I wonder, if my life ended today, what mysteries would remain for my daughters. We miss out on so much when stories are left untold.

My mother died a little more than 5 years ago. My current writing project centers around our relationship. I learned early in the process that she kept many secrets. Why do so many aspects of her life remain a mystery to me? How many opportunities for connection did we squander?

Before I left our afternoon hangout, we visited the space that will become Meredith’s new home office. Her husband lovingly schedules time, wherever he can find it, to finish the space just for her. I leaned on the wall at the top of the stairs and listened to her cast a vision. A couple of her children tromped up the stairs with us. At one point, she paused to tell the kids to go downstairs. The oldest of the children present expressed wanting to stay. She asked her daughter, “Why”, because she had seen the space. Her daughter’s answer sticks with me. She said, “Because I want to hear your story.”

I remember the fascination I had, at times, with the adults in my life. Do you have those memories, the ones when you wanted to listen to the adults talking? Did you relish the opportunity to mine those conversations for things you did not know; those things they would say to friends that they did not realize you would understand or care about?

As I got older, my mother involved me in some of her work-from-home business. My father also involved me in a couple of his hobbies. I typically spent time with my parents in the context of a project. We shared common interests and abilities that made my presence acceptable if not helpful. I just do not remember many conversations about their own lives. They shared opinions freely but withheld their own journeys, the whys, and most of all their feelings.  

At the gym this week, I stood chatting with a friend. She shared with me her trepidation over the workout to come. In the car, on the way to the gym, she said she shared the same concern with her children. Her daughter said, “Mom, why are you worried? You have done much harder things. You can do this.” My friend told me that her daughter was genuinely surprised and incredulous that she would be worried about a workout. Does that warm your heart the way it does mine?

The two families I shared about showed me that, in the building of close connections, being vulnerable to ask and vulnerable to share, matters. I am convinced that some of the darkest days in my life could have been shades lighter had connections been stronger. We risk understanding and being encouraged by others when we keep too much to ourselves.

How, then, do those of us who struggle with showing vulnerability learn to build close connections? One opportunity at a time, my friends. As long as the sun continues to rise, we continue to learn and grow. In the meantime, try these suggestions:

1. Pick a loved one, good friend, or other trusted person: Have a conversation about something you feel. Each of you tell a story from your past and share what you felt.
2. Hang out with a parent, grandparent, or older person important to you. Ask about their life. Ask specific questions, for example: Did you go to any dances in high school? What is the best day in life you remember? Or What did you love about your parents? Find out the details.
3. 3Practice sharing how you feel with those close to you, just like my friend did in the car on the way to the gym.

If you are like me, getting better at vulnerability may not solve all your mysteries. It may, however, deepen your connections. Learning how to connect may prevent future mysteries. I am all for that!