We are meant to live in seasons.
We, you and me, we are so many things. We are parents, spouses, daughters, sisters, friends, and co-workers.
Our lives are cyclical. Like the moon, we shift, wax and wane. We give ourselves permission to move with magnetic reckoning.
We move through seasons quickly, slowly, painfully, joyfully.
Seasons call us to let loose untapped parts of ourselves. We have parts that need to roar. And parts that need to rest.
While my Girl Wonder was off to camp, I had a brief season of writing. Spending hours at my laptop. Without worrying that she was searching the corners for crumbs or running around in unwashed rags because I was lost in a storm of words.
This month is a season of family. A week at a quiet Florida beach. A season for laughing, sun soaking, and remembering. No worries about unfinished to-do lists at work. Just sand between the toes and maybe a few other nooks and crannies.
I will have seasons of parenting outside the daily drill of feeding, laundering and tucking in. She will need me to hold her hand, push her forward and love her more loudly. These are the moments where I let the dust bunnies procreate, the windows stay dirty and the dishes pile up.
As a mother, this is the gift I want to give my daughter. Permission to have seasons for exploring. For sitting still. For dancing in the kitchen. I want her to know she can follow her heart. In more than one direction.
What are your seasons?