He’s chipper and puttering around in the kitchen, more spacious than I imagined and typical of an old New England house. It’s an urban apartment he shares with roommates and the lighting is poor; I can’t see him clearly.
Still, he’s happy to chat and cook, and I’m happy to visit, no matter how we do it.
He laughs easily and asks questions, leaning forward and smiling as he reads what I type, and I’m typing on Skype because this is Day 6 of laryngitis. Try as I might to talk, he can’t hear my whisper through the sizzling on the stove and music in the background.
And so he rambles and jokes and I tap-tap-tap my commentary, and all of it is a pleasure.
Youth is the Time for Adventure
Waiting until you’re old and gray for travel? For adventure?
My theory? Adventure is an eye-opener at any age. But go for it young if you possibly can.
When I moved to France for a summer at 15, dropped into the bosom of two French families, I was moderately terrified, quietly excited, and extremely anxious. But I sensed that I could wing it – and wing it I did – eventually loving the experience and daring a “self” that has never abandoned me.
Planning was pointless and to some degree unnecessary; I was young, healthy, naive, curious – taking whatever came was the ideal strategy for staying open and maximizing every moment.
Naturally, as I matured – don’t we all? – I replaced flying by the seat of my pants with years of other flights involving planning, contingency planning, predictability and the rhythms of routine. Yet at 24, I packed one bag, stored my meager furnishings, bought a cheap ticket, and flew to Paris where I trailed about the city for weeks before charming my way into a paltry-paying but extraordinary temporary job. The tasks themselves were mundane – translation.
The people? The experience? Remarkable beyond measure.
I like to think of that time as winging it with purpose. And I was lucky. It all turned out well.
Go West, Young Man!
My firstborn explains how he’s tweaking the latest recipe from Smitten Kitchen or Cooking Light or Food dot com, with a dash of panache picked up in Switzerland where he studied last year, and with a nod to herbes de Provence which I had sent him in the mail. Then he lets me in on news: he’s flying across country to spend Spring Break in California. He’ll see a new city, hook up with friends, and my world traveler since age 13 will no doubt be winging it.
It’s his money (he’s worked throughout college); what he does with it – always wisely – is entirely his decision.
So he talks and I type. He cooks and I get hungry. He approaches the screen as we say our goodbyes, and I like this kid (whether he’s mine or not), this young adult who balances planning and spontaneity.
Roll back two days, and College Son Number Two is calling, asking if it’s okay to fly home for break if he can manage to afford a very cheap ticket.
“Of course it’s okay,” I croak through the laryngitis, but in the week that follows I hear nothing. I assume it’s off until a text the other day – that he’s winging his way home this weekend.
There’s No Place Like Home
I do not have a “home” to return to in the place I was raised. It leaves me feeling sad, and strangely disconnected.
After divorce, my children and I had to make a new home – and it was a long, tough road but we did it. I wanted to recreate a safe place, I wanted to raise sons who felt loved unconditionally, but that didn’t mean they weren’t headed for decisions of their own, mistakes of their own, and lives in which they – not a parent – would determine their best direction.
That my son is tired and wants nothing more than to return to this cozy, messy, kid-friendly haven pleases me no end. He worked overseas last summer. He’ll be abroad again next year. For now, he wants a Spring Break that is a break – and while “you can’t go home again” may apply to me, those words do not apply to him, and I’m glad.
It’s been fascinating watching my sons from a distance. I don’t ask that they call; they do so when they feel like it. I respect their independence, and understand their need for autonomy. One is creating a home of his own in an old apartment far away; the other isn’t in that position as yet. He needs a taste of home as a touchstone, a respite.
Where Do College Students Go on Spring Break?
Ask me where college students go on Spring Break?
Clearly, anywhere they want, if they can scrounge up the money.
Maybe it’s Fort Lauderdale or Destin. Maybe it’s Montreal. Maybe it’s to the closest relative or a roommate’s relative or anywhere they can sleep and eat and do plenty of nothing.
Where do college students want to go, to a parent’s surprise?
Occasionally, back to the nest. To relax. To be welcomed. To be themselves.
One may be considering “Go West, Young Man” for the future, and so a week in California is both adventure and necessary gathering of information. And the other? Right now the thought of home to unwind is just what the Destination Doctor ordered.
