Why is it that whenever one of my children is particularly kind and loving to me, I immediately assume they’ve got an ulterior motive? It’s staggering how quickly I can go down the dark hole of conspiracy… This little bugger wants something. And judging from the tone, it’s something I’m not in the habit of giving them. 

Then there’s my Nana McCormick. One of the things Nana was known for was her unsuspecting belief in others. When the stories are retold, however, no one knows for certain if Nana was gullible, or knew exactly what was happening and chose to overlook it. Given that she alleged she couldn’t understand swear words—I’m going to go with the latter.

When I connect to what’s really going on in these moments of skepticism, it’s my ego. It doesn’t want to be deceived—by anyone. Comin’ in here being all lovey dovey… yer not gonna fool me ya little sneak. I’ll show you!

I’ll show you? Is this really a fun way to live? Allowing my fear and ego to get in the way of trusting others. And what’s the long term effect of that mistrust between a parent and a child? Hell, what’s the long term effect of that mistrust between me and the rest of the world?

My goal has never been to live in angst that people are after me in some way, shape, or form. However, if I spend my time searching for ulterior motives, that’s exactly what my life begins to look like. If I want loving relationships and serenity, I have to put down my ego-driven habit of suspicious condemnation and pick up Nana’s habit of uncomplicated acceptance. 

But for the record, Team—Nana’s approach gets kicked to the curb the instant one of them mutters, “I’m just holding it for a friend.”