As one grows up, the other grows older
One eventful week in London. Family vacations can uncover many truths.
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One might warn that you’re inviting discomfort when you cram four adult humans into a single 400 square foot hotel room for an entire week. This worked well when the kids were younger, but this time feels different. Like when you peel away the skin of a perfectly unblemished apple, only to reveal a small bruise beneath the surface that you hadn’t noticed before. On closer inspection, it was always there.
Family vacations can reveal a lot about people, even those you’ve lived with your entire life. All of our quirks out in the open. The dynamics that make our family tick despite differences in each of our personalities are tested. And I know this may not be the last big vacation that we take together, but that thought sits in the back of our minds. Maybe this is why we approach each day with such abandon even as I chase away nagging thoughts about the cost of things. Another slice of cake, please, another souvenir tin of tea! I don’t want my life marred by regrets.
London was a trip we were supposed to take to celebrate my 50th birthday, but then the first case of COVID arrived in New York a month before we were to fly. We all know what happens next, but my youngest tells me she is glad that we waited till now. She says she appreciates it so much more at eighteen than she would have at thirteen.
I understand why she thinks this, but she doesn’t see what I see. What I see is the wonder on their faces when we take them on their first international trip to France and Italy in 2018. Pure joy not yet tainted by self-consciousness. The insecurities that creep in with growing self awareness can suffocate childhood innocence. I would bet a fancy dinner that she would never have danced her heart out on the banks of the Seine with local revelers like she did if she were the age she is now.
Still, I understand her reasoning because I went to London and Paris for the first time when I was her age too, on a school-sponsored trip chaperoned by my biology teacher and a nun. That trip changed my young life. I was so thrilled to be there and it felt like a dream. The place where my all favorite bands hailed from, where I breathed in inspiration for everything.
I attended a large NYC Catholic high school—hence the nun—but don’t assume she was a strict chaperone. On the contrary, she was the wild one. The nun took us to pubs and dance clubs in London and a rowdy burlesque show in Paris where she ordered us all flutes of champagne. I don’t think any of us were even 18 yet.
These are the stories I share with the kids as we traverse around London. I snap a photo of myself in front of the Hard Rock Cafe that I visited 37 years ago one free, unchaperoned afternoon. I take them to Westminster Abbey where I’m engulfed by the ghosts of history in the stone floors, the gothic spires, and vaulted arches soaring above me like a giant exposed ribcage. I remember being overwhelmed by the ornate architecture and it blew my 17 year old mind that humans can possess the capacity to build a structure so beautiful, so intricate. It blows my mind still.
One morning, I’m in a bad mood after a silly argument with one of my kids. It blew open something that was festering. It’s only worth a mention because our family rarely argues at all—and that is not a flex because that’s how misunderstandings and hurt feelings grow unchecked like a stealth disease.
I have this rule that you can’t go to bed mad without talking it out, so by evening it all blows over. But then, my ER visit the next day creates another point of friction with my other child.
At first I am hurt. She barely says a word to me for nearly two days. I know it’s not because she doesn’t care. Just the opposite, in fact, because I know she cares a lot, but sometimes she just doesn’t know how to show it to me. I recognize this behavior immediately because I was the same way as a child and so was her father. It’s inexplicably hard to explain why, yet understandable because the behavior is familiar—but it still hurts when your child does not comfort you when you’re doubled over in tears from pain. Why is it that the compassion we so easily offer to others can feel so difficult to extend to the most important people in our lives?
And then it dawns on me. She is terrified of seeing her parents age.
All this talk about how hard it is for my generation to watch our parents grow old and I never once gave a thought that my children might be feeling the same way about us. But we aren’t old yet, it isn’t time. My mind struggles to make sense of her silence and my insistence that we aren’t old enough to warrant this fear. And yet, through heartfelt conversations we get to the root of it and there it is. The moment you realize your parents are humans, imperfectly flawed and mortal. The burden of recognizing that they won’t always be here. I caught her in that moment of realization, just as she was starting to sink.
