My son made a choice recently that blindsided me. It wasn’t reckless or wrong necessarily. Just unexpected. I had no warning, no hint he was even considering it. Within two days, the decision was already in motion, ripple effects moving through our home.

If I’m honest, what unsettled me wasn’t the choice itself but the way he made it. Quick. Quiet. No conversation. No time to prepare. I found myself wishing he’d slowed down, built more runway, thought through contingencies. The parent in me wanted strategy, not spontaneity.

But then again, hadn’t I been waiting for this very thing? For him to stop hesitating, stop letting fear keep him on the sidelines? For him to step into life, even if it meant stumbling? For so long he’s held back, safe but stagnant. Now he’s finally moving, and suddenly I’m the one dragging my heels.

There’s the tension: he chose, and I don’t agree with how he chose. But maybe that’s not mine to agree with. Maybe my part is simply to honor the courage it took for him to do something. To let him own the outcome (whether it’s success or failure) and to celebrate the fact that he’s in the arena, not just watching from the seats.

I had to go for a walk to sort through all this, my chest tight with anxiety. Somewhere between steps, Matthew McConaughey’s voice in my earbuds broke through. I’d been listening to his memoir Greenlights, and he said, “Sometimes which choice you make isn’t as important as making a choice and committing to it.”

That landed.

Because my son’s real victory wasn’t in choosing the “right” thing, it was in choosing at all. Committing. Risking. Living.

So here’s where I’ve landed: I’ll support him, not because I think every detail is wise, but because love means walking with him even when I’d walk differently. If his choice succeeds, I’ll rejoice. If it crumbles, I’ll still rejoice, because either way he will have learned something worth carrying.

That’s the mystery of parenting, isn’t it? We long to protect and prepare, but in the end we are invited to release. To trade control for trust. To love in a way that steadies without steering.

So I’m choosing too. I’m choosing to be for him, right here, no matter what comes next.

Because he’s my son. And I love him.