When my son was 8-years-old, we turned off the television and spent the hour before bedtime journaling and reading together.Â We each had a journal and our own box of colored pencils.Â
In our journals we could doodle or draw, practice letters; write stories, or paste quotes or pictures. The journal was our place for processing our ideas or thoughts and the only rule we had was that there were no mistakes.
No matter what we wrote or drew in our journal was simply perfect. It would not be judged or labeled, only appreciated and accepted. There were days when I would scribble a picture of a funnel cloud to capture the energy of my day. Other days, I wrote about the meaning of life, drafted a poem, or drew a palm tree or flower. Whatever we put in our journal, we agreed it was â€œsimply perfect.â€
One night, my son spent a great deal of time on a picture of a garden filled with colorful flowers, bright sunshine and puffy clouds floating in the blue sky. It was meticulous and beautiful and he was proud of his work.
When he went to put the finishing touches on the page, his black pencil slippedÂ and heÂ made a squiggly slash mark across half the page.
Tears welled up in Cameronâ€™s eyes because he thought the picture was ruined. He had worked so hard on the picture it nearly broke my heart. Then I pointed out to him that it was a â€œno mistakesâ€ journal and reminded him that everything that happened was simply perfect.Â I asked him to look at how the black squigglyÂ line might make his picture better.
As he sat and cried and resisted this experiment, I bit my lip to hold myself back from speaking or suggesting ways to â€œfixâ€ the picture.
I continued to journal, my lip nearly bloody as I forced myself to allow Cameron to solve his own dilemma. What happened next is a moment that has shaped our relationship and led him to powerful perspectives.Â He released the judgment of his work, experienced a newÂ view, and enjoyed a moment of personal empowerment.
He grabbed a black and yellow pencil and added a tiny yellow and black body bumblee withÂ wings to the end of the scribble.
His face was now filled with pride and his body language proud and upright as he shared how the black slash across the page became the flight of the bumblebee.Â My son thought the addition made theÂ original more creative; his mistake made his picture better.Â The greatest gift of that evening was watching my son work through his own emotion without the overlay of my thinking.Â Had I fixed it for him, it would have reinforced that the picture was not good if it was not “perfect.”Â
My son and I use the flight of the bumblebee philosophy in other areas of our lives to remind ourselves that there are no mistakes,Â only opportunities to make our pictures better.
Powerful Perspectives are those qualities that begin with awareness and move toward acceptance and love.