We're all adults here
Hello from the sunshine state, where I am traveling with my all-grown-up kids. Plus, a must-read memoir.
I watched him walk away, a dark-haired, shorter guy in a raspberry-colored t-shirt by his side. I could tell they were talking with each other, their heads tilted slightly toward the other as they made their way across the white sand and around clusters of college-aged spring breakers sitting in circles, blasting music, tossing footballs high in the air.
“He’ll be fine.”
Did I say these words silently to myself, or did Joe say them out loud to me, knowing my thoughts?
Of course he’ll be fine. He’s more than fine. He’s 18.
We were on a golden hour beach stroll, walking along the shell-strewn shoreline not long before the sky showed off its early-evening sherbet hues, when Alex said he was going to go ahead of us and explore the expansive beach where the long line of towering condo buildings meet the soft sand, tall beach grass, and wood-planked paths leading to the water’s edge. Andrew, finishing up some school work in our condo, was coming down in a little while, bringing the Frisbee and football with him. We’d all meet back up in a while.
It didn’t take long for Alex to meet his new friend, an unsurprising development. Away on trips, even as a small child, he could easily strike up conversations with fellow vacationers in the pool, at the beach.
I smiled watching them drift through the throng of people — we had reached a more populated stretch of beach, clearly where the younger set were staying. We weren’t the only older people around, though; couples like us were walking near the shore and a few younger parents watched their kids fill and empty their colorful buckets with sand and water.
I glanced to my right, toward the turquoise ocean and its curling waves that crashed and rolled across our feet, realizing my eyes wanted to swing back to search for him. I needed to see Alex once more as he kept going and before I lost sight of his gray hoodie and easy saunter in the crowd.
I’d like to think I’ve had a light touch with my kids as they’ve grown, that I’ve let them know how fiercely I love and support them – how much their dad and I both have strived to raise them this way – while also providing plenty of space to each of them to be their own selves and figure things out on their own. I’m sure – I know – we haven’t always done this perfectly, but with our kids now ages 18 and nearly 22 and 24, I can see we’ve done OK. This is one parenting accomplishment I’m pretty proud of.
And yet.
Lately, my worrying feels ratcheted up in unexpected ways, and it’ll show up seemingly out of the blue. I’ll think I’m easy-going and go-with-the-flow (a narrative I’ve lived with about myself forever), but then my emotions get the better of me. A share by one of our kids – an adventure they’re planning, a life direction they’re considering, a relationship/job change they’re experiencing – can trigger emotions in me I didn’t see coming. But what if this happens? What if that occurs? What if, what if, what if.
And even small and simple things apparently, like my youngest heading off on a walk on a busier-than-expected, partying stretch of ocean shoreline, can do this to me, too. When exactly am I worrying needlessly and being overprotective, and when am I needing to listen to my gut and possibly say something? Sometimes this area feels especially gray.
I can quickly talk myself down off the ledge and away from the rabbit hole (mostly on my own, sometimes with Joe’s help), but still. This is ridiculous, I tell myself when my mind starts to spin off into possible situations and worst-case scenarios. They’re fine. You’re fine. Why worry about things outside your control, and all of that.
Plus, they’re adults now. We’re all adults here.
So, I let go-ish. I’m getting better at this. At least I can quickly recognize when these worrying thoughts bubble up, and when I simply need to say a quick hello, I see you to these contemplations, and then … promptly send them on their way. Goodbye. I don’t want to spend my energy on you, I say to these swirling thoughts in my mind.
We’re visiting a new-to-us place in Florida this week. Emma will join us this weekend, marking the first time in a long while that it’s just the five of us on vacation together. We weren’t sure we were even going anywhere this year, and Emma wasn’t positive she could take the break with her full medical school schedule.
But it somehow all came together. And given that our most recent trips have included one or more of our kids’ significant others, this trip feels extra special.
Any trip with our grown kids feels special these days though, as if they’re numbered and I should savor them even more because who knows when our schedules will ever line up like this again? I don’t have a reference point for this experience myself, as a younger person, since any travel with my own parents pretty much ended once I reached college age. And even before that, we didn’t take spring breaks or venture too far from my hometown overall.
I wonder how this will change over time, as our kids embark on their own full lives and build their own paths and experiences and families. I hear stories of friends going on vacations with their kids and their parents, of yearly traditions together in some far-flung destination, and I think: That. I want that with my own kids and their families someday.
Last time I wrote to you all, I was about to head to Grand Rapids. This weeklong trip, to spend time with Emma and also to connect with co-workers I’d yet to meet in person, feels like a long time ago. Life just keeps rolling along, and I’ve thought more than once, I have something I want to share here. Time feels slower and sped up all at once.
When I am writing lately, though, it’s either for my day job at the DNR, where I’m feeling more in a groove than ever as I get closer to my one-year mark in this position, and as I keep working on my novel. I’m also reading book after book, because I love a good story and also because I am so curious about how great books are written.
My latest favorite: Splinters by Leslie Jamison. This memoir, about motherhood, loss, divorce, dating and continuing the hard and necessary work of loving and (re)discovering our truest self, is so powerful and beautiful. Her writing is nothing short of stunning.
I feel like I have a bunch of other things I want to say here today, but for now, I’ll just say thank you for reading. I will be back here soon, maybe before our trip is over. There’s something about the sound of waves and the feel of ocean breezes that make me want to keep writing.
I hope you’re all doing well, and I hope you know how much I appreciate you being here.
As always, I’d love to hear from you. Tell me what you’re reading and the ideas and thoughts swirling in your mind these days. Are you traveling anywhere interesting this spring? If you’re a parent of older kids, how have you navigated the letting go?
And since it’s been awhile since our last reader poll — and I’m happy to welcome more readers here lately! — would you please let me know what you’d like for me to write more about here by taking this quick poll?
What’s your top area of interest here? (If you’d like to add your #2, #3 or more choices, please say so in the comments!)
XO
Heather
Your essay resonates with me a lot; I feel (perhaps project onto them?) anxiety for my daughter and son, ages 26 and 22, and their relationships, health, and job prospects. We're about to go on a family trip that was hard to schedule, but we made our schedules line up. I confess: I still pay for their iPhones on our family plan because that way I can use the "find my iPhone" function to check their location. It feels comforting to see the dot on the map showing they're where they're supposed to be, safe. I know I need to let go. My parents had none of this oversight of me once I went to college! Thanks for writing.
Hope you are enjoying the sunshine and family time! Your "kids" are pretty lucky I'd say :) And thank you for the memoir recommendation .... sounds like just my kind of read!