Photo Credit Nathan Dumlao
Maybe one of the gifts of getting older is having a better sense of what fits and being less interested in measuring the fit against somebody else.
I truly believe that comparison really is the thief of joy. I can admire someone else’s career without deciding mine should look like hers. I can see someone with a huge circle of friends without wondering whether mine is too small. I can appreciate somebody else’s beautiful house, marriage, body, vacation, wardrobe, or life without immediately turning around and taking inventory of my own.
Or at least I’m much better at it than I used to be.
Fighting that old instinct to measure everything against some ideal version of what it should be has changed how I think about parenting too.
When my kids were little, parenting was immediate and physical. Somebody always needed food, shoes, a Band-Aid, help finding the thing right in front of them, or one more glass of water after bedtime.
Now they need me in different ways. Sometimes they need advice. Sometimes they need a ride. Sometimes they need me to sit down and pay attention. Sometimes what they need most is for me to stop asking questions and trust that they’ll come to me when they’re ready. Other times I luck out, and they come in for a big hug or join me for a cuddle on the couch in front of the TV for an hour or two.
The work is no longer about doing everything for them. It is about staying close enough that they know I am there.
There’s a point in life when progress stops looking only like accumulation and starts looking more like stewardship.
You have built something. A marriage. A family. A circle of friends. A career. A body capable of carrying you around
The work shifts.
You are no longer proving that you can build a life.
You are learning how to take care of the one you have.
That doesn’t mean I’m done growing. I hope I’m not.