Let the Moment Make Itself
If there's an opportunity for connection, I'm pretty good at turning it into an actual plan.
I invite the friends and triple-check the list to be inclusive. I pack what we need and remind others what’s essential.
I generally consider this a strength. And it is. But lately, it feels extra. I’m becoming aware that doing so much to create the moment means that I am missing the one that's already happening.
When our kids are little, we manufacture almost everything. We choose where they go, who they see and what fills their days. If they have a playdate, it's because we texted another parent. If there's a birthday tradition, we created it. If everyone “ends up” at the pool on a Saturday afternoon, someone suggested it to make it possible.
Recently, some neighborhood parents and I started taking turns walking the kids home from school. When it was my turn, I brought the dog, walked slowly, and listened.
They negotiate who walks next to whom. They tell stories. They disagree. They laugh about things I don't understand. They talk about who is copying whom and whether imitation feels flattering or annoying. They move toward one friend and then another.
They don’t have a plan. I’m tempted to ask a question, resolve a conflict, turn something into a teachable moment or make sure no one feels left out. Basically, I’m tempted to be extra. Instead, I try to stay a few steps behind.
I’m realizing that sometimes her growing up asks me to take up a little less space.
I’m not suggesting we withdraw. Kids need guidance, boundaries, rides, snacks, conversations and adults who pay attention. I am trying to notice the difference between creating the conditions for connection and creating the connection itself.
I can suggest the walk home without choreographing what happens. I can parent a growing girl by moving from director to supporting cast member. It means doing less, which is much harder than it sounds.
Creating experiences is one of the ways I love people. I want my daughter to have a childhood filled with friends, adventures, traditions and people who adore her. But I also want her to learn that life will come toward her, too.
Friends will seek her out. She'll decide what sounds fun. She'll experience awkwardness and figure out what to do next. She'll learn which friendships grow when she tends to them and which ones lose value when she does all the tending.
There is value in discovering this while the stakes are still small, and value in my relearning it when the stakes feel larger. I don’t have to make every moment happen. Sometimes my job is simply to create the conditions, stay a few steps behind and trust that life will come toward both of us.
