THE capacity to survive on my own was ingrained in me early. My parents drummed into my head the fact that they wouldn’t live forever. They considered themselves “old” parents. They were 39 and 35 when I was born.
I am not an only child. But perhaps because I was a child whose head was, almost always, up in the clouds, my parents wanted to make sure I grew up level-headed, practical and independent.
So they raised me to be a survivor. While they gave me much, they denied me much, too. They broke my heart many times but this turned out to be supremely good for my soul.
Today, I am grateful—for the boot camp I was raised in. There were no words of praise for good grades or good behavior. There were no rewards for simply doing what I was expected to do.
My parents made sure that whatever talents I had never went to my head so that I would think I could just breeze through life getting whatever I wanted. If anything, they prepared me for a hard life ahead and told me I would have to work very hard for everything that I wanted.
And if I felt I was good at something, they made me feel that I could still do better. It was as if the invisible bar was raised each time I hurdled it.
And perhaps, this is where my quest to do everything well, is rooted. I read somewhere that we should aim for excellence rather than perfection. But I grew up thinking they were the same. I only recently realized that they are not.
The bad thing about constantly feeling you can do better is undue stress and anxiety. The good thing, on the other hand, is that the frustration you feel for seemingly always falling short of your goals marshals the kind of motivation that can move mountains.
When you believe you can still do better, you go the distance and try even harder.
I am grateful to my parents for giving me a hard time. In doing so, they taught me to get the right perspective about life—to never expect it to be easy. They made me understand that the world would not always be kind to me. Life was tough, they often told me. And no one was going to give me a leg up. I would have to learn to go it alone.
I bring this perspective with me every day to every task. I do not fear difficulty—because I expect it. I do not fear pain—because I know it. Indeed, most times, what doesn’t kill you does make you stronger.
My parents were 31 and 27 when they got married—considered quite old for their time. They worried for the capacity of their children to survive and succeed without them. My parents are now 93 and 89. They are still avid debaters, worry warts and helicopter parents.
Fear not, Pa, Ma, you have taught me well how to survive. And against all odds, I will. But it is no longer just longevity that I seek but a life lived well and a legacy I can carve before I leave.