I am Superdad

A brief meditation on parenting, work, and the difference between Europeans and Americans.

A brief meditation on parenting, work, and the difference between Europeans and Americans.

Please pardon the pause in these newsletter posts. It has been a while. 

But I have a good excuse: I am the proud papa of a new baby boy, born at the end of January. In the midst of rocking the baby to sleep, juggling his big sisters (who are, really, not so big), and starting new projects at work, there has been no time for newslettering.

When I talk to people who have older children, most of them say something like, “this time is so special. Savor these moments.” I wonder if they really remember all of the moments – like the bleary-eyed diaper change at 3am when the baby pees on me in the one second between taking off the old diaper and putting on the new one? The moment when the five-year-old big sister has the flu, and so do I, and the baby is screaming while I try to talk to the doctor on the phone, who can’t hear me over the screaming? Or one of the other moments of high stress, physical discomfort, constant interruption that prevents me from getting anything done, et cetera et cetera?

Have all these people forgotten how hard it is?

OK, I know I’m leaving out the many moments of joy, love and wonder. When older parents express their nostalgia they probably have those beautiful moments in mind, as well as other things, too – the kind of magical love and naivety of kids, before adolescence makes everything complicated. The peace and simplicity of a baby falling asleep in your arms. The incredible and overwhelming potential of our babies to become anything, anybody.

There’s something else, too. I imagine myself in the future, my kids all grown up, my life calm and comfortable, and I look back on these days I’m living now. I might think, that was it, that was me living my one-and-only life: the intensity and the beauty, the frustration and the celebration, the pain and the love. I imagine that in the future I have nostalgia for the human richness of it all. Maybe those older parents do remember the hard moments, after all, and they’re advising me to savor them, too. It’s all part of this wonderful story.

Maybe instead of seeking a life with happiness, or comfort, or success, I should seek a life with fullness, with all of the notes that make up a symphony. When I hold that thought in my head I feel very satisfied with my life right now, even when I’m getting peed on.

* * * 

After a few weeks of paternity leave I came back to work, and tried my best to maintain a high-speed pace – my work projects are ambitious, my teammates perform at a high level, and timelines are always tight – while also adapting to the new rhythm of three small kids, bad sleep, and endless viruses brought home by big sisters.

A week or two after restarting work, one of my colleagues asked how I was doing. “Tired,” I said, “behind, and struggling to hold it all together.” The rest of the day passed in a blur. It actually felt like my words influenced reality as I fell even further behind on projects throughout the day. 

But that night, when I thought about my answer, it didn’t feel right. Yes, I was tired, and yes, I was feeling a bit overwhelmed. But I was holding it together most of the time. Life was very full, but in a good way. My early mornings were busy with kids and school dropoff, but that meant I got to work in a high-energy mode. I had to strictly prioritize how I spent my time at work, since time was precious, but prioritization is a good thing that makes me more productive overall.

Being a working parent can cut two ways. It can feel like being underwater, like having two jobs and never quite doing enough for either one. Or it can feel like a high-energy sport that brings out the best in you. Someone recently told me about The Mom Project, a recruiting agency that specializes in matching companies and job-candidates who are also parents, precisely because they believe that “Moms are a force” (thank you, Thomas!). I get it.

The next time a colleague asked me how I was doing, I said, “Energized.” That day, the hours passed and I felt like I was performing at a high level, solving problems quickly, helping colleagues, and making great pitches. 

I remember reading about this incredible study about willpower. There is a theory, widely believed, that each person has a certain amount of willpower in their body – the power to say no to sweets, or to force yourself to do an important task you’re avoiding, or to exercise – and that throughout the day, as we get hungry and tired, our willpower somehow depletes. So that by the end of the day we have none left. But in a brilliant study, a psychologist at Stanford proved that the “depleting willpower” theory was only true for people who believed it. If you didn’t believe that theory to begin with, it just didn’t hold up. Non-believers had as much willpower when tired and hungry as they did when well-slept and well-fed.

Our beliefs, the stories we tell ourselves, influence our behavior and performance. We can hack our own psychology by believing a different story, what psychologists call “cognitive reframing”.

Maybe the difference between getting crushed by the wave of parenting-while-working, and gloriously surfing the wave, is just a shift in mindset.

* * *

This is a very American reflection. Living in Europe, and being married to a European, I have learned that Europeans are skeptical of the idea that “everything would be great if only we would think positively.” When movies have happy endings because the hero bends reality to her will, Europeans call it “an American ending.” 

European wisdom is that sometimes, reality sucks, and the proper reaction is some flavor of misery. Better to open your eyes and be angry, or sad, or frustrated, instead of holding onto delusions that we can make it all OK with our positive thinking. After many years here, I have come to appreciate this honesty.

I can see some of my European readers rolling their eyes at this “cognitive reframing” business. 

Yes, I admit it, even after years in Europe, I hold onto my American ways. I believe that I can savor the fullness of parenting little kids, and perform at a high level at work, and do it all with little sleep.

I am Superdad: this is not a boast, that’s not my style. It is a mantra. It is my very American kind of prayer.