A reminder from Mr. Rogers....
So, by and large, 2008 has been a fairly interesting year so far. There are things happening at work that promise to be even more interesting in the next six months--for good or ill, things are not going to stay the same, that's for certain. And not everyone is happy about the changes, which puts a good number of my co-workers in a fair funk.
In other news, there have been some instances of personal shit going on in some other areas, including here, which have left me, gratefully and blissfully, unscathed, but have definitely put the cranky in a lot of places I like to read. Which affects me anyway, even though they're not happening to me, because I really don't like to see people unhappy, and can't even manage to work up a head of steam under my schadenfreude, justified or not.
And then, of course, there's the weather--the pervasive cold that has seemed to reach even the most unlikely places on my friends' list, burying the usual suspects in more snow than makes them happy and even has those from warmer climes eyeing the hot cocoa.
But I saw something today that reminded me of something I remember from a long, long time ago, and it hit me like a thunderbolt.
Anxiety does not belong solely to the adults among us, and the lessons we learned back when we were children can give us a lot in the way of comfort, just as it did long ago...
One morning, I was watching Mr. Rogers with my toddler, and he was talking about the bathtub.
I had forgotten, as I'm sure a lot of us have, the absolute terror of going down the drain.
I'm sure that this is the reason why we have a lot of unhappy bath-times, with a lot of kids--because that menacing suck that drains the water away--the water that really is bigger than us because we can actually sit inside it--could just as easily catch us, too, in our littleness, and send us God knows where into the dark that lies beyond that hole in the tub.
Mr. Rogers, being Mr. Rogers, took this anxiety absolutely seriously, and spent a long time explaining--indeed, proving, via demonstration--that you cannot go down the drain, no matter how little you are.
"You can never go down
Can never go down
Can never go down the drain.
You can never go down
Can never go down
Can never go down the drain.
You're bigger than the water.
You're bigger than the soap.
You're much bigger than all the bubbles.
And bigger than your telescope
So you see...
You can never go down
Can never go down
Can never go down the drain.
You can never go down
Can never go down
Can never go down the drain.
The rain may go down
But you can't go down.
You're bigger than any bathroom drain.
You can never go down
Can never go down
You can never go down the drain..."
Did you hear that, people?
You cannot go down the drain, no matter how little you are...
Because you're bigger than you seem, even to yourself.
We chuckle to ourselves, in our grown-up smugness, at our children's fears, and wonder how in the world that they could be afraid of such things.
But down deep, in the darkest part of our fear, we are afraid of exactly the same things, and our perceptions of ourselves are no more accurate than they were when we were as small as our children are.
We look at the world, and our troubles, and that dark, scary place that leads to God knows where, and we feel the anxiety chill our guts because, God, what if we go down the drain?
You won't.
You won't go down the drain.
You are bigger than the troubles. You are bigger than the fear. You are bigger than the holes that threaten to suck the goodness away from your life.
No matter what else goes down the drain, you won't.
I promise you the most excellent promise ever made.
You won't.
In other news, there have been some instances of personal shit going on in some other areas, including here, which have left me, gratefully and blissfully, unscathed, but have definitely put the cranky in a lot of places I like to read. Which affects me anyway, even though they're not happening to me, because I really don't like to see people unhappy, and can't even manage to work up a head of steam under my schadenfreude, justified or not.
And then, of course, there's the weather--the pervasive cold that has seemed to reach even the most unlikely places on my friends' list, burying the usual suspects in more snow than makes them happy and even has those from warmer climes eyeing the hot cocoa.
But I saw something today that reminded me of something I remember from a long, long time ago, and it hit me like a thunderbolt.
Anxiety does not belong solely to the adults among us, and the lessons we learned back when we were children can give us a lot in the way of comfort, just as it did long ago...
One morning, I was watching Mr. Rogers with my toddler, and he was talking about the bathtub.
I had forgotten, as I'm sure a lot of us have, the absolute terror of going down the drain.
I'm sure that this is the reason why we have a lot of unhappy bath-times, with a lot of kids--because that menacing suck that drains the water away--the water that really is bigger than us because we can actually sit inside it--could just as easily catch us, too, in our littleness, and send us God knows where into the dark that lies beyond that hole in the tub.
Mr. Rogers, being Mr. Rogers, took this anxiety absolutely seriously, and spent a long time explaining--indeed, proving, via demonstration--that you cannot go down the drain, no matter how little you are.
"You can never go down
Can never go down
Can never go down the drain.
You can never go down
Can never go down
Can never go down the drain.
You're bigger than the water.
You're bigger than the soap.
You're much bigger than all the bubbles.
And bigger than your telescope
So you see...
You can never go down
Can never go down
Can never go down the drain.
You can never go down
Can never go down
Can never go down the drain.
The rain may go down
But you can't go down.
You're bigger than any bathroom drain.
You can never go down
Can never go down
You can never go down the drain..."
Did you hear that, people?
You cannot go down the drain, no matter how little you are...
Because you're bigger than you seem, even to yourself.
We chuckle to ourselves, in our grown-up smugness, at our children's fears, and wonder how in the world that they could be afraid of such things.
But down deep, in the darkest part of our fear, we are afraid of exactly the same things, and our perceptions of ourselves are no more accurate than they were when we were as small as our children are.
We look at the world, and our troubles, and that dark, scary place that leads to God knows where, and we feel the anxiety chill our guts because, God, what if we go down the drain?
You won't.
You won't go down the drain.
You are bigger than the troubles. You are bigger than the fear. You are bigger than the holes that threaten to suck the goodness away from your life.
No matter what else goes down the drain, you won't.
I promise you the most excellent promise ever made.
You won't.