Father Knows Best
Terence Neville, my dad, fittingly having himself a George Bailey moment.
i often find myself in college wondering, “what would dad do?” Don’t worry, I have decided to share the wealth. Here’s a round-up of the best advice I have received from the smartest man I know.
In my family, we do not use the term “strategizing” when we refer to careful life-planning. The kind of methodical preparation and contemplation that precursors important decision-making is lovingly named “dad-egizing.” There’s no scientific research supporting this claim, but I am fairly certain that my dad is always right (as annoying as that can be). My attending college nearly 3000 miles away from him has changed the nature of our conferences, and while I miss our typical set-up of him in his black leather lazy-boy recliner and me stationed on the couch and/or oriental rug, I am beyond grateful to have him be one phone call away.
These days, as I prepare to eventually graduate college and enter the work world, I have been picking my dad’s brain more often. His words continue to shape my life and keep me grounded.
Fun is only fun if it makes you feel good.
This summer, I called my dad absolutely exhausted. I was burnt out from juggling work, time with friends and family, and successfully securing my alone time. In response, he said something that I have not forgotten: "Fi, fun is only fun if makes you feel good." I tend to get caught up in wanting to please others or be the version of myself that they expect me to be. Since returning to school this semester, I have been on a mission to follow the fun. That means asking myself what I need–whether it be sleep, a movie night with friends, to complete my homework in a timely fashion as not to stress myself out, or to slow down and take a deep breath.
Following the fun is choosing to combat our culture of hustle culture. Self-care is not only knowing when to rest but it is also prioritizing long-term satisfaction above instant gratification. When I find myself in a hurry, as I have often this semester, I push myself to pause. When I least want to meditate or take a nap, I try to prove to myself that I can take care of myself and be successful. The illusion of business and the romanticization of this "grind never stops" culture, as well as the pressure and/or expectation that college is both supposed to be the best, most fun years of my life and set up my life trajectory for success, can put me in a state of stress that prevents me from enjoying my life as it is. In my mission to follow the fun and pursue what makes me feel good, I have recognized that doing so might make me feel a little bit like an odd man out at times.
There might always be a voice in my head pushing me to do more (aka that I am not enough), but that I also have the choice of what thoughts I give the microphone to. It is just as simple to believe the positive thoughts I have about myself and my work ethic as it is to believe the negative ones. Allowing myself to rest and decompress is precisely what allows me to then show up as my best self in my studies and in my interactions with others. Being honest with myself about what is actually fun for me versus what is draining is what, ultimately, lends itself into me partaking in activities (rest included) that add joy and growth to my life.
Don’t let perfect be the enemy of good.
I don’t know about you, but I want to do it ALL! But, if you feel yourself getting lost in the analysis paralysis of not knowing where to start, you are probably letting perfect be the enemy of good. As writer of You Are a Badass, Jen Sincero says, done is better that perfect. JUST START! I was talking to a friend today and asked him, “do you ever worry you won’t be able to do every you want to do in your lifetime?” He rapidly responded, “I know I won’t be able to do everything I want to do. But, I do a little bit of everything each day. I find my own way to do what I want to do, to learn what I want to learn, to fit school into the equation.”
I was struck by his words—largely because I related to what he was saying. The overwhelming urge I have to do everything can prevent me from simply taking the next step. Bob Goff’s perspective on this has really helped me. His idea is that we don’t need to know all the steps. God (or, insert whatever higher power you identify with) just wants us to take the next step.
My dad time and time again reminds me that beginning is sometimes the most important step. Don’t add something to a to-do list, when possible, do it now. He urges me to stop worrying about every other possible path forward and to instead, pick a path and dedicate.
NO (Wo)man is a failure who has friends.
It just feels right to include another reference to It’s a Wonderful Life, which is my family’s favorite Christmas movie, as I write a post dedicated to lessons I have learned from my dad. I used to groan when my dad would excitingly gather us around the family room TV to watch it—in black and white—each year. Finally, it grew on my sisters and I. My dad reminds me of George Bailey in many ways—while it could be the years of him imitating George Bailey.
