Finding oneself takes intention. It’s a journey of a thousand miles with steady plodding, one step at a time. But does anyone ever suddenly realize or arrive upon an identity? Is there one single crowning moment when all of our work culminates into a promotion, professional or personal, especially in the absence of extrinsic pedigrees like advanced degrees, certifications, titles, etc.? Or to complicate the matter by reversing the logical sequence of things, can someone hold the title of professional or master or trusted member of society but still feel like an imposter? I would wager a definitive yes.
Fatherhood is a good example of this distinction. Most men in our culture have the ability to becomes fathers this very day, or early next week or what have you, if they so choose. I’m talking about the sperm bank, naturally. Men can pay a visit to the bank and give the gift of fertilization to would-be mothers as one surefire way to procreate and meet the biological definition of a father. But does that bestow on a man the identity of father that alights on our minds when we think of what being a dad or a family man is all about? Probably not in most cases. So where does the identity of father come from? In short, it typically means that a man has both helped to conceive and has invested in his child quite a bit, in terms of resources, time, energy, emotion, etc. That he has led and shepherded a young person to maturity. But practically speaking, what does that mean? Well, it likely means a lot of sleepless hours and cooing and trips to the playground and driving to daycare and school and attendance at extracurricular events, and a list of many other things I couldn’t possibly fully account for here.
It points to a process; it’s not a one time, pass or fail event. It entails many incremental moments that add up to something greater than the value of any single moment. It’s the cumulative impression left upon a young person, moment by moment, minute by minute, day by day. I’ve heard ministers and public figures say that children spell love: “T-I-M-E.” The amount of time I invest in my child, by this particular definition, determines the extent of my love for him.
But I was still technically a father before any of the time and money and energy I spent on my child. From the moment of conception, I was the father of my child, and that’ll never change, no matter what I may or may not do.
So yes, you’re a father if you procreate a child, meaning that you would pass a paternity test with a grade of 99.9+%. But in the eyes of society, you need to put in a considerably larger amount of time than simply driving down to the bank to qualify as one. Something is required of me. It’s both the one time choice that sets me down a particular path and the resulting choices that affirm the first one. In other words, I made a choice, and I continue making similar choices in that direction, and that’s what makes me a dad. The interesting exception, of course, are men who didn’t conceive a child but adopted one, and who over time are considered to be more of a father for a given child than the actual biological father, who’s absent from the child’s life. The former made choice after choice in pursuit of fatherhood even though he wasn’t the actual father, biologically speaking, and the latter was the actual, physical father, who didn’t. The former was an imposter, so to speak, who actually became the real thing, and the latter was the real thing who more or less lost his status.
So in two of the three categories of fatherhood just discussed, it seems that sticking with the process is more important than starting it in the first place. Making the choice every day to be the thing I set out to be, even if it’s not what I started out as, carries more weight than if I only started it without continuing on.
I think most of us would be on the same page at this point—pretty straight forward. But what does it look like to continue on? How do we stick it out and finish well? Questions like these conjure in my mind the dichotomy between the here and now and the future that’s yet to be. We’re all walking toward an uncertain future one step at a time, one day at a time, hopefully planning for it sooner than later as we amble along. But it’s out of our reach. We can’t live in the future any more than we can in the past, and yet it’s still in our minds as a distant target compelling us forward. And as we see it ahead of us, like some wandering landmark winding closer and closer on an afternoon drive out on the highway or through town, we can imagine its grandeur up close, but we have to be content for the moment with other more immediate sights and sounds, such as the humdrum thrumming of the motor beneath our hands on the steering wheel.
Trying to make sense of the past, present, and future is the work of theologians and physicists, but I think there might be a fairly simple solution to the problem that arises from the push and pull of the here and now and the rest of our life in the context of time: Mindfulness. My definition of mindfulness is being OK with the here and now even if it isn’t pleasant. It’s an ability to sit in the moment and let whatever experiences or feelings, whether good or bad, simply wash over me. I’ve thought about parenting quite a bit since having my first child a few short years ago, and I literally can’t think of any better advice to give other parents than to be mindful. And here’s why: Parenting, along with marriage, is filled with some of the highest highs and lowest lows, sometimes occurring simultaneously.
Mindfulness allows me to deeply enjoy the euphoric highs of raising a child, all the milestones, the incessant cuteness, the day-to-day wonder of stewarding another person into maturity. But it also helps with the distressing lows of family life. Once upon a time, I used to try to avoid difficult experiences and feelings, but try as I did, I couldn’t completely circumvent trials and pain, and parenting is front and center in this regard. Just as I can’t fully embrace my identity and the good in my life and family without living in the moment, I can’t fully learn and grieve life’s losses without consciously acknowledging the pain that necessarily precedes growth and moving on in life. If you’re trying to find out who you are, whether a parent or professional or what have you, it’s not as hard as you might think: It’s whoever you are in this moment and time as you make choices moving forward, even if things aren’t going your way.