Humans I love,
I am writing to you from a flight to New Orleans to attend my first baby’s college graduation. OMFG how are we already here??
Over twenty-two years ago, I was sitting in my parked car. I had just learned I was pregnant and was sitting there feeling a mix between surreal awe and mild shock. “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door,” by Bob Dylan came on the radio, and I felt the hugest wave of love. I continued to just sit there and cry until the song ended. I was entirely certain she was meant to be.
I knew it was her and that she had already changed me forever.
So along came Dylan, a nod to the moment in the car, and to its Welsh origins, meaning “born from waves,” the embodiment of our shared love of the ocean.
Being the mom of this deeply thoughtful, introspective, silly, constantly singing little girl brought me more joy and fear than I ever could have imagined possible. She would look at me with her impossibly huge, bluest of blue eyes (which she got from my long departed dad and makes me so so happy that he shows up in this way), and I knew I was more in love than I ever had been and that there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep her safe.
I learned early on in motherhood that faith and fear are wings of the same bird and that we are constantly striking a balance between the two. The moment Dylan entered our lives, I knew I had to learn how to tenderly hold both of those feelings. Once I understood that Dylan has her own path, her own version of a higher power or guiding force, and that the task of guiding her and keeping her safe was not solely up to me, I felt a sense of soul relief that I was there to support that path, not to necessarily create it. Of course I occasionally (okay, maybe even often) falter and run ahead and try to clear that path, something a mom is hard-wired to do. Dylan’s wise choices to live and study far from home were her own clever way to help bust out of that dynamic.
Despite the clarity that I am first her mom, as she gets older a deeper, more profound friendship emerges that is more gratifying than I ever could have imagined.
I witnessed her grow up and navigate the tricky standards for girls and women (especially in LA where we live) and together we learned that being a girl and woman in the world gets to manifest however we choose, despite incessant judgment no matter the choices. She is wildly intelligent, deeply devoted to her chosen people. She has made some bold decisions about the course of her life, and rarely has it been the easier path. As she spread her wings, I watched as she slayed hard things you would never wish for your kid and emerge entirely triumphant. She is impossibly beautiful, deeply soulful, and unwaveringly loyal.
But here’s the thing. While being her (and her sister’s) mom was the absolute most important thing in my life, it wasn’t the only thing. I knew my girls needed a role model whose sole identity was not just that of mother. My girls have witnessed me taking care of my body, mind and soul throughout their whole lives. I grew up with “Do as I say, not as I do.” But I chose to parent by being an example of what I hope for them. Have I done it perfectly? Of course not, but I have done my best. While their dad and I deeply love one another (and them, of course), we didn’t model the romantic love I hope they will find. But we did model mutual love and respect, how to live with intelligence and kindness, how to create a home that is safe and loving. He and I showed up for each other and always supported each other’s path. There was always, always love.
To you, my Dylan, I wish for you to live the largest, most beautiful life you can imagine- one of adventure and love and challenge and deep, soul gratification. When the inevitable challenges and pain come, know that you have a reserve of strength, grace, resilience, and support.
You are forever my girl. I got you. And, even better, you got you.