Facing The Next Phase

As most of us do throughout our lifetimes, my daughter Mollie transitioned through a number of phases as she was growing up. Each phase of her story was lived with great passion and commitment but when it was time to move on, that is what she did - moved on to the next step in the journey. I'm trying today to remind myself of this and to learn from the lessons of her phases.

I think it all began when she was about three years old and decided that she would wear nothing but dresses. However, because she was a typical 3-year old, her days were rough and tumble. Looking back, I think I might have been able to pay for her first year of college with what we spent in new pairs of tights alone. Each day, she would run off in her dress and a fresh pair of white tights. And each day, she would come home wearing tights that were barely held together by the runs in each knee.

The dress phase gave way to the leggings phase. One day, for no specific reason that I can recall, she decided that she would no longer wear dresses...at all. And instead, we invested in a wardrobe that consisted only of black leggings and coordinating tops (much as my own wardrobe does now actually.)

Then came the denim head scarf years which were likely brought about by the "my hair is on vacation today" phase. For nearly 2 years, she wore a little denim head scarf every single day. Knowing that she took this fashion accessory very seriously, I tried to buy her other scarves to wear and in a pinch, she would occasionally force herself. But it seemed to work best to just keep washing her favorite scarf until it was faded, and shredded, and took up permanent residence in my cedar chest.

It seems at that point, her phases became more intellectual. For many years, she dreamed of being an Egyptologist someday. She even mummified my childhood Ken doll and created a sarcophogus for him from an old shoe box as a school project (he lies, still mummified, next to her denim scarf in my cedar chest.).

All these phases carried her though grade school, her high school years, and to her most recent phases of college, then graduating, and now, just yesterday, she began a new phase - living on her own away from home. She is happy and so excited and though I will miss her and occasionally worry, I am reassured by the fact that she always faces each new life phase with passion and commitment and each new phase has been better than the one before.

This is where the lesson lies for me as well. Because, as she transitions on to this next phase, I am facing my own transition as well. I've called John and I "empty nesters" before - each Fall when she would return to school. But the truth is, I always knew she would be coming home each summer. It was only a temporary phase. That's not the case this time, it is likely that John and I are truly full time, permanent, for the rest of our lives, empty nesters now. And, I'm allowing myself to "mourn" the past phase just  a bit today...and today only. Because the reality is that I know this next phase will be exciting and full of amazing experiences and many happy days. 

My brother, Steven, is also moving on to a new phase of his life this weekend. On Friday, he served his final day as a police officer with the Crystal Police Department. After 32 years of service, this "job" has been a part of his identity, his co-workers have become his family, and I expect for him, moving on to the next phase might be leaving him with the same sense of regret and yet, excitement for what comes next that I'm experiencing too.

I've long held the belief that some of the greatest lessons in life can be taught to us by watching our children and being open to the lessons that their lives have for us. So, it's with this in mind that I look back up on dress and legging years, denim head scarves, and all the other phases that Mollie went through as she found her way in life. And I know that most phases of our life, while loved and enjoyed, are only temporary and are meant to bring us to the next step. So we box up memories of the old, and put them in cedar chests to be taken out and held every now and then. But more importantly, we face the new phase with equal passion and a sense for adventure and anticipation of what lies ahead.

Wherever you find yourself today, whatever phase of life you are in, I hope that you are living the day and enjoying the moments as they come. 

What Happens To The Moment You Are In?

I began a new adventure this week and along with it...a new commitment. There are not too many things that I regret up to this point in my life but there is something that I regret greatly. I've been fortunate to have the opportunity to travel to some amazing places - Tahiti, London, Amsterdam, Paris, Costa Rica, Puerto Rico, Hawaii - and at the time, I knew I was lucky to be there. However, I also struggled with a conflict of feelings about where else I should be at the time or what else I should be doing. For many of those years, I had young children at home and being away from home left them and my husband on their own to manage daily life. So while I was grateful for the places I visited, I wasn't living in the moments that I was in. I  focused instead on what I was missing, what I should do when I got home, what were my next "to do's", and a million other thoughts that took me away from the present.

What I know now is that none of that did me any good. I was where I was and other responsibilities were where they were. And ignoring the experience that I was currently in as I concentrated on the places I was not, didn't allow me to be in both places at once but rather, I'm not sure I was fully in the place that I was in! (Wow...that just might be the most confusing sentence I've ever written but yet also one of the most honest.)

However, I'm older now (and maybe even just a tiny bit wiser) and I've grown to appreciate life in a different way. I know that I can only be in one moment at one time and at this point in my life, I have the luxury of allowing myself to focus on the present. So, as I dig into my new venture, I have made a commitment to myself - that I will do it differently this time. I will pay attention. I will appreciate the present. I will live in the moment. Not only when I travel, but to the best of my ability everyday of my life. 

