As my daughter proudly peeled the “Student Driver” magnet off the back of her car and drove herself into town, I realized the next chapter of my life had begun. No more shuttling to and from school or to friends’ houses for study dates and birthday parties. No more squeezing food shopping in between karate and violin lessons. Anticipating dropping my daughter off at college in a few months, I realized I had the precious gift of time! The freedom for adventure!
Suddenly, a wave of sadness swept over me. For twenty years, I’ve been Mom. That’s my identity. Sure, there were times I complained about the inconveniences of making dinner, doing laundry, or sacrificing my own plans to accommodate theirs. But now that these responsibilities were being taken off my plate, I felt lost.
I turned to my husband for solace and advice, and the fear kicked in: It’s just me and him. Him and me. All day. Every day. No more dividing and conquering in an effort to get both kids to where they needed to be. No more family day trips on the weekend or laughter-filled game nights with the four of us. It will just be us. In our house. For one million hours a day.
Truth be told, we do really like each other. We share the same values and sense of humor but without discussions and disagreements about the kids (he’s mush and I’m the strict one), I am truly terrified that we will run out of things to say.
Without a doubt, we’ll need to make a concerted effort to adjust to life without our kids in the house. Hiking, biking, entertaining, road trips, wine tasting, and going out for dinner are all possibilities, but I also know we would like to have more of an adventure.
So, despite having no building experience and being very much out of our comfort zone, we joined the Appalachian Service Project (ASP). It turned out this nine-day journey with a group of adults and Ridgefield high schoolers turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life. The trip down South to make people’s homes “warmer, safer and drier” was perfect for us. We traveled down in separate vans, slept in separate quarters, and worked with separate crews, installing new floors and hammering in siding. We were able to share a common experience, while not being attached at the hip.
Not playing the role of wife or mother during this time opened my eyes: The world was my oyster. If my kids could head off to meet new people, learn new things and cultivate new interests, so could I. So, I spent a day at The Kripalu Center for Yoga. Went line dancing with a friend. Learned to play Mah Jong. Embarassed myself at hip-hop class. Took a stab at installing new flooring. I even wrote this article for 068 magazine.
I know of people who took on part-time jobs in retail to allow themselves to socialize and foster new relationships. Giving back to the community by volunteering with organizations like SPHERE is another option. Paul Abrahams, the father of three grown children, occasionally clears hiking trails after a storm. “It’s great to have the time to do things that are meaningful, rewarding and give me pleasure,” he says.
Remember, empty nesting, also called “free birding,” is a time of transition. Putting your needs in front of your kids’ and taking care of yourself is something that, after all of these years, feels foreign and selfish. The bottom line is that you deserve this time. And remember, it’s your time to fly.•
