Settling into the empty nest

Today I’m trying to appreciate the feeling of space. After 20-plus years of managing a calendar with only slivers of light between activities, I suddenly find myself—with kids up and out of the house—with time that is unaccounted for. 

And guess what? My first instinct is to fill it. Surprise, surprise. This is the place where my brain and body are most comfortable. Being occupied. 

But no, I’m going to try my best to keep these precious hours open. To take a deep breath and for a moment, watch the leaves fall from the trees outside my office window. I’m going to write this blog post, and leave room for the other things I always yearned to have time for, when I was fitting it all in, filling my days with all the important stuff that comes with being a mom. 

I’m going to give myself permission to pause. To look around. To not be in a rush, sandwiching moments of meaning between blocks of productivity.

Someone asked me the other day how I’m adjusting to the empty nest. And I said, quite honestly, that I hadn’t had a chance to notice the nest was empty. I had quickly filled that time and space with work and exercise and house projects.

I think I was afraid to slow down and notice. I was afraid of what it might feel like to BE in the empty nest.

Today I am easing into my nest, pressing my back against the tightly woven twigs and leaves, and feeling it for the first time. It’s quiet. It’s still. It’s a place where I think I might find myself again. The self that has been so busy doing and not allowing herself time to just … flow.