Welcome to Parent of Adults. Start here!

Let’s (re)introduce ourselves.

THE LITTLE COUNTER in the Substack dashboard tells me I’ve published 99 newsletters so far. 99? Already?

So much has changed since I launched this newsletter! For you, too?

In this 100th issue, I’d like to reflect on how far we’ve come together + invite you to (re)introduce yourself in the comments.

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When I launched Parent of Adults, my intention was to create a place to compare notes on empty nesting.

My son had already graduated from college and my daughter had just started her sophomore year. I longed for a peer group at a similar parenting stage and knew the magic that was possible in a trusted online community. I experienced that magic in the comment section of my mid-2000’s blog, Parent Hacks, my original online home.

I’d been writing and/or podcasting about family life ever since. I’ll start a Substack newsletter! I thought. Seems simple enough, right?

🙄😒

My breezy arrogance may have been a bit premature.

As a parent of out-of-state, barely-post-pandemic adults, life was full and exciting, but also confusing, frustrating and messy. And it only got messier as the years went on.

It’s not that I ever expected Instagram-ready smooth sailing — just the opposite, in fact; I assumed things would be bumpy. In my experience, parenting has rarely if ever been straightforward. I wanted this newsletter to reflect the complexity of this stage, but even so I found it difficult to articulate.

I also struggled to write candidly without crashing into privacy boundaries.

What’s more, I didn’t realize (or perhaps I wouldn’t acknowledge) how much I was still wrestling with pandemic anxiety, grief over my Dad’s sudden death, and the traumatic chaos and loss of those years. My energy and mood were okay and I could write, but the ease with which I’d always connected through words was gone.

I no longer recognized the geography of my life — as a parent, as a daughter, as an American, as a writer, as me.

Words failed me, as did my confidence.

But I wrote anyway.

I described paradoxes at this stage of parenthood and marriage adjustments and my beef with the phrase “empty nesting.”

You replied!

Your comments tethered me. I found kindred spirits among you and other Substack writers. Some of us had “known” each other online since our kids were little, and some of us met here for the first time. I discovered that life-affirming connection was still possible on today’s Internet. This amazed me.

I messed up.

I launched newsletter features and then abandoned them without warning. I fell into sinkholes of comparison. I obsessed over meaningless details. I fretted over my writing no longer being “easy.” I went silent at times, worried this whole thing was an exercise in naïveté & navel-gazing. 😳🕳️

But I kept writing.

I wrote about hope and politics and eldercare and death cleaning. I sat with our conversations, read your comments and newsletters, and met new people here.

I got a handle on my overthinking and sense of entitlement. I made space for my insecurities instead of letting them take over. I stopped trying to force myself to be the writer I was and wrote from where I am now.

Which brings me to today.

• My kids’ college years are over (who knows about graduate school).

• Both kids have moved back home to Portland to look for jobs, save some money and plot their next steps.

• The world is…well, you know.

• Rael and I are planning and re-planning for retirement unsure if that term, like empty nesting, even applies.

• Mom is adjusting to life in her retirement community and the challenges of widowhood, aging and Parkinson’s. It’s not easy, and also, she’s making her way forward.

As before, the terrain is unfamiliar.

So what else is new?

I’ve come to accept that uncertainty’s the norm. It always has been. I’m more willing to tolerate the inherent discomfort of that. It’s an odd kind of relief.

The best way I can sum up how I’m living and writing today is one day at a time.

Curiosity, humility, flexibility, usefulness. If I can hit that mark more than half the time, I’m doing okay.

The most important thing is our conversation.

What I write here only matters so much. The important thing is us, exchanging stories, offering glimpses of our lives as illumination and comfort. Humans humaning together. Trusting that’s possible, even now. Especially now.

Every time you comment or click the little heart you send the signal that we don’t do this work alone. Extra thanks to those of you who support my work by paying for it and sharing it.

The generosity of spirit in this community gives me so much hope. I invite you to (re) introduce yourself in the comments. I’ll see you there.

Unlimited comment & archive access is usually a thank you supporter benefit for paid subscribers and frequent sharers. But as a gift on the occasion of this 100th issue, I’ve unlocked all linked posts. 🎁💯❤️