Graduation Day

Dear Abby,

I remember holding you in my lap on the day that you were born, sometime in the small hours of the morning.  I knew I was cradling a miracle--a love so pure and profound that I felt bone-deep joy and a visceral terror that I was going to do things wrong in raising you.  I vowed to you that I would be the best mother I could be and that if it were in my power, you would always be safe, secure and loved.  That was my first promise to you and I hope you feel as if I have kept it.

I cannot believe that almost 18 years have passed and you are now on the brink of adulthood, ready to start the next adventure in your life.  I look back and feel as if I have missed some of it, even though I was there for everything.  Everything feels as if it should take longer, but your childhood feels like a slow blink.  I closed my eyes only for a second and then opened them to find you transformed from charming, precocious toddler to a beautiful, composed young woman. 

I am sure you are ready to fully step into who you have been becoming all these years, but I am not so certain I am ready to let you go.  Every day, from the moment you arrived, you've been revealing all these wonderful qualities of personality to me.  I am impressed by you every single day.  You are kind, thoughtful, compassionate.  You are both intellectually and emotionally intelligent.  You are funny and goofy and sweet.  I will miss having your daily presence at home.  You make it a peaceful, happy respite from the rest of the world and I will definitely be aware of your absence.

I love the way you love your brothers.  I love the way you tease, guide, and interact with them.  I love your courage to try new things and to share your opinions freely.  Your confidence and bravery inspire to move beyond my own comfort zone.  I love that you love to laugh and that you embrace your quirkiness unashamedly.  I just love you, Abby. 

I am excited by your future.   With all your talents and abilities and with the mature mindset you've maintained, I know you will be successful at whatever you choose to do.  I want you to know you can always come home (and I hereby officially claim all Christmases and Easters preemptively).  I will support you in whatever you choose to do and I pray that you, above all else, are healthy, happy, and strong mentally, physically and emotionally. 

Congratulations on your graduation, Babs!  Momma loves you from the bottom of her heart, infinity plus two, to the moon and back.  You are an amazing young woman and I am so lucky that you are my daughter.

Love,

Momma

Waving the White Flag: I Surrender

The idea of surrender intrigues me and it is a thought that has taken quite a bit of space in my head lately.  Let me clarify first, however, that the word surrender to me does not mean giving up or failing in any way.  In the traditional sense, it's a throwing in the towel, quitting, failing to give it one's all. I really don't see it that way.  I have been examining the idea of surrender as accepting what exists right in this moment.  Of being courageous enough to be totally present.  It means to cease giving power to the past or holding yourself hostage to the future.  

In all honesty, the times I have been the most successful in work, relationships, and my overall sense of self has been when I have surrendered.  When I quit revisiting past hurts and hopes and I stopped stressing over what the future might hold, I could intently focus on what was happening in my life at a particular moment in time.  I discovered that if I found joy, I held onto it with both hands and felt it in every atom of my body.  If I experienced pain, I held that too, albeit as briefly as possible, so that I could understand it and pass through it to be fully  present for the next moments of my life. I felt at peace, but also incredibly motivated to engage with the world and try to make as positive an impact as I could.

Over the last five years, my life has become increasingly rich, complex and at times, overwhelmingly busy.  As I embraced more opportunities, I have come to understand myself more, yet also I have inadvertently alienated myself from the centeredness and sense of purpose that I worked so hard to cultivate.  I feel like I am starting to tilt at windmills again, uselessly fighting against not so much the past, but the future.  

For the past few months, I have been overthinking about what the future might hold, altering my behavior to try and manipulate all the variables that could create it.  I've gotten hung up on what might be and failed to appreciate what is. I absolutely do not want to be this person.  I am less centered, less peaceful, and more competitive and frustrated. I feel as if I have become more focused on petty, superficial goals than truly being connected to that which is larger than ourselves. 

I think that's where the idea of surrendering entered my mind again.  I need to quit fighting and just surrender to being present.  I need to surrender to the idea that what comes from my thoughts and behavior should ultimately have their roots in the purity of my intent--to think and do because my intention is focused on what is best and what is right for this moment or situation.  

I try to live my life by two particular adages.  One from the Dalai Lama, "Be kind whenever possible.  It is always possible."  One from Theodore Roosevelt, "Do what you can with what you have where you are."  Both speak to intent and action.  With the intention of being kind and doing all you can to achieve the right thing for a particular point in time, a person can manifest positive outcomes for circumstances, relationships, work and life in general.

So I am waving the white flag.  I surrender.  I am giving myself to this moment--to the here and now.  I am surrendering to  aligning my intention to my actions.  I surrender to being fully present, fully connected and doing what I can with what I have.  By recommitting to being completely present, I am certain that the future is brighter than ever.