I’m Not a Backseat Driver

Back Seat DriverI probably should clarify.

A couple of days ago, I wrote, “First, my two older daughters went off to college and found boyfriends and started talking about getting married and having kids of their own.”

To be clear, my daughters went off to college two years ago, and those boyfriends have since come and gone. I wasn’t contemplating present boyfriends (although if present boyfriends take the time to read an empty nest blog, they can’t be half bad).

Just for the record, my daughters aren’t planning to get married until they finish college, which is at least two years off. Life can change drastically in two days, much less in two years.

My point was that those choices are entirely theirs. They reached a point, nearly overnight, where they started contemplating a future mostly without me—unless I want to camp out in their back seats.

And that’s my other point. I don’t. They need their own cars, and I need a new one—in more ways than one. As much as I’ve enjoyed telling them what to do for much of their lives—and as much as they seem to now enjoy telling me what to do—it’s nearly time to drive in separate cars down separate roads.

I’ll accompany them as long as they need me, but I’m proud that they’re showing themselves capable of traveling alone. (Of course, not really alone.)

Soon it will be time to take the next exit. If I miss it, the next one may be a long way off, and that would be a waste. I want every mile to count.

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