you're not, well, then you slide down a few rungs, wait your turn, and start climbing again. But lately I've been thinking it's time to put this model away with my other children's games.


Last September, after years of struggle, my spouse and I decided to live separately. We had developed some really terrible communication and behavior habits that had formed a wedge of fear and judgment between us. I know RAD kids break up a lot of marriages, but that isn't our primary problem. We continue to work on the possibility of being together, but we crossed a bridge I never thought we would cross. It was without a doubt the right move. That didn't make it any easier.


Things also started to fall apart at work. I took a substantial pay cut due primarily to underperformance of my partners. It hurt to watch my salary go down in a year when I achieved my personal best in a number of areas. I felt angry and betrayed that no one wanted to tackle problems head-on. I mean, I work a full day and go home and kick ass as a RAD parent every night and you not only can't be bothered to make budget, but you won't even have a real conversation about it? I started to wonder how long I could survive at my workplace, where I have invested my entire professional life - a place with which I am synonymous.


Everything else I would consider doing pays much less than what I do now. So maybe my home - certainly not lavish, but bigger than I need - was not going to be my forever home. Maybe I would be making a lot of changes. Dropping the gym membership, the pay TV, the travel. The concern became worry, the worry became panic. I found myself looking at the possibility of hitting 40 with none of the accomplishments I had been working on since I was 20. 


And meanwhile, my daughter's friends are taking college trips. They are planning to hit the next rung of their ladders with ease, while spotty grades and perennially average test scores put her next step in doubt. Plus the transition from home, this wonderful school, and therapy to a big huge question mark - it feels scary to me. It must be terrifying to her.


We have been talking about ways for her to transition more gradually. Move out, get a job, work for awhile. Continue therapy, and I'll be right here if she needs me. Then maybe go abroad for a three-month program, continue therapy via Skype, but it has a fixed endpoint so it's not as scary. Then maybe move to the town where she intends to go to school and find a mental health support structure there, take one or two classes and eventually matriculate. And all the while I feel like I'm having to let go of this dream I have for her, this vision that eventually she could get on the same path I traveled, and then everything would be okay.


But here's the thing: even here on the straightest and narrowest of paths, things go awry. Things fall apart. How am I mentally segregating my idealized version of the straight-line path from my actual experience of the same? It hits me with a wave of laughter and tears. I'm not giving it up on the dream I have for her. I'm giving up on the dream I have for me. And maybe just in time to stop that dream from killing me.


So now when we talk of the future, I am no longer a mess of reluctance and disappointment and fear. I am genuinely excited by the possibility that we are building her own path for her, one that recognizes her uniqueness, and that gives her the time and space to be successful. I know she can see that. I feel it in her own growing courage.


From the description of Chutes and Ladders:

Fun pictures help kids understand the rewards of doing good deeds as they climb up the ladders-and the consequences of naughty ones as they slide down the chutes.

Well, kids, it ain't that simple. There are consequences to good deeds. And some chutes lead to a better place. There are valid directions other than straight up. Recognizing that is not a defeat. It is called growing up. And I thank God and my daughter for teaching me that.