I tell each of my kids in separate conversations during the trip that we’re in the growing pains of separation. Confusing boundaries amid roles that are more fluid. The cadence of coming together and living apart during the college years test these boundaries and this is why this vacation was different from others. But maybe we wouldn’t have had these important conversations if we hadn’t been crammed in a small hotel room together for a week.
The next day, hopped on antibiotics and advil, we take the tube to Shoreditch. We wander in the frigid cold that’s accompanied us for the entirety of our trip, but it’s tolerable as long as we’re dressed warmly in layers. The trade off—and this is a huge one that makes the cold worthwhile—is that there are so few crowds anywhere. The sun makes spotty appearances throughout the day. I’m not used to such short daylight. Sunrise at 8 a.m., sunset at 4-ish.
I’m drawn to the mews with charming storefronts and cafes flanked on either side. They remind me of the narrow hanok-lined alleyways in Ikseon-dong, Seoul. I search for a place to sit anywhere I can, feet and body aching from days of walking 20,000 steps as I watch my kids shop at one vintage store after another with boundless energy that I don’t have anymore.
She’s searching for a London find, an item or two that she can bring home and say that she found while thrifting in London to anyone who asks. I remember when that stuff was important, like a badge of cool that proves you have a little bit of worldly experience under your belt. But for now, I’m content to watch them shop while I sit on a chair in a store, observing them not as their mother, but like any other passerby might.
Related reading
A round up of links
To read:
Australian oysters’ blood could hold key to fighting drug-resistant superbugs, researchers find (The Guardian)
I know it’s a necessity, but I dislike taking antibiotics and I’ve taken a few rounds these past few months, so this article about proteins in oysters that can kill bacteria caught my interest.Why women artists use screams to express female rage (Artsy)
“There is so much power in a scream, and in a world where it’s so easy to be dismissed, quietened, or toned down, a scream breaks through the shit and asserts a position that is forceful and unavoidable.” – artist, Elsa RouyRepublican Proposal Would Make College Scholarships Taxable Income (Forbes)
Speaking of rage, there’s a lot of it right now. It’s hard to keep up with the executive orders and that’s by design—to sow fear and chaos to the point where we’re overwhelmed and paralyzed. This proposal by the Republicans, which you may not know about, would make college scholarships taxable income.
Ok, fine. Our taxes are going up anyway, so might as well add to the flames with taxes on the need-based scholarship we rely on to pay for college. But where will the money go? To pay for tax cuts that benefit the rich.Seoul’s plan to become 'a loneliness-free city' (The Week)
What qualifies as a lonely death? If it takes days and weeks before a deceased body is found. The number of lonely deaths have been ticking upwards and is now considered an epidemic in South Korea. Here’s how the government is combating it.
To watch:
This has been making the rounds, but in case you haven’t seen it, Questlove’s masterful edits of 50 years of musical guests on SNL is the feel-good watch we need right now.
To make and eat:
Farro Bake with Pesto and Kale (It’s a Veg World After All)
You probably already know by now that I love one-pan meals. I also love farro and kale. This one is another winner.
To buy:
We had to buy all new luggage for our London trip because one by one, our old ones finally gave out last year. The Quince line of suitcases might be knock-offs of Away, but I don’t care. They’re reasonably priced and they were great on our trip. Of course, we’ll have to see about longevity, but so far, I’m a fan. I bought two of the 20" Expandable Carry-on Hard Shell Suitcase and a 20" Front Pocket Hard Shell Carry-On.
See you in a week!
– JP
As I’m rocking my baby back to sleep, comforting her through another round of teething (molars!) I was comforted by reading this! My mind wanders to the future and it’s filled with moments like the ones you shared - a roller coaster of emotions rooted in love. I didn’t think I’d start the year of the snake like this, on zero sleep but here we are ❣️🧨☁️
This piece is studded with gold! Your perspective is so very beautiful. Age really is a gift isn’t it. I notice as I age that I likewise take in life from a place of simultaneous distance and intimacy. It’s really striking, this vantage point, this acceptance.
Love your writing and your heart. Love the nun who found her wild. That hits. Glorious— good on her 🤍