Moving on. Life at a juncture.

Zoë Sanders
Jul 21, 2017 · 3 min read
Cycling into the future

Last night, my eldest son went to his school’s Year 6 leavers’ disco. A few days previously he’d had a haircut — shorn short, looking just as it did when he was much younger. But at the same time, in his skinny jeans and denim shirt, last night he gave off the air of a handsome young man. He is at a juncture in his life, at the point where he starts to pivot from a young boy into a grown-up. As the disco ended and we collected our kids, we watched them as they danced with their friends, having the time of their young lives. The party was a kind of swansong for all these energetic, youthful children before they reshape themselves into the next stage of their lives.

He’s moving on.

And it’s hit me today that I’m moving on too.

These days my 11-year-old walks to school by himself. But this morning he let my husband and me wave to him at the gates. As we watched him wander off into the playground, we were reminded of a similar scene 7 years ago when he went to school for the first time. Then he was a little boy just starting out on a big adventure and I was a younger version of me, getting to grips with a new time in our lives. In another 7 years he’ll be an adult.

For years, as a mother of small children, I was first of all, Mum. When children are young, it’s possible to subsume oneself into the busyness and minutiae of family life. That was my main job. It still is of course, and always will be, but on a day-to-day basis, as the boys are growing and becoming more independent, my role is changing too. Soon they will be able to look after themselves. And in the meantime I’m investing my energies on building a business with my husband.

So it’s poignant today, not just because my boy’s growing up, but it’s me changing too. The realisation that we are all changing makes me a little sad. He’s going to the next chapter and time marches on. But this is the cycle of life and we can’t stop it. Perhaps all we can do is acknowledge it and ready ourselves for the change.

And today when I collect my son from his school for the last time, the melancholy won’t only be for what he’s leaving behind, neither will it simply signify a grief for the passing of childhood. It will be for me too, that I am leaving a stage in my life and it’s time to move on. It’s a time to take stock and think, am I doing all I could be doing to fulfil myself now? Am I doing enough now to be “me”?

In September my son is going to a new school. We have a long checklist of what he needs. Various pairs of shoes, sports kit, uniform. Calculators, dictionaries, lab coats, a USB stick. What’s on the list of things I need come September? There’s no checklist I can download from a website for me, but I do know I’ll need some kit too for the next stage of my journey. Whether it’s space to practice yoga or go for runs, or whether it’s new paints for my hobby or apps for my work, it’s time to spend the next few weeks getting ready for my new chapter too.

It feels like it’s the start of a new adventure, for both my son and for me.

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Written by

Storyteller at The Ian Sanders Company. Passionate about making the world of work more human. Lives by the Thames estuary. Loves swimming/doodling/creativity

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