Tag: empty nest

And This is Eternity

I am at one of those particularly poignant, bittersweet times in parenthood. It is one of those times that almost every moment feels like an ending and a new beginning. My eldest son is now completely and totally independent of us, starting his new adult life, in his new state. My second son is almost halfway done with college. My youngest son starts college in the fall. My daughter just completed her first year of high school and is ready to practice driving.

The first couple of years of a child’s life feels like this – the feeling of constant endings and new beginnings. There are so many milestones that happen almost on a daily basis, it makes your head spin . . . and your heart overflow. Then there is this long period of late elementary/middle school years, where, as much as the changes are still happening in your family, they are not nearly as obvious and confronting, as times like these.

As we were driving home from my daughter’s high school tennis tournament yesterday, she and I were reflecting on her first year of high school and how well it went for her, despite the normal fears and hesitations that she felt at the beginning of the year. We laughed at how worried she was about making the tennis team and how now, it feels like “old hat”. High school, in itself, will be more of an “old hat” for her in the next three years before she departs for journeys further away from home.

My parenting style is doing a major shift right now, too. It is much more “hands off”, freeing of the reigns. I am much more of a sideline advocate and “wise” counsel (when sought) these days. I suppose my job is to worry less about their lives and to put the focus more on my own life now, so that they can worry less about me.

This passage is from a beautiful, enchanting old book by Gwen Frostic. The book, A Walk With Me, is printed by block carvings and it is as lovely to look at, as it is to read. Here it is:

The squirrels jump from limb to limb high in the trees that are ever the same . . . and . . . never the same . . . for each day . . . each hour . . . . all things change. . . . . .the trees . . . the flowers . . . rocks . . . .the sand and the waters . . . the birds and all the animals of earth . . . .

. . . .yet – life goes on unchanged . . . . . . . nothing is new

. . . . . . . nothing is old

this is life . . . . . . . .

and this is eternity . . . . . .

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 . . . .

Down-Home Wisdom

RIP – Luke Perry. Too soon. So, so sad. Back in the day, my friends and I were huge 90210 fans. How fleeting life can be!

While looking at my newsfeed, I got sidetracked on another bit of news about the musician Jerry Lee Lewis. He recently suffered a minor stroke. As often happens in my course of clicking through news stories, I started researching more and then, being reminded of the movie, Great Balls of Fire!, I somehow ended up downloading a book to my kindle, written by Jerry Lee Lewis’ ex-wife. Now Jerry Lee Lewis has several ex-wives, but this book was written by the notorious ex-wife who was his 13-year-old second cousin and that marriage almost completely derailed his musical career. Her name is Myra Lewis Williams and her book that I downloaded is called, The Spark That Survived.

I am not a huge country music fan. Still, I find myself drawn to the stories of women country musicians who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and made something of themselves, despite all of the odds against them. They’re as American pioneer as a person can get, in my mind. I have read several articles and exposes about Dolly Parton. I have read more than one book written by Loretta Lynn and I finished The Spark That Survived, in just one sitting. I have found that what these women lack in formal education and “grooming”, they more than make up for, in their sheer pluck, determination, and faith in God and in themselves. They have a grounded common sense that seems to be a lacking quality these days, and I find it so refreshing to hear their honest, true voices speaking candidly about life and how they see it. These strong country women typically hold nothing back.

Here are some gems I plucked from The Spark That Survived:

On friends – “Friends understand that you dogs come first. Friends understand when you want to spit at your husband but love him dearly anyway. Friends understand your female problems. Friends are there when you go to the hospital, with a nice new set of pretty jammies for you to wear. Friends buy your lunch when you are broke. Friends listen to your troubles and then dismiss them when you do. Sometimes friends cry with you, but most of all they make you laugh and let you know that you are loved. . . We all need friends.”

On co-parenting with a jerk – “If you teach a child that their father is bad then they may very well think that since they are his child they, too, are bad. It’s a thin line to walk but trying to turn a child against one of the parents is like beating your ex over the head with your child as a weapon. Being an ex-wife is not easy and I was determined that she was not going to be an ex-child.”

On overcoming rock bottom – “I’m living proof that your past does not have to determine your present, or your future, for that matter. If you feel like nothing, that means you have the freedom to be anything you want to be. As I always say, if a naive thirteen-year-old girl could elope with her famous second cousin, and survive all of the tragedy and trouble that wrought, you can survive your dumbass decisions, too.”

On forgiveness – “I’ve realized that forgiveness isn’t for the other person, it’s for yourself. You do it so that you can move on with your life, no longer giving that other person one iota of space in your thoughts or actions. . . . I suppose for people who like to control others, that’s hard to accept. If you’re the one who’s been manipulating others, driven them away and still trying to yank their chain and they’re just not even letting themselves be connected to that chain anymore, it would seem a rude awakening.”

