At 16 months, my granddaughter still can’t form many
words. Her motor skills are still developing and she has only just graduated
from crawling to navigating the world on two feet. She may be tentative in her
early attempts at balancing, but she doesn't give up. Often she moves
hesitatingly, stretching out to grasp someone’s hand or to lean on a piece of
furniture for reassurance. Even when she falls, she gets up and tries again.
Last week, she managed a zombie-like walk with hands outstretched. It made us laugh,
but she didn't let our laughter dampen her resolve. Toddlers get up no matter
how many times they fall down, unlike adults who often attempt something once. If it doesn't go our way, we decide never to try again. Toddlers don't do
that. If they can’t get at it one way, they find another. They look at things
from different angles, testing every practical strategy they can come up with.
They have inbuilt determination and persistence. Just ask any parent.
Of course, I need
to guide her to be safe while not diminishing her sense of exploration and
wonder. It’s sadly we adults who say don’t,
stop, watch out and the worst
of all, don’t try! We
create the budding inner critic that thrives in the wrong environment. I'd hate
to be one of the people who puts such a voice into her head, probably because
my own critic screams so loudly and I know how limiting its admonitions are.
Recently my
granddaughter learned to grasp a pen and relishes making long inconsistent
scribble marks on any piece of paper she can. Her expression is always one of
great accomplishment, as if she’s written a best seller. It left me with the
question as to whether I still have the capacity to treat the world with such
confidence.
When I look at my
scribbles – disjointed writing, paragraphs that need serious editing, a plot
that’s going nowhere, characters that I don't know well enough yet – my inner
critic springs into action. It’s all overwhelming. I see only errors, the bits
that don’t work. When my work goes into the wider world, each rejection sits me
back on my butt with disappointing force, prompting the cry, what’s the point? I'm so tempted to give up. Then I
think about the sense of awe that my granddaughter displays. Look what I've done! Yes, it needs development, but it’s
on the page with all its faults and all its potential. It’s a point to start.
I
hope wide-eyed wonder is infectious. From now on I'm going to revert to my
inner toddler when the challenge seems too big; check all the angles, look for
another way to get through.
I'm keeping a
close eye on my granddaughter. We have much to learn from one another.
