Jaime Waydo

This school year has been hard for H, the youngest Waydo. Really hard. COVID started when H was six years old. For him, that entire first year was in isolation. Zoom school with friends and teachers just trying to figure out how to make it through life in a 2-D world. Play dates weren’t a thing, so the only mate H had was his older brother. And books. He found his love of reading, consuming the Harry Potter series in weeks, quickly followed with reading all of the Percy Jackson books. Don’t let this fool you — H also found a love of Minecraft and Roblox. I find zero redeeming qualities of Roblox except that it can keep a six year old occupied while mama has her tenth zoom meeting of the day!

Anyhow, for years six and seven, H was in COVID isolation and as a result – he’s struggled for how to make friends, behave in the classroom, and navigate the politics of third grade recess. The principal and I are on a first name basis. She’s new this year, and my youngest has definitely made sure she’s earning her paycheck!

Many nights this year, H has been really sad, recounting the drama that goes on at recess.

For example: they have a game they play called Groundies. This is effectively tag, but played entirely on the giant play structure and there are some rules I don’t quite understand, but I think if you are on the ground, you must close your eyes. Well, the boys playing said game of Groundies don’t like the way H plays. So, new rules started getting made. The first of which was this: Whomever gets to the play structure first, decides who plays. All others are banned for the day. This means H is sprinting out of the classroom and to the play structure and skipping lunch to ensure he’s first. About 1 in 4 times he makes it. All others, he’s banned.

We worked through this one, just to have a new rule created: You must have the password to be able to play. Oddly, H never was given the password.

Like I said, hard year.

Last week I drove H to Karate. As we were coming home he was talking about the weekly 3rd grade kickball game. He was team captain this week and was quite proud of how he picked the team not based on who he liked, but rather, in his words how strategic he was. “Mom. No one else is strategic!” He said with distain. “They just pick their friends. That is always why I’m the last one picked.” This mama’s heart broke a little more open for this latest injury.

Me: How does that make you feel?

H: Underestimated.

He said it deadpan. Not a joke. No sadness. No anger. Just the facts. Damn. What perspective. He knows he’s great at kickball. He values strategic thinking, and sees they don’t have it. Thus their choices don’t bother him. He doesn’t respect them.

For the past few weeks I’ve been contemplating a new idea. A project that continues to call to me. Something big and wild and incredible. I feel warm when I think about it and imagine what could be. I was further validated last weekend by a few executives that I trust. I think there is a nugget of a great idea there.

Then I think about all of the details. How many people? How much money? Where would such a project work? All the questions. I picture myself leading the charge through some of those answers. I go cold.

I’ve been thinking…. what is wrong with me? I’m warm and then cold. Is this me gaslighting myself?

I talked to my executive coach. He asked, “what is another perspective on how the warm and cold are actually good?” Hmmmm. I had to think hard.

The warm tells me the parts of the project that resonate. My whole body is saying “Yes. That. “

The cold is good too. It tells me the parts that I don’t like. The parts that need another iteration. It is my whole being saying “No. Don’t do it that way.”

And with a perspective shift – I’m realizing that the hot and cold is another way I’ve tapped in to my knowing. How cool is that!

XO – J