At the end of the movie, George’s guardian angel leaves him a note saying: “No man is a failure who has friends.” I look to my dad, to the life he has built himself, and I see that he carries this philosophy into all that he does. His success is not at the expense of his family or his relationships. If you know my dad, you might know that he is not the biggest talker when it comes to what he cares about. That is because, as I will mention in lesson #4, he knows his actions speak louder than his words. My dad succeeds quietly, and it is evident that the fulfillment he derives from his life is his friendships. We joke that my dad and his best friend, who I know as my Uncle Jimmy, have a bromance like no other. As someone who switched schools a few times when I was younger, I caught myself feeling envious of my dad’s tight-knit crew of troublemakers who he has been friends with since his childhood. I asked him, “How do you build friendships that last a lifetime?” He honestly responded, “Well, Fi, it’s work.” There is a certain element to friendship that is effortless, but a friendship of virtue or “the good” as Aristotle labelled it, involves the work required to partake in friendships that exceed the typical factors of convenience and shared interests.
My dad and Uncle Jimmy went from two boys splitting a PB&J sandwich on the playground to raising their kids together. They have taught me what it means to be a good friend. My mom and dad love the clip from Jerry Maguire where Dicky Fox says,
"Hey... I don't have all the answers. In life, to be honest, I have failed as much as I have succeeded. But I love my life. I love my wife. And I wish you my kind of success.”
In a nutshell, that quote depicts my dad. Not that it’s always easy or perfect, but that he is as successful as I dream to be because he puts in the work to live this life that he loves, one chalk-full of people who love him right back.
Actions speak louder than words.
… After all, we are not what we say we’ll do, but what we do.
My mom and I joke about a major love language for us being words of affirmation. I see it in action by the way she and I compliment each other. While my dad does not turn down our compliments, he is not so easily wooed. He likes acts of service. My sisters and I were apprenticed in the act of making him his morning cup of coffee as soon as we were old enough to do so. Chores? Oh, they must be done using kid power!
I love to talk. I could go on forever. My dad has taught me, though, to let my actions do the talking. Furthermore, he demonstrates that love is a verb. It is one thing to tell the people you love that you love them, but it is another to show them. My dad shows his love in his consistency. He always manages to pick up my calls — keep in mind we are now in a different time zone — or, on the rare occasion that he cannot, he shoots me a text and follows up with a call back later. He listens, he checks in, and he is solution-oriented. He is happy to hash out the details of what classes I should take or what internship opportunities I should explore, but he also ends our talks with an action item or two. I call complaining about being over-tired? Action item: stay in for a night and sleep. Sometimes I do not what to hear it with his logical thinking, but it really does steady me. And, he circles back. “Hey Fi, did you get some sleep this week? Are you feeling settled in?” It can be hard to hear these things if I am not doing what I know is best for me, but I have realized that his follow-ups are coming from a place of love, not shame. He gently reminds me that talking about doing something and actually doing it are different, and he expects that if we talk about a wise course of action, then I will be disciplined in following through. (I am working on continually improving in this category.)
Hard work pays off.
My dad’s parents both immigrated to the United States from Ireland. They embodied what it means to live the good ol’ American Dream. He grew up with 9 siblings in a 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom row house in Middle Village, Queens, NY. He and his siblings took to heart the blessing that their parents wanted to give them a better life, and they have paid it forward for my cousins, siblings, and I.
My dad is the epitome of a hard worker. He is patient and diligent; if he is doing something, he is going to do it right. He teases my sisters and I now and then for how different our childhood has been from his, but he has passed onto us the invaluable gift of showing us the meaning of hard work. We were never given direct incentives to perform well in school; we were told that school was our job and that we were expected to perform to the best of our ability, because that is just what you do. Don’t get me wrong, we were praised and showered in love, but we were not under the impression that working hard was optional. If we asked him to sign our tests, he would quiz us on what we got wrong and why it was wrong. While I groaned at this, I was motivated by it. One, if I didn’t want to endure the conversation about questions I got wrong, I could strive for 100% accuracy. Two, I learned that mastery involves assessing what I misunderstood in the past so that I wouldn’t do so again in the future. He was never harsh; he taught us that failure is a learning opportunity not to be squandered. While my elementary school grades didn’t necessarily matter, this work ethic carried me through high school, landed me at USC, and I am sure will guide me as I enter the work world. Hard work isn’t instantly gratifying, but it does pay off in the long-term.
