The Safety of Independence

  

By the age of four, my propensity for pushing boundaries to experience independence was firmly attached to a red tricycle, with white streamers. My father was a Navy man. We lived on the Naval base near Pensacola, Florida, and while my older sister attended elementary school, my days were confined to the one block in front of our home. One block. Consisting of four look alike, white sided, single level houses on either side of ours. All the lawns were small, well maintained. This was my territory of exploration. Until, I decided it was way too small. 

On my tricycle, I felt free. My short legs peddled furiously down four houses. Turned around. Past my house. Four more houses. Turned around. But, I wanted my hair to be blowing more than four house lengths. 

One day, I discovered the corner at the last house. If I turned that corner, it led to another corner. Then another corner. And another. I found myself back at my home. Free. Independent. My mother was panicked. She couldn’t find me. The phone rang.

“Molly, this is your neighbor, behind you! Do know Pat, is riding her bike around the block!?”

My mother, as I’ve been told many times, ran to the front yard, in time to see me, lean into the last corner, white blonde hair blowing, white streamers flapping. I came to a sudden halt. My mother was not happy.

I pleaded my case of independence. Of course, I do not recall the award winning defense, but I’ve been told tears were involved.

The next day, my mother allowed me to ride my bike round the block! No stopping and turning at the corners. New scenery. New shifts in the wind.

“Stay in the boundaries, Pat.”

I took off. Independent. Free. Except, my mother had arranged for the neighbors to watch for me. On each block, the call went out.

“Watch. Pat is on the move.”

I believe, if my mother would have told me I was being watched, it would have taken away the thrill, the confidence. 

That confidence bolstered me when I attended a college far away from home. Pursued modeling. Acting. Had a successful business. Hosted my own radio talk show. Published writer, and finally my dream job. Teaching high school English.

What I discovered, through it all, is illuminating. In every phase of my independence, there were people watching after me. There were professors, friends, family, industry professionals, helping my independence by allowing me the freedom to make mistakes. Encouraging me to strive. Warning me, in conversation, of a blind corner I was not watching. Quietly, well not everyone, some were very vocal, were there to pick me up. All the while, lovingly whispering, “Watch out, Pat’s on the move.”

Through life, my idea of independence has morphed, like the way glass looks as its being heated and melted, coerced into a form.  I have been lucky, many times blessed, as my years of accumulated lessons and challenges grew, so did my idea of independence.  Independence does not necessarily mean free from all constraints. Or opinions. Or structure. Independence is that delicate balance of knowledge, growth, and the freedom of one’s own thoughts. It is our melding of all things held in our hearts and minds, together with our cavernous memory, so we can see the open fields of possibility. Independence is to choose, yes, often times harsh choices, but chosen nonetheless, which corner we will turn.

Independence can be messy. Especially when we are trying to turn corners filled with roadblocks. Especially as we grow older, and our comfort zones have become our safety nets. To cut those strings? Terrifying. Exhilarating. It is how we want the winds of change to blow. Independence is the child within, saying, “I want to look beyond the boundaries set for me.”

In my later years, as I’ve watched many of my friends maneuver through aging, independence is as simple as getting up from the table, joints objecting, bones creaking. The ability to make plans, as the feeling hits. And more importantly, for me, it is the simple act of saying, “Today, I will just breathe deep and linger awhile longer with my tea.”

Pat is a retired teacher and Instagram enthusiast. When she's not writing poetry and sharing her wise musings about life, she can be found here, breathing deeply.