Nostalgia. Is that what this is? My mind flashes back to the movie Inside Out 2. Nostalgia. The old lady remembering “the good old days.” Is this what my life has come to? Well all right then. Bring it.
An image comes to mind. I smile to myself remembering simpler times. My mind takes me back to these years often, a time when all were safely gathered in, little chicks still choosing to seek shelter under the wings of their happy mother hen. I remember the exhaustion, lack of sleep, physical demands, and constant kid messes. It didn’t feel easy at the time, and yet somehow I remember those days with fondness. Keeping toddlers - certain toddlers in particular - alive and well was a full time job and then some. My youngest took a lot of watching in his younger years. He had a way of slipping out of sight quietly during the chaos of brain developing, teaching, cooking, cleaning and studying. This boy had places to be and people to meet. I found my ingenuity in great demand, attempting to remain one step ahead of this strategic mind with a zest for life.
It was on one such occasion that a moment was forever ingrained in my memory, a memory I managed to capture as a photo.
Momentary panic. The barely verbal two-year-old had once again escaped. The garage door was open. How in the world did this child manage to open the garage door yet again? The front door was locked and too heavy for his little hands. The back door led to a fully fenced backyard that would keep him safe. Nope. This one chose to leave through the garage door. Quick mental note: it is definitely time to move the inside garage door button higher and out of reach of the youngest one so eager to explore the world on his own. I ran through the garage, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Ten steps in and I stopped in my tracks. Ok. Breathe. There he is. Little Man was right in front of the house, on the sidewalk even. All the nonstop training to stay on the sidewalk and walk one direction around the cul-de-sac, stopping one house before reaching the end seemed to have paid off. This was the range of exploration young ones were given at the time - a path I had created to keep little humans safe - and that was the direction this little one was headed. I paused to catch my breath and attempt to allow the fight or flight mode to dissipate somewhat. As calm returned, I stopped in an attempt to take it all in.
There he was wearing two different shoes from his big sister’s massive collection, holding the handle and pulling with determination the rolling thermal bag we used for hauling lunches and snacks to park and swim outings as a family. He was a man on a mission, though what exactly that mission was, I cannot be certain. I paused and giggled at the sight of this little man. I snapped a picture that later would be sent to loved ones with the caption “Running Away from Home.” That is exactly what it looked like to my untrained eyes.
I remembered my own attempts at running away from home, though slightly older than a mere two years. I gathered my younger sister and our matching banana seat bikes and formulated a plan. Life was unfair and we were not going to take it anymore. The details of our escape from reality elude me now, but it was serious business and I was determined to break free. My mother, upon learning our plan was to flee this existence never to return again, reminded us that we were likely to get hungry on our journey and asked if we would like her to pack us a lunch for the road. Sigh. My plans at running away had been foiled without so much as a struggle. The wisdom in her calm words were irritating. No attention, no recognition. I suspect that’s what my eight-year-old self was seeking. Big emotions in a little body that I didn’t understand at the time.
Was that what this moment brought? My little run-away? It definitely looked like it from the picture. And that is the story I made up in my head. Until today.
My mind flashed back to the present moment. What I wouldn’t give to put on my best mismatched shoes, pack a rolling bag and walk away from it all. Memories of my run-away child self remind me that life isn’t always as easy as it looks. The details of leaving a life behind that no longer serves me in so many ways is far more complicated than it seems.
I reflected on the picture permanently sketched on the folds of my brain. What did this tiny human want? Why did he feel the need to leave? What was going through his little brain at that moment? Did someone take his favorite toy? Was he upset about a lack of fruit snacks being served at home? Seriously! What was it?
And then it hit me. Something shifted completely in my mind’s eye and the picture and storyline morphed simultaneously. What if that wasn’t the story at all? It’s easy to forget that not everyone’s mind works the same way or sees the world through a similar lens. We arrogantly assume the view from another looks very similar to our own. No. That was not the story for this small human. He wasn’t running away. He was walking towards. This was a little boy with a plan - with hopes and dreams and determination. This was a boy with childlike joy and excitement about life who remembered that good things always came with shoes and a rolling cart. He wasn’t running away. He was walking towards fun and joy and light-heartedness and possibilities.
Tears came to my eyes. Oh to have the kind of joy and faith and determination that a sweet little blonde toddler did on that sunny day in spring! Have I ever felt that way? I’m not really sure. I hope so. At this particular moment in my life, joy and delight and possibilities feel hidden - clouded - by the reality of adult life. I wish it wasn’t so. Oh to be an eternal optimist with sunshine and unicorns and rainbows! An image of Eeyore with a rain cloud over his head pops into my head and I smile.
I don’t push it away. Years of therapy have helped me see that all sides and parts of me are welcome at the table. The good, the bad and the ugly. Eeyore is welcome here. When I don’t push him away, he comes and goes freely. But the beautiful image of my boy on a mission reminds me not to push away the other characters wanting a place at the table as well. The child-like joy and curiosity of Roo, the wisdom and overconfidence of Owl, the nurturing maternal love of Kanga, the bouncy excitement of Tigger, and the innocence and simplicity that can be found in Pooh Bear. Even the hyperfocused planning and organizing in Rabbit, and the tunnel-vision hard work mode seen in Gopher are welcome here. Yes, all have a place at my table.
I pause once again. Perhaps running away - or sauntering away slowly like Eeyore - is not the only option. I smile as I embrace other possibilities that this moment of reflection with my little blonde toddler has gifted me. Perhaps my focus CAN be more on what I am walking towards. Perhaps excitement and curiosity and innocence can also be a part of this moment in time, bringing me hope and joy and possibilities at what is to come, and not just sadness at what is being left behind.
I smile again, a glimmer of hope returning. I shut my computer and get out of bed.
Peace out, y’all. My mismatched shoes and rolling cart await. 😊
