Time, Growth, and the Beauty of Moths
I’ve been thinking a lot this week about time and how beautifully subjective the passing of it is. My son switched from “Mommy” to “Mom” this week. It was as sudden as his face plant into a Spider-Man action figure. Life is so quick, and yet, if you were to ask him, a car ride that’s more than 15 minutes is a really long time.
My husband and I have been planning our summer trip to Hershey Park, and this year, with Aiden more comfortable with water and swimming on his own, we’ve been anticipating a longer period of time at the water park. This past week, as the first week we started this newsletter, water and its power have reminded me how precious this gift of life is. My heart feels for all those going through a new experience of normal without a loved one in their lives. Childhood this past week, as so much this year, felt like it said goodbye.
As I shared in our first newsletter, I’m approaching the end of my fortieth year feeling charged about the next chapter while holding space for endings. My parenting goal remains the same: nurturing Aiden’s curiosity and helping him grow into someone who knows his remarkable value while being resilient enough to navigate both kindness and toxicity with grace.
As we complete our first month being actively in pursuit of our passions and goals through Frank & Ethel’s, I’ve run into familiar growth edges—the discomfort of living out loud. The increase in visibility, both personally and on social media, has stirred up those familiar “who does she think she is” thoughts. But as I near the end of my fortieth year, I live in gratitude to have honed a voice that responds: she’s worked hard, built a solid foundation, and her aim is in honor of all those who never got their day in the light to shine.
Those voices speak louder now, even when the world feels more like a den of hungry lions than a safe and sacred place. I was raised Catholic, and while I don’t align with all institutional practices, the foundational values of common humanity and grace remain central to how I move through the world. This space of faith—however imperfect—continues to inform my approach to connection and growth.
Both of my parents being military brats, when they attended a “get to know us” event at a local nondenominational high school and saw flags of all the countries of students represented along with quotes, particularly Charles Swindoll’s quote, “Life is 10 percent what happens to you and 90 percent how you react to it,” these two elements combined reflected the full gift of experience and foundation our parents wanted us to receive. This stemmed from their foundational values: traveling the world and experiencing the global gifts of democratic values and the consistent presence of the Catholic church. I’m a cultural sustainability practitioner, and for my family, this space is foundational to every space I live, breathe, and exist in.
This weekend at church, we had a visiting priest from Ohio who originally is from Madagascar. As he shared his experience with both the Catholic church and the United States of America, he noted that Madagascar’s wildlife is unlike the movie—he mentioned no elephants or giraffes. My son loves animals, so of course, while there were many wonderfully culturally rich, albeit lengthy, reflections in his homily, I came home and had to know what the wildlife really was.
Lemurs are very popular. If you were to visit from June through October, humpback whales might be visible if you have the stomach and resources for whale watching. My most exciting discovery upon researching was the Comet Moth. Ever since I was in high school, or maybe one of those first years in college, I remember visiting a friend’s boyfriend and seeing the most exquisite moth. I mean, it kind of freaked me out in that it felt like it was close to the size of the palm of my hand, but it was also exquisite in its pattern and colors—being so large, they were easy to admire.
While I am blessed with approaching my 41st birthday, I also know there are many people who I loved and who inspired me who never reached their 40th, let alone their 30th or 35th. Life is so precious. It’s in this knowledge that I am grateful for you—for being here, for sharing this space and time with all those I am gifted to meet. Even my worst encounters have strengthened my way and made it possible for me to see the future with the hope and clarity that I do today.
I know that sounds trite and perhaps impossibly sincere, but if there’s anything I hope, it’s that in time you’ll witness my heart and the truth that I am just a humble human here trying my best to stand in the greatness of those who came before me. I know many who live peacefully in lives of abundance and lives of struggle, and many who navigate life somewhere between the two. I’m here for you all.
This is the ground from which I speak and hope to bring clarity to my purpose as I journey toward whatever is possible next. I invite you to join me in this process—in the sharing, in the collaboration, the ups and downs, the highs and lows of living a life with the intention of freeing ourselves from narratives that hold us back from leaning closer to full abundance, grace, gratitude, and joy. This week’s joy: rebuilding my childhood Playmobil house with my son.
Again, I’m grateful and believe in an abundant life, but I fully know from the very work that calls me to wake each day that the narratives we hold onto can often be just as pernicious and dangerous as the water we wade through in life, metaphorically and literally. Somewhere in life, whether getting in trouble for being too loud at school and landing on the wall or being told I needed to rein it in and not be so present, showing up fully to the work I feel called to do feels really uncomfortable, like an itchy sweater I want to take off. Taking it off would be a retreat to the uncomfortable reality of not living fully in a life that is so precious and where we never know where we are in the need for either gratitude or grace, giver or receiver, having and wanting, fearing and pushing past the fears to discover that which is more honest and true than anything else—when we put in the effort and hard work to show up with love and kindness, we see more love and kindness.
As I’ve ended recently, here are a few quotes that have endeared me over these past few weeks. This week, while my son switched from “Mommy” to “Mom,” he also let me know that my actions and my determination for living fully in my strengths, despite the fears and anxieties, holding true to my values and grace, were being noticed. In all honesty, during a moment of a power struggle, where I—while I facilitate parents and encourage them to make better choices—found myself tired and limited in the options I could retrieve, I heard him say, “God, give me grace.”
I asked, “Did you just ask God to give you grace?”
He said, “Yes.”
I felt so seen, as this is a phrase that I often say when I need to pull myself together and figure out a more positive way through. I mean, sometimes when I’m driving and can’t figure out traffic or inconsiderate drivers, or unfortunately, in the moments where I’ve taken for granted that my son’s young impressionable ears are within earshot. I don’t know if this is revealing something too nakedly or not, but I do—I ask God honestly for grace. In this moment, I heard my sweet young son ask the heavens for the same grace to pull him through in our shared moment of not seeing each other and needing to find a way to be seen and heard.
I was on the other side of the need to pull through, so again, perhaps this is best kept private, but if I’m going to invite you into our house, this is my welcome. We’re not perfect. We don’t have it figured out, but we know people need grace and believe in something bigger than ourselves to try, try again and do differently the next time.
Here’s grace to all those who are struggling and light and radiant joy to all those living their lives in full color. My mom and I repeated back to each other in a series of layered situations that fit the statement: “Two things can be true at the same time.”
Here’s to navigating each day with your beautifully complex design. It’s inherent in all of us.
Like the Comet Moth: unique, rare, beautiful.
Ready to explore more of these reflections on growth, grace, and the beautiful complexity of our shared humanity? Join our weekly conversations at frankandethels.com/always-welcome, where every story matters and all are welcome.
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