Wish Cautiously

    I was thinking (like I often do) about how nice it would be to rewind time so the boys wouldn't yet be as old as they are right now. I thought about the baby food jars, nap time routines, Backyardigan episodes, gum-filled smiles, play dates, anticipation of Santa, and the hundreds of other experiences that slipped away so gradually that, without reflection, might go forever unnoticed.

    As I imagined it, I began to realize that to travel back to that place would be to miss who they are today. To gain my proverbial wish would be to postpone the talks I’m able to have with Noah and to laugh, uncontrollably, as he and I often do. It would prevent the awe I feel, daily, for the self-motivated, humble young man I witness in Josh. Gone would be the opportunities to be blown away by Eric’s old-soul wisdom and insight. I would be lonely for the boys who provide a companionship and fullness to my life in ways that are different than how they occupied my heart as infants.

    This journey of thought brought me this poignant realization: to acquire that “one thing” we wish for is, many times, to part with something else. We often make the mistake of thinking our wishes are simply add-ons to our lives when, in reality, to gain them would be to replace something else.

    I jokingly (and with seriousness) tell the boys that when they gain the adult independence they long for, they won’t take everything from their present childhood life with them; they’ll move forward and will need to create lives for themselves. Isn't it easy to envision life exactly the way it is, and to (in our minds) only enhance it with that one thing for which we wish? What if we looked at the entries on our wish lists and asked ourselves, what is the “one thing” I don’t want to give up to gain this?

    Perhaps, it could be the  "one question” that could give us everything we already have.