On the edge of despair (Myra lost a child to drowning and was very abused by Jerry Lee Lewis) – “It was as if Myra the girl melted away into that cold, damp earth and a grown woman slipped into the body that was left behind. . . . I know that psychiatrists would probably say I’m nuts, or at the very least it was a natural maturing of my ability to cope. They would be wrong. This body was now home to a new person. I suspect there are lots of people who know what I mean. Anybody who has been to that edge of desperation and despair, and somehow got back up to carry on with life, might have a sense of having died and been reborn. . . . . It was the new me who breathed the fresh morning air and knew that life must go on.”

I am a firm believer that many perspectives give you a whole perspective. I have never limited myself to where I find my treasure of wisdom. I seek wisdom everywhere. In my experience, some of the most profound gleaming gems of real truth, have come from the least likely of sources. Down-home wisdom is often the best.

My Decision

“I get to decide who I am.” – Rachel Hollis

A younger friend of mine enthusiastically recommended the book Girl, Wash Your Face by Rachel Hollis. It’s an inspiring, upbeat book, written by a real-life, 30-something, successful mother, wife and entrepreneur. It’s a fun, easy, earthy read that I think my younger self would have appreciated even more. Still, I found myself writing the above quote in my inspirational notebook. It is strange to be almost 50 and to still feel the need to remind myself of that fact, from time to time. I get to decide who I am. It’s an empowering mantra.

I think that we women, especially, work so hard to please the “others” in our lives, that we sometimes lose ourselves in the process. We let other people’s definitions of what the perfect wife, mother, friend, daughter, daughter-in-law, girlfriend, niece, co-worker, boss, sister, spiritual follower, cousin, teacher, customer, volunteer, etc. etc. lead us into who we think we SHOULD be. We then drive ourselves bananas, being our own hardest task masters, trying to live up to these definitions of perfection that aren’t even necessarily our own visions and definitions of the “perfect woman.”

I think it is a worthwhile reminder for all us to consider from time to time. “I get to decide who I am.” Is what I am doing right now in my life my decision? Am I being the person who I know myself to be to the deepest core of my being? Am I living up to my standards for what I want in my life? Am I abusing myself by trying to live up to impossible standards set up by society – standards that don’t gel with who I really am or what I really want in life? Am I letting other people decide who I am?

I get to decide who I am. What an empowering mantra!

“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.” 
― Bernard M. Baruch

“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” 
― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Cell Phone Fiasco

Yesterday, my cell phone went on the fritz. It locked up, it started speaking commands out of nowhere, and it wouldn’t shut down or shut up. The most disconcerting thing about the whole situation was how panicked I felt. My phone is about a year old, a new model and I really wasn’t up for getting a replacement phone. I got my husband involved with the whole fiasco and we looked up help sites and barked out orders to each other, grabbing the phone back and forth, getting grumpier by the second, with the situation and with each other. We seemed to be stuck in a quagmire, where even the old trusty “turn it on/turn it off trick” wasn’t going to work because the phone refused to turn off. We called our cell coverage carrier, the maker of the cell device, and the insurance coverage company of our cell phones, with no one having any really good advice to give to us. We spent a couple hours on this craziness, spiraling into a funnel of frustration. When I finally threw my hands up in the air and started the insurance claim, my 18-year-old son arrived home from the gym. He saw the frustration on his parents’ faces, the clumps of hair lying on the ground from being pulled out of our heads and he said, “Mom, could I just see your phone for a second? Could I just take a look at it?”

As futile as I knew that would be, I tossed him the phone so that I could get back to concentrating on my insurance claim. Five minutes later, he had it fixed, back to new. I didn’t even bother to ask him how he did it. I was too exhausted and relieved. I think my son’s generation and the ones coming up behind him have special abilities programmed inside of their heads, tied to technology, that my simpler model, retro-mind just doesn’t have programmed into it. And that’s okay. I know where to find my kids when I need help.

Sonder

It has been a slow, easy, relaxing weekend. I like it. Last night, my husband and I fell on to the couch rather late and ended up watching the acclaimed film Roma. It is one of those slow, methodical, detail oriented, art house types of film that speaks to me more than it does to my husband. When we went to bed last night, I couldn’t decide whether I liked it or not (my husband clearly decided that he did NOT like it), but I could not stop thinking about it. This morning I decided that I liked the movie and I still could not stop thinking about it. I would say that it was the deeper, more artistic, more “left for interpretation”, Mexican version of the movie, The Help.

