And yet, having two girls at such different ages reminds me that watchfulness changes as we move through time, that what is watchful for a two-year-old is smothering to a 13-year-old, that the kind of freedom a teenager needs to make their own decisions and mistakes can be deadly for a toddler, that our watchfulness over ourselves and others must change and grow.
It turns out that bubbles are the perfect metaphor for this, aren’t they? They make their own way in the world, blowing in the wind. We must let them go if they are to move into the sky, they are fragile yet resilient, they are beautiful only in flight. There is a paradox with bubbles—and with people—as my mother cross-stitched for Emma when she was born: we must give them roots and we must also give them wings.
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