The tears were unexpected. This morning I made my daughter’s last lunch of her first grade school year. As I zipped up her lunch box, in a whisper, I told my husband that on her next birthday she will be eight and later this year she will enter second grade. Everyday I realize how much she is turning into her own person. Her questions center on ideas outside herself. A few days ago she asked about Betsy Ross and the Statue of Liberty. She is curious about geography, time, and space. The more she wonders about the world, I realize her center is expanding. As she discovers her own footing, it magnifies the tunnel in which I view time. The cadence is so fast, all of it pointing to one truth: how to let go.
Letting go is everywhere although we don’t always witness it. Near our house, in the cradle of a cactus, there is an owl’s nest. It is a popular attraction in our neighborhood. There are two baby owls nestled in their home, while the mother and father watch over them on the rooftops of opposite homes. Anytime anyone nears the nest, their eyes narrow, waiting, protecting, and ensuring no harm comes to their babies. We all watched as the owlets, who first looked liked baby pups, grew to little mini versions of their parents. For almost 2 months, they cemented themselves to the nest, while the father owl brought food to nourish them. Yesterday, for the first time, the owlets took flight, their parents teaching them how to hunt and survive.
The intersection of my daughter finishing first grade and these owlets leaving, magnified what I already know. As I watched Les Miserables this past weekend, I was struck by one line uttered by Jean Valjean when looking at Cosette from a distance, realizing that his daughter was never his to keep.
I think that is what letting go is all about. Your children are never yours to keep.
Where I come from originates from my mother, sister, and daughter.
My mom is unassuming and quiet. When she laughs, it is memorable. She always encourages me to look for the best in others, especially when I find it difficult. She’s taught me the importance of adjusting to less and the power a homemade meal can carry.
With my sister, there is an ease that feels natural. She knows and gets me. I’ve learned through her to laugh a little more, to not reach the worst conclusion, and to realize that imperfection is enough. She’s my connection to a past that only we both know.
My little girl, for the last seven years, has offered me so much unconditional love. Her ability to forgive, to laugh with abandon, and her constant wonder about the world helps me strive to become a better person.
These are the ladies in my life. This is where I come from.
Happy Mother’s Day to all of you.
“You don’t have to get a job that makes others feel comfortable about what they perceive as your success. You don’t have to explain what you plan to do with your life. You don’t have to justify your education by demonstrating its financial rewards. You don’t have to maintain an impeccable credit score. Anyone who expects you to do any of those things has no sense of history or economics or science or the arts.
You have to pay your electric bill. You have to be kind. You have to give it all you got. You have to find people who love you truly and love them back with the same truth. But that’s all.”
― Cheryl Strayed
I discovered this quote over the weekend. It resonates with me on multiple levels. As a little girl growing up in an Indian household, good grades, a hard work ethic, and becoming a professional were emphasized as mandatory pursuits. A small part of me understands why it was so important to my parents to raise children who achieved. I believe, from what I observed in my childhood and now as an adult, that this philosophy is anchored in one word: status.
Status? How do you define it? Is it important to you? Does status define your choice of employment? Do you buy things based on how others react to it? Do you believe status really means anything at all? These are interesting questions to ponder. I must confess that in my twenties, my goals centered around this status driven concept. Introducing myself as an attorney became a pathway to tell people, yes, I made it in the world. Almost fifteen years later, the word status means something very different to me.
When I left my legal career almost 6 years ago, an immediate identity crisis simmered. How would I introduce myself now? Mother? In-between jobs? And why did I care so much about how others viewed my choice to step away from the law? Did my value as a person decrease because my answer to the cocktail question was much different?
As I get older, I am less and less impressed by the material. What I own or what others possess fades into the background. That does not mean that I dislike nice things. Like most, I splurge on the things that I love. Here’s the difference: I make those purchases because I enjoy them, not because I am looking to raise my status by impressing others. I am pursuing a career that does not carry dollar signs or huge bonuses. Writers are rarely motivated by monetary goals.
Mid-life is marked by reviewing notions of status and who you are at the core. I am more conscious of who I am inside, rather than a professional title that sounds like I am a successful person. Do I still crave the need for achievement? Yes. I think we all do. But the difference is I am doing it for myself.
I’d like to hear your thoughts on status. What do you believe about it? And how does it shape you?
