Monday Dec. 17
Train from Valencia to Barcelona
Yesterday afternoon I walked Catie to the bus station so she could head back to Barcelona a day early in order to attend a goodbye celebration for one of her friends. Standing with her at the station I wanted to say, be careful and text me when you get there.
But then I realized, she is a grown up who has taken care of herself alone in Spain for three months. Doing just fine without my help.
I reflected on this with Kim in a text and she said, it’s instinctual. Yes it is. But I also think it’s important for me to recognize that it’s time to turn the page on parenting. My kids are no longer kids. They are adults. And an authentic relationship it seems to me takes that into account.
I recall former Canby High School principal Pat Johnson at an orientation for parents of incoming freshman.
Your kids will still need you but in different ways.
I would be interested in Art and Angelica’s view on this as they have several adult kids.
For me there are some obvious things. Sharply reduce unasked for advice. Just as the kids had to learn it hurt to fall on the cement, my adults will have to learn how it hurts to fall and when necessary to fail. I instinctually want to keep my children from feeling the pain of that. But I know personally that avoiding failure and falling, reinvention and reinvigoration is impossible.
This reinvented life of mine has had the blessing of falling and failing. Not every strategy worked. But the key I’ve shared with my kids, my adults is that resilience seems to be a key to successful aspirations.
Heading out last night, alone in a city I didn’t know and whose language I spoke poorly, I knew there was a chance of falling or failing. But there was also opportunity to exceed by my standards.
As a young arrogant man growing up during the American revolution that was the home front during the Viet Nam war, I would actually say, I would rather fail by my standards than win by someone else’s.
It happened at a cafe on the Plaza of the Virgin, watching A choral group sing carols in from of a 500 year old church.
I had read that Americans often view European restaurant service as poor due to the seeming inattention of wait staff. But I was advised it is merely a different and more leisurely approach to life in general.
When I first sat down I was able to get the attention of a waitress and ordered my favorite tapas- ham and cheese croquette. And a glass of red wine. The order was served. Tapas were great. Wine was white but that’s fine.
But now my glass was empty.
And no waitress for some time.
A young family sat next to me and I got the courage to speak my nascent Spanish.
I asked them if it was acceptable for a customer who has already been served by the waitress to go inside and order another glass at the bar. The husband said yes it was fine and that he was going to do that as well. The wife grabbed my arm knowingly and said in Spanish, you could wait 15 years for a waitress.
We shared a laugh and I went in. I explained I was the guest who had had a white wine but now wished for a red wine. And one was produced.
It is scary to speak your non native language. Fear of embarrassment or not being understood.
But there is exhilaration when it works. And magic when you can reach across language and culture to share an emotion like laughter.
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