The Time We Still Have

Last week, I went on a road trip with my daughter.

Five days, seven college tours, and hours of driving filled with conversations, quiet moments, and everything in between. It was intense, a little exhausting at times, but deeply meaningful in a way I didn’t fully expect.

Somewhere along the way, something became very clear to me. Our time is changing.

Not disappearing, not ending, but shifting into something new.

She is stepping into her own life now. Focused, driven, committed to getting into a great school. I see how much time and energy she is already dedicating to her future, and I know that next year she will be off to college. After that, life will continue to unfold for her in ways that no longer revolve around me.

She will build her own routines, her own friendships, her own path. One day, she will likely build a family of her own.

And naturally, the time we spend together, just the two of us, will become smaller.

There is no sadness in that. This is what I raised her for.

But there is an awareness now that wasn’t there before.

A deeper appreciation for the time we still have in this season of life.

We have always been close, but after my divorce, our relationship took on a new shape.

We also became travel companions.

Travel has always been something I love, and over time, she became part of that world with me. After the divorce I had a corporate job for which I had to travel to sometimes, she would come along. She would spend long hours in the hotel room waiting for me to finish, just so we could go out together afterward and explore wherever we were.

Looking back, that alone says so much. She wasn’t there for the place.

She was there for the time together. She was there for me.

Over the years, we traveled to many places, both within and outside the United States. Each trip adding another layer to our connection, another shared memory that quietly strengthened the bond between us.

This trip felt like a continuation of that story, but also a transition into something new.

What made this experience so special was not just the travel, but watching her.

Not as a child, but as a young woman beginning to define her future.

At each campus, she paid attention to everything. The streets, the architecture, the people, the energy of each place. She noticed how welcoming a space felt, how students interacted, how the environment aligned with who she is and who she is becoming.

She wasn’t just visiting colleges. She was searching for where she could belong.

After each visit, we would talk. Not just about the school itself, but about her life. About what she wants, what matters to her, where she feels she can grow. I tried to bring up questions that would spark curiosity in her.

Watching her process all of this filled me with something deeper than pride.

It was a quiet sense of joy. And something else. A kind of awe.

I found myself looking at her and realizing that I am witnessing a moment that will not come back.

This version of her.

This season of us.

It is temporary by design.

And instead of holding on to it, I am learning to be present in it.

To fully experience it while it is here.

The conversations in the car, the shared meals, the laughter over small things, the silence that doesn’t need to be filled. These moments may seem ordinary, but they are not.

More than anything, this trip left me with a deep sense of gratitude.

Not just for the opportunity to travel, or to visit these schools, but for where we are in life.

For the ability to provide her with these experiences and for the privilege of watching her grow into who she is meant to become.

I don’t see myself as the one creating her path. I am simply part of it.

A guide.

A support system.

A steady presence.

I am the facilitator.

God is the one doing the work.

And when I step back and truly look at it that way, I feel a sense of peace in releasing control and simply witnessing what is unfolding.

Time does not stay still.

Children grow.

Life moves forward.

Seasons change whether we are ready or not.

But there is something powerful in choosing to be present while we are in it.

To notice.

To appreciate.

To fully live the moments that are right in front of us.

Because nothing is truly being lost. It is simply becoming something new.