Two things: Driving around Argyle Lake and a sweet young helmeted family on bikes.
Today’s weather was beautiful–still coolish, but sunny. A welcome change from the bleak weather of the week and a great day for a drive. A great day to avoid housework. So, I headed to Argyle, camera riding shotgun. I drove, sat, walked. Thought, talked to myself, talked to God. Solicited Cooper’s knowledge on matters of trees. In a few weeks, the park will be green and shady, but today the sun still slices through the trees, striping the road with light and dark.
Jump ahead a couple hours. I was driving through a residential area, slowing to turn left. Barely moving, really, because I wanted the parents of the young, fully-helmeted family of five to know that I saw them–to know I was watching to be sure the kids didn’t pedal away from the curb and into my path. I smiled at them as I turned, waved to the parents as if to say, “I see you protecting them. I’ll do my part.” I passed and they went on with their ride, ducklings in a row.
They went on with their ride, and a guttural sob filled my car. I remember those days. Days when three young children seemed to go at least four different directions. Days when my “only” job was to keep them safe in all the ways imaginable. Days when keeping them safe was daunting but doable. Driving toward home, I thought about that young family, my own young family decades ago, and the sun-striped path at Argyle.
So much of life is a striped path. Sometimes, the lines are sharp and clearly defined, the shadows short. Other times, the sun is lower in the sky, offering blurred edges and longer shadows. On cloudy days, it all runs together–no shadow, no light. Regardless, I keep driving or walking down the path, trying to remind myself I can still see the sky, the light still comes through, the path keeps going.
Taken too fast, the stripes of light and dark can be a dizzying, disorienting strobe. The cycling from light to dark to light to dark to light is too much; there’s no time to brace for the change. My eyes and my mind can’t keep up. At a slower, walking pace, I notice each shadow and each strip of light. I can appreciate the nuances–branches, bark, the diagonal shadow of a fallen tree. And sometimes, I can’t control the pace. Sometimes, a happy sight, a family enjoying a spring bike ride, throws me from light to dark in a lurch.
I wish I could tell that young family to enjoy these sunny stripes in life. To treasure these bike rides, even though the constant vigilance can be exhausting. It’s worth it. I wouldn’t spoil anything for them. I wouldn’t tell them the vigilance of young parenthood is only the beginning, that the struggles and worries grow and change with each year. The stripes in parenting, in life, are many–dark and light–but it’s worth it.
Life is worth it.
Woods Writes 