Tag: empty nest

Horizons

“A ship in the harbor is safe, but that is not what a ship is built for . . . .”

Tonight, my youngest son graduates from high school. This is the third time that we will experience this event. In some ways, having been through it before, makes it easier. We know what to expect. In some ways, having been through it before, makes it harder. We know what to expect.

When I had my first child, I experienced a depth of feelings that I didn’t know existed. Like many women, when I got pregnant subsequent times after that, I got nervous. I got doubtful. I questioned why we chose to “rock the boat.” When I got pregnant with our second son, I read something that now makes all of the sense in the world to me: “Your first child teaches you about the depth of your love, your subsequent children teach you about the breadth of your love.” Like most children, my four children have always tried to “trip me up” and they have tried to figure out whom I love best. I’ve always reminded them that they are all smart and they are all good at math. You can’t divide or measure “infinite.” It is an impossible task. Infinite love is so overwhelming, vulnerable, awe-inspiring, miraculous, solid and most decidedly, immeasurable.

We’re having another ship leave the shipyard in the next couple of months. His first journey to college won’t be so far away. But journeys beget journeys and tonight signals to me that the anchor is pulled up. He will come back to our little safe harbor from time to time, to fuel up and to share stories of journeys that I won’t be a part of, but I will thrill in, vicariously. He is ready for the journeys. He is a solid ship. The horizon awaits . . . . .

The Disrupted Nest

Once upon a time there was this little bird who loved her nest. She loved being in her nest with her mate and her hatchlings. Of course, her hatchlings quickly grew to be big birds themselves and they started leaving the nest more and more. One hatchling grew up to be his own bird and left the nest and created his own nest, in a tree, far away, of his own liking. The bird family still flew to see each other, though. They were chatty birds, who liked each other’s company.

This story isn’t about hatchlings leaving the nest, though. This is about the time when the little bird’s nest was completely disrupted and the poor little bird thought that she would go cuckoo or even batty. Though a bit flighty, this little bird wasn’t a natural cuckoo, and bats, obviously, are a whole different species, but this little bird found that she was really starting to empathize with cuckoos and those beings sometimes described as batsh*t-crazy. You see, the disruption in her nest felt like it would never end and it was turning her into a whole different animal as much as she tried to stay pleasant and chirpy.

It all started when the little bird and her mate for life, decided that their nest was in serious need of some new straw. They found some birds who were particularly good at nest renovation and they agreed to give lots and lots (and lots) of seed to these birds, in exchange for some fresh straw. When it was time to take out the old straw and bring in the new straw, the expert new straw birds arrived and hung out with the little bird all day long, every day, for months and months. The poor little bird tried to stay positive and she could see that the new straw would soon look very nice, when she looked past all of the old straw, and dust feathers lying all around the nest. She tried not to pluck out the feathers in her chest, in distress, but she found it hard to resist sometimes. She tended to get a little “pecky” with her mate and nestlings who still lived in the nest with her, when they came home to the nest in the evenings.

This little bird was an old bird who had been around the flock for a while. She had even been through previous nest renovations in earlier times in her little birdy life. She knew that the process of the rebuilding of a nest would be annoying and disruptive. The little bird knew some calming yoga poses like standing on one leg that helped her get into balance. (a lot of birds stand on one leg). Still sometimes she felt pushed to the edge of her nest . . . and her sanity.

This story doesn’t have any ending yet, but the nest is progressing a lot and I suspect there is going to be a happy, calming ending for the little bird and her mate. I suspect that they are really going to appreciate the changes and updates to their nest, to the point that they will soon forget about all of the upheaval and disruption that this renovation has caused. And I suspect a few years down the road (maybe give it a decade), they will have conveniently forgotten how stressful it was to have their nest torn apart and displaced (they have little tiny bird brains that aren’t known for good memories – see elephants, for good memorization skills). Then, the little birds again, will get a wild hair (or a wild feather, in their case) and decide to yet again, exchange piles and piles of seed for an updated nest. That’s just how birds work.

Refreshed and Renewed

I’m baaaack! This past weekend is the first weekend that I took off from writing my blog since I started writing it back in July 2018. It felt strange. I automatically sat down to my computer Saturday morning, but then laughed at myself and forced myself to get back up and to do something different. What I learned from this little experiment of mine, was priceless. I missed writing my blog. I missed my readers. A lot.

Sometimes, we fall into patterns and habits and schedules and we wonder how we even ended up in certain “ruts.” I think that I was afraid my writing had become rote to me and to you. But what I learned is, that this writing is necessary for me right now. It is a passion for me. It makes me feel more alive. It is not a habit, but now, almost a necessity for me. It has become part of my breath of life.

This past weekend was a little emotional for me, for many reasons. One of the biggest reasons, was that for the first time, I didn’t celebrate Easter with our six-person nucleus family. My eldest son lives in a different state now and luckily, he was able to spend the holiday with family members and even had other offers for celebrations, that he had to turn down. So he was fine and the rest of us were all together, so we were fine, but it was one of those acute moments of understanding how much our family life is changing and how much it will change, in the years to come.

Building up to Easter, is when my emotions were escalating. I bought so much candy for our kids’ Easter baskets, that the checker asked me if we were having a party. I had to put it on two credit cards. (okay, the credit card part isn’t true, but the first statement IS, pathetically, true) I was obviously in overcompensation mode. The funny thing is though, when Easter rolled around, I felt good. I felt calm. I felt peaceful. I felt hopeful. I felt the promise of the holiday.

Thank you for your understanding my need for a break. Thank you for still coming by to read past posts. (I see the stats.) I hope that whatever your traditions and beliefs are, that you were able to celebrate a beautiful spring weekend with people who you love. I hope that you feel refreshed and renewed. I do. And it feels good.

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