The relief map of our life right now shows new valleys, a consistent plateau, and several mountains. I move into different landscapes as I am needed and retreat to the backcountry when I must be silent and wait. In my solitude, I assume the role of observer and record keeper.
From a familiar point, I watch our daughter, taking steps on her own path, which is marked by shadow and speckled with obstacles. Frustrated by the turns and boulders, I wonder if she knows that she is still ascending.
A son careens forward on a path without looking one way or the other. Does he actually want to climb that trail? I am not sure he has paused enough to know.
Another son has a blind curve ahead, but has a lift in his steps. I predict the path beyond this curve will be good for him because of his optimism.
And the remaining son, well, I am still close enough to remind him to look at the vistas, and not worry about the details so much.
I am no sage on the hill, but I do know about blind corners, and have skinned my knees when racing too fast. I know the mire of worry from overthinking, and how to escape. I remember what it is like to move beyond easy marks of success, deferring talents and ideas. In such vulnerable times, growth feels a lot like defeat.
I squirm in the solitude in this life season and wonder if a record is worth keeping. I felt inspired to read A Midwife’s Tale this week and it validated my writing of everyday things more than I can say. Our walk continues, and my writing provides a relief map of where we have been.
