Flying Through A Rainbow

Dan and I are driving down Polk Street to a morning yoga class. The Oregon March rain has been relentless and the darkened skies makes everyone wish that Spring Equinox would live up to her name. As we turn left on 13^th Street our eyes are cast upward toward the gloomy expanse. There arching across the horizon in all her glory is a brilliant rainbow – spring's answer to our pleas! And this rainbow is no ordinary, out of the crayon box rainbow. Besides the usual red, yellow, blue there is also a visible glow of purple at the bottom. It is one of the most beautiful rainbows I have ever seen. Immediately, I am reminded of an essay I wrote in May of 1999 when our daughter, Aspen, was nine years old. I want to put that essay on my blog, I thought. So here it is:

Flying Through a Rainbow

It is a rainy Thursday afternoon and Aspen, my daughter, and I are driving to Pleasant Hill for her weekly piano lesson. We are skimming along the freeway, driving in and out of sun-strewn sprinkles. I notice a faint rainbow off to my left side.

“There's a rainbow,” I tell Aspen. She yanks her head around and sees it clearer than the driver would. “Yes, I see it,” she proudly announces.

As we continue driving, the rainbow seems to follow us. The mountains and forested countryside come more into view and as they do, the rainbow appears to arch from one peak to another.

The colors are deepening now and my daughter mentions that the light from the rainbow looks like it is cutting through the mountain.

“Rainbows are good luck,” I beam.

“We've certainly seen a lot of rainbows this winter,” Aspen adds.

Rainbows – they have always been a thing of magic. They bring up stories of leprechauns, elves and treasure. They bring up memories of my hitchhiking in Ireland, where seeing a rainbow against a deep green meadow from the inside of a lorry appears to be even more wondrous. You just expect to see rainbows in Ireland. And you just expect to be happy whenever you see one.

On the way back from the piano lesson, the rainbow is still arching high in the sky.

“I wonder what it would be like to fly through a rainbow,” remarks Aspen, and with these words from a wise and beautiful child, I suddenly feel a welling inside my stomach of unexplainable sadness.

“I remember the first time I flew in an airplane and we rose above the clouds,” I begin reminiscing. I was on my way to living in Germany for the first time and being above those clouds gave me such a feeling of hope and admiration for the expansiveness of life. But that was more than 30 years ago and here I am – loving being a mother but wondering if I have given up the dreams I started having about my life back then.

Granted I've traveled. Granted I've known passion and zeal and idealism. And yet now, now as I enter my fifth decade, I find myself still yearning to create and carry out the purpose I thought I saw in those rainbows long ago. John Lennon's words are an ongoing echo in my brain: “Life is what happens to us while we're making other plans.”

I keep getting up every morning. I keep packing lunches and making breakfast and either going to work or taking my daughter to school. And then suddenly I'm home, having a latte, reading a book or watching a favorite TV program. I fall into bed and sleep and wake up to another similar day.

Each turn of the clock I swear I'll do it differently: I'll write, I'll clean out the clutter and simplify, I'll lead the creative life I've always dreamed of.

Then I look out the window and I see my daughter come biking down the street. She has a smile on her face that would light up the foggiest afternoon. She's riding that bike like she owns the world, and I remember that this is what's all about: knowing that you can own the world.

Aspen bounds into the kitchen with all the exuberance youth can muster. She has had a positive day at school. This is not always so. At nine she has experienced pain: the pain of rejection and exclusion, the pain of knowing who you are and not fitting in. Her unhappiness at school has paralleled my midlife angst.

I thought my daughter's childhood would be different from mine. I thought if I did it right – nursed her, stayed at home when she was little, did day care so as an only child she'd grow up less lonely, fed her creative instincts, filled the house with handmade toys, books and music – she'd be happy.

Instead I have a contemplative, brilliant and balanced child who wisely experiences both happiness and deep sadness.

Is it genetic, this sensitive, serious approach to life? My daughter shines out at me like the vulnerable child I was and still am. She has brought me more tears and joy than all my previous years without her.

And all I want (and I suppose all my parents wanted for me) is that she finds some deeper meaning to her being here. I want her to be able to grab hold of her purpose and to cling to it despite the avalanche of ordinary life.

“Yes, I agree with Aspen, “wouldn't it be incredible to fly through a rainbow.”