The phone rang. It was Jody, my twenty-year-old daughter, wanting to come home for the weekend. She’s finishing college a year early, having torn through her coursework in three years, fueled by passion and curiosity. In the rush to the finish line, however, she’s beginning to get a handle on the fact that the pre-ordained track she’s been on since Rainbow Preschool is about to come to a screeching halt in a few months and facing forward, there are big decisions to be made. So of course, when she said she needed her mommy and her daddy, we sprung for the airline ticket.
Gathering her up at the airport, I remembered mostly to listen…and found her to be in better shape—or at least more appropriately attuned to her circumstances—than I had expected. She talked most of the way home, touching on all the questions and issues that were on her mind. It was hard to keep quiet, but I did a pretty good job of it until we were mostly home. Then, taking advantage of an extended pause, I thought it was my finally my turn. I had all kinds of ideas for Jody. Inspirational messages, old memories that I was dying to dust off for teaching purposes, suggestions for networking opportunities and so on and on. I was about to be brilliant. But Jody, knowing me very well, let me get no further than my in-breath before commenting: “Mom, I’m so glad to be home. I don’t really need advice, though. What’s for lunch?” The question marks may still be there, but by withholding my sage advice and offering a place of simple refuge, I can see Jody getting ready for what’s next without my having to do anything more about it than love her.
Carol Orsborn