Perhaps you will consider a similar commitment to yourself. In fact, you owe it to yourself. Don't look back with regret about moments that were lost. Enjoy the moments today....

"We Are Each The Love Of Someone's Life"...

"We are each the love of someone's life."

So begins "The Confessions of Max Tivoli", a novel by Andrew Sean Greer that I highly recommend for a summer read. The story (which is a little bit Benjamin-Button like) follows the life of Max Tivoli born into an old man's body who grows younger with time. But the real center of the story is about love - specifically his love for one woman his entire life. Due to his unusual circumstances, she never knows the truth about Max and he must find her at various points in their lives and love her in a different way. It's a beautiful and romantic love story written with insight that is almost poetic. A sampling....

"It takes too much imagination to see the sorrows of people we take for happy. Their real battles take place, like those of the stars, in some realm of light imperceptible to the human eye. It is a feat of the mind to guess another's heart."

"What do we abandon to claim our heart's desire? What do we become?"

"If I am lucky...I will float down the current until it meets the river, slowly, over weeks, for I will just be sleeping, still alive, growing younger every hour, as the river takes me along its swelling center, a boy, a child, ever younger until I am at last a little baby floating under the stars, a shivering baby, dreaming of no particular thing - borne into the dark womb of the sea."

And now for a "Confession of Theresa Link", I am a bit of a romantic at heart. But the deeper confession is this...(and don't laugh or judge me), but a couple years ago, when Prince William married Kate Middleton, I actually took the day off from work so that I could get up in the middle of the night and watch the entire event from the procession through London to the vows to the final wave from the balcony. I don't have any particular feeling about the monarchy itself - my attraction is really based more on little girl fantasies about kings, and queens, and castles, and a romance that will become a part of history. We see history happen every day but most often it is the tragic or the frightening that is our focus. However, this event was history in the making for a completely different reason - for pure romance. And I loved every minute of it. Today, their love story continues as the royal baby is in the process of entering the world...and their own place in history...their own place in the fairy tale. 

"We are each the love of someone's life". Whether it is a quiet love in the small town where we were raised, or a love story that will be documented in the pages of history, what's the harm in hoping for the fairy tale? Just for today, take a moment to relish in a romance. 

Everything Seems To Have Gotten "BIGGER"...

It seems that so many of life’s moments have suddenly become opportunity for grandiose gestures and larger-than-life efforts.  Moments that are significant in of themselves now require months of planning, extensive project plans, and a film crew. And it leaves me wondering, do moments of our life only matter if they are “bigger” than everyone else’s?

Every moment whether monumental or routine, and whether public or private, has become a competition to be bigger than the one before...

• I feel sorry for 16 year old boys who not only have to stress about possible rejection when asking their crush to prom, but also have to plan an elaborate scavenger hunt of romantic clues culminating in fireworks which spell out “will you go to prom with me?” 
• Weddings used to be enough work with arranging the service, buying the dress, drafting the guest list, and planning the reception. But now, we are led to believe that the invitations should be works of art delivered by a gloved messenger, all the décor should be handmade and personalized to the bride and groom, and guests should be entertained with photo booths and endless games. The father of the bride and bride should enroll in months of dance class in order to choreograph their own customized 7-minute dance parody, and after the wedding, we need to plan a “trash the dress” photo shoot as the bride and groom submerge themselves underwater in some sort of tropical location - destroying the dress that cost them (or their parents) a large sum of money.
• Service members arriving home (which, admittedly is a monumental moment deserving of recognition) now require elaborate plans to surprise their children in schools or in front of thousands at a national sporting event, all while it is recorded by film crews and broadcast across the internet. It seems that at least once each week, one of these videos will come across my computer and I watch them all…and I cry each time. They are beautiful and touching…and just a bit much sometimes.

I don’t mean to diminish the passion of the efforts or the intent behind making these experiences so significant. And I admit to having been guilty of “making the moment bigger” myself on more than one occasion. However, I wonder about it sometimes. Where does it end? Do we become less sensitive to the emotion in the present when we are constantly confronted with someone’s bigger-than-life moment? And I guess, most importantly, does making things so BIG leave us under-appreciating the moments that might be small?

I remember once when Mollie was a little girl – maybe 4 or 5 years old. I was all about creating experiences for the kids when they were growing up – going to the zoo, the renaissance, the Mall of America, dance classes, horseback riding, instruments….busy, busy, busy.  But one Saturday morning, Mollie and I spent the entire morning sitting on the couch – with her snuggled in my arms as I read to her. It was a beautiful day outside and there were so many things we could have been doing; and in fact, I’m sure I had a list of things to do that day – experiences to make her day “bigger”.  But somehow that all fell away and it was just me, Mollie, and a stack of her favorite books. And yet, looking back, it is one of my strongest memories from when she was little. It was insignificant by most accounts. No planning was needed. No invitations were sent. No photos were taken. But, because of its simplicity, it was one of the best mornings ever.

