enduring

Yesterday Rado and I attended our first funeral service in this country. The tragedy which occasioned the funeral has swallowed our idyllic neighborhood over the past week and has left many of us asking unanswerable questions. We find ourselves hugging neighbors and children (ours or not) on average at least a dozen times each day.

80 degrees in March: we alternated, on our first day, between biking and dipping in the river

 

The details are unimportant, but the moral wouldn't surprise anyone: life can be "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short"; to make it more tolerable, we'd be well-advised to love each other and to focus on the things that matter, which do not include money, careers, or material possessions.

the *unheated* hotel pool & jacuzzi

It just so happened that, in the midst of tragedy, our family left for a short spring trip to Yosemite--our third in two years, and our first with four bikes on the car.

at home in Yosemite: parked next to two other Subarus

Upper Yosemite Fall in the background

Raya biked at least 20 miles over the course of the three days; Sava did considerably more

Half Dome in the background, of course

Biking: there is pretty much no better way for kids to get to know Yosemite Valley; after three days of biking, Sava could have biked everywhere on his own

Although we debated whether to go when everyone around us grieved, spending time together among the restorative powers of a spectacular landscape turned out to be the right decision.

Vernal Fall in the background

she hiked all the way up to Vernal Fall, just like her brother did two years ago

There's been much in the news lately about the high-school suicides in our area, including this article just the other day. Since my job involves watching young people trying to flesh out identities, line up priorities, and fulfill expectations on a daily basis, I think a lot--too much, sometimes--about how to raise children who are focused on living meaningful lives that may or may not fit conventional notions of success.

 

I wrote the short paragraphs above three weeks ago and since then have been pondering how to sum up the myriad thoughts that have been crowding my brain in between teaching and parenting over the past few months. There is no easy way, so I am just going to offer some fragments.

deer everywhere 

As our children grow and mature, it seems increasingly difficult to strike that golden mean between allowing them to be their authentic selves and setting kind but immutable limits. Some days feel much more successful than others, and it helps to reflect on the process as we go along.

the new whittling knife never left his side; only one major cut so far

For example, Rado and I both went through an emotional crisis when Sava declared, after two years of learning the piano, that he was done. When Raya came to us two weekends ago and said that she found ballet on Saturday mornings too tiring, our collective response could be summed with one word--shrug. She was happy to climb into bed and snuggle with us instead of rushing through breakfast to get to ballet on time, so we hugged her and moved on with our day. She has since told us that next year, when she is older, she wants to try again. I wonder if she is much wiser than her parents.

Mirror Lake with Half Dome in the background: we went there not once but twice

he has Spiderman in his genes

she likes glory

Sava's been really fascinated with the My Side of the Mountain trilogy and just today declared that he wants to be like Sam when he grows up: he'd like to live in hemlock tree, and he'd like to gather his own food in the wilderness; he also told me that, if it weren't for us, he probably would be wanting that life right now; when I suggested to him that perhaps he wouldn't feel so attached once he is an adolescent, he assented almost without reluctance and then added that it would be great if we could visit him. This is the same child who only a year ago cried at the mere suggestion that he might, some day, go away to attend college in another town.

This year has been one of adjustment for all of us. I teach full-time, Sava has more (regular) homework, and Raya is in a preschool that has the hours almost of real school. There is less time for all of us to be together and a greater urgency to make the most of our time together. Some days feel better than others, and it helps to have school breaks when at least three of us are home. While the kids want to be active and do stuff, we also find that, very often, they just want to be close to us--physically close.

Vernal Fall

When we sat on the couch mid-morning today to read On the Banks of Plum Creek together, both kids pressed their bodies against mine, as if intense physical contact was required to make the moment real. When later Sava wasn't feeling well and sat on the same couch reading his Guide to the Outdoors, he asked if I could please come and sit and read along with him; it wasn't comfortable craning my neck over his shoulder to see the book, but it seemed important for him that I do exactly that.

apparently, I birthed mountain goats

If it were not for the excessive hype about "mindfulness" around here in Silicon Valley, I'd probably be taking a mindfulness class right now. I hate being part of a fad, but I am genuinely interested in finding meaning in the present moment. When kept away from the distraction of screens--any screens--children seem uniquely attuned to the emotional valences of the present moment, and I frequently wish that I had their ability to register the intensity of the here and now. 

A case in point: during three full days in Yosemite, while Rado and I walked and biked our grief and confusion over the recent happenings, the children spent roughly ninety-eight percent of their time climbing--rocks, trees, logs, rocks, and more rocks. As a quick scroll through the photos in this post should demonstrate, there was hardly a place we visited where they did not find something up which to scramble. Their energy knew no limits, and their bodies seemed strangers to fatigue. 

 

 

 

We visited the famed El Capitan for the first time, and they got to watch climbers the size of ants on the sheer vertical granite for about ten minutes before turning back to the much more interesting business of bouldering themselves.

can you spy the climber on El Capitan?

it is hard to convey the size of this rock

 

 

indefatigable

If there is a disproportionate number of vertical photos in this post, it is entirely due to the nature of the place. Everything in Yosemite rises upward, and the camera seeks vainly to capture the magnificence of the proportions. Sava declared at the end of the last day that he will one day come back to climb El Capitan, to which his mother replied something along the lines of "over my dead body." He is undeterred and capable, as the photos above suggest. 

the Miwok village at Yosemite Valley; Sava was most interested, as he spent a lot of time studying Native Americans in school this year 

And so we came back from Yosemite, attended the funeral service, and now, three weeks later, life goes on. It is disquieting how quickly the novelty of everything wears off, and we habituate ourselves to the new status quo, having forgotten large chunks of our shock and grief.

Upper *and* Lower Yosemite Falls in the background

 

I am left thinking about our children--as always--and wondering how to help them become the kinds of people who grieve deeply, love strongly, and live with the passion of inner conviction. I want them to choose what they do in life with respect for those around them--help others, if possible, while making the world a better place--but I also want them to find the kinds of calling that, in the words of David Brooks, "quiet the self," leading to a deep sense of fulfillment.

Quietude is hugely undervalued in a culture that prizes achievement and progress above all else. 

this is her new favorite photo pose; not sure where she picked it up

If at the end of the day our children can find a place in their hearts where they love what they do unconditionally, and their love for themselves does not exceed their love for others, we will have done a decent job as parents.