In bed, last Saturday night, I am feeling so much warmth and sweetness.
Downstairs, our two Airbnb rooms are full and this is a big part of what's making my own heart feel so rich: In "The Yes Room" is a father and daughter team. They arrived in the early evening, both looking deeply tired, the kind of really good tired. The dad, a man in his 60's, explained to me that he had traveled to our area to watch his daughter (in her late 20's, I am guessing) dive. She is a diver and he is her dad, so he traveled all the way here to be with her while she did what she loves to do. In "The Nest" is a lovely woman, who has traveled most of the day to get here. Tomorrow she will take a two hour boat that will lead her to her 11-year old daughter. Her kid has been at camp for two weeks, and has two more weeks to go, so her mom is bringing her a home-made roasted chicken and a gluten free berry pie. And a whole big helping of mama love. In the last couple of days, people have traveled to our home (someone on 4 different buses) to come give our furry girl some love, which she needed. Time, money, energy spent on Being There. Just BEING THERE. Making love a verb, not just a concept. As I closed my eyes to go to sleep, I took one big breath-full of the love resting under our roof. Sitting on the outdoor terrace of a great little Turkish café in Seattle, this past weekend.
The waitress notices the adorable 2 1/2 year old who is with us and comes over to offer his mom a plastic sippy cup for him to use. His mom thanks her, and with a smile lets her know that we are fine, that there is no need. Because I have seen my friend raise her son in a uniquely powerful way from the beginning, I am looking forward to seeing why she has turned down what seemed to me like a pretty darn sensical offer. It does not take long for me to find out. As I sit across from him, I see Jackson pick up an almost full glass of water and present it to me, along with the baby-talk invitation of “Cheers!” He wants me to raise my glass to his, and gently clink it. A glass-glass. Not plastic. Not small. Not half full. A grown up size glass of water. The heavy kind. To give you an idea of the proportions we are working with, I would say that this is about the equivalent of me wrapping my hand around a flower pot full of water, and then raising it in the air with gusto, barely splashing any water in the process. I am impressed, and even more impressed by how unimpressed his mom is. As is her way, my friend is enjoying her meal, her son, and life in general. She is not worried about him spilling water, breaking the glass or even his teeth. This is how I have seen her be with her son, his whole life. As an almost toddler, she let him free to explore, and often fall on his butt. When that happened, she would clap happily, and tell him what a good job he had done falling, and how great it was that he was upright again. He would look at her, pause for a moment, then smile and look for the next place to toddle to. As a result, Jackson is growing into a super joyful, curious and confident little boy. A huge delight to be around. He is walking the world with a sense of being fully able to partner with it, and something about that is deeply affecting. What a gift. What a gift it is to receive this message, so young. To know that “we can do it,” and that if something messy happens, it’s okay too. What if we walked the world feeling this way? What would we do more of? Less of? And then: what if we saw the ones we love in that same light? A light that says that they are deeply competent and that we are not one bit worried about their ability to pick up that big glass of water and raise it in cheers? Today, I invite you to join me in seeing the ones in our lives with a wide open set of eyes. I invite you to see the bigness, the capable-ness in them. I invite you to believe that even if a little bit of water gets splashed, or if they briefly fall on their butt, it is all perfect, that they are perfect. And then I invite you, when you are ready, to extend this gift to yourself. Wishing you a glorious rest of the day! This morning, I receive this photo of my son, taken three nights ago. He and some friends climbed up a rock face, and settled up there for the night. About 500 feet above the valley floor. All cozy, you know? Someone said to me once, before I had kids, that having children was like having your heart walk outside of your body. As my children grew up, I started to understand that sentence more and more. That feeling of vulnerability, of knowing that at any given time my heart could get crushed irrepairably. I remember this whole concept taking a little while to find its way into me, to the place where eventually, some peace moved in. Some simple surrender. Some sense of being fully aware that while my heart was just as attached, I had less and less control. Acknowledging this diminishing control was surprisingly soothing. Eventually, my kiddies walked out into the world on their own, and in their own way. And somehow, as they travel, grow, explore, learn, I manage to sleep through the night. Whereas twenty years ago I used to get up in the middle of the night to check that they were still breathing, I now go to bed each night, at peace. Because there is nothing I can do about it. Here's to growing up, alongside our children, alongside the ones we love. Growing that little space inside of us that says that we can love as big as we can - and that we control so very little. And that it's okay. (that being said, I am thankful that I didn't know about the 500-feet-above-the-valley-floor camp out until three days later) Wishing you a peacefully exciting day! |
SCARED OF THE SACRED
HAPPINESS SCHOOL:
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