As a former event planner, I understand and appreciate the makings of a good event. And as I mentioned, I wholeheartedly take part in many of these experiences as either planner or guest. I guess all I’m saying is that it’s important to not let the planning and the creation of the memory overtake the memory itself. Try to keep your eye on the smaller moments of life as well because it is the sum of those smaller moments that come together to create your life experiences, your memories, your story.

Enjoy the moment!

School's Out For Summer...For Some...

It’s a feeling that we likely all can recall…the thrill of being a kid on the last day of school.  You have cleaned out your desk (crayons worn down and erasers hardly used), taken down the art projects from the wall, and enjoyed the end of year field trips.  And now, a Summer lies before you that includes sleeping in, playing with your friends, riding your bike, taking trips, staying up late…whatever summer adventures come your way. I’m always envious (no, that’s not honest, I’m downright JEALOUS) of kids and teachers every year at this time because of the freedom that lies before them and also because of the “defining moment” when they can transition from the school year into enjoying Summer.

This year we are all struggling with one of the worst Spring seasons of my memory. Up until only weeks ago, we were still dealing with snow and since then, we continue to only be blessed with possibly one day of sunshine sandwiched in between days on end of grey, wet weather. I’ve only ridden my bike once. I haven’t gotten one sunburn yet (I know that should be a good thing…but let’s be honest, as Minnesotan’s, the first one always feels kind of good). We’ve grilled only twice. And our patio furniture is still packed away in the attic. Sorry for being a kill-joy, but for me, it just doesn’t feel to me much like “school’s out for summer”.

The slow seasonal change is affecting my attitude and I’m guessing that I might not be alone. Earlier this spring, I heard it referred to as “snanger” (combination of snow and anger). Now I might call it “frustummer” (frustrated with lack of summer). However, I recognize that is only my attitude and that I do have the power to control my own attitude.

So what’s the plan? How do I shake off this horrible Spring and enjoy a taste of the anticipation of Summer that all school kids feel at this time of year? I think, for me, the plan is to make a plan. Summer is all too fleeting and I’m guessing that this one might feel shorter than most. So I need to take advantage of the beautiful days that will surely be ahead. I've planned festivals that I want to attend, trips I want to take, summer recipes I want to try, and goals I hope to accomplish. Having a plan makes me feel better as it gives me hope that Summer is just around the corner, and makes me accountable to make the most of it. So while I may not be able to sleep in every day or play with my friends until the sun is setting and my Dad whistles loudly the "time to come home, kids" tune, I'm still excited for the end of Spring and a season of possibilities ahead.

Follow Your Dreams...Wherever They May Lead

I sat down today to write a congratulatory note to our daughter Mollie who, in just a little more than one week, will be graduating from college. The front of the card reads “Follow Your Dreams…Wherever They May Lead.” And, on the inside, was a blank space that I struggled with finding the right words to fill. How on earth do I tell her how proud we are and how much we hope for her future in one tiny little card?

As her mother, I’m not very objective but I know that Mollie has been a learner since the day she was born. As soon as she had the ability, she sought knowledge and always challenged herself to learn about her world. She valued education in a way that, to be very honest, I never did at here age. Getting "good enough" grades came easily to me. I did what had to be done but never went the extra mile. I rarely studied and, as long as I’m sharing my dark secrets, I skipped my fair share of classes in college. I was happy to muster a “B” and never really strived for more.

That was never the case though with Mollie. She could have easily walked through her entire education much as I had – without ever applying any real energy. But that wouldn’t have been good enough for her. Instead, she always gave every ounce of energy she had to doing the best job possible in school. She was academic from the beginning – at the top of her class and easily managing the most difficult of courses. When it came time for her to choose a college, she took the selection very seriously looking at a number of schools, filling out applications, and pursuing scholarship opportunities. But there was never any real question about where she dreamed of continuing her education. St. Olaf was the first school she visited on a gorgeous Fall day – the leaves were falling, the sun was shining off the copper roofs of the old buildings, the campus grounds were filled with students who valued and loved education...kids that were just like Mollie. She worked hard to earn admission and has continued to work hard since to help fund her education, and more importantly, to continue to earn her place among St Olaf’s student body each and every day. It has been her true home for four years and now, with her graduation, she will leave her home to discover whatever is next.

In some ways, I envy her for this opportunity and in other ways, I’m so glad to not be in her position. She now has to make her way in the world finding her own path and while that can be incredibly exciting, it can also be very unsettling. None of us likes uncertainty and I think we all find comfort in “knowing” (as much as we can trust anyway) what our tomorrow is going to bring. I’m sure Mollie has these same fears but I’m also certain, more certain than I am of anything else in this world, that she will forge a path that leads into her future much as she has followed her own path up until this point. Armed now with an education and her passion for the world, she will follow her dreams.

