Today is a transition day at my house. Fittingly, it is cool outside, but not too cold. Raining, but not too hard. And, it's the last day of class of my son's senior year in high school.
Since he is our youngest, I am feeling the transition on multiple levels. Walking around what was a newish neighborhood when we moved in sixteen years ago, I noticed that what once were baby trees have matured. They stand tall, bend in the wind, take the rain as nourishment, and continue growing. Sure, they get bare and stark every winter, but they always, always bloom again come spring.
And here are my sons, once babies, now much matured, standing tall (literally--they are both over 6 feet), bending with the curve balls that occasionally come their way--they are young enough to have the flexibility to do that, and still bloom again.
I pulled up to the 4-way stop in the neighborhood yesterday, and a young man in a truck-type vehicle pulled up at the same time to my left. He barely stopped before hurrying through the intersection. I caught myself thinking, "Ah, youth. I remember when I was always in a hurry." Something was always urgent, and often times felt more important than anything anyone else could possibly have going on.
In that moment, I knew that I am, in the worlds of one of my favorite hymns, "in the middle ages of your life, not too old, no longer young....."
I take a breath. I helped create, with hard work and intention and the partnership of many, a family that is connected, has its own brand of humor, welcomes friends, nurtures growth, supports each other through rough times, celebrates together.
As I let go of this time of active, daily parenting over the next few months, I breathe. I think of yoga and the way we take time at the end of each class to integrate what we have done for our bodies, minds, and spirits. Before I Iook forward to what I will create next, I plan to take time to integrate all that this part of life has been. With that will come joy, and tears, celebration, and sorrow. And for me, all this is important-- to acknowledge the transition before moving on too quickly to something else.
Adventure awaits. But first, the uncertainty of transition and the gifts it has to give. I breathe. I notice. I am grateful.