000014 — Keys

In less than seven days, my daughter is going to be a driver. That singular sentence contains so many layers of emotion, so much weight, and lightness at the same time. It’s exciting and it’s terrifying. It’s a rite of passage and it’s also me realizing, in real time, that we cannot protect her the way we used to. She’s going to be out in the world, her life in the hands of other people’s decisions, and it’s not her driving that keeps me up at night. It’s the distracted driver. The person eating a burrito with one hand and scrolling with the other like they are invincible. The casualness of other people’s risk.

In contrast, she is pure light about it. It’s all she can talk about as she counts down the days. She’s buzzing. She’s proud. She’s earned it. And when I breathe into my panicking nervous system and take rational control back, I’m not just proud, I’m almost stunned at what she has already had to accomplish and overcome to earn this privilege.

I’m proud of who she is becoming.

A woman who can think for herself.

A woman who can defend herself.

A woman who knows her own strength and worth.

I’m proud she has dreams, goals, aspirations, and she’s willing to put in the physical and emotional work to achieve, and she’s doing it without making achievement the center of her identity. That part matters more to me than the driving. I want her to have ambition, and I want her to have a self that isn’t up for negotiation.

And I’m most of all thankful that I get to be in her daily life.

She came at a time when our marriage was not fully formed and quite turbulent. What kept me up at night then was a different kind of fear, the nightmare of sharing and splitting time with my precious little girl. I used to lay there trying to imagine a future that I did not want, and I could feel my whole body resist it.

It’s moments like this that make me appreciate my younger self and my wife’s younger self. They sacrificed so much for us to have what we have now. They took hits. They did the slow work. They stayed in the room when it would have been easier to leave the room. And because of that, we get this. This opportunity to, together, appreciate, savor, and enjoy little moments and big moments, without the constant dread of losing them.

I have no idea where that thought came from, the idea of thanking and seeing my younger self. It just flowed as I was writing, and I’m glad it did.

I’ve done a ton of therapy and journaling, and when I look back I usually see either the mistakes he made, or the unfortunate things he had to survive. I don’t naturally think about the positive choices young adult DK made. Which is weird, because those choices are everywhere once you start looking. Starting to journal. Going to couples therapy, and then continuing to go for years after. Turning down more work for more time with a new and growing family, even when the old engine in me wanted to keep stacking. I didn’t know then that those decisions would pay such life-giving dividends 17 years later. I knew I was trying to build a life that didn’t eat me alive.

That’s why I’m thoroughly enjoying writing as of late. I’m enjoying how my perspective has matured and changed from writing as rumination, to writing to synthesize, process, and examine, and now writing as enjoyment. And from that state of enjoyment, I’m able to better articulate and share what I’ve learned, and what I’m learning, and what I’m experiencing. Writing has helped me communicate more fully, with more nuance, depth, and meaning. It’s enabled a whole new way of living, a new way of being.

Well that was a great tangent. I’m glad I followed that thought.

Because the more I stay present and appreciate what is, and truly enjoy it, even something as emotionally loaded as watching your firstborn participate more and more in the real world, realer things become true. Distortions that once had a strong hold on my existence are softening. I’m glad they are. Because the more clearly I can see myself, the more clearly I can cultivate, guide, and raise my children.

I can be a little worried, and not let worry keep them from living. From enjoying the freedoms she worked so hard to accomplish.

And I can do the grown-up version of protection now. Not control. Not hovering. Not shrinking her world.

The seatbelt. The keys. A prayer under my breath.

Then, letting her drive.