Finally, An Empty Suitcase!

Last night I finally unpacked my weathered blue overhead bag and ancient flowered toiletry case—the first time they'd seen the inside of a closet since July 12. The worn zippers and faded fabric tell stories of a whirlwind month that began with Rob, Aden, William and me hiking from Maroon Bells to Crested Butte through the wildflowers. Since that golden weekend, I've ricocheted between British Columbia's family gatherings, California's blazing pool decks, New York's relentless sidewalks (helping William launch his adult life), and finally Colorado's towering peaks where Aden and I conquered another fourteener. I haven't moved through the world with such velocity since my consulting days—before marriage, long before children—and the freedom tastes intoxicating.

The six scorching days in Clovis, shuttling teenage swimmers between hotel, pool, and restaurant, exceeded every expectation. I videotaped races and award ceremonies, recorded splits, and cheered until my voice cracked. Working alongside athletes I barely knew before, I felt relationships kindling in the chlorinated air—trust building one encouraging word at a time. Leaving my family just one day after our Canadian return to coach other wonderful kids was wrenching, especially with William's departure looming. Yet I needed to nurture this coaching path, to cultivate something sustaining for the approaching empty nest years.

After a frantic few days moving William from Boulder, we boarded our direct flight to LaGuardia with three bulging suitcases. Clear skies welcomed us to Brooklyn, where his loft bedroom and experienced roommates offered William the perfect launching pad. We split our days between acquiring necessities at the delightfully named "Amazing Savings" and wandering Manhattan's transformed landscape. Thirty years has elapsed since my last visit, and the city stretched endlessly across my vision—a glittering testament to human ambition, architectural audacity and the emotional strength to rebuild after 9/11.

Saturday brought ten miles of walking through Central Park's verdant paths, past the financial district's gleaming towers, into Hudson Yards where William's office will soon relocate. The reclaimed Highline carried us above the streets while voices in Spanish, Italian, Polish, and Yiddish wove a linguistic tapestry around us—English surprisingly rare among the international throngs. Sunday delivered gluten-free crepes and coffee before we ventured via Metro to Wall Street's canyon of commerce, Battery Park's harbor views, the memorials at the North and South Towers, and finally the best everything bagel I've tasted in decades at Modern Bread and Bakery.

Saying goodbye to William after Sunday dinner proved predictably devastating—tears soaking my pillow as I mourned this latest milestone in our family's evolution. Yet beneath the heartache pulses profound gratitude for these accumulated adventures, for the energy and courage to seize each opportunity. I can still recall being paralyzed by autoimmune illness, too anxious to drive, too overwhelmed to navigate a simple grocery store. This current freedom to move through the world—to chase summer across states and seasons—feels like grace beyond my wildest imagination. As the children conquer new territories I will have even more good reasons to explore and be amazed.