Showing all posts tagged transition

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, University, Writing

Empty Nest

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

In January, Jason and I will have an empty nest when our youngest child, William, heads off to university in Victoria. We are not the first family to go through this phenomenon, and we won’t be the last, but it feels like a big change and I’m trying to make space to process it.

I’ve been struggling this fall with how to parent grown-up children. It requires a loosening of the strings that have held us tightly together as a family unit. But I don’t know how to navigate this stage.

Ava came home earlier this month for a few days during fall break. I did some Christmas baking and bought some festive holiday candy and treats like I always have. I planned an outing to a favourite Belgian waffle cafe to celebrate all of us being together. But somehow it felt different this time around.

The KitKat house I gave the kids sat unopened on the table. Every other year, Ava and William unwrapped this gift and then built it together, while Christmas music played. But this Christmas season, I put the kit away in the closet and I realised that both kids have other things going on now. This childhood tradition was just that: from their childhood, and now we were in a new stage.

I found this disorienting and lonely. I felt silly for trying to keep everything as it was, when very shortly both kids will be moved out of the house and be living in dorms with other students. But there are no rules for these big life transitions. We have to figure out how to behave as the changes are unfolding. And I’ve never been particularly skilled at letting go.

I’m experimenting with not texting Ava as much while she’s at school. She’s now in her third year of her theatre degree, and she’s busy, and somehow this year feels different in our relationship compared to last year. It’s strange to nurture my kids from a distance. To love them and miss them, but actively work at letting them know that it’s healthy for them to grow away from me.

Jason seems way better at this than I am. Maybe this is because his role as a dad was always a little more emotionally distanced than mine was as the mom. So now I’m trying to learn from him. I know it’s time to step back, and to focus more on my own career and what I might need now that the day-to-day hands-on parenting stage is over.

Some days this feels like freedom, and other days it feels like a loss. Like something really good and precious is over and can never be retrieved.

To fill the void, we decided to fill our empty nest with another kitten. Meet Pippin, who joined us earlier this month, at just 8 weeks of age. He’s cuddly and adorable, and he fills me with joy.

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, University, Writing

Hello Fall

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

Last week I wrote in my Ruby Finch Books newsletter about how much I love fall, but I realised there was more to say, so I thought I’d do an update here.

Every single year, as the calendar changes from the loosy-goosy days of summer to the more structured routine of September, I feel a lift in my spirits. I know there are some people who feel joy when the temperature rises, but I’m a fall girl through and through.

The fuzzy pajamas and thick warm socks. Boots with jeans and long-sleeved shirts again. A light jacket with a pocket to hold my car keys. Using the oven to cook dinner without thinking about how hot the house will get. Survivor and The Amazing Race on Wednesday nights. School starting up, which means a quiet house, where most days I’m the only one in it besides our two cats.

William is starting grade 12, which signals the beginning of the end of children at home. It feels strange – both sad and freeing in equal measure. For the last fifteen years, we’ve done a back-to-school routine like many parents before us involving fresh school supplies, first-day outfits, new shoes, lunch kits, and posed photographs in the same spot every year, with tears from William and wide grins from Ava.

But now we are at the end of this predictable series of post-Labour-day events. Ava left home in mid-August for her two weeks of Community Leader training at UVic, where she’s starting her second year in the theatre program, and William is beginning his final year of high school. When he graduates, we will have two adult children, and be on the edge of an empty nest.

My friend Susan posted about this phenomenon on Facebook, saying that there’s so much support for new parents, and so little for those at the end of the journey. And of course it’s not the END, in any final sense, as our grown kids will continue to need us for years to come. But this transition – from parents of kids who live at home and are considered minors under the age of eighteen, to having them be grown-up adults – is a big one.

