Issue #100

Reflections, projections and gratitude

The little counter in the Substack dashboard told me I’ve published 99 newsletters so far. 99? Already? I’m not sure why the number surprised me; I launched Parent of Adults almost three years ago.

So much has changed in the last three years! For you, too?

100 issues in, I thought we’d revisit what we’re doing here (now) then meet in the comments to get reacquainted. I’ll bring the emoji donuts! 🍩

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When I launched Parent of Adults, I my goal was to invite parents of young adults to gather and swap experiences/lessons learned about empty nesting. My son had recently graduated from college and my daughter had just started her sophomore year.

I longed for a peer group of parents at a similar stage and knew that magic can happen in a good online community. I experienced that magic as a younger parent in the comment section of my blog, Parent Hacks, which I started in 2005 and wrote for a decade. I’d been writing and/or podcasting about family life since then and was coming off a healing sabbatical… how hard could a Substack newsletter be?

😒

My breezy arrogance might have been a bit premature.

As the years progressed, life as a parent of out-of-state, barely-post-pandemic adults got messier. I struggled to write candidly without crashing into privacy boundaries.

I also wasn’t aware of (or didn’t acknowledge) how much I was still struggling under the weight of pandemic anxiety, grief over my Dad’s sudden death, and the traumatic chaos of those years, political and otherwise. My energy and mood were ok, and I could write. But my fluency had disappeared.

I no longer recognized the geography of my life — as a parent, as an American, as me — so when I sat down to write, words failed me.

The ease with which I’d always reached out and connected through words was gone. Soon enough, my confidence was gone, too.

Still, I wrote. I talked about the paradoxes at this stage of parenthood and marriage adjustments and my beef with the phrase “empty nesting.”

And you replied. Your comments tethered and inspired me. I found kindred spirits among you and other Substack writers. Some of us had “known” each other from when our kids were little, and some of us had only just met. That this kind of connection was still possible on today’s Internet amazed me.

I made mistakes. I launched newsletter features and then abandoned them without warning. I fell into potholes of comparison and entitlement. I fretted over writing no longer feeling “easy.” I went silent at times, worried my “work” was an exercise in naïveté & navel-gazing. 😳

But I kept writing. I wrote about hope and politics and eldercare and death cleaning. I read your comments and newsletters, and found new writers to follow and new people to meet.

I pushed back on the overthinking and self-importance. I stopped forcing myself to become the writer I used to be (or “should” be) and started (begrudgingly, hesitantly) writing and parenting from where I am now.

Which brings us to today.

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

• The world is…well, you know.

• Both kids will soon move back home to take stock, save some money, and plot their next steps. As my son wisely framed it, “this isn’t a reset, it’s just the next thing I’m doing.”

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

• Mom is in a rehab facility recuperating from a major fall. The lack of independence is hard for her to accept, even temporarily, but she’s getting great care and working hard to stay upbeat.

Like before, the terrain is unfamiliar. So what else is new? I’ve gotten better at tolerating the sensation of not knowing. I’m not saying it’s easy, but practice makes it a little less scary.

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I won’t haul out that old chestnut the only constant is change. Instead, I’ll drop this one right here:

One day at a time. 🌰

It’s the best way I can sum up how I’m living and writing now.

In 2022, I was searching for a well-defined plan for newsletters and life. I forgot the #1 lesson of parenting, which is that plans are basically dressed-up wishes.

In 2025, I’m rolling with it. The ride’s bumpy and I whine about it sometimes, but the company is excellent and the scenery’s incredible.

Monument Valley in 2024

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

What I do here is almost beside the point. What really matters is the conversation that comes out of it.

Us, talking to each other, offering glimpses of our lives as illumination and comfort. Humans humaning together, trusting we can do that, even now. Especially now.

If this is the 100th newsletter you’ve read or the first, thank you. Every one of your comments is a ping from a friendly universe. Thank you for every clicked heart. Thank you for supporting my work by paying for it and sharing it and just by being here.

Your generosity of spirit gives me so much hope.

To Issue #101 and beyond.

Please, please: introduce yourself in the comments and let’s get reacquainted. Tell us about you, your family, where you live, whatever you feel like sharing. Inquiring minds want to know! 🍩🍩🍩

Comments are the whole reason I write this newsletter! They’re open to all readers for the first week after publication. For unlimited access to comments + the full, unlocked archive, become a paid supporter.

🎁💯 As a thank you gift on the occasion of #100, I’ve unlocked all the past posts linked in this issue.

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Thanks for reading Parent of Adults, my invitation to compare notes on life beyond the empty nest. I’m Asha Dornfest, a Portland, Oregon-based author & parent of two young adults.

➡️ Learn more about Parent of Adults or subscribe now for free.

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