What I took from the movie is that no matter how you define your relationships with the other people in your life, you cannot help but forge a deeper connection that goes beyond the definition of what that relationship is supposed to be. Roma depicts a year in the life of a privileged Mexican family in the 1970s, from the viewpoint of their devoted nanny. The family’s nanny, Cleo, has to balance taking care of every practical and emotional aspect of the various family members during a particularly difficult time in the family’s collective lives, and yet she still tries to find time to nurture and to deal with her own life’s happenings and sorrows. This movie reminded me of instances like when you are a kid, and you are utterly shocked to see your teacher in the grocery store. Or even when you are older and you are devastated to hear that a trusted leader or clergy member or even a friend or family member, is not that superhuman that you had built them up in your mind to be. Sometimes we all fall into the egocentric state of mind that everything and everyone in our lives, revolves around us. We forget that other people’s lives and problems and ways of seeing and dealing with instances, are every bit as complicated and difficult to navigate, as our own. And depending on their “starting point”, sometimes even more complicated and difficult than we can even comprehend.

sonder
n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.
The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

Fragile Like a Bomb

“She was not fragile like a flower, she was fragile like a bomb.” – Entity

I have four almost adult children. The first three are men and they are wonderful. My baby is my daughter and she is wonderful. It is an interesting time in history to be loving and molding and shaping both sexes. Yesterday the focus was on my daughter.

My daughter had her first high school tennis tournament yesterday. She is a freshman and she was ranked number one player for the Girls Team yesterday. She won her match. To say that I am proud of her and in awe of her, is an understatement. I’m a book nerd. My hand/eye coordination could easily be put under the category of clumsy. Her grace and strong athleticism is something that I can only marvel at and beam about. What I liked about her victory yesterday is that it wasn’t an angry, hostile, out to “show the world” triumph. If anything, it was a personal victory for her. She was able to rise above her nerves, her fears, her feelings of intimidation, to do her best, to be her best and to show up and win.

So many of today’s competitions seem to have such an angry component. I know that we still have a lot to overcome as women, as society in general, but still I love being a woman. I love the men in my life. I want my daughter to feel the same way. I want her to experience her victories in life as celebrations of her hard work and achievements, not as superior conquests born only out of anger and frustration. I suppose I have to ponder on what steps I can take now, as a woman, to help create the nurturing support system and cooperative atmosphere that I want my daughter to experience in her life. And then, as a woman, I suppose I have to ponder what steps I can take to help create that same kind of environment for my sons.

“The world needs strong women. Women who will lift and build others, who will love and be loved. Women who live bravely, both tender and fierce. Women of indomitable will.” – Amy Tenney

The King’s Crown

“My crown is called content, a crown that seldom kings enjoy.” – William Shakespeare

This is such an unusual time in life – a time when the “usual” is soon to be going by the wayside. My husband and I talked to our eldest son last night and he is considering offers within his company, in all different cities. His world is expanding significantly. I signed our youngest child up for Driver’s Education. Once a child gets their license to drive, drifting away from the nest becomes inevitable. I know, I’ve experienced this three times before. Our next to youngest child just committed to his college of choice for the fall. Our second son plans to stay at his university this summer, to continue earning credits and grades that will help him to enter into medical school. In short, my job of “corralling the kiddos” is soon to be going completely by the wayside. My husband and I have made our primary focus to be on the joint efforts of raising our family for almost 23 years now. The funny thing is that now, what seems to be all of the sudden, space is opening up for us, to take all of our lives, in all different directions.

My husband and I opted to do some updates and renovations on our current home, but we do it with some hesitation and reservation. Is this where we plan to live for a while? Our housing choices have always been made within the narrow confines of the areas that connected good public schools with a reasonable commute to my husband’s work. When your confines are removed, the choices almost become overwhelming.

To be honest, I’m having a really hard time figuring out what I want to do next, in so many aspects. I have been meditating on the next stage, my second half of adulting for a while now, and no real clear-cut answers are appearing. I’ve heard that when you don’t know what you want, doing nothing is a choice and often, doing nothing is a good option for the time being. I suspect being uncomfortable with the choice of doing nothing and making no real changes, feels uncomfortable for a lot of us. From little on, we are taught to strive, to achieve, to work towards our goals and to accomplish them. But, what if you are unsure of your goals? What if you don’t know what to strive for?

I got to thinking that not knowing what your goals are, may mean that you are content. “Content” often feels like a bad word, especially to us Americans. Society seems to tell us that you should always be aspiring to accomplish new heights, yet all of the best selling self-help books and podcasts on the market, seems to be aimed at helping people to find inner peace and calm, acceptance and contentedness with “what is.” Even Shakespeare knew that contentedness (an inside job) was so hard to achieve that even the wealthiest, most fortunate and powerful people of the times, the kings, often could not achieve contentedness.