I felt melancholy about it for a few days at the end of August, but once school actually began last week, the sadness evaporated and became something suspiciously close to contentment. It feels like I’m nearing the finish line on a job I’ve done well, with a lot of highs and lows in equal measure, but I showed up and I gave what I could and now I can glimpse a future that involves Jason and me without two kids at the centre of our marriage and family life.

Around two years ago this thought scared me shitless. Some of those fears are what I’m exploring in the new book I’m writing on The Negative Space – all the things we didn’t get or cannot see that make what we do possess have meaning and value. It’s pleasant to consider coming to the end of the day-to-day responsibilities and stresses of parenthood, while recognising that this transition, like every change in life, costs us something. We give up something, and receive something different in return.

This is also the first September in 6 years that I haven’t been a university student. Like the parenting changes on the horizon, being free of student deadlines and homework and classes is both unmooring and exciting in equal measure. I’ve started a publishing imprint and I’m busy building a company, offering online writing classes, launching a YA book next month, planning the publishing of my thesis novel in 2024, and writing a new memoir. It’s exhilarating to be doing work that isn’t designed to impress professors or agents or editors, but is something I can do simply because I believe in it myself. Having this be enough is like pure oxygen. It’s invigorating and restoring.

Well, I planned to write about our 3.5 week Europe trip this summer and what I discovered about myself, but this fall post became something else. And I love that. I’ll write again about the trip, because I’m still working through how I feel and what changed for me while travelling abroad, but for now I’m leaning into my Ruby Finch Books motto – intuitive courage – and trusting that where my intuition leads is worth following.

How are you feeling this fall? Any big changes on the horizon?

In Culture, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, Uncategorized

Endings and Beginnings

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

We are in a time of transition, with seasons ending and new ones beginning. This pandemic, which has dragged on forever and a year, is entering a fresh stage with our province announcing a re-opening plan. All four of us in my immediate family have been vaccinated with our first dose, providing hope for a return to normalcy.

But what the hell does that even mean? Almost fifteen months into this thing, we have adjusted to masks, social distancing, staying at home, being extra cautious all the damn time. This weird version of life now feels normal to us. I can’t quite imagine getting on a plane again, going on vacation and out to restaurants, socializing with others, and speaking to a crowd of real live human beings instead of through a screen.

I’m reminded again of how strange and unsettling change can be. I know it’s good for me, like eating my vegetables and flossing my teeth, but I really hate not knowing what to expect. For this whole pandemic none of us were able to make any real plans, because staring into the future was like peering at a giant question mark. But now it appears hope is on the horizon, and yet I find myself still feeling cautious and uncertain.

Every ending has an invitation to a beginning built into it. I’m trying to focus on that as we move into the summer. Ava graduated this week from grade twelve and we’re preparing for her to attend the University of Victoria in September. She’s enrolled in the theatre program where she’ll work toward a BFA in acting. Another rough ending, when she moves out of our house, with an exciting beginning just after the tears have dried.

Perhaps the key is to make room for all of it. The sadness when one thing ends, then the vacuum of the liminal space where we feel unprepared and afraid, and finally the rejuvenation of a new experience. As Anne Lamott wrote, “My diocesan priest friend Terry Richie says the thing is not to try harder, but to resist less.” I’m inherently bad at resisting less, but it’s something I’m working toward. Flowing with the current instead of against it.

Each of us is at different stages of change, but when it comes to the pandemic we are all experiencing some of the same growing pains. We’re like butterflies emerging from the chrysalis, flying into the sunshine, freer to move around than we’ve been in over a year. Who knows what will happen next? Maybe that’s part of the allure. To allow ourselves grace when we feel timid, and to celebrate together when we feel brave. When one season ends, another one automatically begins. It’s hopeful and scary at exactly the same time.

In Identity, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Speaking

Autumn

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Autumn

Well, here we are again at the end of summer looking towards autumn. I feel melancholy when transitions are upon us. I’m learning not to sweat this, but instead to allow it to have its way, for this is the process of change.

