I’m on vacation in one of my favorite places — there’s ocean air and sunshine and people I enjoy so much — and this trip is one we’ve delayed for a year and a half and looked so forward to. It almost didn’t happen. We almost cancelled…twice. But in the end, we decided to roll the dice and come because we needed some healing, fun and adventure (and mostly because we’d already put an ungodly, non-refundable deposit down on a beach house).
It has been lovely. The sea breeze, the absolutely insane hair that has a life of its own in this humidity, the wild little tangle of children that results when we meet with our friends we do this trip with each year — it all just feels like LIVING in this big, expansive way I’ve missed during the contraction of this last year and a half. I have counted my blessings in a million ways these past three days.
And so, as we said goodbye to our San Fran friends this morning, I thought what a perfect time to introduce my children to Muir Woods, which is truly one of the most magical spots on Earth for me and is just down the road from our beach house.
It was a little chilly, I’ll admit, but I was sure it would be fine once we started walking. There was some foot dragging by a certain child, but I figured we could snap him out of it. He would see the magic in the place, too, if we just soldiered on. That was my expectation.
Expectations. They’re my goddamn parenting kryptonite every single time. And yet, they keep bubbling up and taking over that rational mind of mine that knows better.
The more I tried to sink into the experience, the more distressed he became. He kept repeating “I just don’t get why we’re here.” It enraged me, but I knew it was time to turn back while the rest of our group continued on their adventure. He wasn’t going to see the magic, and, frankly, at that point, neither was I. We were both being pulled under by our expectations, polar opposite as they were.
At my request, he hiked ahead of me out of earshot (largely because I didn’t want my angry mumbling and energetic funk to continue feeding his). It didn’t work. We both had more funk to burn.
But I did get this photo out of the deal: this photo of my gorgeous, intense boy walking under a beautiful canopy of ancient trees that he didn’t love the way I expected him to. He’s the boy that ushered me into motherhood, defying every expectation along the way and teaching me to let go of making my feelings his feelings. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not there yet but I’m learning, and for that continued lesson I am grateful.
