I'm all about being curious in 2024
And continuing to loosen my grip while embracing ongoing change.
I hear her footsteps just outside my office door, descending the stairs, and I wonder if she’ll knock once she reaches the bottom. But she walks past, toward the living room and the full-sized mattress we’d set up near the walk-out to serve as her “bedroom” while she was home for the holidays. She probably doesn’t want to interrupt my morning of work, and I also know she’s packing up. It’s time to get back to her apartment, to her life downstate.
I keep working. I don’t need to interject myself into her task at hand. Plus, I have plenty of emails to answer and projects to focus on. I’ll take a break soon enough, to talk with my oldest for a bit before she leaves.
A year and a half after Emma moved out, officially leaving the nest to create her own life two hours away, I’m getting better at letting go. Or maybe a better way of saying it: I’m less outwardly (and maybe even inwardly) emotional about saying goodbye, particularly to Emma as she returns to Grand Rapids, but also to Andrew when he’s flying to Miami to see his longtime girlfriend, and even Alex, when he’s off to drive the half hour or so to see his girlfriend across East Bay and at the end of Old Mission Peninsula.
It’s a milestone of sorts to feel stronger when it comes to these kid comings and goings, which can feel like whiplash depending upon their frequency and how closely timed their departures and arrivals line up with one another.
I still worry—I’m guessing I will always—and watching their cars leave the driveway and disappear down the road likely will never stop feeling like a rock resting on my chest.
(Yes, I’m the kind of person who will walk you fully out the door, onto the porch and sometimes pretty much to your vehicle, as I say my goodbyes.)
But when my kids are about to leave, I shower them with kisses and hugs, and another round for good measure, tell them to drive safely and watch for deer probably too many times, and then they’re on their way—and I am back to doing my thing, which may involve first snuggling on the couch with dogs for a minute or 10.
Mostly, I don’t dwell and get melancholy about their leaving as I once did.
I wouldn’t want things any other way—I am glad our grown-up kids want to spend time with us, still, and that a three-week holiday break doesn’t result in them scattering but rather hunkering down at our house, with a few non-family excursions on their schedules here and there (which is good for everyone).
I like the idea that we’re still very much home base, even if it means there are many goodbyes. There are just as many hellos.
Not that it’s all smooth sailing and we all get along all the time. It probably goes without saying, but I feel compelled to say this, lest you think for even a moment that life with five adults, visiting significant others and four dogs all under one roof would be without its unexpected, interesting and stress-filled moments.
I’ve been working on coming to terms with this—the messiness that is humans going about their days alongside one another—and not getting worked up over minor miscommunications and misunderstandings that really are normal and don’t need to be made into larger issues (unless they absolutely call for it). Of course it’s understandable that we’d get on one another’s nerves at times, that we’ll sometimes raise our voices, inflict unintentional hurt, and need space from one another. This is just another area of my life where I am learning to loosen my grip and even let go. I remind myself that it would be abnormal and weird if we didn’t have our squabbles; I don’t need to intervene and mediate and solve every time.
When such moments arise, I usually remind myself to take a deep breath, consider a different way of thinking about the situation, and maybe decide not to jump in to try to fix/smooth things over because I just want everyone to get along and to have a good time. Sometimes I can’t help myself and I get overly involved; I’m a middle child, it’s in my nature to want to build bridges, even if this means talking, talking, talking something to death and double- and triple-checking that everyone is fine.
Everyone is OK, right? How are you feeling? Are you good? We’re all OK, everything is going to be alright!
This can be exhausting, though, so I keep working on this. Be comfortable with the uncomfortable. Let things ride out. Don’t overthink. Don’t try to control things you can’t possibly control.
The holidays provide ample opportunities to sharpen these thoughts and skills, I have found.
And so here we are in a new year, post-December birthday and Christmas festivities and outings and who-is-going-to-be-here-for-dinner conversations, and our family is returning to our regular routines. As is the case every time the calendar turns to January, I’m relishing the idea of a fresh start and new beginnings. I’m not big on resolutions—I prefer the idea of taking incremental steps forward, however that may look for each of us, at any time of year—but I have always appreciated the sense of renewal that washes over me after the fullness of December.
I’m trying not to worry about what this coming year will bring (or not bring) into my life. I feel myself wanting to simply continue what I’ve been striving for the past year: less hustle, more time with myself to just be and think and write, and continued curiosity about how I’ll keep growing, evolving and giving toward others. Curiosity, I think, just may be one of my words for 2024, because when I think of being curious I think about pausing, going inward, and re-considering old ideas and narratives.
Curiosity: a strong desire to know or learn something.
When I am curious, I am ambitious—I want to know something and I will see what I can find out about it. When I am curious, I am contemplative—what would this mean for me, for people in my life? When I am curious, I am taking my time, because I don’t want to rush to conclusions. I want to understand.
