An adventure not yours to take: A Mama allowing her baby to soar, and reach for her dreams.

 Savoring Simple Daily Pleasures

The house is quiet this morning, but it’s a different kind of quiet. It’s the quiet before the storm, I suppose. The quiet before a big, brave adventure that isn't mine to take, but one that my heart is so deeply tied to. Later today, we’ll drive my daughter to the airport, and she’ll get on a plane to Peru for two weeks of volunteering.

And my heart… well, it’s a messy mix of things.

I look at her, so full of courage and a little bit of that wide-eyed fear, and I am just so incredibly proud. But then there’s this other feeling, this deep, maternal ache of anxiety for the unknown. For her safety, for her heart, for all the things a mother worries about when her child steps out into the big wide world without her.

It’s funny, isn’t it? How life comes full circle. I remember being her age, so ready to take on the world, so focused on my own journey. I remember the thrill of my own adventures, the feeling of standing on the edge of something new and exciting. And I honestly don’t think I gave my own parents’ feelings a second thought. It wasn't out of malice, it was just… the glorious and necessary selfishness of youth. Your world is all about you, as it should be in that season. You don’t really understand the other side of that goodbye hug.

But now, I understand.

Last night, she crawled into our bed, her voice trembling a little, "What was I thinking? I’m just panicking." And oh, my heart. I remember that feeling so vividly. That stomach-lurching moment when the reality of your decision sets in, when you feel like you’ve made a huge mistake but you’re committed, you’re on the path and there’s no turning back. I remember sobbing in my own mothers bed before a big trip, overwhelmed by the sheer size of what I was about to do.

It’s terrifying, that feeling. And it’s right. It’s part of the journey.

Of course, she will get on that plane today. Her spirit is too bright and her heart is too good not to. She will do this brave, wonderful thing.

And I will watch her go, holding all of my own messy feelings. The pride, the fear, the memories of being the one leaving, and the stark, beautiful, heart-wrenching reality of now being the one left behind. It’s the rhythm of life, I suppose. This constant letting go, this stretching of the heartstrings.

These are the days… the ones that are hard and beautiful all at once. The ones where you see your children becoming the amazing people they were meant to be, and you realise your job is shifting from protector to supporter. And you know what? It’s a gift. A true GIFT, even with all the worry. To stand back and watch them fly.