A small space

This morning my oldest daughter left for summer camp. Gone for two weeks, she confessed she might miss her family “a little bit”. But as she boarded the bus, I noticed the tears as we waved goodbye. It was then I knew, as Washington Irving once said, that there is a “sacredness’” in tears. And tears are not the mark of weakness, but of power.

Last week she completed her first year of Junior Lifeguards, a program for kids that mixes ocean safety and a little run/swim competition. On her last day she competed in the vaunted Monster Mile Race. Here kids must run a mile on the sand and then swim a mile in the Pacific Ocean.

I don’t think I’ve ever swam a mile in my life, let alone in the ocean, and certainly didn’t at nine years old. It’s a big event for the kids, and many dress up in costumes for pre-race reverie. As race day approached I knew she and her friends were getting anxious.

When the whistle blew, she kept with her plan and stayed in the middle of the pack. But as she neared the finish of the run portion of race, she found herself, surprisingly, in the first group. Right next to the faster runners! Since swimming is her strength, she told me later that as she approached the swim leg of the race, she thought she had a shot at a strong finish. Clutching her swim fins she hurried toward the beckoning sea. Then, like fires that rise from dry forests, the waves rose from the darkened sea. Pushed by winds blowing thousands of miles away, the surf had grown so high that the lifeguards wouldn’t let the kids in her age group enter the water.

As she stood seaside waiting for the waves to subside, my daughter listened to the instructor explain to her that they would have to cancel the rest of the race. It was just too dangerous with the big waves. It couldn’t be, she thought. So much work. So much anticipation.

At that moment a tear emerged from her eye. As it rolled down her cheek, she knew she had done her best to prepare for this great race. And as that tear fell from her cheek, it traveled through a small space. A space where dreams grow from hard work, but occasionally give way to greater forces. A space where you can hold the cup of success in your hands, but you just can’t drink from it.

Just then, she looked down and she saw her tear, falling. As it touched the ground she felt its power, and then she understood what it meant to be there.

Welcome to this small space, little one. It’s not so bad there. I love you.