What a Young Mother Taught Me at the Edge of the Water

While walking on the beach recently, I saw a mother and her young daughter at the edge of the water. I'd noticed them the day before. The little girl was spectacularly darling, very interactive, and we had playfully said hello. Now I watched as the mother, while fully present and attentive, allowed her daughter to sit just slightly away from her, being rolled over and knocked down by wave after wave. The child wore a little floaty around her waist and was perfectly safe, but the waves were not gentle, and she was tumbling around quite a bit.

The mother allowed her to navigate through this watery chaos — finding her balance, righting herself, being splashed and knocked down, again and again — watching her with calm confidence. The child was not perturbed. She was curious, exploring, fully immersed, not even looking at her mother. Perhaps she sensed her mother's trust: in the waves as a teacher, and in her daughter's ability to handle the tumult of the learning.

I both admired and envied this wise young mother. I wished I had carried more of that equanimity, a quality I have only more recently developed.

I am preparing to head home, and by the time you read this, I will be back in Minnesota, basking in the gift of being able to hug each of my own children and spend time in their presence. I am tearful as I write this, thinking with gratitude and pride of the change and growth I have witnessed as they have moved into the first and second decades of full adulthood.

I reflect on their individual strengths, their challenges, the mountainous climbs their paths have brought them to, internally and externally. Much as we might like, we cannot walk another's path for them. Lord knows, though I know better, I have tried — through advice, offers of help, and all my bright ideas, many of which miss the mark entirely.

Help, support, love, safe harbor — practically, financially, emotionally. That is the role of a mother, no matter the age of her offspring. But how that is done matters. I am learning to notice whether I am offering out of love or out of fear, and fear of what, exactly? Their pain and suffering? Or my own sense of failing?

Walking on, I found myself reflecting on the periods when, due to my own struggles, I have been either anxiously overcontrolling or inadequately present. And I turned the phrase over in my mind: "When you know better, do better." Where, now, might I apply that?

Certainly in my family, where change and challenge abound and will continue to. And in my role as a guide and spiritual coach, where I aspire to grow into and live what that young mother embodied: trust in life's circumstances as a great teacher, and belief in those I walk with. Trust and confidence in all of us to handle the tumult of the learning.