Out walking today, it was very, very windy. After aborting our beach walk, we were heading inland, my son in a carrier with the cover over his head like he hasn’t been for about two years now. We’d had quite the adventure racing to shelter when the wind picked up. He’d had enough of the ‘sand wind’ and wanted to be safely wrapped up against my chest, with my cardigan secured over his legs. He went very quiet and very still, resting his head against me. Amidst the screaming wind, he seemed like the centre of all peace.
I’d taken provisions for a full day out – I guess I should have checked the weather more carefully. As it happened, about 20 minutes after we got to the beach, we were headed home again, my son no longer even in the mood to visit the swans at the park. I hadn’t intended to be carrying a nearly three year old on my front, my rucksack full of clothes and drinks and snacks on my back, and his little rucksack stuffed full of toys in my hand, for essentially a two hour round trip. But it was an unanticipated blessing.
I’ve been doing my best lately to give him space to grow and flourish into the human he is becoming. To make myself a little less important. It’s challenging and relieving and rewarding and terrifying. But to embrace him as the baby he still in some ways is is as comforting to me as it is to him, I think.
We are all in need of both expansion and sanctuary. One without the other soon becomes a bleak existence. But residing on the borderline does amplify the contrast. It creates a tension which can be uncomfortable, especially during times when we feel the balance of our needs shifting. Ultimately, though, it allows us to sink deeper into each space; to enrich ourselves more fully. Like all aspects of duality, it’s the dancing on the borderline where we find the most living to be had.