This content is provided in conjunction
with This Emotional Life’s Early Moments Matter initiative. Early Moments Matter is
dedicated to making sure that every child has the best possible chance at
emotional well-being. Find out how to receive the Early Moments Matter tool
kit
and provide one to a family in need.

“Not until we are lost do we begin
to understand ourselves.” –Henry David Thoreau

This content is provided in conjunction
with This Emotional Life’s Early Moments Matter initiative. Early Moments Matter is
dedicated to making sure that every child has the best possible chance at
emotional well-being. Find out how to receive the Early Moments Matter tool
kit
and provide one to a family in need.

“Not until we are lost do we begin
to understand ourselves.” –Henry David Thoreau

Yesterday
I awoke feeling somewhat uncomfortable. Looking around the room, I checked the
facts before me.  Yes, it was my home, my
family, my face in the mirror, but something was still missing. Concluding this
to be a typical morning sensation, I decided to follow tradition: Make some
coffee and read the newspaper.  In recent
years, however, the newspaper has been for me little more than a spring and
summer luxury within which I can scan baseball box scores and statistics.
Still, with nearly 80% of the season left, I thought I should have no problem
catching up quickly.

With
coffee and toast at the ready, I was soon armed with key baseball facts — the
American League only of course — and ready to move on to the Wall Street
Journal.   As I thumbed through page
after page of news, digesting financial facts and perusing stock market tables
from the day before, it suddenly hit me that I could not honestly answer my
wife when she asked me why I still received the paper’s print edition. Returning
to the local paper one more time, I finally understood what was so unfamiliar
with my morning:  I had nothing to do,
and I was restless.

It
was only the other night that I joined forces with the other nine percent of
our nation’s unemployed, but on this first wayward morning my overall sense of
detachment proved uninspiring. For nine full years I had headed a community
hospital in southern Los Angeles, and I was used to a little drama with my
morning meal. The drive to find something new on which to focus had not yet
overpowered the need to put out any potential fires that had erupted at the
hospital overnight, and my instincts were still primed to react to quick moving
scenarios where the balance between life and death hung fast, waiting for a
reaction. Today, however, I had no crisis to manage, no dragons to slay, and no
urgent phone calls or emails to return. The only real enigma I faced on this
first morning was to ask myself why I felt like a stranger in a home where a
three-month old infant served as the poster child in support of the very idea
behind positive attachment. Warily, I considered my options, and quickly
concluded that ignoring this situation until it escalated into something
dramatic and life threatening that my health care focused brain could
understand was not a healthy way of looking at this first new day. For nine
years running I had proven that I could solve almost any problem with which I
was presented, and today I was determined to find some attachment.

To
my knowledge, there are five permanent “entities” and one guest living in my
home, aside from myself, and so I decided to work my way up the ladder in
reverse order, in search of attachment. I began with Max, an arrogant but often
lovable Pekingese who was unfortunately busy with a mid morning nap.  Then came Amnesia and Segundo, two black cats
full of kindness and compassion, who, like Max, were also sleeping, which was
not entirely unexpected, as they are cats. I then proceeded to the more
animated individuals in the home, those with whom I knew I could communicate,
where I believed I would find the attachment I so desperately sought.

Jackpot. My wife and son were
feeding, and I thought to myself that symbolically, at least, my quest was now
complete.  My mother-in-law was telling
what appeared to be a very engaging story, and I smiled to think that this
moment reflected the positive domestic light of a home based on solid and secure
relationships with free and easy conversation. 
Unfortunately for me, however, the tale was told in Russian, and I
simply could not follow. Still, I held my ground, and a few minutes later I
made my move, scooping up my son to effectuate the necessary post-feeding
digestive adjustments, and for a brief moment I was able to bask in the glory
of this fleeting victory.

Sadly,
my success was short-lived, as not twenty minutes later I was informed that my
son, my wife and her mother were late for a class that I had neither business
nor interest in attending. So I opted to stay put and lower my sights, still
determined to find some attachment with the dog and cats.

But
the animals proved fickle, as house pets tend to be, and their desertion had
been at least in part expected. What was worse, though, was the fact that the
desk in my office, my old battle-mate, brought no relief either. Just last week
my computer stood as a portal to another world where healthy, meaningful
relationships roamed in great abundance. 
Today, however, this connection seemed lost, and I learned a hard lesson
about the dangers to be found in errant, virtual attachments. Feeling abandoned
and lost, with no point of focus, I left the house to complete some menial
tasks, none of which were necessary, all of which proved unfulfilling. After
completing every menial errand I could concoct, I returned home with the
somewhat forced notion that I deserved to consume a well-earned lunch.

But
then I stopped. Let it here be said that we all have fictional boundaries in
our lives, boundaries of our own devising, some of which are more accepted and
important than others.  For the record, I
have many, most of which I break, but there is one hard and fast statute on
which I simply will not budge.  I refuse
to eat lunch at 10:30 am.

And
so, with a grumbling stomach but without much choice, I resigned myself to the
couch and watched a pre-recorded episode of the television show House
As I relaxed and gave myself over to the drama unfolding before me, it
hit me that this would be as close as I was going to get to a hospital for the
rest of the week.  And just when I
thought I had failed in my one and only objective for the day, Max the dog
materialized from under a table, jumped on the couch, and rested his head on my
leg with one eye fixed on the television. Together, we watched in silence.  Indeed, we bonded.

Still
not quite lunchtime, I reflected on why I have had such a difficult time
finding my attachment this Monday morning. While it is true that the past few
months I have spent transitioning a hospital (with a 24/7 emergency department)
between owners have made me a stranger of sorts in my own home, my thoughts
have always been primarily with those who rest beneath my roof, and it is to
them that I have sought to return. When it comes to my son, I feel at times
that I have arrived late to the party, though I marvel at the energy my wife
has spent building a safe and secure environment for him. In fact, the bond she
has formed with my son during this period in which I was preoccupied is exactly
what gives me hope for the free time which now stretches before me. It is in
many ways a gift for which no amount of education, experience or desire can
prepare me.  The key to any bond rests
with time spent together. And I for one cannot wait to begin.

Go to www.earlymomentsmatter.org
to learn about attachment and to get an award-winning toolkit that introduces
ways in which parents and caregivers can help their children build secure
attachments.

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