When You're in Your Second Adolescence

After three days spent with my three best friends from high school and college, hopping from one Iowa home to another, I feel like I've run a verbal marathon, which is exhausting for this introvert who usually measures out her words in hour-long chats, not days-long.  

They wasted no time with shallow filler.  

"Becky, your new home is beautiful!"
"Thanks, what would you do if some of your close friends were in the middle of a nasty divorce?"

Seriously, we had only made it as far as her mudroom.  

The cathartic thing about this near-annual trip is stepping back from my year and trying to articulate it when they give me their "how are you, tell the truth" look.  At home in the dailiness, I move from one chore to another, from one shade of emotion to the next, quick prayers, brief conversations with in-and-out children, mealtime chats with my husband before we do our own thing in the evenings. Occasional heart to hearts, but not big summaries of my life.  

Phrases like "identity crisis" came out of my mouth.  Becky described it as a "second adolescence" without the pimples. Well, there are some pimples, too!  As I think about that more, I think she is right.  In my first adolescence, I was bucking for self-rule, trying to figure out my personal identity.  I figured it out, became a believer in Christ, then a wife, a teacher, then a mother. I relished being in charge of these little, impressionable lives.  

Now my teenager is bucking for self-rule, not in a disrespectful or destructive way, just not exactly what I would choose for him.  I find myself nitpicking and chiding him, knowing that is NOT the graceful way to parent a teenager.  I'm bucking for power again, when I need to be coaching and cheering.  

That's where Tracy, my oldest friend, who knew me through my first adolescence, says wryly, "He's just like you were."  

Gulp.  That's right.  And then she adds, "I always admired you for that independent streak."  Really?  Did my mom lay awake at night worrying that I would choose the hard path and suffer for it? Probably.  I'll have to ask her.  

If the first adolescence is about finding your identity separate from your parents, is the second adolescence about finding your identity separate from your children?  

Mara, whose 17-year-old daughter runs the State Center, Iowa, farmer's market, and whose 14-year-old son has a blacksmithing forge in the garage, always inspires me with her choice of a simpler, non-materialistic life.  She is still the same girl who, as an RA in the dorms at Iowa State, put this sign on her door:

"I had no shoes and complained until I met a man who had no feet."

Being around her makes me not want to complain about the petty things but care about the important things.  That's what I have been trying to discern lately.  The petty versus the important.  

Old friends help you see the difference and accept you, pimples and all.