When I was contemplating my new found “freedom” opening up to me in the very near future, a thought popped into my head. It was so strong that I had to write it down. This is what I wrote:

“Maybe I don’t know what I want because what I want, is what I have . . .”

Perhaps what I wrote is the definition of contentedness. According to Shakespeare, contentedness is the elusive treasure of kings. Perhaps the answer is to bask in that feeling of contentedness for a while. When the next big move is meant to happen for me, I’ll know what to do. In the meantime, I’ll just be content to be content.

“Now and then it’s good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.” – coolnsmart.com

Blue-Eyed Baby

“The beautiful thing about learning is that no one can take it away from you. ” – B.B. King

Our youngest son found out that he got into his college of choice, yesterday. He’ll be attending the same large university that his brothers before him have attended. His brothers have enjoyed their experiences there and grown up and out, in so many remarkable ways. I excitedly anticipate the same for him.

It’s a story for another time, but I really thought that my youngest son was going to be our last baby. That was before we were blessed with our beautiful daughter. I savored my third son’s babyhood because of that reason. I remember rocking him and gazing at him, even more than my other children, mostly because in my mind, he was going to be the last that I experienced all of the baby milestones. I can still picture his little head and hands, as I rocked him to sleep.

My youngest son is my only blue-eyed child. I have brown eyes and my husband has green eyes. Our other three children have brown eyes. Being the third son and always looking up to, and feeling like he had to keep up with his older brothers, I looked for ways to make him feel extra-special and unique. I always made a big fuss of his blue eyes, calling him my “Blue-eyed Baby.” I guess that I took it too far because when he was about four or five years old, he said to me, “I think you are right, Mom. Blue-eyed people are better.” I had to backtrack on that, so I focused on this little birth mark that he has on the back of his dark hair. It is a spot on his hair that is white, looking like it has been intentionally bleached. I’ve always called it his “Angel Kiss.” I told him that the mark on his hair is where the angels kissed him before they gave him to me. I hope that the kissing guardian angels remain all around him when he leaves home to go to college. I want to know that my blue-eyed baby will always be protected no matter how far he roams from home.

“College is a refuge from hasty judgment.” – Robert Frost

I’m Motivated to Be Inspired

After watching history’s most boring Super Bowl last night and waking up to a gray Monday, I had difficulty deciding what to write about and even more difficulty getting the gumption up to write. It seems fitting that lately I have been pondering the difference between motivation and inspiration. Today seems like the right day to ponder it on-line.

Motivation typically comes from outside forces. You feel compelled to do something because something inside of you says that you “should” do it, or you may face consequences that you don’t want. Motivation comes from a reason or a “motive” for doing something, so that you get the result that you do want. Our sources of motivation are typically external. You are motivated to get a new car, so you go to work and save your money. You are motivated to fit into your new bikini, so you go to the gym. I am motivated to write this blog post, because I have made the promise to myself and to my readers that I will write a blog post every day.

Inspiration is internally generated. The word literally means, “in spirit.” When you are inspired, some internal passion is bubbling up inside of you just screaming to come out. Inspiration typically isn’t as concerned with “the end result”, as it is something that just wants to be created, for creation’s sake. After driving away from our eldest son’s first apartment, driving away from his completed childhood, and coming to the realization that the stage of my life, that was mainly focused on raising and molding four young children, will soon be coming to a close, I was inspired to start writing my blog. I was inspired to internally and publicly explore what this stage of life means to me and to my family.

My husband asked me an interesting question the other day. He said, “Would you rather be a beacon or an icon?” I answered “Beacon,” without pause, but that is mostly because I like living under the radar. I wouldn’t want to have to wear make-up to walk out to my mailbox, for fear of paparazzi jumping out of my bushes. I like a level of anonymity. Further, I liken beacons to be like lighthouses, and I like to think that my experiences, perceptions and lessons learned, could be helpful not just to me, but to others, as well. I think that today’s day and age has way too many icons and not nearly enough beacons.

Anyway, sometimes my blog posts are just coming from motivation to stay on track, keep my promises to myself and to others, and sometimes my blog posts are so inspired, that I have jumped out of bed to jot down my ideas and have panicked when my computer doesn’t boot up fast enough, as the words seem to be spilling from my heart at record speed. I imagine my readers are perceptive enough to see the difference. It would be ideal to live life in a state of constant inspiration, but for times when that passion lies dormant, motivation is enough force to keep the train moving on the tracks, until the next spurt of inspiration comes along.