simply

This year I say goodbye and good luck to some of my favorite first students, whom I taught as ninth graders four years ago and then again as eleventh graders last year. I first met these girls two years after giving birth to my own daughter, and in watching them grow and mature into young women, I have felt--more than once--as if a crystal ball has been granted me, and I am peering ten years into the future. At least I'd like to think so.

Raya's first independently organized social gathering: a nail-polish Sunday morning party

As I have told the girls' parents, and tell myself repeatedly, I would be thrilled if some day Raya blossomed into the poised, graceful, perceptive young woman that several of my students have become. I claim no credit for how they've turned out, but I am eternally fascinated by the fact that, due to various combinations of temperament, family, and education, certain young people become the adults whose weddings we hope to attend and whose future lives we can't wait to witness.

So much of what goes into raising decent human beings remains a mystery that, even as I watch kids morph into adults on a daily basis, I remain awed by the fact that they do, in fact, grow up. (I also talk to them ceaselessly, seeking to find out the answers to all sorts of specific questions: did they have dinner with their family every night since they were little? were they read to daily, and were electronic devices limited? did they overcome obstacles with ease, or did the parents have to nudge them? did they follow their passions, or were they directed at every step? etc.)

I'm not going anywhere with this other than to express gratitude for being a parent and a teacher. Graduation is three weeks away happened three weeks ago (that is how long it took me to come back to writing this post), but I already know that I will cry--for my students, who are heading off to college, and for my own kids, who will follow them nine and twelve years from now. I will also cry for being in that perfectly irrecoverable place in life where I get the double joy of young children at home and vibrant adolescents in my job.

It energizes me to wake up each morning to the wide-eyed wonder of young children, just as it renews my faith in All That Matters to engage daily with the brooding minds of adolescents. The former ask questions about the stuff that adults have ceased to notice (what makes the best whittling stick? do moms have to drink milk in order to produce milk?), and the latter brood on the big questions (what is life, whom should I love, why should I care), which adults have either answered or stopped asking.

the creek had water, briefly, for the first time in two years during rains earlier in spring

***
It's been almost two months since I wrote the above paragraphs, and we are now well into the summer. We are spending much of this month saying goodbye to friends who, for reasons ranging from tragic loss to career growth to hope for happiness--are moving to places as far-flung as Montana, New Hampshire, and Seattle. While we feel a bit unmoored by the changes, we also find ourselves questioning and reaffirming our own choices. In this land of unlimited opportunity, it seems harder to stay than to move. Wherever we look, there is the prospect of bigger and better. It takes daily rituals of gratitude to remain focused on the fullness of life rather than on the minor absences.
The fullness:
* Wonderful neighbors and friends. Although some are leaving us, many and beautiful people remain; our kids remark daily on how lucky they feel to live in a cul-de-sac full of friendly adults and engaged children.

for his ninth birthday, Sava requested just a dinner with our neighbors

*Siblings who, during most hours of most days, get along very very well. They have the kind of physical and emotional intimacy that is sure to change as they enter adolescence but that we hope will form the foundation of a lifelong friendship.

* Books: they fill our lives in ways big and small. 

he frequently reads to her

They also consistently give us the most intimate bonding experiences.

a rare moment when she is *not* being read to A Little House on the Prairie book; we are now rereading the *entire* series for the second time

* Art: it keeps children happy.

nine out of ten times they prefer the floor to the "art table"

he will make anything out of paper, tape, and string, with the occasional straw attached to make it fly

* The beach: now 25 minutes away and sunny and warm during, say, February.

our favorite bike trail near Half Moon Bay follows the beach for several miles

 

 

 

 

* Stunning open spaces twenty, thirty, forty minutes away.

Russian Ridge Open Space Preserve

 

 

Old friends to share the spaces with:

 

And siblings again:

 

 

 

* Beautiful sunsets just a short walk up the hill from our home.

 

and rainbows right outside our living room:

* Dress-up with friends: 

* Water play in the 'hood while it's snowing elsewhere:

So ultimately, as hard as it is to remember, it's not about getting more but about making the most of what we do have. Mindfulness is a fad whose omnipresence annoys me, especially since this is a culture where most people have lost all ability to inhabit the present moment. Truthfully, mindfulness is important; but talking about mindfulness often signals anxiety about the fact that we do not, in fact, know how to let go of the ceaseless questing after more and better. There is virtue in settling for gratitude and appreciation. There is beauty in letting go of wanting more.