That Space Between Teflon and Velcro

I like to point out to my son every time he procrastinates.

It’s my job as a parent, right?

The helpful practice started back when he was in school: “Have you finished Catcher in the Rye Yet?” Or “How’s your science experiment coming along?” Or “How’s studying for the SAT going?”

It was excellent parenting.

Except that it didn’t work.

My son likes to live on the edge. He likes to live in the moment. He’s a free spirit.

I like to live in the center of the room. I like to plan the future. I’m an organized spirit.

As he grew into adulthood, fortunately, we evolved.

Into new topics, that is.

These days, as we casually talk on the phone, I wait for enough time to pass that I can reasonably bring up my favorite current topic. As in, “How is your resume coming along?” or “How’s apartment-hunting going?”

He might then humor me with a sentence or two. But then he will often say, “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Which—when translated by Google-Translate-for-Parents-with-Adult-Children means “I’ve got this, Mom. Stop bugging me. Let me live my life.”

Yet like many people, my son is a procrastinator. It’s a very human tendency to put off what we don’t want to face today. Why? Fear. Perfectionism. Avoidance.

In these moments, he brushes me off like scrambled eggs off Teflon.

But there’s another half to this dynamic that makes it all hang together so beautifully: The Clinging. That part—the Velcro—is my job.

The more I cling, the more he slides away.

It’s a nonstop cycle of clinging and avoidance, clinging and avoidance.

And Velcro scratches Teflon.

Avoidant attachment theory says clinging and avoiding helps us maintain distance from intimacy. Both practices keep us comfortable. Think about it: If we are always focused on bringing something closer, or alternatively pushing something away, we are never exactly being with it.

I admit I cling a little to this need to organize my kid. Or my need to organize any group or project. I recently had a dream where I was facilitating a group, and when I woke up, I thought, “I must stop organizing people and events!”

What do you cling to?

And what do you avoid?

I avoid cleaning out the basement. Or starting complex reports or presentations for work I just don’t want to dive into. Rotating my tires. Cutting out sugar. I’ll do all those fun things tomorrow.

I took a yoga class with some friends a few weeks ago, and the instructor was sharing that thoughts and feelings will come up as we practice. She asked, Are you clinging to the idea that I’m not flexible and I can’t do this? Or to the idea that your right shoulder doesn’t feel very good and appears not to be healing? Or are you avoiding sinking deeper into that left hip out of self-protection?

She then said, “Create from the clinging and from the avoidance.”

Ahh.

Create from it.

Don’t just notice what you cling to and what you avoid. Be with the very thing that you want to push away. In leadership, there’s a concept of “stay”—meaning when a conflict or uncomfortable subject comes up, don’t run off. Stay.

What are you avoiding that you might you draw closer? What might need you to stay?

Or if you could loosen your grip a bit on something you might be clinging to, what would it be? Where might you do a little less muscling through?

It's an expansive space to explore, that elusive land between clinging and avoidance.

What lives there for you, humming in that vibrant land between Teflon and Velcro?