On Becoming a Bird Launcher

A personal Reflection.

By Juad Masters.

There’s only a month left before graduation. 

This entire (school) year has been a time of deep introspection. 

A barrage of flashbacks continuously flooding my mind: newborn, toddler, little boy, pre-teen, teenager, and now, young adult. 

So much reflection. At times, choking me with tears; at others, swelling me with pride. 

This year has felt like an acrobatic act, swinging from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other, over and over, as I try to find some semblance of balance between both ends—a fulcrum that has proven somewhat elusive so far. In the midst of these intensified emotions, I have found myself increasingly drawn to nurturing my well-being. 

Whether it’s the first child leaving for college (as it is for me) or the third, this is undeniably a big change—one where leaning on your tribe and being held by others, whether family or friends, can provide the initial step in creating a safe space to explore and apply our inner strengths as we navigate this, and any other, life shift. 

There is ample evidence that a key factor in our well-being is our relationships with others—our community. There’s also strong evidence that we possess many of the skills and strengths within us that can help us navigate what life throws our way. The challenge lies in becoming more aware of these unique personal strengths and learning how to access them. In my quest to prioritize my well-being during this transition, I've adopted several intentional approaches that seem to be helping. 

For starters, I'm keeping a close watch on my mental chatter: what perspective am I applying to this experience? Am I empowering myself by choosing a narrative that supports me best through this change? 

For years, I've only heard this stage of life described as "empty nesting," and more often than not, it's accompanied by a sad and, at times, devastating rhetoric. While I am mindful of honoring others' personal experiences and holding space for those who describe their journey through this stage as one of anxiety and deep loss, I also recognize that this particular outlook is highly triggering for me. 

This realization has helped me understand the importance of adopting a narrative that supports my personal journey. This shift in mindset places me in the driver's seat of my mental chatter, allowing me to focus on what truly serves me. A key part of this process draws on skills I'm continuously trying to strengthen, such as the ability to notice my thoughts and redirect them when needed. 

My first shift in narrative came from something I recently read—I don’t even remember where or if it was attributed to any author—but it said something like this: “I am not an empty nester, I am a bird launcher…”

Bird launcher represents the same concept as the term empty nester, but with, in my opinion, a much-needed twist. To me, this reframing is imbued with optimism. Adopting this perspective feels uplifting—sparking a positive spiral of thoughts filled with meaning, purpose, and hope: I am a bird launcher! What a privilege it is to have the opportunity, the ability, the capacity, and the circumstances to launch a child into adulthood and into the world. What a gift it is, as a parent, as the generation raising the next, to witness the beauty, with all its ups and downs, its victories and hardships, of a child metamorphosing into the wild world. It reminds me of when my children were little, watching together caterpillars undergo their metamorphosis inside the chrysalis, their little noses pressed up against the mesh, eagerly trying to get a closer look as the butterflies emerged.

Being a bird launcher makes me feel like I have front-row seats in this play. That it’s now me, with my nose pressed against the mesh screen, watching my child take flight and soar into the world.

Like some birds that form supportive mixed-species flocks while their fledglings learn to fly, I, too, am finding strength in my community of fellow bird launchers—those currently navigating this stage and those who have already experienced it. That’s my next intentional approach: to lean into my community, to connect and share our feelings and thoughts, our doubts and worries, our hopes and wishes.

I’ve discovered relief in talking to seasoned launchers. In listening to their experiences—some endearing, others less so—and witnessing how often their children return home, I have been reminded of how much our now older children still need us, though in a new way—one that I’m eager to explore and experience.

In casting out my net to my community of fellow parents, I’ve come across many who have shared the beauty they see in this stage of life. To them, it’s a time filled with opportunities—opportunities to rekindle their marriage or perhaps pursue life goals that were once put on hold while raising young children. Some have rediscovered their love for reading, now that time is more available, while others have discovered their love for pickleball after trying it for the first time! I’ve heard of the joy in re-investing time in themselves and the excitement of a spontaneous mid-week dinner plan.

These conversations have really made me realize that there is, in fact, another way of approaching this stage of life. Yet, to me, the greatest wisdom lies in how gracefully they embrace this dichotomy. Yes, they shared all the good they saw in it, yet never denied the bittersweetness of the stage. Not one of them pretended to stick their heads in the sand about the loss, because there is loss, and with that, they all expressed the excitement and anticipation of every visit back home. The fact is, our child(ren) are moving out, and the family dynamic will be different, whether we like it or not. There is, indeed, an end to the chapter known as childhood. Pretending otherwise would be unhelpful. Toxic positivity doesn’t support us in navigating the realities at hand. Avoiding the feelings we need to experience won’t benefit us, nor will staying stuck in the difficult parts of the transition—quite the opposite, it will only hinder us.

That is why I search for balance and not to avoid pain or uncertainty.  I want to feel all the feels. I am going to miss having him home day in and day out; there’s no way around that. I am sure some days I’ll feel more tearful than others. And that’s ok. That’s normal. There is grieving in any closing of a chapter, big or small. I once heard, many years ago, that grieving is the result of having had the privilege to enjoy, love, and experience something or someone. So how could I not feel it all, the good, the hard, and the everything in between?

I want to be able to hold both realities in my heart at the same time: the sadness of having him move out, along with the absolute thrill of seeing him start his new life. The nostalgia of having him cocooned under our roof versus the incredible excitement I feel at the thought of him exploring what this beautiful, wide, and vast world has to offer. And yes, we can absolutely live with this dichotomy; the key is to avoid getting stuck in one extreme or the other—whether it's hopelessness on one end or denial and detachment on the other.

Looking closely, everything in our lives pendulates from one end to another. Like our heart or breath, our health is defined by the rhythm of expansion and contraction, the dance between opposites—the yin and yang of life. It is in the in-betweenness of the opposing ends, in that infinite gradient of grays, where we experience the richness of life, find balance, and live most fully.

And so, my goal, as I navigate the days, weeks, and months ahead, is to try my best to embrace the full spectrum of emotions this transition brings, balancing the bittersweetness of endings with the celebration of new beginnings. With intentional practice, I'll aim to keep my mental chatter in check, hold fast to the bird launcher narrative that serves me, and draw strength from my community.

By holding these seemingly contradictory realities in my heart, I can only hope to model for my child what it means to navigate life's transitions with self-compassion and grace. After all, isn't that what launching is truly about? Creating the conditions for flight while showing that home remains a safe place to return to whenever the journey requires rest.

Now...wish me luck…