Ushering in a new season reminds us that nothing in this life stays the same for long. Perhaps this understanding is at the root of the sadness I feel. We cannot hold on, no matter how sweet the experience has been. We have no choice but to allow it to pass, to learn what we can from it and then give ourselves permission to move on. Anything else holds us back.

This fall Jason has a new job, I will be returning to university and increasing my hours as a speaker and background actor in film and TV, Ava will be starting grade nine and William is moving on to grade six. September tends to be a time to embrace new adventures, which is probably why I have a love/hate relationship with it.

Deep down, I know that I am capable of handling whatever is coming next. And I have no doubt that my husband and my children will be fine, too. And whatever you are facing, dear reader, I believe that your abilities will rise to greet the challenges in front of you.

I think it’s just the actual transition that really sucks. It’s hard, plain and simple, the process of moving from one known stage into an unknown one. We can only envision and imagine for so long. Eventually, the calendar page is turned and we must leap, with our best foot forward, into the next adventure. I hate the waiting, but it’s all part of the process.

Autumn is nearly here, with its cool breezes, return to sweaters, pumpkin spice lattes, crisp leaves, school buses, apple pies and other delights. I find it difficult to let go of this summer, because it has been so peaceful and happy compared to the chaos of last year. My natural inclination is to hang on, to remain where I am safe and secure, to refuse to press on.

Life is a long march forward. To stagnate is to eventually die. We must all challenge ourselves by boldly facing up to our fears and limiting beliefs. We only grow when we are challenged. Resting is a divine blessing and an important one, but if we are in leisure mode forever we’ll never achieve anything. The healthy balance to strive for is a teeter-totter of activity/stillness, people/solitude, challenge/security.

Fall is a prime opportunity to re-examine our boundaries, priorities and the way we spend our precious resources. Are we being invited to attempt something new? Will we need to sacrifice an item on our schedule to make room for another person or experience?

It’s normal to feel lost at the point of transition. It’s nothing we need to fix. If we let this sadness have its way, with a little luck it will pass right through us, opening the door to the next season, ripe with adventure and promise.

In Nurture, Parenting, Writing

Finishing Strong

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

At the end of June, most moms (and some dads) are limping over the finish line, just trying to survive the chaos that comes with the end of each school year and the transition into summer.

When my kids are tired, I tell them, “Try to finish strong.” I use this phrase myself to get through one more wind-up, field trip, teacher gift, bag of junk precious memories that comes home from school.

Usually, the end of June also means rushing to hit a series of writing deadlines so I can go into the summer with no articles due or strenuous daily word counts to hit when I’d rather be taking my kids to the pool or the beach.

There were a few deadlines I did not make and this work will carry into the summer. But yesterday I did type “The End” (the most blessed two words ever for a writer) on the first draft of my current manuscript, one I’ve been working on for the last eighteen months. I can tell you that it felt amazing to be finished, especially because we are going on vacation next week and I can put this story away to let it breathe before edits and get busy dreaming about the next book.

Any large project follows a series of steps. There’s the initial excitement, then the long, dreary middle, followed by the boredom with it when you just want to be done, and finally the actual end when you are sick of the whole thing. Finishing strong is an important concept for everything in our lives. If we don’t quit, we eventually see the fruit of our long labour. Yesterday I felt that satisfying rush that comes with not giving up.

Now I’m turning my energy and enthusiasm toward the summer. Today I soak up the beautiful silence of my house as I will be sacrificing this particular pleasure beginning on Friday. But I will also be gaining lazier mornings, coffee on the deck in the sunshine, impromptu visits outside with friends, later bedtimes and a sense of relaxed leisure. A chance to make new and lasting memories by slowing down and noticing more.

Happy summer, friends. Finish strong (or as close to it as you can manage). Then jump into summer with a light heart and a peaceful smile. I hope I run into you while I’m outside with my book or splashing in the water. We don’t get these precious days back. Enjoy them while they are here.