I knew this day would come. I’ve been waiting for it, really — the moment the house would feel too quiet, and the extra space would tug at my heartstrings.
Ellis, my youngest, left for college this past fall, and friends warned me of the ache on the horizon. “Three or four o’clock in the afternoon — it will hit,” they said. “The time when the kids normally roll in from school.”
Sure enough, this Monday, it did.
A wave of melancholy. A sinking.
Right on schedule.
I’d predicted it. After dropping Ellis at school last fall, I knew I’d be buffered: parents’ weekend, my Day of the Dead retreat in Mexico, a sweet reunion with everyone home for the holidays, and three weeks in Costa Rica to kick off the new year.
But now, on the back side of that full season, I’m face-to-face with the missing.
It landed especially hard this week because my daughter, Mason, was recently sworn into the Army. With so much uncertainty in the world, I find myself worrying for her safety — for the safety of so many. That may have deepened the ache. But I suspect it was coming regardless.
Life brings these seismic shifts — graduations, moves, changes in work, relationships, geography. We all traverse the tender terrain of endings and beginnings. And it’s here, that we’re invited to grow. To shape-shift. To step into a new version of ourselves.
By design, our children are meant to spread their wings and fly.
I know this. And still — I miss my “babies”.
My friend, Paige, offered me a reframe that felt quietly brilliant. Instead of empty nest, she calls it re-nesting.
Because the nest isn’t empty — it’s evolving.
The kids still come back. They call. They text. They land on the couch with their laundry and their stories. The nest just looks different now. And maybe this is our turn to tend it differently — to fill it with what feeds us.
In this new chapter, I can feel I’m changing too. And in the open space, Ben and I have begun asking a new question:
If the kids are spreading their wings — maybe we should spread ours too?
I’ve loved travel for as long as I can remember. Exploring new places invites both outer adventure and inner discovery.
As Pico Iyer writes,
“We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves. And we travel, in essence, to become young fools again- to slow time down and get taken in, and fall in love once more.”
Travel has never felt like escape to me. It feels like coming home to a bigger version of myself.
It’s what drew me to leading retreats more than 15 years ago.
It’s what inspired our three-year family adventure in Costa Rica and Mexico.
And now, standing at another threshold, that same quiet pull is asking: what’s next?
After many late-night conversations — we bought tickets to Spain!
We’ll spend a month in Granada — from March 24th through April 17th — taking side trips to explore the country and scouting retreat locations for the future (2028 & beyond). Both Ben and I love our work, so we’ll be working from the road.
This trip feels like more than travel.
It feels like alignment.
For years, I’ve encouraged you — gently but persistently — to step outside your comfort zone. To try something new. To book the retreat. To carve out time for yourself even when it feels inconvenient.
To spread your wings.
And now, it’s my turn.
Practice what you preach, right?
So this is me doing just that —
re-nesting,
spreading my own wings,
and answering the ache with a little expansion.
If something in your life is quietly calling you forward right now, I hope you’ll listen.
And if you feel like sharing, I’d love to hear:
What wings might you be stretching these days?
With so much love,
Tener
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
— Anaïs Nin
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