Reflections of an Empty-Nester
A handful of years ago, while biding my time in another drafty church at a never-ending cello quintet rehearsal, I felt lifted out of the present and into the future. As it always seemed so far off, the future that is, I rarely considered it. But at that moment, there it was, my last drafty church. The following filled my mind and heart, and a quiet peace settled around me.
Empty-nester. Hmmm. So close it’s within reach. A time for reflection for sure. It’s curious how you grow older on the outside but feel younger on the inside. Maybe you evolve, eventually grasping the simplicity of joy. A lot of water under the bridge and over the dam. Obstacles, fulfillment, exhaustion, epiphanies — in the end, it’s all good.
Elementary school tests the waters, as they subconsciously search for where they fit. And what is learned in those early years that won’t leave their minds alone may be the bud that becomes a passion. It’s all so dynamic. Discovery is the watchword as the falls are padded and soft; a great place to risk. Middle school — a touch more confidence, a fair amount of awkwardness, some caution, but the realization that a vast, enchanting world is out there, begging to be discovered.
Fencing tournaments and equipment failures and regrouping sessions and coaches and small and large victories as well as failures, but all lessons. Debating kids who talk and talk and laugh and support one another despite all sorts of setbacks, and unpredictable triumphs both in and out of rounds, and the good stuff always rises and shines. The Robotics community continually facing crippling deadlines and hurriedly instructing newbies to jump in and hang on for the ride. These kids learn in a flash to stay on task, don’t get caught up in what doesn’t matter, and go for it. A never-ending series of sports teams and fields and gyms and venues and water bottles and muddy cleats and piles of stinky socks.
The music lessons and rehearsals and performances, and concert halls and the driving, oh the driving. The eternal search for a valid parking spot, an endless streak of speeding tickets, and thank goodness for GPS. Piano and clarinet and trumpet and cello and classical voice and passing precious time in the car, chilled to the bone, waiting for weary kids to be dismissed. Lost librettos and misplaced scores and costly cello strings and orchestra and opera camps in far away, hard-to-reach locales and endless auditions and black bow ties and concert skirts and lost black socks.
Science competitions calling for all-nighters. Obscure internships cataloging bird bones that become blessings and late-night tutorials with patient away-at-college brothers pressed into service to review the acids and bases unit one more time, and so many fried egg sandwiches and mixing bowls of beef stroganoff delivered through car windows to growing bodies in that slip of time between commitments. Stacks of scrawled-out flashcards bound by over-stretched rubberbands stuffed in pants pockets and hoodie pockets and backpack pockets filled with an endless stream of facts to master.
And in that long run of teen years, they begin to grow into their own beliefs and plans and dreams that become tangible and almost visible. It’s their first taste of power. Witnessing this transformation is when parenting started to make sense. They realize they belong to themselves, and they grasp how ominous that is. They finally get that a donut is not a meal, nor is 2 hours of sleep an adequate amount or that you can’t constantly say yes, and that downtime is a necessity. And your role now is to take a giant step back and be available, that without judgment or question, I am here for you. It’s pure love, love in its plainest, simplest form. Each one “needs” so differently. That’s the fun part. They take the reins, and it’s the ride of your life. To actively observe the chaos from the cheap seats while sipping your third piping hot cup of coffee at 4 in the morning and see them making it happen, whatever “it” may be is the cherry on the sundae. And the pride that glows in them at that moment doesn’t even come close to the pride you’ve grown over the years since you were entrusted with them. To watch them strategize an upcoming exam or a challenging person or sort out an impossible schedule in their own circuitous, irregular fashion — it’s parental joy at its finest. For although it is all them, you know down deep some of those late-night chats and books read together and good cries and spontaneous moments seeped into their conscience and spilled into their decision-making. You quietly, humbly are thankful that maybe, even possibly, you did at least one right thing on this crazy, terrifying, hilarious journey called parenthood.
And then this happens- you start to recall all the help you received along the way — the simple but sage advice, a kind word of encouragement, a spontaneous hug, a listening ear, a size 6 black skirt, an unsolicited opportunity, 10 extra minutes at a lesson, an exhausted teacher who went the extra mile, a dropped off tri-fold leaning against your front door, a friend turned mentor, an undeserved thank you note, a clarinet reed. And the kids notice too. And it’s so powerful.
In the beginning, overthinking stuff was common and wasteful. And you gradually realize that it’s by staying true to yourself, making it happen, searching for the good, laughing heartily, praising others, welcoming strangers, sharing information; that’s when it all comes together. And you know what happened? Mostly great things. Yea, there were difficult folks and challenging circumstances, but that’s not what’s remembered. All that gets washed away. Again, all the good stuff will rise and shine. And at the end, you’re left with one thing, just one simple thing — joy, only joy. Joy flows in, overwhelms, and makes it all worth it.
