“Boys, guess what?” I asked somewhat hesitantly as we started our morning drive to school. After none of them responded, I cleared my throat and said again, a bit louder, “Boys, guess what?”
“What, Mom?” one of my twins asked absentmindedly while he worked to solve the Rubik’s Cube he had brought along for the drive. Ignoring the obvious sound of disinterest in his words, I continued, “This morning, I finally finished the 5K distance I had been shooting for!”
“What’s a 5K?” the other twin asked from the seat beside me. I noticed he also had a Rubik’s Cube in his hands. I didn’t know he too had taken up working on this skill. I sighed, “You know that Couch-to-5K thing I’ve been working on since mid-July? I started from no running at all and worked toward the goal of running 3.1 miles, or a 5K, which I finally accomplished this morning.”
“Oh, right,” he muttered just as my third son chimed in from the backseat, clearly oblivious to the conversation topic, and said, “Mom, are you going to start the book?”
Frustrated, I pressed play on the requested audiobook, and we continued our drive. As the sounds of the story played out of the speakers, the sounds of what I had wanted to hear from my sons played inside my head. I imagined words like, “Congratulations, Mom,” “That’s so cool! I hope I can run that far someday,” or, “That’s really incredible! We should celebrate that with a special treat tonight.” During our 15-minute drive, I had myself quite a little pity party.
Once I dropped off my sons, however, my more rational brain took over. I considered that perhaps I had not modeled for them very well what it looks like to celebrate one another, especially one another’s small wins. I tried to think back to when Milo first solved his Rubik’s Cube correctly or the first time he beat his dad in a head-to-head puzzle cube-solving competition a few weeks ago. Did I celebrate those moments? Did I congratulate Milo with enthusiasm? Did I pause what I was doing to savor these small wins with him?
A work colleague of mine is really good at this. She celebrates even the smallest things with incredible joy and excitement. I cannot count the number of times she has stopped me in the hallway to tell me about something another colleague has done well or to congratulate me for something small I did that she noticed. Her exuberance for these small wins is not fake. It is such genuine, authentic excitement, and it is contagious!
What I love most is that she doesn’t just celebrate others’ small wins or milestones; she celebrates her own as well. Last year, she stopped me in the hallway, placed both hands on mine, and said, “Guess what, Gretchen! This is so exciting. Oh, you won’t believe it!” I thought maybe she had won the lottery. “What happened?” I asked with tremendous curiosity. “It’s my birthday!” she exclaimed. She then did a little dance in the hallway as she invited me to celebrate with her another year of her being alive. I could not remember the last time I told someone it was my birthday, let alone asked that person to take a moment to celebrate it with me.
After such a lukewarm reception from my boys about my running, that morning when I arrived at school, I was tempted to go by that colleague’s office, tell her about my small win, and bask for a moment in the inevitable joy she had to offer. Instead, I paused to reflect on what I could learn from her at that moment. How could I celebrate my small wins with excitement and make sure to pause to celebrate the small wins of others as well? How could I begin a culture of celebration for my boys that could be contagious?
I am so grateful for my colleague’s example. I am excited to try to emulate what I have learned from her and see what a difference it might make.
