When the Rapids Slow

A father's equinox reflection on an eighteen-year chapter closing, and what's left to hold onto when you stop trying to control the current.

Well here we are at the equinox again. I always find this to be an interesting time where a natural pause moves in and I'm inclined towards a little reflection. The energy of Summer is full and robust. There is a vitality and a whooshing of momentum, like navigating a brisk rapids on the river. I stay in the flow of things, move through everything with vigor and attentiveness, and feel alive with the surge of life and the presence it demands. And then the rapids start to slow down. The rush and enthusiasm is still in my system, but the terrain no longer demands all of my attention. I love being able to put all of that heightened focus into the moment and appreciating it all.

And this has been a big season for us personally. Our oldest has just gone off to her first year of college. The gathering of dorm supplies and preparation for the move all became part of the Summer "rapids". It is something that, as a parent, you just lock in about. In the flow of it all there isn't a ton of time to worry or stress about things and be in your head. You have to keep going and continue steering through any obstacles that present themselves. And only now that things are settled on the back side is there time for me to reflect and appreciate all that life has offered us in this season.

In this case it is more than just the last 3-6 months for us...an entire 18 year chapter has just closed. And looking back over the span of time is rich with complex emotion. There is a deep love and appreciation for the experiences we've shared together, a sense of grief at the chapter’s closing, excitement about what the future holds both for our daughter and our family as new possibilities open up, and even occasionally a hint of mental critique. "Could I have done more as a parent?" "Could I have been a better Dad?" "What about that one time where I could have made a different choice?"

We've always been careful not to fall into the trap of acting as if our children's lives belong to us. Sure, we had a responsibility to look after their wellbeing and guide them along the way, but we felt that it was best if we all took the stance that we are not experts in "being a human". What is true is that we have been here, we have been humans in these bodies, 27 years before our children arrived. We have figured out a few things in that time, but we are also not infallible. We don't pretend to know all the things. We have never handed them every solution or answer they needed. It's a bit more like we are much older siblings. We care about them deeply and want the best for them, but we are not really in control of their decisions or the life they are drawn to live. Approaching child rearing in this way has meant that we could always be open and honest about the necessity of making difficult decisions and the reality that there are some choices that nobody else can make for you. At some point we all have to climb inside our own life and learn to take the wheel.

One of the hardest parts of parenting has been releasing the sense of control or identity associated with our children. We can't make all the decisions for them. And we can't live their lives for them. Exposing them to this reality early has meant they could practice making choices and learning about themselves and their own preferences while still within the protective guard rails of our household. The reality of the situation is that the last couple years have felt more like removing the training wheels and gradually taking down all the fences. The practice for me has been feeling all the lessons alongside them and continuing to cheer them on...without imposing my own opinions too much.

What most children forget is that this is also our first time being parents. Parenting doesn't come with a guidebook. (Nor does being a human for that matter!) We are all making it up as we go and making the best decisions we can with the information we have at the time.

There is no getting around the discomfort of loosening your grip on something you love this much. I don't think that discomfort ever fully goes away, and I'm not sure it should. I've come to trust it as a sign that something real is actually happening, not as evidence that something is going wrong. I’m able to feel that uneasiness and identify it as the edge of my known identity.  I’m expanding beyond that known boundary and there is no way for that growth to feel comfortable and familiar right away. 

If you are anywhere near a threshold like this yourself, watching some chapter close on its own schedule rather than yours, I don't have a tidy answer for how to feel about it. I'm still finding out. What I do know is that letting go was never really the point. The relationship is. And that part isn't ending. It's just changing shape.