The Invitation of Emptiness
Miss no opportunity to savor the ineffable.
A recent review of The Way Home, available now:
“This book beautifully explores the quest for meaning and purpose, making it an invaluable companion for anyone grappling with life's big questions. Ben's storytelling is both relatable and inspiring, providing a comforting and enlightening roadmap for those seeking to build a life that truly matters.”
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“The fragrance of blossoms soon passes; the ripeness of fruit is gone in a twinkling.
Our time in this world is so short, better to avoid regret:
Miss no opportunity to savor the ineffable.”
—Loy Ching Yuen, 20th-century Taoist Master
Empty desks.
Empty lockers.
Empty classrooms.
Our three kids wrapped up school this week—6th, 9th, and 10th grades—and, if I’m honest, I feel a bit empty too.
Yes, next week everything will probably feel full. Maybe a little too full. As we adjust to a summer rhythm, get annoyed by the extra clutter and dirty dishes, and deal with small sibling conflicts throughout the day.
Next week I’ll also probably be trying to recover from what feels like weeks of after-school functions, all prefaced by words like “last” or “final” or “ending.”
But not yet.
Right now, I’m noticing an emptiness.
Part of it stems from how fast everything seems to be moving lately.
Yesterday Evie was jump roping while balancing on top of a giant rubber ball alongside elementary school classmates. Now she’s about to turn 16 and get her driver’s license.
Yesterday Jackson was at summer day camp, searching for pennies on the soccer field, oblivious to the game. Now he’s catching line drives, turning double plays, and shouting encouraging words to his teammates at weekend baseball games.
Yesterday Zara was singing in her carseat. Now she’s singing along to the music she blasts in her room while doing her skin care routine.
“The days are long, but the years are short,” my mom always said to Cherie and me when the kids were little.
For a while I didn’t understand, but I’m really feeling that short years thing right now.
The years feel like they’re slipping away, out of my grasp.
Hence, the empty feeling.
There’s another aspect to this emptiness too.
As I saw the kids bring home their yearbooks, wrap up seasons of sports, and walk out the doors of their schools for the last time as sixth, ninth, and tenth graders, I noticed something stirring inside of me. I felt strangely reconnected to younger, school-aged versions of myself, the endings he experienced, and the emptiness that he carried.
The end of summer after senior year when our social gatherings got thinner and thinner as we disappeared off to our respective colleges.
Walking down the silent, empty dorm hallway as a resident assistant after everyone moved out.
Moving through the crowd on graduation day and realizing that it no longer fit to say “See you later” to most of my classmates.
The emptiness that I’m feeling lately and that has dotted my life is not nostalgia.
Not regret.
Not despair.
It is a longing.
A desire to hold on to every moment.
A yearning to bottle things up just how they are right now.
But, of course, that’s not how life works. Life cannot be contained. It cannot be consumed. It can only be lived, experienced, enjoyed. And this is precisely what makes each moment so precious: its unrepeatable, irreplaceable, and ephemeral nature.
The emptiness that meets us throughout our lives—whether in school transitions, leaving behind the place we called home, ending a relationship, or losing a loved one—can feel heavy. Dark. Disorienting.
But it is a sacred gift. Because it reminds us of the preciousness of life.
So it is important to be present to the emptiness. Not to ignore or escape or numb it.
It turns out that getting acquainted with this emptiness in both the small and big endings and losses brings us into contact with the fullness of life—how it is abundantly flowing through us in each moment.
Emptiness is an invitation to be fully present to the generous gift of life. To walk with gratitude. To dance with change.
I’m going to try and remember this lesson, fully feeling these aches of emptiness now to help me savor summer with our (almost) three teenagers.
And, that being said, school starts in 85 days. Let the countdown begin…