Sorry doesn’t always walk the dog.
I really don’t know if anyone else heard this maxim throughout their childhood, but it was a big one in the Neville Household. My dad (and mom, of course) instilled in us that apologizing when we were wrong is of utmost importance, but that, in some cases, simply saying “I’m sorry” is not always enough.
When we hurt people, especially people that we love, it is important to show that we are sorry. This lesson emphasized to my sisters and I that apologizing is only so effective when we don’t appear to be sorry enough to change our behavior. For instance, if I were apologizing for interrupting, I might receive the, “sorry doesn’t walk the dog,” because I had been previously called out for interrupting everyone and I had not shown that I was actively changing my ways. This lesson is somewhat intertwined with the idea that actions speak louder than words, and that an apology involves repenting against the attitudes or behaviors that led us to hurting someone in the first place.
Change what you can control. Accept what you cannot change.
My dad is really good at coaching me through anxiety. He is so logical that it can intimidate me, but he really helps ground me so that I can stop letting anxieties get the better of me. Throughout quarantine in 2020, he was my rock. We would go for runs together multiple times a week, and when I would get really down, he would help me healthily cope. I continue to rely on a run in nature to clear my head, as well as leaning on him and my mom for advice. The run and advice combo, however, was ELITE, and helped keep me sane. The hardest aspect of quarantine was how out of control I felt in my own life. He continued to remind me to refocus on what I could actually control and let that be enough.
My dad is a big believer that life is full of tradeoffs. He admits that there are plenty of things he wants to do that due to simple human limitations, he cannot do. He is smart, though, and controls his mindset on this. He chooses to be grateful for all that he can do and lets it be enough. He knows when to make a change and when to accept what he cannot change. I think this lesson might be one of the biggest keys to overall happiness and contentment.
Focus on the big picture
This moment is here to shape us. My dad has been reminding me: “Eyes on the big picture, Fi.” Let’s stop complicating it: love each other. Love ourselves. Love our life. We are here, we woke up this morning! Isn’t that worth celebrating?
My big picture mantra: “I am blessed. I have a life brimming with joy. I get to work a job with people I love & gaze at the ocean 8 hours a day. I have a body that moves with me and for me. I feel completely content with my surroundings and the people enriching my life. I can handle all emotions, and this moment is here to nurture me if I let it.”
In our technological day and age, we have to remind ourselves to worry less about how we look on camera and be more focused of the big picture: how love shines through our lives.
But, don’t get too attached to the picture you thought your life would create.
Someone asked me recently what is the most important lesson my family has taught. Having a younger brother with severe autism, I, along with my family, learned that life doesn’t tend to obey the picture or the script we plan for it to follow. We can spend every day consumed with dissatisfaction wondering “why does nothing go to plan?!!” or ruminating over what we have lost, or, we can choose to appreciate what our lives actually look like.
I’m a big fan of looking at the big picture — it helps me stay disciplined and reminds me of my WHY behind my day-to-day routines. What we can LOSE, however, if we spend allll our time focused on the big picture, is we miss out on our lives as unfinished masterpieces.
We’re so worried about how our lives will look when everything is said & done that we forget all we’re rushing towards is death... we will quite literally have all the answers only when we’ve reached the end. Conversely, if we intentionally treat each day as a challenge— an invitation— to paint the prettiest, rawest depiction of our lives on that day... utilizing what we do have, not worrying about what we don’t... making art out of what is... we get to go to bed at night knowing that we lived that day with everything we had.
So, sure, keep an eye out on your big picture.. but, maybe we can also let today just be a snapshot, and treat our lives like scrapbooks where every day is an highlight for one reason or another, and the big picture is more of a compilation or collage than a cohesive canvas.
Thank you to my dad for the best advice ever. It pains me to admit it, but you’re (almost) always right. I love you, Dad.