I’m not exactly a certified Swiftie (though I’m definitely the mother of one). But these days I do don a blue string bracelet on my left arm that spells out “F-E-A-R-L-E-S-S” in wooden beads. A dear friend sent it to me earlier this year when our family was in crisis, after she read in the Mindful Return newsletter what my “word of the year” was for 2024. And just last week, as we sat in the Alps eating gooey mountain cheese with a French family that used to live in our Washington, DC, neighborhood, my friend Isabelle asked if wearing the bracelet worked. Did I think of the word and what it meant to me each morning when I put it on?
Most mornings, yes. Most mornings, I do pause and will myself some less fearful living. Which is what landed me in Binz, Germany, writing this blog post from a solarium overlooking an obscure Baltic town.
Two Years Ago
Maybe it was fearlessness two years ago in 2022, when in some random conversation, my kids queried, “Mommy, where will the next Olympics be held?” Google to the rescue, of course. Paris 2024 popped up on my screen, followed by an inviting prompt. “Enter your e-mail address here,” the page teased, “to enter the ticket sale lottery.”
Was it fearlessness back then that led me to put my e-mail address into the Olympic webpage pop-up? Perhaps not. More likely it was a wistful “wouldn’t that be nice” attitude, and mostly doubt that sending my address off to the spam-filled netherworld would amount to anything. I didn’t have a clue about how the Olympic-ticket-buying thing worked. In truth, I assumed I needed to have some fancy schmancy important contact get me the tickets. And I thought I’d have to take out a second mortgage on our home to be able to afford them.
Fast forward a full year, to Mother’s Day, 2023. I hadn’t thought even once in the prior months about having submitted that online form. I rolled out of bed nice and late (isn’t sleeping in an excellent Mother’s Day gift!?) and wandered bleary-eyed to my phone. As I struggled to get the sleep out of my eyes enough to see the screen, I saw an e-mail with a subject line that read: “You were successful in the draw!” It appeared to be from the Paris Games official ticketing website.
I had to read the e-mail a few times, before I realized that it wasn’t spam, but rather an honest-to-goodness link to participate in the Olympic ticket lottery. I had 48 hours, the e-mail informed me, to enter the lottery system for a 30-minute window, to select from what was left. “What was left?” I had to get in there fast, I figured.
I bounded down the stairs shaking and practically screaming, “We got tickets to the Olympics! Happy Mother’s Day to me! Everybody to the table now!”
That was the critical moment. The fearless moment. The one when my husband and I locked eyes and quickly tried to decide. Are we doing this? Really doing this? Yes, we met in France. Yes, we both wanted to go back. And yes, this would be incredible. But how much would this cost? Could we really do something so crazy as attending the Olympic games? How could we possibly afford this? Won’t Europe be overrun with tourists during the Games? Where would we stay? What state would our kids be in? And yes, the recovering people-pleaser in me started down a path of: what will people think of us if we go? Will I get the envy-filled side eye and be thought of as snobby?
Somehow, and motivated by an expiring lottery window, we decided to go for it. To figure out a way to do this thing. To be fearless.
Fearless Decision-Making, Again and Again
At the dining room table, I instructed each child to make a list of 5 events they would like to see. The lottery had been open for at least a week or two by the time I got the fateful e-mail, so lots of tickets were likely to already be gone, or to be astronomically expensive. I logged into the platform, holding my breath. After figuring out how to use the system, I discovered that most of the main events had indeed been sold out. Track & field: gone. Swimming and diving: gone. Opening ceremonies? Sure, we could sit along the Seine for something like $2,000+ per person, but that got a quick veto.
Miraculously, though, exactly one event was left on each of my kids’ wish lists. My youngest son had listed archery. They still had tickets left for the men’s & women’s mixed archery event in Paris, which included a medal ceremony. And there were still plenty of tickets left for soccer, which was on my eldest son’s list. Because my husband had lived in Lyon 20+ years ago, we decided to get tickets to the men’s semi-final soccer match that was going to be held there. All of the tickets – for really great seats – were between $100 and $200 per ticket. Much less than a T. Swift concert anywhere in the world…or so I’ve heard.
As the months passed leading up to our trip, I started to wonder how on earth we would actually go. The early part of 2024 was a dark hole of kid mental health crises. Leaving Washington, DC, let alone flying to Europe, seemed both impossible and completely bananas. We kept putting off buying plane tickets. “We’ll wait just one more month…” we said, a few months in a row.
Finally, in the spring, we had to decide: buy the tickets and make a go at it? Or abandon our plan? Again, I needed to summon the strength of that bracelet. My husband and I shook our heads while saying something like “what the heck are we doing?!” and bought the plane tickets. Then we identified all the places and people we could contact while we were in Europe, if either of our kids needed emergency support. The first friend we were visiting was a hospital CEO, so that gave us at least some reassurance that we could get help if we needed it.
Les Jeux Olympiques
So yes, we made it to Europe, where we’ve been for about the past two weeks. While it hasn’t been entirely uneventful on the kid mental health front, we haven’t needed any emergency services (yet). We keep putting one foot in front of the other. Minimizing our expectations of each day. And savoring the fact that we are actually here.
At the archery match in Paris, we experienced the best of the Olympic spirit. Mexicans to our left, Italians in front of us, South Koreans behind us, we all cheered on one another’s athletes. Danced to the music of a French band that came out to entertain the crowd. And stared in awe at the precision of these archers who shot arrows over huge distances into tiny spaces. We watched the American mixed archery team of Brady Ellison and Casey Kaufhold, win the first archery medal for the US in decades. And we saw the tears in their eyes when they were awarded their bronze medals.
In Lyon, we saw the French men’s soccer team win against Egypt with 30-minutes of extended time in a stadium of solid blue-blanc-rouge. We sang the Marseillaise. Learned some new chants in French, including “Qui ne saute pas n’est pas Francais!” (“Whoever isn’t jumping isn’t French!”). And we watched our kids get on the Jumbotron again and again, once with computer-generated imaging making it look like they were wearing can-can skirts. You can’t make this stuff up.
I’ve got lots more to think about and write about our trip, but for today, I’ll leave you with this advice. If you don’t have a bucket list, dare to start one. If you have one (or at least some ideas of what you’d like to do at some point in life), put plans in place to do one of the things on that list. Even if it takes a few years.
Being a working parent takes daily courage, so I know you can do this. Be fearless. Or simply be scared and do the thing anyway.
Want more practical tips on working parenthood? Check out my book, Back to Work After Baby: How to Plan and Navigate a Mindful Return from Maternity Leave
