After dropping our son at college, we drove away in an aimless fog.  The trip had been carefully planed through this point – then no plan, just the road ahead and the still silence in the car.  Tears. 

We drove for hours and stopped when we were tired and hungry, slept, got up and drove to Chautauqua Institution in NY.  I could not bear the thought of going home to that empty house.  The new plan – exhaust ourselves.  Go home so tired, that we fall asleep immediately.  Do something we would never dream of doing with Jordan.  So we spent the day at a center for the arts, education, religion and recreation.  It was lovely and just what the doctor ordered. The sadness was still there but less penetrating.

Two days post drop off, I woke up at home to the strange and dreaded emptiness.  I had no idea what to do.  The previous year I tried to be home at much as possible in case J. happened to show up in between school and all his social activities.  There was way more anticipation of than time spent together.  When he did arrive it was usually for a nap. Now I was free, anticipating nothing.  Big whoop.

After J. was born I took up photography and completed a course in dark room techniques.  I loved it.  Developing a photograph, watching what emerges, is like opening a gift or perusing the garden and taking delight in the smallest signs of change.  It was years since I had journeyed on my own just to take pictures. I grabbed my old manual camera and perched myself on a large rock by the pond.  I decided to take a photo of a frog sitting on a lily pad.  It turned into an unplanned meditation.  Five minutes – no frog.  Ten minutes – no frog.  Twenty, thirty – frogs were not cooperating with the plan.  I looked skyward.  Oh My God.  I am surrounded by wild blueberry bushes.  I have lived here for 3 years and had never noticed.  Picking fruit in the wild is one of my favorite activities.  What a gift.  I put the camera down and spent the rest of my journey collecting and eating the luscious fruits of transition.

With the gift of the blueberries, after two days in transition – preceded by a full year of anticipatory emotions – I got it.  The empty nest brought the gift of noticing all that had been there for years waiting to be discovered. 

Post script:  A year later, I continue to enjoy noticing the world and experiencing the joy of be-ing the mother to a delightful adult-in-process.

My wishes to you on your journey – may you accept all that transitions bring.

©2012 Germane Insights. All Rights Reserved.

Space in the Nest for Blueberry Bushes – Emptying the Nest Part 2 is an original post from Anne Perschel on Germane Insights - Achieving Leadership Excellence through the Art and Science of Psychology

The following request appeared in the Atlantic Monthly “Word Fugitive” column:

“I’m looking for a word for the items of clothing which sit perched in my bedroom, waiting to be reworn. They are not yet ready for the laundry bin (since I plan to rewear them), but they are no longer suitable for the wardrobe (which I reserve for clean clothes). I assume others keep their lightly worn clothes in a similar purgatory?”

My submission to The Atlantic follows:

First, an apology to my son, who has been leaving what I mistakenly thought were dirty clothes, in numerous mounds around the house. I am sorry for accusing you of being a slob.

Tweener Duds

I am sorry for pressuring you with my hope that you would change once you went to college.

I’m sorry that I expressed my disappointment, when upon our first visit, I saw the usual mound in front of the bunk bed, where not only you but your unfortunate roommate had to step on or around the clothes hill.

I am not sure what finally possessed me to inquire  ”Why do you do this when the clothes hamper is within reach?”

Your answer informed me that you are a young man with a strategy, and one who has systems in place that are well beyond what I might envision.

I apologize for accusing you of making up a lame excuse when you explained that these clothes were “tweener-duds” and therefore:

1. Not clean enough to be in the company of freshly laundered items, for which you reserve the closet,  but
2. Not dirty enough to have earned a position in the dirty laundry basket.

I see now they are “limbo wear,” and you are among the proud and the few who share a system of fine distinctions between the various stages of dirtiness. Silly me, for having only two categories – clean and dirty.

For the purposes of texting, I suggest we call them 2clean4laundry and 2dirt4closet. The really big piles will simply be called Himalayers.

With new found respect and a heart-fely apology,
Love Mom

©2012 Germane Insights. All Rights Reserved.

A Mother’s Apology to Her Son is an original post from Anne Perschel on Germane Insights - Achieving Leadership Excellence through the Art and Science of Psychology