And I’m not referring to their bold and brave choice to speak their minds and confront political small-mindedness (although amen and high fives to that). What I’m talking about is the need for, oh yes, sing it with me,
“w i d e o p e n s p a c e s ! ! !”
This is what a person needs, especially (always) on a Sunday, and particularly on her birthday. A person and her tiny human companion, that is. Preferably with some good friends. Big and little ones. This special place, shared with me by dear friends, is the first place that G got a chance to RUN DOWN A HILL.
This place, this sacred place, is a farm quite near me, maybe 20 minutes, and it is spectacular and it is empty of crowds, chaos, and busyness. It lives up to its promise (i.e. there are farm animals), but even better, there is
S P A C E.
And freedom and room to run up and down hills safely and without being chased by your mama. The restorative power of that green space literally made me weep. It conjured up words in me like “majesty” and “pastoral” and “bucolic” and made me want to use them all in a sentence. I would have never left if duty (i.e. naptime) hadn’t called, and next time I might even try to get G to sleep on a quilt on top of all that green.
Interesting, too, that G is going through a “green” phase, so when I ask her what the color is of something, she inevitably answers “green!” regardless of whether it’s blue, orange, or purple. Maybe she was trying to tell me something, something like, “Mama, take me where there’s green open space and where I can run!!!”
When I worked at a counselor at the a summer camp in the Sierras (another story for another time, but let’s file that one under “Lair” AKA “The Most Fun Time of My Life”), we had a place that was about a 15 minute drive or an hour-long killer mountain bike up a windy road that overlooked a view of the mountains so intensely beautiful and ever-reaching, that the only name that could be used to describe the overlook was “therapy.”
That’s what this place is, and exactly what I needed to welcome my 34th year.
I needed that, and I also got a bbq with these beautiful, kind, funny, and dear women, holding me up, refilling my glass, caring about my child, listening to my long-winded stories, and passing time with me. Despite the countless birthday parties they throw and attend for all of the kids in their lives, they busted out decorations, grilled burgers, and got me a delicious birthday cake and presents. They accept and even welcome their role as my deployment-survival-team, hopping to it with company, cheese, wine, and festivity, and rushing to my aid when power outages, broken water heaters and car engines abound. Buddies on my birthday, friends for life.
My takeaway lesson for this year:
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We need both wide open space and close comforting hugs. We need them, almost at the same time, and that's the beauty and the grief. Our toddlers need the snuggles and they also need to try it themselves; they need to fall down but they also need to be caught. Embracing this tension is part of what I think growth is, and it's why I think growth hurts, whether it be our bones stretching taller or our relationships exploring new boundaries. This I ponder as I boldly accept another candle on my cake and ring around my tree.
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