And just now, because life is beautiful in this way, this song on my playlist—my top songs of 2023—turned to this:
Later today I will no longer hear Emma’s footsteps on the stairs next to my home office. But she’ll return soon enough.
And this home office is one of the ways I am experiencing something new and different in 2024, so far: for my birthday, just before Christmas, Joe finished remodeling what had been Emma’s bedroom into my new home office, complete with a door to close and space to be creative (and write my book!).
Tile flooring (with a couple of cozy rugs) replaced carpet. A lovely new paint color—“sand dollar”—now covers walls once a shade of purple. My stand-up desk sits in a corner where I can look out the window to our wooded backyard. Another corner is home to the new comfy chair and side table I’ve dubbed my reading and writing nook. Emma helped me set it all up, insisting on touches she knows I like (a soft blanket to drape over the ottoman), and in some cases didn’t yet know I would like (a small chocolate-brown glass votive to hold matches that sits next to a candle on my side table).
A couple of days ago, after we’d made a Target run and scoured second-hand shops for unique finds—Emma is so good at thrifting, an activity she’s brought back into my life as of late; I may need to write about this soon—we spent an evening getting my office ready for my first day back after the holidays.
One of my favorite things about this new space, courtesy my daughter: the aforementioned side table that has space for the candle and matches AND a just-right handful of books by my favorite authors, placed between two beautiful brass-wire bookends.
Having helped Emma set up a similar space in her apartment awhile back, it was fun doing this with her for my own new office space. Knowing all about my book-writing efforts underway, and as a fellow book lover herself, Emma reminded me just how special this space truly is.
“It’s a room of your own, Mom.”
As life keeps marching forward, as our kids grow and leave and return only to leave again, I’m not losing anything. Even when it feels like things are slipping away, they’re only changing, and sometimes this means adding new amazing things I never saw coming.
How is your new year going so far? I’ve thought about you all a lot in the last couple of weeks while I took a break from writing here. While the holidays aren’t exactly what I think anyone would call a vacation, I did my best to seek out moments of beauty, connection and rest: hilly in-town runs with Emma; a long hike along the Boardman River and a late lunch at a pub with Joe the day after Christmas; quiet mornings reading a good book, puppies nestled on my lap; lots and lots of football-watching with Alex and the entire family (the Lions-Cowboys game was thrilling and heartbreaking); an unexpectedly beautiful and heartfelt conversation one afternoon with Andrew; coffee and eggs with my dad, who stopped by for a hug.
I hope you are feeling healthy, that you enjoyed some downtime with family and friends, and that you’re looking ahead with both hope and curiosity in your heart. I’d love to hear about your holidays and what the new year means to you. I’d love to see more comments from you all here—please drop a note at the end of this post, to say hello or to share a little something about your life these days. I really am so happy you are here.
QUICK NOTE! My annual women’s winter weekend in the woods is just two weeks away! I’m looking forward to this time away to be move outdoors and connect with others (and record the next episode of the podcast!), and if you’re interested in joining us—we have about 30 women coming, from all across Michigan as well as several from out of state—a few spots still remain. You can learn more and register here. You can also listen to the live podcast we recorded at last year’s event here.
Finally, for new subscribers (hello, welcome!) and those who may have missed these posts, a couple of recent essays here on Moving Through:
1.) Thoughts on embracing, rather than escaping, our pasts:
A memory around every corner—and snowbank
I sit in my parked car for a long while, longer than I plan to, staring at the empty marina and darkened sky. I read a few pages of my book, a beautifully written novel I picked up at the start of the pandemic and recently decided to re-read. I listen to a podcast about books and publishing while I sip a lukewarm vanilla lat…
2.) How a notebook is helping me stay connected with my 18-year-old son, Alex:
What I write when I think of you
The near-postcard-sized notebook is standing upright, propped open and waiting for me when I reach my office in our lower level. Warmth spreads like honey across my chest and just like that I’ve forgotten how my morning already is too full, the to-do list overwhelming, the day stretching out long and meeting-filled before me. I set my mug of coffee next…
3.) I’ll always feel at home at the beach:
Take me home
I’m not the only one who felt called to the water, but we’re few and far between—just two people are at the water’s edge, one standing, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets and his head bent toward the scattered stones along the shoreline, while the woman near him is also facing the water but crouched low, I imagine insp…
Thank you for being here with me today. It means a lot, and again, please drop me a note (or at least hit the “heart,” if something here resonated) to let me know your thoughts and how things are with you. And if you’d like to support my work with a paid subscription, I’m offering a special 20% deal through the month of January.
Until next time!
Xo
Heather
I, too, would like to be more curious in 2024. Great post!