Looking out on the vast, rushing waters, I realized that this waterfall is where I visit when life feels beyond my control.

I visited here not long after my older son was born. The days were long, spent with a baby who refused to be put down for even a minute without crying. Afternoons and evenings stretched out, just us together after we walked my husband to the subway for work. The nights were longer, up every few hours rocking and nursing, rocking and nursing, wondering when it would be over.

But I came here and found something bigger than the confines of my little home. I pushed him in the stroller and nursed him on the bench, letting the roar of the water fill my soul. 

I visited here not long after my younger son was born. The long days and nights felt familiar but still scarily new. My older son yearned for my attention and I wanted to give it to both of them so badly. Every moment was filled with caregiving, leaving nothing for myself. They stretched me to a breaking point. 

But I came here and found connection between them. My older son climbed on rocks and listened to my husband tell him about the locks in the nearby canal. As I pushed the stroller, I pointed out plants and lichen. Our family was feeling whole again. 

And I visited here last weekend. The news about anti-trans policy and anti-Semitic violence is making my friends fear for their safety. The continued strengthening of policies threatening people of color and immigrants was inspiring despair. The uncertainty of the election and the future of our world was gnawing at me. The difficult transition to kindergarten was eliciting frustration with my kids. The recent tragedy of a friend was haunting my heart. All things over which I have little control. 

As I listened to the rushing waters, I realized that maybe, just maybe I can accept that lack of control. In fact, I may even be glad for it.

I can love and guide my children, but I cannot control them.

I can encourage and support my friends, but I cannot control them. 

I can offer facts and my perspectives to policy makers, but I cannot control them.

I can be a good partner to my husband, but I cannot control him.

I can tell my stories to other and perhaps spark thought, but I cannot control them.

All of that is for the best. Because I don’t have the wisdom or the capacity to control all of those things. No does and no one should. 

And even if they did, we would lose so much. If we could control everything, nothing would be wild. Nothing would be free. 

So I open my hands and heart to let go of the illusion of control. I will keep speaking and hugging and supporting my family, my friends, and my neighbors. But I will try to do so knowing that there are no guarantees and that it is better to love than to be in control. 

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