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| Too bad we didn't have any fun at the party 😀 |
I may be the last living person who has yet to read Mel Robbins’ gigantic bestseller/attitude adjuster Let Them. But I do overhear its wisdom discussed everywhere, to the point that all someone has to say these days are the magic two words “let them” and their companions will immediately nod in enthusiastic recognition of the brilliant Robbins theory. If I understand her thesis correctly, we will be much happier when we accept how little control we have over the other people in our lives. When we “let them” be slobs, rude, or generally obnoxious, and focus on what we CAN control (ourselves and our responses), we unlock the door to inner peace.
This is one of those “why didn’t I think of that, write it in a book, and make a mint?” times, because I have definitely thought of it, and then lazily neglected to do any further research (not even researching where to find a pen and paper to jot it down). And variants of “let them” abound, from my mom’s laissez-faire child rearing methods (“Scribbling in the family Bible in crayon? Wearing the same clothes for two weeks straight? Let them! I’m watching Phil Donahue!”) to this profound observation by Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl: “We have absolutely no control over what happens to us in life, but what we have paramount control over is how we respond to those events.”
So yeah, it ain’t an original idea.
But today, I’m flipping the script a bit. I’m figuring out what it would be like to “let them” be …helpful. You see, I handle others’ contributions quite gracelessly on the whole. While I pay lip service to appreciation, “You cleaned the bathroom? How wonderful of you!” deep down I feel both marginalized and insulted (what, you don’t need ME to scrub the toilet? You don’t think I do a good enough job refilling the hand soap dispenser?)
And I go into overdrive at family gatherings at our house. I’m fine (well, OK-ish) when my grown and flown kiddos entertain me in their digs, with food and activities of their choosing. But when we assemble on my turf to celebrate holidays or whatever, I immediately call dibs on making all the most impressive dishes, leaving the dregs for them: “What do you say if I make lamb sausage puffs and lobster dip and roast duck and chocolate mocha cake? If you could just bring some paper napkins, that would be awesome!”
When my sister visited us from Hawaii, in conjunction with a big birthday for Steve, my children insisted on cooking every menu item themselves. I actually “let them.” And you know what? Everything was really delicious. I admired my sons and daughters’ many gifts and talents. And I was able to sit back and relax, glass of wine in hand, free of all the stress surrounding the party preparations.
Just kidding. I was a wreck the whole time. But I DID “let them.” So that counts for something, right?
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| Probably the most attention our family Bible ever got |
