That time I found myself letting go and leaning in. Doing whatever it took to help our kids live their wildest dreams.
I was sitting in the audience and finally, finally taking a real breath. As Hakuna Matata ramped up, I began mouthing “He did it. He did it” to the beat of “ha-ku-na ma-ta-ta.” This was his last scene, his last song and I knew he’d done something so few are fortunate enough to do.
I was watching my son in the final moments of his Broadway debut.
He was nine.
This journey – raising deeply creatively driven kids – had been full of what felt like multiple moments of jumping off of a cliff into a raging river.
The moment we agreed to let the same son try to get an agent.
The moment his younger brother later charmed that agent in a waiting room and walked out with his own contract as well. I thought…”and now there are two.”
The moment my oldest realized that even though he loved basketball, what made his soul sing was music,. Deciding with his limited time to chose his guitar and his school play over another season of travel basketball.
But the moment where it felt like jumping out of an airplane? That was when we received the call that my middle son had booked The Lion King on Broadway.
It meant I was closing down the psychotherapy practice I had worked for years to build and was now finally working on autopilot.
Going from a two-income one home household to a one-income two home one income household – with the second home n a place where the rent on a studio would rival the mortgage on our four bedroom home.
Rebelling against everything my parents, some of (ok many of) my friends and society believed was the path to stability and success. I was terrified.
And exhilarated. With a husband by my side who was an equal partner in feeling that if could at all manage to help our boys achieve their wildest dreams that we should go all in. It felt like jumping out of a plane holding hands and thinking “there are two parachutes here. Between us, it may be rough but even if one malfunctions we’ve got the other one.
So we did it. I said goodbye to my clients. Left my husband in Chicago working full time and now fully in charge of the seven and thirteen-year old. Me living in a walk up studio apartment with our nine-year old in the heart of “the greatest city in the world.”
In varying ways since then we’ve jumped out of that plane a few times now. Each one with a feeling of gratitude that we have been able to figure out ways to support them in pursuing the things that bring them joy.
Thankfully, I’ve figured out many things along the way. I’ve made mistakes, had to course-correct, stumbled in the dark and truly dropped the ball at times.
I’ve also learned a lot, met some amazing kids and parents, have the most supportive team surrounding and uplifting our boys and made friends for life.
We’re still jumping. Still not sure when and where we will all land or if it will come to a point where one or all of the boys say “that was fun” and move on.
But I wouldn’t trade this sharp veer off the established path for anything. Because from when our son climbed to the top of Pride Rock and sang with passion and confidence to the moment he exited stage left and I was finally able to take that deep breath – I have never been more sure that the crazy decisions are the right decisions for us.
How did I get here? Letting go. Leaning in.
Without these experiences, I wouldn’t be right here – where I’m supposed to be.
