The Cost of Familiarity

Why we stop noticing what matters most.

We welcomed our third child into the family in May. Two weeks before she was born, the company I had worked at for ten years let me go. My wife was spending much of this season caring for the newborn. My responsibility, apart from finding the next role in my career, was to care for the two oldest girls, aged five and three.

As this venture began, I noticed similarities between my house and the business world. Life seemed to be very transactional here. From the moment their eyes opened, the requests began.

“Dad, can you get me some juice? Dad, can you help me find my toys? Dad, can we go to the park? Dad, watch this!”

If this was coming from only one kid, it would be a lot, but two at the same time was twice the challenge.

The business world is full of people who complain. Some people complain about their salary, others about their boss. This was normal in the workplace. It was even more popular with little girls carrying big feelings. When there was no request waiting to be fulfilled, there was usually some expression of dissatisfaction taking its place.

“Dad, I don’t want to stay here! I want to go to the park! (Even though it’s like 100 degrees out.) Dad, Sissy took my pony and won’t give it back! Dad, I don’t want to go to sleep at bedtime; I want to stay up late!”

Coming into this situation, I was unprepared for the demand on my attention. There was no way I could give every request and complaint my full attention. I was wearing down fast. Unable to keep up, my mind naturally tuned out requests or complaints that did not seem important. The many words exchanged daily failed to create deeper relationships with my kids. During this time off, this was something I was really hoping to establish.

Then, one night...

A Conversation Like No Other

After getting them ready for bed, I stayed a little longer than usual after the youngest fell asleep. Something of great value happened.

The five-year-old began talking. This was not about transactions or complaints, but deep thoughts and feelings. I learned why she has trouble falling asleep at night. She talked about what happens when you die, with such big questions for a little mind. We discussed the omniscience and omnipotence of God. She explained why she had been complaining so much that day and that she was very sorry.

I cannot put into words the value of this conversation.

As I lay in bed that night, I replayed the moment over and over, thinking about how lucky I was to have been a part of that conversation. It seemed to have touched the deepest part of my heart.

For the first time, I understood the value of being a father in a way I never had before.

Why was it only after five years that something as sweet as this had taken place?

Were these moments longing to happen?

Was I missing them?

She told me one night that she had a lot of questions and things she wanted to say, but I always leave at night before she can say them. I realized that something had to change. As I reflected on this, there were two things I saw.

The Competition for Attention

The first thing I noticed was that there was a competition for my attention during the day. Whenever one kid starts telling me something, the other kid realizes there is something she wanted to tell me too. They end up telling me at the same time.

Whenever one girl wants to sit on my lap, the other one realizes that’s what she wants too.

Every time I engage in an activity with one, the other wants to play too, but with something different.

I am a very competitive guy, yet there was a competition going on that I did not seem to know was happening.

They both wanted to be heard and seen by their father.

Not only were they competing for attention, but ultimately they were asking a simple question. “Am I important to you?”

I was not giving them the proper outlet for this to happen.

One Child at a Time

I decided I would start separating them a little during the day.

Day one, I took the youngest to the library with me by herself. We then went down the street to the candy store to get her favorite candy. After this, we stopped at her grandmothers’ to hang out for the rest of the hour. Honestly, I don’t think she said one word to me. She is the quiet one. Yet from the way she acted when she got home, I could tell that moment made her feel special.

Day two, I brought the oldest to the same candy store. I don’t think she had stopped talking the whole way there. Following the candy store, we then ate lunch at a local favorite across the street. She told the waitress, “I’m on a date with my dad.” I could witness the joy she was experiencing at that moment. Her smile never left her face, and she continually told me how much she loved that we were doing this together.

I learned that these two girls were very different. Although they expressed themselves in different ways, they both wanted to be important to their father. They both wanted a time when they could have my undivided attention with no competition. This was not happening naturally around the house.

Going Through the Motions

The second thing I noticed was more about me. I seem to be very transactional down to my wiring. Completed tasks are how I have always measured progress. If a task doesn’t bring me closer to a goal, my mind quietly dismisses it. This can be good in business, but for interacting with family, you miss the moments hidden within.

One place I realized I was very transactional was at bedtime. My goal was to go through the routine and get them to sleep as fast as possible, and get back to what I was doing. My wife mostly handled this area when I was previously working, but because of the demands of a new baby, this responsibility has fallen on me.

It was the time when I did not immediately leave after completing what my mind had turned into a set of process work instructions that I had this amazing, heartfelt conversation with my daughter.

I decided I would try to add value to this part of our day, and I created a story about a talking otter I met in a mill creek while working my last job. The story became a hit! Every night they would ask if I could tell them another story about the talking otter named Mr. Roofus. AI made me an image of what I thought the otter might look like, with a theme song for the stories.

The oldest told me the night of the second story, “When I think of Mr. Roofus, I don’t have bad dreams anymore.”

The Priceless Things We Stop Seeing

As I look back and examine this period, there is one thing that really stands out to me.

I understand now that it is so easy to get busy with life that you find yourself just going through the motions, without really being present. As you do the same things over and over, they lose value in the market of your attention.

Unrecognized, precious years of your life go by before you realize you have lost something priceless that you cannot recover.

How long would I have continued to go through the motions if I did not have the chance to slow down and reflect on my life?

Losing my job seemed like a bad thing at first. People rarely associate an event like this with anything positive. If I could go back in time, I would want to be fired sooner. Jobs come and go, but these moments appear once in a lifetime. Discovering this sooner would have been worth more than any amount of money.

Looking back, this season is no longer branded with a job loss. I now see it as the one in which I found my daughters.

Are you just going through the motions?