Letting Her Fall
How I'm not so gracefully letting my eldest fly the nest.
A little speech I’ve been telling myself as my daughter launches into her gap year:
Unfurl your fingers from clenched fists. Drop your shoulders and loosen your jaw. Take a deep breath and release all of your worries, mama.
Just as you cannot force her to stop scrolling or go to bed at a decent hour, you cannot jump on the back of her horse and venture into her gap year for her.
Her life is not something to be fixed or managed or reined in. She’s got to experience this next part on her own. Yes, even if it means falling flat on her face right out of the gate.
Think back to 1991 when you couldn’t wait to unleash yourself from your parent’s grip. And they let you go. A right of passage for them and you. You have the scars and stories to prove it. Remember your younger self, and repeat after me: To live is to experience beauty and ugliness, ease and pain, acceptance and loss.
Only after your year in Ecuador did you tell your mom about riding on top of a bus through the winding mountain roads without guardrails.
FLEs that’s what your mentor Chris Cross (yes, her real name) called them – Fucking Learning Experiences. Your daughter’s got to have her own just as you did.
At 53 I’m still having FLEs. The latest involved a standing upright paddleboard and a “full moon float” on the Salt River just outside Phoenix. It sounded romantic when my husband suggested it. “The water’s flat,” he promised. “With the exception of a few riffles, obviously no rapids. I’ve always wanted to go.”
A group of six adults set out on the Lower Salt at 7 in the evening near Saguaro Lake. On the water the desert air in June felt less like a blow drier, even an occasional breeze raised goosebumps on my bare arms.
As we launched, a great blue heron took off in the opposite direction, its 6 foot wingspan made a whoop whoop sound, an auspicious sign I hoped. On my paddle board I strapped a water bottle, and zipped up my life jacket, while Matt handed our dry bag containing headlamps, first aid kit, snacks, and phone to a friend with more room on his kayak.
The sky turned fiery pink and all the birds and bats flocked to the river to feast on bugs. One friend distributed glow-in-the-dark necklaces – both fun and practical. This was not her first night paddle.
The full moon rose above the mountain as one of the guys told of his last trip down the Salt when he came upon a whole herd of horses who took a dip right next to him. The Salt River borders the Apache Nation where hundreds of wild horses roam free.
As the sky darkened Matt hung back to catch up with our friends, while I set my sights downstream and found a steady rhythm. Maybe I could be in bed with my book by 10.
Quickly (too quickly) I discovered I was alone, swept away in the current. I’d inadvertently separated myself from the rest of the group. So I kneeled down and planted my paddle at the rear of my board, a reverse stroke, searching for the neon necklaces but saw only darkness. Relying on my other senses my ears picked up the sound of the river, which was growing louder.
Before I decided to come on this three hour tour, Matt sent me a Youtube video of the Lower Salt River in the daytime (the logical time for a river trip). While most of it was flat water, there were a few tiny rapids (by boatmen standards Class I on the International Scale of River Difficulty) one ominously called Devil’s Elbow.
All at once I found myself fast approaching the infamous Devil’s Elbow, where the river narrowed and trees grew tall on either side. No sign of the moon, my only light up til now. My mouth turned to sand as my heart galloped in my ribcage. I cursed Matt for giving away my headlamp and phone. Who would I call anyway? Excuse me, honey, get your ass downstream pronto!
I had no choice but to act fast, turning where I heard the water rushing – a quick right, an immediate left, followed by another right bouncing off the sides of the river like a pinball until at last the water slowed and I came to an eddy.
Thinking it wouldn’t be a bad place to hang out and wait for the others I stuck my paddle in the river only to find I couldn’t see two feet in front of my face to know which way the paddle was facing. So I swirled around and lost my balance falling in the cool black water. Quickly I climbed back on my paddle board and waited in the dark for my husband or a horse to find me.
Shivering in the dark my brain flashed an alternate possibility where the river spat me out wearing only the damn necklace, no paddle or boat. I laughed maniacally at my logic earlier in the day. What a great exercise this will be to let go of fear and control.
Then I thought of my daughter and what she would do. My musical loving kid would sing, of course. So I started singing the words to every song I knew by heart channeling Elton John, David Byrne, Lucinda Williams until finally a flash of light, then Matt’s familiar voice calling my name. Of course, he had his headlamp.
Apparently one of our friends had heard me scream and told Matt to get his butt in gear.
“Uh, Matt, isn’t that your wife screaming?”
Needless to say when he caught up with me I retrieved my headlamp and turned it on (only when I couldn’t tell which way to go — otherwise the mosquitos would make a meal out of me). As for Matt he didn’t leave my side the rest of the night and together we watched a wild horse cross the river.
Now of course, I have my latest FLE – never boat at night alone without a light – and a story to show for it. Thankfully no scars.
Oh, I feel this deeply. My eldest of three just graduated from HS and my gosh, it's hitting way harder than I saw coming. Hugs and best of luck to you as your daughter takes flight.💖
What an adventure!
My oldest took a gap year too, one that I wasn't initially on board for, but that turned out to be a great thing for her. Wishing you both courage and joy in your next steps.