Countries have their distinct cultures, foods, customs and vibes. So do adult kids!
There are 44 countries in Europe. Each one is different in geography, history and custom.
Other continents have fewer countries thriving or surviving on its soils and cultures.
For the past few weeks, we’ve traveled through three countries visiting our adult children who live and work there. It’s been an educational adventure. It’s been a spiritual pilgrimage.
You visit one city and absorb all the distinct feels and thrills. Then on to the next and it’s completely different. What works there, doesn’t fit here. Every country; every city; every space is distinct. Every country is unique.
Currently, we are in Europe visiting our two sons and their families who live in two very different countries: Greece and Holland. We visited each one and all together, we went to Italy and enjoyed the lush beauty of the Amalfi coast. Exquisite is the one word descriptor. Go if you can!
The countries are as different as our two sons are. And having extended time with our sons, it hit me that they are as different as their countries.
They parent in different ways.
They have different vibes in their homes.
They do life different.
The live life in distinct ways.
One might think that being “Smiths” , there’d be a cohesive, sameness and similar way of doing life. This is not the case for us.
Like countries who are distinct, separate and different, my sons offer me the invitation to become a tourist of their souls. It’s fascinating. It’s sobering. It’s tender. It’s hard. It’s messy but beautiful. And for me, it’s very spiritual.
So, it is with visiting adult children. There’s a vibe; a micro-culture of how to eat breakfast and when; where to sit and relax or not; what to do when it rains or how to spend some hours in the sun.
What level we talk— above the waterline or below. What fun looks like. What God looks like. What life looks like. What a child should be like. And more. And more and more!
I felt like I had whiplash as I moved from son to son; country to country. Or was it culture shock— that feeling of startle when everything is so different— so unrecognizable.
I mentioned this observation to these sons. One asked me to excavate this idea out more. So, here it is. You’re reading it. My Field Manual for travel, parenting, aging and living.
And my poem to boot! My poems are a way of saying less and perhaps saying more. You be the judge.
But for any of you who gave adult kids, do tell me if I’m crazy or drunk on Lemoncello.
C’est la Vie!
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