Making peace with impermanence
We’re at the lake this week, the first of three family vacations we’ll take this summer.
Going away three times in one season is not the norm, but nothing about the past couple of years has been normal.
We’re not making up for lost time as much as we’re making the most of the time we have. My oldest is now a high school junior, and while his impending graduation won’t mark the end of family vacations, it does signal the inevitable sunset on family life as we know it – all five of us living together under the same roof.
We let the kids invite their friends to the lake for a few days, and I happily embraced in the ins and outs, constant floor sweeping and gathering of towels, and daily trips to the grocery store 15 minutes away.
Midweek, when all of the friends had gone back home, we naturally embraced the downtime, finding a natural rhythm of doing our own thing and staying close. An important takeaway for me: people stay close because they want to, when they feel free to come and go. I don’t have to be afraid of the leaving, because people come back. Not always, but many times, they do.
I took less photos, capturing more images in my mind instead. Not pictured, gathering around the fire roasting s’mores as Landslide played in the background, pushing the couches together to create a slumber party vibe and binge on Stranger Things. Me, floating in the lake on a raft, suddenly concerned about being eaten by the Demogorgin. My kids telling me that I was probably safe because they didn’t think the Demogorgin likes water.
These moments of togetherness touch the heart of my longing. It’s a homesick feeling, homesick for the way things were. But also homesick for the way things are right now.
As I take an inventory at midyear, and at midlife, I’m making peace with impermanence. I even looked up the word, impermanence. I like how it presents itself as a non-negotiable, not subjective, a fact. And yet, it lands differently than phrases like things change, or nothing ever stays the same.
Impermanence feels holy, sacred.
I will always long for what was. I will never move forward without first looking back over my shoulder.
Again and again, the reality of impermanence wakes me up to the new right now waiting in its place.