Waimea

Waimea Canyon, Kauai

 

A Thousand Miles

On Leaving

On coming home to yourself

Vacation came, vacation went.

I’ve spent the past few days in the post-getaway rhythm of folding whites, restocking pantries, shaking sand from the shoes. This morning I unpacked my suitcase and returned an unread pile of books to my nightstand – a welcome reminder that even beloved hobbies pale in comparison to watching fully-grown boys feed fish food to the Koi.

The truth is this: our family hasn’t been a family of four in a short while. We’ve been a family of three and one, or two and two, the familiar parent equation that lends itself well to balancing children with fulfilling work, but leaves little left for much else.

We needed time. Togetherness. Attention, wholly and undivided, if only for a week or so.

Togetherness we were granted, to the tune of 6 hours in a plane. There was hotel bed jumping and sand crab hunting and – fulfilling my every dream imaginable – a rousing Monday night Laua. (Spent $35 on a dinner, which Max didn't attend, all on account of fish bowls and a margarita.)

We lazed around in the mornings. Played pool volleyball at night. We lugged coolers to the shore and ate sandy bologna with salty hands. Endless Chess matches. Rode surf boards and paddle boards and body boards up and down waves, rivers, to and from the restaurant a block away with the best mud pie I’ve witnessed yet.

It was all so necessary, this last July inhale, and I found myself dizzied with gratitude more often than not.

Now that I’m home, I find myself feeling a singular shift in a familiar direction. It began tonight with a failure to fall asleep at 6pm, unable to adapt to my old schedule. It began with tossing and turning, throwing hard dreams around a soft pillow. Rising around midnight to chip away at a project bigger than myself, heading back to bed to sneak in a few hours of rest before the alarm wakes with the sun.

It began with the understanding that a small part of me was waking alongside of them.

I have always known myself to be slow in adjusting to life post-children around. The empty nest that many mothers describe as a 3-week haze takes upwards of 2 years to burn away for me, and then some.

But I feel it today, a small lifting. The clearing of the sky, the making of a way.

I don’t know if it was the ocean air, or that Morgen picked up a hundred phrases between Kauai and Salt Lake, or that Max has been so quietly clearing his own sky for so many months and I'm swelling with pride alongside of him. I don’t know if it was Markus' warm hand reaching past the middle console for my own, keeping it there through half Hawaii.

But here it is, fully and finally.

The lifting.

Sometimes, it takes a thousand miles to find what you’d never lost.

Summer Camp

For Grown Ups

This year has been a season of deep renewal for me, and also for my family. We’ve trekked through mountains of dirt at sunrise, caught sunshine with our hands, slipped on wet rocks, kissed bloody toes, carried each other home. I left social media behind for the better part of it, choosing fuzzy memories over sharpened photos. Perhaps a friend last month said it best: It’s so good to see you! I’d forgotten you existed. 

Stay Where You Are

Last Month

A young couple purchased our home off the internet on "Homie"

Tonight as we were moving out my boys asked me this:

Q: What was your favorite memory in our home?

A: Right now - When I was no longer afraid of losing it. When I was no longer worried about what would be our last night in it, about “losing my home,” about ruining everything I’d worked 26 years for. When those questions stopped being scary, I knew I was ready to risk it all. I knew I’d enjoy happily floundering around in failure more than smiling my way through success doing something I didn’t love.

When I stopped thinking about what the home looked like, and started to think about how I felt in it.

—

I don’t know what sort of crossroads you’re walking toward. I don’t know if it’s a relationship, a lifestyle, a diet, a career move, a parenting decision.

Maybe you just want to start singing opera. Maybe you just want to quit singing opera.

Whatever.

How do you feel in the decision?

p.s. If you feel great in the decision, congratulations! Stay right where you are.