One Year Anniversary

Green and Brown Garden

Today is a very special day at Adulting – Second Half. Today is the one year anniversary of this blog. One year ago, I started this blog on a whim (and honestly, probably my way to process some grief). My husband and I had just dropped our eldest son at his first adult apartment, about to embark on his first, real adult job. He was officially off of our payroll, and officially at the beginning of a whole new path for himself, a path in which we would now be mostly bystanders and adoring fans, waving from the sidelines. I realized, particularly in that moment, that I was nearing the end of a major path in my own life. My Adulting – First Half had been on this wide path of child rearing, focused on raising our four children to independence, for a long while now. The path has sometimes been smooth, sometimes rocky, and up and down hills and mountains. The path has been sometimes clear with breath-taking views of gorgeous horizons. The path has sometimes been foggy and the path has even run into some big storms, here and there. Even still, my Adulting – First Half road has been a beautiful, miraculous journey, a path that I have never regretted taking.

My eldest son had reached our united path’s finish line and our three other children, dutifully always following their eldest brother, like “ducks in a row” (as I have always insisted), are nearing that finish line at a clip pace, as well. And therefore, so am I.

I want you to know how grateful I am, to all of you, for your support, your kindness and your validation, as I have dared to take steps into my new path, my Adulting – Second Half path. In some ways, I suspect that this path is a path that will help me to find ways back to parts of myself that I had long forgotten even existed. And that is scary and exciting, all at the same time. The best part of writing this blog, is the realization that as I embark on a new path in life, and probably at lot of little side paths and stop offs along the way, I am not alone. None of us are alone. Thank you for being such a beautiful, comforting reminder of that fact.

With heads held high, and hearts wide open, forward march . . . . . .

Learning to Let Go

My eldest son got a big promotion at his job and moved just outside of the Big Apple a couple of weeks ago. As much as my heart strings have had to stretch, I am very excited and proud for him to partake in this adventure of a lifetime! Of course, the protective mom part of me is always concerned for his well-being.

We have family that live in that part of the country, but they are still wintering down south and while our son has acquaintances who live up north, I am not aware of anyone he is particularly close to, being in close proximity to his new digs. His work associates are still new to him and they are busy with their own lives and families. My son moved into an apartment without any roommates for the first time in his life. He comes from a big family. Oh my goodness, he must be so lonely! He might be feeling existential grief! (In this paragraph, I’ve just let you peek into where my mind has been swirling the last couple of weeks, in regards to my eldest son.)

So, of course, we have been texting my son regularly and keeping up with his life’s happenings. Turns out he spent his birthday (Friday evening) in Manhattan with some work associates and by the looks of the pictures, he had a blast. He made it safely back to suburbia and texted us beautiful, scenic pictures of a hike he took on a trail not far from his home yesterday.

“Did you hike there all by yourself?” was my tentative text.

“No, I did it with a local hiking group. It was great!” he replied.

Many years ago, when we did our first major move for my husband’s job, we were busy unpacking our things. Our eldest son, a budding first grader announced loudly, “Okay, it’s time to get out and meet some people!”

When he was in college, my son spent a summer semester in a study abroad program, travelling all over Europe. He told us that the Australian kids were particularly fun and wild, staying out to all hours of the night.

“I wonder how he knows that, ” my friend said snidely with a coy look on her pursed lips.

My eldest son has always been a confident, adventurous soul who lives life on his own terms. He has always beat his own drum, and his life’s rhythm has always been an upbeat, interesting, unique, spirited sound. Perhaps I should let my own heart beat along with his drum, instead of the slow, fearful, hesitant, projection of a protective, grasping heartbeat belonging to a loving mother who is having to learn to let go . . . .