I am reminded (with relief) that I did my part: I accomplished what I set out to do more than ten years ago, after divorce. These are young men who work hard, play hard, and are autonomous. I may be torn as to my own options – wondering if my wings are “clipped” so I can maintain a home for them to return to, yet I hope I can dust off my wings – and my spontaneity – if and when it’s ever required.
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we love the glimpse into a life we know not of – but through reading you – can understand a little more about – and through reading dominique browning talk about parenting and houses – similar themes of home and longing and nesting and yet the image of you Dropped into France and finding a Self that was ready for an adventure makes us slyly hope that soon – maybe not super-soon – but soon – you can sit in a cafe in paris in some tiny just rained-on street and that self will sit down opposite you at the zinc round table and say, “voila, je suis ici encore – ou maintenant, cherie?”
Ah, tg… que ce soit possible un jour…
How do I relate to this post? Let me count the ways! Well, I am not divorced, but I am the mother of two adult sons. Younger son is living in Morocco for two years (Peace Corps), older son is happily ensconced in Brooklyn. I love talking with them and hearing about their adventures.
It’s funny, isn’t it? When you have the $ you don’t have the time. When you have the time, the $ isn’t there. Well, we are in the latter situation, but we are heading to Morocco in just a few weeks. After a year of video chats, it’s well past time to hug our boy. In some ways the distance has made us closer.
I wish I had traveled as you did when I was young, but my husband and I are doing are best to make up for lost time. And I am aware that I have trouble trading the familiar for the unfamiliar, but I also know that leaving my comfort zone is essential and wonderful. So yes, we all have to “dust of our wings” from time to time and just go!
Oh Judith – yes, yes, yes to “When you have the $ you don’t have the time; when you have the time, you don’t have the $.” Ain’t that the truth! So glad to hear you’re going to Morocco to see your son. How thrilling – and a little anxiety-producing as well. It is harder leaving our comfort zones a little older, but what an adventure you’ll have. (You’re giving me hope that my wings won’t be dusty forever.)
There is no place like home. I’m wielding my beautiful French pan, sesame oil and some home made pot stickers to cook up a meal I’ve been looking forward to all day. Have a great spring break!
My daughter at college on the other coast has already made her plane reservations home for the Summer. She couldn’t wait to get home at Christmas – even changed her reservations to get an extra day at home after the finals schedule came out. Spring Break? We’re flying to NY and meeting her there for a bit of family adventure, all together, Her choice.
BLW like you I am not sure where home is. Is it where you hang your hat, where you feel comfortable or where they can’t throw you out? I feel comfortable several places, but not home. It is nice that you have made a home for your boys and a place they obviously feel comfortable for rest and peace. As to winging it, adventure, time, money, etc I think you need to have the personality or a plan. I am blessed to have both and have done most of the things I wanted. That said I am planning to do some things before I am physically unable to do them: dive the Bimini wall/road (soon), dive the Blue Hole, hike the Aztec trail, and race a bobsled (will be ready by next March at Olympic track in US or Canada – maybe I’ll wear a camera like the kids do just for a laugh).
Bimini and bobsledding… quite the combo, Curtis. (You must take pictures – or have someone else take pictures!) Very astute – the personality (or plan, or both). Yes.
Where kids go on spring break? In my youth it was the dividing line between rich and not-rich kids. Most of us stayed home or had small jobs to earn money.
BLW,
I love this piece and I find the timing of your topic quite interesting…ours seem to be tandem thoughts…
About a year and a half ago, I wrote Home is Where I Am.
I have another piece on home in my queue… My eldest recently told me that he doesn’t think he’ll be coming back “home,” as in to NY often. A tiny piece of my heart did a flip when he told me that his southern college residence of the past three years is what feels most like home now…a place he’s created all on his own… But the adventurer in me, the gal who dreamed of studying in France at age thirteen (but never made it there) and pulled up roots at age twenty-one to move halfway across the country from her home and family understood…
Enjoy the time with the one who is turning to you for his upcoming respite, drink him in, fill him up and ready him for the return to his other home…
You done good, mama.
I really enjoyed this piece, D, as I always especially enjoy it when you write about your sons. You’ve done great; they seem like wonderful young men.
I love how you open with a scene of your adventurous older son cooking and then go on to mention that your younger one is coming home. There’s something very comforting in all of it.
Like you I kind of winged it (wung it??) when I was younger by moving to Tokyo. I guess I was able to do that with courage and confidence because I knew I always had a home to go back to. And it looks like you have provided that safety and launch pad for your children too.