Change Artist

By Valerie WilkinsoncloseAuthor: Valerie Wilkinson Name: Valerie Wilkinson
Email: v.wilkinson@cox.net
Site: http://
About: VALERIE WILKINSON lives in Virginia Beach where she balances her time between family, work, and writing. She has written speeches for state and national politicians and has ghostwritten communications for business leaders, regional and international charities, and political figures. She is the co-author of Whispers from Our Soul: The Voice of Tahkamenon and is currently completing her second collaboration Mafia Madness: My Life under Siege.See Authors Posts (1), June 3rd, 2009
v.wilkinson@cox.net
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Family Meeting

I teared up the other day as I passed Chuck E. Cheese. Panicked when I realized that I couldn’t remember the last time my children had pleaded to go there, I cried—actually cried—at the sight of that goofy, hat-clad mouse.

I can’t stand Chuck E. Cheese. I’ve spent years coming up with excuses not to go inside the restaurant. And yet, there I was, driving along a busy parkway and grieving the loss of Chuck E. from my life.

I don’t know how you read it, but I think I’m struggling with change.

My daughter, my oldest, leaves for college in the fall. The change Ashleigh faces is obvious—new school, new state, new friends, new adventures. What is less clear is the change she leaves behind. I knew this day would come; still, I am taken by surprise.

While the rest of my family will remain in the same home, our world too will transform. My son, Eric, plans to take over his sister’s room. And Alex, my youngest, suggested that once Ashleigh, our family’s sole vegetarian, moves out, we can go to Outback Steakhouse for dinner. Kids are great at seeing silver linings.

I’m finding it a little harder to see the light.

Fear of separation and impending middle age have me thinking a lot about the world I’ve built. Like many parents, I’ve shaped my life and my priorities around my children—their needs, their schools, their activities. Now Ashleigh will leave as will Eric and Alex eventually, and my husband and I will be left to define our lives by other, yet to be determined, means.

I’m afraid. I admit it. Even so, excitement bubbles beneath the surface. In moments of hopefulness, I imagine a time when I pick a restaurant based on what I like to eat, when Saturdays exist without soccer, and fall evenings aren’t filled with the flurry of practices and homework. I may be dreaming, but her leaving illuminates the possibilities.

It also shows the error of my ways. I want to live boldly, but many of my actions have been protectionist. Of myself. Of my family. For almost two decades, I worked to build a nice, safe wall around us. I worked so hard that I tricked myself into believing it would last. Silly woman. Walls never do.

And maybe—just maybe—that is for the best.

I turned on the news in November 1989 and watched the Berlin Wall collapse. I remember not the details but the impact. I had never been to Germany. I knew no one on either side. And yet my heart leapt. My world shifted. Stones fell on foreign soil, and my life seemed lighter, too.

We all build walls—to mark boundaries, protect ourselves, hide our imperfections. And we all come, by choice or by circumstance, to these moments when we must leap beyond our barriers, or be pushed over them, or forced through. We endure the transition and emerge into a world that seems to be without security and, for brief moments of grace, without limits.

We come to these moments as individuals, families, and communities. We change jobs or homes or relationships and experience both the pain of destruction and the exhilaration of release. If we are lucky—and persistent—we glimpse possibilities previously undisclosed. We are all like new parents. Each day, our future is placed in our hands, often with no clear direction and with only love to guide the way.

So my daughter will leave for college. She will redefine herself, and we will redefine our family. It will be different, geographically expanded, but our family nonetheless. And I will learn to be a mother at a distance, as clumsy and imperfect as the one I’ve always been. The door she opens when leaving will shed light on the rest of us, allowing my husband and sons and me to test our own walls and stretch our prior limits.

Ashleigh says that life is like an elevator ride. We keep on moving no matter how hard we try to stand in place. I love the clarity of youth. Movement happens. Life changes. The only true security is mustering the faith and the courage to step into the action.

So I take this step and wave good-bye, thankful for the times when life no longer runs on autopilot—those wonderful, fearful moments that force me to look past my walls and see what’s on the other side.

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Author Bio: VALERIE WILKINSON lives in Virginia Beach where she balances her time between family, work, and writing. She has written speeches for state and national politicians and has ghostwritten communications for business leaders, regional and international charities, and political figures. She is the co-author of Whispers from Our Soul: The Voice of Tahkamenon and is currently completing her second collaboration Mafia Madness: My Life under Siege.

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June 3rd, 2009 | Tags: change, children, college, Columns, empty nest, Family, fear, memories, safety, Valerie Wilkinson, walls | Category: Columns | Leave a comment
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