So, these are the words that I’ll share with her in this card…

“There are no words that I could fit into this tiny card that would truly tell you how very proud we are of you and how very honored we are to be your parents. You have been learning since the day you were born, but what I didn’t realize at that time, was that education would be your passion. You have dedicated yourself to improving your mind and the world around you and I know that you are going to do amazing things with your future. Every opportunity is in front of you now and you are prepared to meet opportunity with grace, enthusiasm, and passion. We love you and wish you happiness and success for all your days. Mom and Dad”

Mollie, follow your dreams...wherever they may lead. And remember to enjoy all the moments along the way. 

A Cup of Childhood

It was one of the first nice days of Spring yesterday and some neighbor children decided to have a lemonade stand. I couldn't resist stopping over for a glass as I remembered many years ago when my daughter had a stand of her own. I wrote about her first business venture at the time and thought I'd share that essay with you. This was actually also published in an anthology of short stories about growing up in the Midwest called "Walking Beans Wasn't Something You Did With Your Dog" (don't blame me for the title.) Anyway, following is the story of Mollie's lemonade stand. Maybe sometime this summer you will take the opportunity to stop for just a moment, savor a cup of lemonade, and relive some nice memories from long ago...

A Cup of Childhood

"Can we PLEASE have a lemonade stand" my daughter, Mollie and her friend, Ashley, beg me in those mournful tones that only five-year-olds can truly master. Their faces are flushed pink from playing outside in the muggy afternoon heat. As their pleas hang in the air, I run through in my mind all the reasons I don't want them to have a lemonade stand: I would have to make the lemonade, I would have to set up the stand, make the sign, sit and help them try to sell their lemonade, and finally, I really didn't believe anyone would even stop to buy a glass. But their wide eyes, filled with simple hope, outweigh my objections. I finally agree, "Yes, I'll help you set up a lemonade stand."

Their excitement is contagious, and soon we're all having a good time making the lemonade, setting up the stand, and determining how much to charge for each glass. Like most five-year-olds, they have no concept of money, so they determine that we should charge "a nickel, a quarter, or whatever money they've got!" I've become more relaxed by this point, and this sounds like a good plan to me too.

We bring the pitcher of ice-cold, pink lemonade out into the front yard and set it up on a small red table where the girls are planning to make their fortune. They fill Dixie cups in preparation for their future customers. Some of my grown up worries creep in and I warn them not to fill too many cups. In the back of my mind, I fear they may not sell any. The lemonade stand is set up and Mollie and Ashley are ready for the world. As I settle onto my lawn chair in the shade, I'm already thinking about how I'll try to make them feel better if their lemonade stand turns out to be a failure.

But Mollie and Ashley are not prepared to fail...

But Mollie and Ashley are not prepared to fail. They begin hawking their lemonade like experienced carnivaliers: "Get your lemonade here! Fresh lemonade! Only costs a nickel, or a quarter, or whatever you've got!" they yell to cars driving past, people walking their dogs, bicyclists out for an early evening ride, neighbors, anyone within earshot.

And then something incredible happens - their first customer. Our neighbor walks across the lawn to purchase a cup of lemonade. The girls are thrilled! They give her a cup, take her money and thank her, and then watch with matching happy grins as their first customer enjoys her glass of lemonade.

No sooner does our neighbor finish her glass and return home, then another neighbor appears, and then some neighbor children. People who appear to be on their way somewhere else - maybe to the grocery store, or home for dinner after a long day's work - pull their cars over to the side of the road, get out and buy lemonade. Some buy a glass, some buy several...and not a one of them pays only a nickel.

As I watch all this activity, I notice that not only are the kids having a wonderful time with their first taste of "business" but the adults who stop for a moment are also having a wonderful time enjoying their cup of childhood. Everyone who comes to the stand does so with a smile and an open heart. They drink their lemonade as if they'd never before tasted such fine nectar. Some even give business advice to the girls "You need to charge much more than a nickel!"  Some are quiet as they drink. Perhaps they're remembering their own childhood. Maybe they're thinking about other hot, summer evenings long ago, when they had a lemonade stand and they dreamed about all the possibilities open to them.

Everyone leaves feeling good.

The pitcher of lemonade empties. Most is sold. Some is spilled. And some is enjoyed by Mollie and Ashley. I begin to feel a bit sad that all the fun is ending. I'd been enjoying the good feelings around the lemonade stand.

I realized that my daughter and her friend shared more than lemonade that evening. They shared a bit of common humanity. They gave people who may not even have been thirsty an opportunity to stop for just a moment, to savor a cup of lemonade, and to relive some nice memories from long ago.