The Drift

This week I had the pleasure of a two-hour, rambling conversation with my daughter. It was a delight. This is how it goes with us: famine then feast then famine. Weeks pass, and that vague sense that it’s been awhile since we spoke nudges at me, and even though I’m deep in my meaningful projects, I remind myself it’s my job to nurture the relationship and tend the attachment.

This can be effortful for me. See, I find my immediate life deeply engaging. My daughter believes herself to have ADHD and was thrilled when she finally got a diagnosis from someone she felt was truly qualified and credible enough to provide it. In the past, when she’d describe some of her symptoms, I’d often offer, “Oh, I do that.” And she’d reply with a knowing laugh, “Yeah, you know it’s inherited, right?” Why am I telling you this part? Oh yeah, hyper focus.

So, essentially, my life is filled with things that fascinate and delight me. It can look like I’m a workaholic, but honestly, I’m not. Some might classify me as a bit of a perfectionist, but that really doesn’t resonate for me anymore either, and I never found it paralyzing. It was more like I needed to live up to what I’d sold myself as being. What I’m talking about here though seems to fall more into that hyper focus category. Other less fascinating and delightful things tend to fade into the background and not get much attention. And I’m more than a little self-conscious to admit this includes most relationships outside of my current interests, including my children.

That said, when I show up to the relationships with my kids, I realize that they are also fascinating and delightful! I like them so much. I’m so glad they’re in my life. But I have to consciously remind myself of this. Especially with my daughter, because damnit, she’s my kid. My son does not have this same hyper focus problem in a way that impacts his relationships. He’s a relationship kind of guy.

If you read my post about Mother’s Day, you may remember that he didn’t spend Mother’s Day with me–though he made sure to talk with me on the phone that day. We had some vague plans to celebrate Mother’s Day over Memorial Day weekend…(we do this often. Reschedule holidays. Do other families do this?) He ended up driving up here that Saturday, without his girlfriend who doesn’t find the cost/benefit analysis of the 2.5 hour roundtrip travel time to work out in her favor. While this makes nurturing the relationship with her somewhat challenging, I can’t fault her—and it’s quite refreshing to have him all to ourselves once in awhile.

And I enjoyed the heck out of my son that day! He kept insisting that I was really entitled to a break, “It’s Mother’s Day after all” and that Dad could take over in the kitchen. “Mom, don’t you want to rest a minute over here on the couch?” When I finally sat, he hustled outside and returned with a box from his car. I so was not expecting a gift! It was generous and meaningful and adorable in a way that would take too long to explain and isn’t what this piece is about. I don’t think…I’m not sure yet what this piece is about!

There was more delightfulness to that day and that time with him, but I think my point here is just that he’s a gem, and I’m so lucky. I often remember how we almost didn’t have a second kid. That brief window of thinking “It’s now or never.” And we went for it and it was so hard–that second pregnancy, his first year of life which was a very difficult one in the life of my family. I had moments of, “What have we done?!” It was all so excrutiatingly hard, and also so very worth it. I love him to the ends of all the universes and back—so grateful for his gifts of light and clever humor.

I love my daughter just as much and also quite differently. Because she truly is so very like me. She confuses her dad, and he also has to make an effort to nurture their relationship. But there was awhile there–you can probably guess about the time–that the bond between them seemed very thin. He rarely acknowledged her even to me, and when he did, he’d choke back emotion. He could project a lot of pain onto her, and I found myself very provoked by this. It occurred to me that he was also projecting everything about me he found confusing or difficult onto her. The things he found to complain about her–and these things seemed to be ruining his life–could all also apply to me. His attitude toward her started to feel very personal.

That feels like such a long time ago now. It really took forever, and much conscious effort for him and me to truly like each other again after our initial honeymoon phase wore off decades ago. I’m so grateful we stuck it out–maybe in the same way I’m grateful we decided to have a second kid.

Yesterday, as we were approaching the two hour mark, I let my girl know that her dad was pulling in the driveway and she said, “that’s okay. My throat hurts from talking so much.” She texted me as soon as we hung up with, “also definitely got my steps in because my feet hurt from pacing for 2 hours” Mine did too.

Feast. It will be famine now probably until we visit her in a few weeks. She’s also consumed in her own deeply engaging life. There were many highlights, but my favorite part of the conversation was when she was talking about a co-worker who’s become one of her best friends. This kid is estranged from his wealthy family due to fundamentally different worldviews. They disapprove of his lifestyle, he disapproves of theirs, and they’ve decided they can’t be in relationship.

That’s not what was my favorite part. That part makes me very sad. What I loved was her saying, “I think about that a lot. How alone he is in the world without family. It hurts to imagine that.” Wow. Tears are flowing as I write this. That could so easily have been us. If I’d let the fear consume me like it seemed it might. If I’d given up because it was too much work or too painful to keep trying. If I had clung to the story that she was doing this to me and held that as betrayal. If I’d decided that our lifestyles and worldviews were too different to co-exist.

Writing this has me thinking back to that time when my husband seemed to pin all our troubles on our daughter, and how defensive and fiercely protective that made me feel (even though I was guilty of the same; I was definitely projecting also.) I was seeing a therapist at the time, and one day when I fretted in session over my daughter’s future, she said to me, “She’s your daughter.” That landed in the best way. “That’s right, she is! And I got this.” It made it even more important that I keep finding ways to “got this.”

It also stuck with me, helping me to have faith in her. I see how very like me she is and yet that she’s her own unique self. A whole being whose inner world I can never know all of. A mystery that’s constantly revealing itself. Quite fascinating, and often delightful, though I must also admit that sometimes our conversations bring up less flattering adjectives.

So, I’m grateful for that part of me that notices the famine. That insists that I put my so very engaging projects aside sometimes to reach out to her and set up a phone call. (Like me, if I were just to dial her, it would probably go to voicemail. She’d text me almost immediately, reminding me it’s hard to spontaneously answer the phone. Best to schedule. To my credit, when my kids call me, I answer. My kids and my mom. Well sometimes my mom–who if I can’t answer, I tend to text as soon as I’m able and set up a time to talk.)

I had a topic I’d planned to write about this week. One with a lesson in it on pain and suffering. Human universals. The inspiration for it was very alive a few days ago but it’s since faded and wouldn’t flow today. This is what did. I’m still thinking there must be a reason.

Both my kids have birthdays this month. I sometimes look at their current lives and know that other parents would worry for them. Maybe even think they’re stuck, working fulltime in what are essentially entry level jobs and getting by. They’re not in college. They’re simply doing life, figuring it out as they go. Much like I did when I was their age. I did eventually do college–I was 37 and 9 months pregnant with my son when I finally walked that stage–and well, they’re definitely my kids.

And we're okay. I make myself show up, sometimes with delight and sometimes with effort. I’ve learned I’m someone who can drift — from presence, from relationships, toward whatever’s fascinating me that season. The work didn’t fix that. It just made me someone who notices the drift (sometimes, not always) and can choose to turn back toward what matters most.

Hmm. I think that’s it. Kinda feels like we drifted here. ;)

Photo by Imil Salyakhutdinov on Unsplash