Sometimes living in my cookie cutter planned community in my southern California neighborhood where there is only one temperate season that falls somewhere between 70-80 degrees all year long, I forget. I forget that outside of this engineered space that is the size of central park with over 49,000 trees arranged to mimic a sort of natural indigenous environment-that there is more-that there is real life pulsating, breathing moving and changing. Places where there are seasons, and places where people don’t all look the same, struggling to emulate one standard of beauty and largely succeeding. Places where there is more than one religion, one faith, one way of doing things. Places where differences are embraced and celebrated.

While walking in the real central park I am reminded, and it is a wake up call-a reminder of what real life looks like outside of this bubble. It is fresh, dynamic, alive. The very nature of this place inhabits change-everything from the people to the seasons. It is crisp out. We are strolling along the lake. I take it all in. There is an energy here, but because it is still early there is a calmness. The water is still, the trees are mostly green and still hold their leaves. It’s grounding, and I feel grateful. I am here with two of my favorite people-my daughter and my nephew. We are bundled up in fall sweaters, knit scarfs and caps. I hear a saxophone player the distance playing Nat King Cole’s “The Autumn Leaves.” I feel happy and sad all at the same time. We’re here looking at schools on the opposite coast. We are here as autumn is just turning so we are in the midst of cherry blossom season. The blossom’s have faded to a pale pink, or rather a translucent white. It’s surreal. I catch a glimpse of my daughter under a large gauzy canopy staring up as the delicate petals drift around her falling through the air like snowflakes. She looks as though she is standing in a winter wonderland in the middle of spring. I zoom in. It’s a moment in time I want to freeze. I want to hold on, and yet it’s slipping through my fingers as it’s happening. If there is anything fleeting, it’s this moment in time just as she begins her own journey.

Why is Change so hard?

Why does it feel like such a loss?

Theoretically, I know this is the natural unfolding of life, and it’s the result of all of the dedication and hard work for the past 18 years. It’s a result of all of the pouring ourselves into her-giving her the resources, nurturing her along so that she can flower into all of her glory; And this I’m certain is what I want more than anything- for my girls to become all of who they are-to stand unabashedly grounded in all of their beauty, truth and wholeness. But at this moment, I’m overwhelmed with the awareness that letting her go feels anything but natural. This little Joie de vivre who has been at the epicenter of my life-our lives now fleeing the coop. She’s like a little delicate bird in my hands, and I am gingerly loosening my hold, unfolding my hands to send her off. While I am confident that she will soar, I’m unsure about us.

Who else am I?

Who else are we?

She has been at the heart of our family-vital to our very rhythm.

Things change-despite our attempts to hold on.

Time passes.

There are seasons.

So I search…

In the letting go, can I find a new cadence? Can I find my way? What’s next? What is the next chapter? So I lean in and try to feel all of it-the beauty and the promise it holds as well as the loss-the letting go of what was.