“All the way across! You did it!” I laugh. “Elle, you did it!”

She was not quite five. She wore a t-shirt with a picture of kittens on it, a white skirt with gray capri’s underneath; socks, no shoes. We were at the park. It was before the play-equipment was replaced, and so the monkey bars were still there—eight, thick yellow bars from one perch to the other. I watched her little body swing and sway, eyes focused on the next rung, feet hovering high above the sandy bottom. She went from one end to the other, one motion of her arms at a time. 

This is a milestone, I thought. Her first time maneuvering the entire set of monkey bars. I hoped I could remember it. 

Being Elle’s mom has helped me to recognize milestones—her first words, her first steps and first lost tooth. The day she went to school. The day she graduated elementary. 

But still. I am a slow learner when it comes to recognizing my own milestones. I was always a sprinter, a chaser of solutions, forever seeking satisfactory ending points. My eyes were typically set on finish lines, not processes. This had a lot to do with the way I was schooled; a lot to do with living in my head, at the expense of hearing my heart. A lot to do with thinking I could control outcomes.

Being with Elle helped me to see I cannot control outcomes. 

But still. I wanted to cross my own, metaphorical, set of monkey bars—the great divide between here and there, between the inner me and the outer me, between my soulful, creative self and my responsible, dutiful mom self. There was so much inside of me that didn’t seem to be represented on the outside. 

Elle and I walked the six blocks home from the park, hand in hand. It would be a few days before I could sit down alone, in silence. While she was at preschool, I would write. I would sit in my backyard or walk the beach. I would feel nature’s processes. And I would hear what my heart had to say. 

Though it felt like stillness, it wasn’t inactive. It was patience, in action. I was faithfully moving forward. At the time, my feet were so firm on the ground, I couldn’t see that I was making my way across the monkey bars, too. Bridging together the inner and outer me . . . an endless pursuit.

It’s hard to recognize our own milestones, isn’t it? If you’re still reading this, pause now and give yourself credit for how far you’ve come. Tell me about your milestones in the comments.  Where in your life are you actively being patient? 

2 thoughts on “Patience: it’s about milestones

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