The mother of invention

 The world is passing by in a blur, and I finally have time to sit and just observe it.

Tessa graduated high school, and got to end the horrible COVID year with a lovely round of proms, graduation ceremony and parties, a healthy new relationship with a boy who seems to appreciate her as much as she appreciates him. Much to both of our surprise, in late May she decided that community college wasn't her path after all, and she applied to and was admitted to CWU.

My head is still spinning, but it's a good spin.

There is so much I want to say here, and perhaps I'll come back to it, but the sum of it is this: she is reinventing herself, and I am reinventing myself, and I see with such clarity that we are at some new tipping point where nothing will ever be the same (this is old news) but that we both get to shape ourselves with intentionality and joy; we both get to decide who we will be.

I'm giddy, fearful, contemplative, confused, and certain.

Mostly, certain.

When I completed the most heinous parts of cancer treatment, shortly after the big rounds of surgery, chemo, and radiation were finished, I was assigned a new doctor (Dr. Zucker at Swedish) whose job it was to oversee my return to wellness. He wasn't there to help me cure cancer; he was there to help my body and mind to overcome the treatment and find a new way to health. I was so on fire with being alive - was it possible that I had truly made it through? - that I was filled with energy, hope, and intentionality for my life. Dr. Zucker noticed this, and gave me some of the best advice I've ever received. He told me that my energy could inspire me to do great things, but that over time, that energy would fade as life resumed some new normal and the day to day took over again. He told me that the most important thing I could do was to, with great intention, create new habits that would last long after the surge of good intentions and energy had passed.

I know that I'm in another place like that again. Tessa has crossed the line from childhood into young adulthood, and I have crossed from centering my day to day life around her needs into...

What? Something new, somethin unknown, something exciting and terrifying in equal measure.

It's time to reinvent myself. I have no choice in this, really: whether I am intentional and make new choices about my life that please me and give me new purpose or not, there is no way my life can stay the same. I will no longer come home to a daughter needing a ride somewhere, or making messes in the kitchen, or sitting on the other end of the sofa to laugh at a movie with me. My house will not be filled with a handful of hungry teenagers excited for my snacks. Game nights will no longer be teens versus adults. Dinner will not be a negotiation. It is not my job to coach her to do her homework, or to stay awake until she gets home, or to insist that she put away her laundry so I can get the baskets back.

What is passed is in the past, and if I were to long for it to stay I would have no hope of forcing it... but I don't want to go backwards at all. I want to find the joy and excitement and energy of this moment, for her as well as for myself.

I have no role models for this. My parents did not show me this path: they fought my leaving tooth and nail, going so far as to say "so you think you're too good for us?" when I went to college, and again when I moved out. They demanded that I call them every day for extended conversations, and that I visit multiple times a week. They told me that if I moved far away I'd be unhappy and unsuccessful; they kept the tether short, and when I chewed on it, desperate to release myself, they found new ways to tether me. Until, of course, they couldn't tether me anymore at all, and I broke free with a vengeance, vowing to never be tethered to them again. No, that's not what I want in my parenting, not at all, and so I can't look to my past to determine how to behave in my future.

***

I re-read The Alchemist by Paolo Coehlo yesterday. I'm on my personal journey, and I am so, so sure that I must do what I must do. I am equally sure that Tessa is on her personal journey, and that the fates are conspiring to help us.

I've been moving my body more (as a matter of fact, today it's sore from moving so much!), bonding with Chance and feeling at peace in my skin as I regain my strength and clarity.

I've been reading.

I've been outdoors, on beaches and lakes and paddle boards and trails.

I've been doing projects around the house.

I've been cooking (and eaten more vegetables in a couple of weeks than I did in the last six months).

And now, it's time to write.

My personal journey is to write, to tell the stories that have been welling up inside me and long to splash over the edges like a joyful waterfall. I was put on this planet to write, and I've been writing my whole life, and now is the time.

My personal journey is also to find the love I've been missing, and to heal the old wounds. I need to do the work... but even more than that, I need to believe that I am worthy, and that the Universe wants this for me.

It's that simple. It's time to live the life I've imagined, and to hold nothing back.

***

My daughter is learning to fly, and now that I am focused more on myself as she is out of my reach at college this fall, it's time for me to soar, too.

***

I think it's called the mother of invention because it is, indeed, a mother's necessity to reinvent herself, over and over. Our bodies reinvent first; then our lives are upended with our tiny babies; then we grow into our roles as they shift through different phases of our children's growth; and then, perhaps the biggest change of all, our children launch and we get to reinvent ourselves again. 

Not everyone does this well - some live in the past; some chase their children into the future. I love my daughter with my whole being, so I can understand these responses. But what I want for her is to be free to soar, knowing that no amount of time or space can separate us, and that I am always her soft place to land. What I want for myself is to live the life that is meant for me. And what I want for both of us is for me to model to her a true, authentic life so that she doesn't have to find her way on her own. I want to offer her a magical combination of support and freedom; I want to show her what I am made of so that she will know that she is made of that stuff, too.

What a time to be alive. Never, ever do I forget that I nearly lost it all, and that 16 years ago when I got that cancer diagnosis I had many reasons to believe that I'd never get the chance to experience a daughter going to college. Never, ever do I forget how hopeless and lost and uncertain of my future I felt when I got divorced, and how uncertain of my financial future and my ability to support myself I was.

But here I am. Alive. Independent. Filled with hope.

To reinvent myself again is a gift and a joy, despite my frequent anxiety, and somehow I know that this is a part of my personal journey, and that the best is right around the corner, if I will only do what my heart tells me to do.