(audio version below)
My son suggests an after-dark hike. And I say yes.
This had been an idea of his for a while and I want to honor his desire. Plus, it's calling to me too.
We drive out to one of our nearby spots on a bluff overlooking the river — a magical place, protected, peaceful, full of wildflower wisdom. No other two-leggeds are there. The temperature is just right, somewhere between warm and cool, with a slight breeze to remind us of unseen forces at play.
We hike a bit, find a sit spot, rove the night sky with our naked eyes and also our star map app. We talk, listen to the frogs and crickets, talk some more. I can't remember all we chat about, it ebbs and flows, goes deep at times and crests into laughter often.
For a stretch, we continue walking and as my son holds the phone to the sky to better view the locations of the stars alongside the app, it makes sense to hold his hand to keep him on the path. He is 13. It has been a while since he held my hand while walking.
I pause stargazing to focus my awareness on the feeling of his large hand in mine and savor the connection.
I've discovered that as I practice this pause to feel and savor in such moments, later — when it's time to unclasp hands and move on from this connection to the next — I'm more ready to let go without lingering emotion, nostalgia, or tendrils of wanting it to be any different.
I believe we are in an evolutionary shift — from a world organized around extraction to one remembering how to regenerate. And I've come to sense that this shift doesn't only happen in policy rooms or public marches or permaculture fields. It happens in moments exactly like this one. In the choice to say yes when something true calls. In the pause to feel a hand. In the willingness to love without clinging to what we love.
Every yes — each one a threshold. Each one an opportunity to choose presence over protection, connection over control, love over the fear of losing.
I didn't realize when I said yes to this experience that I was saying yes to allowing another layer of love to unfurl — for myself, my son, and the wholeness of it all.
Maybe that's the truth of all yeses — and even all nos. Each an opportunity to unfurl into deeper layers of loving true.
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