For me, the most worthwhile poetry is that which reaches out and connects with a great number of people, and this one, by Joe Mills of North Carolina, does just that. Every parent gets questions like the one at the center of this poem. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

How You Know

How do you know if it’s love? she asks,

and I think if you have to ask, it’s not,

but I know this won’t help. I want to say

you’re too young to worry about it,

as if she has questions about Medicare

or social security, but this won’t help either.

“You’ll just know” is a lie, and one truth,

“when you still want to be with them

the next morning,” would involve too

many follow-up questions. The difficulty

with love, I want to say, is sometimes

you only know afterwards that it’s arrived

or left. Love is the elephant and we

are the blind mice unable to understand

the whole. I want to say love is this

desire to help even when I know I can’t,

just as I couldn’t explain electricity, stars,

the color of the sky, baldness, tornadoes,

fingernails, coconuts, or the other things

she has asked about over the years, all

those phenomena whose daily existence

seems miraculous. Instead I shake my head.

I don’t even know how to match my socks.

Go ask your mother. She laughs and says,

I did. Mom told me to come and ask you.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2010 by Joe Mills, whose most recent book of poetry is Love and Other Collisions, Press 53, 2010. Poem reprinted from Rattle, Vol. 16, no. 1, Summer 2010, by permission of Joe Mills and the publisher. Introduction copyright © 2013 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.

I spent much of Saturday with my son attending the “Florida Admitted Students Preview Day” at the University of Tampa, the college he is slated to attend in the fall. Let me just say, I don’t see how it’s possible he’s nearly ready for college. Didn’t he just learn to walk yesterday?

The college visit brought back memories of my own college days, four of the happiest years of my life. In college, I began to find out who I really was, discovered I loved to travel, fell in love for the first time, and met life-long friends (including my husband). Oh, yeah, I learned a few things, too. If my son’s experience is like mine, it’s safe to say that the child who enters will not be the same one who graduates.

Saturday, college officials start by separating parents and kids—fitting because we will soon be separated most of the time (sniffle). I find as I walk away from my son that I have confidence he is (mostly) ready for this step, that he won’t be unduly overwhelmed or nervous, as I would have been at his age. I have only mild feelings of nostalgia/angst—I’m mostly excited for him to move into this new stage of his life.

I can picture him at this school. The smaller class size, emphasis on experiential learning and more personal attention seem tailor-made for him. Not to mention the abundance of food available at all hours on the college’s meal plan. (Actually, I kind of want to go here.)

I jot plenty of notes while I listen to the director of enrollment, the director of career services and the director of financial aid (especially her!). I realize there’s a lot to do before he starts school, whether it’s exploring scholarship possibilities, collecting items for his dorm room or even registering for a class at the local community college to get a head start on credits and the college experience.

As we drive home, I find it hard not to give him advice and make suggestions about what classes and extra-curriculars he might like. Yes, I know him pretty well, but now is not the time for unsolicited advice from Mom. To quote the UT senior who spoke to the parents, “Parents should guide, but the students should lead. This is our time.”

We’ve reached another milestone, another phase of the process of letting go. One more finger of the hand holding Nick’s has been loosened. I haven’t let go yet...no, not quite yet. But I have a feeling it won’t be long now.

Some weeks, just getting to Friday feels like an accomplishment. Therefore, I’ve instituted Field Trip Friday—as a reward to myself for working hard, and as a way to expand my awareness and appreciation for where I live. (Do you find that you take your local attractions for granted? I do.)

Last Friday, my partner in adventure Laure and I escaped to another local garden, Sunken Gardens in St. Petersburg. (You can read Laure's post about our trip here.)

In 1903, George Turner, Sr., a plumber and avid gardener, bought the site of the garden. Draining a shallow lake dropped the property 15 feet and provided the rich soil to grow exotic plants from all over the world (and provided inspiration for the garden’s name). According to the Sunken Gardens brochure, his garden became so popular with friends and neighbors that he began charging them 25 cents for a tour. In 1935, the garden opened as Turner’s Sunken Gardens and was owned and operated by three generations of the Turner family. In 1998, it was designated a local historic landmark, and in 1999, the City of St. Petersburg purchased it.

The gardens contain more than 50,000 tropical plants and flowers, as well as a few exotic birds, including flamingoes. Small ponds and waterfalls, an orchid arbor, a Japanese garden, an amphitheater and a meditation garden where yoga classes take place are just a few more of the features packed into this little oasis in the middle of the city. A few photos (click photo for a larger view):

We finished our field trip with lunch at Fourth Street Shrimp Store Market and Restaurant and a stroll through Haslam’s book store.  (I bought only one book, showing heroic self-control, don’t you think?)

I think Field Trip Friday will happen more often in 2013. What better way to enjoy simple pleasures and everyday adventures than by exploring and appreciating what I have locally, getting out of my normal rut routine, and just plain having fun?

What local attraction(s) have you been wanting to visit?

“Help us be ever faithful gardeners of the spirit, who know that without darkness nothing comes to birth, and without light nothing flowers.”

—May Sarton

Advice is the same, have you noticed? Whether it’s advice on losing weight, animal training, child rearing, or how to increase your creativity, advice is everywhere—and much of it conflicts.

I’m happy to listen to advice (and some will tell you I’m also happy to give it). I’ve learned much from people who know more than I, saving me time and heartache. The advice is not the problem. The problem is when I put aside my own common sense or convictions to follow what someone else says I should do.

Guess what? There’s no “one right way” for everyone to do something.

Just as one-size-fits-all clothing doesn’t actually fit all (and aren’t we made to feel it’s somehow our fault it doesn’t fit?), one-size-fits-all advice doesn’t, either. Which doesn’t mean it’s not perfectly good advice for you, for me, for my best friend or my husband at some point. Sometimes it’s advice whose time has not yet come. Sometimes I recognize a piece of good advice, but I can’t follow it because my heart is just not in it.

Since I’m interested in self-improvement/educational type material and read a lot of it, in order to cope with the onslaught of advice, I’ve developed rules for taking it (or not taking it):

Does it make logical sense to me?

Is it possible to do without major disruption in my life?

Do I want to do it, or do I feel I should do it to please someone else?

Do I have to minutely follow complicated or multi-step instructions without deviation or else it “won’t work”?

Am I allowed to think for myself and ask questions without being made to feel that I’m stupid?

Keeping these rules in mind helps me gather the advice that will truly benefit me, and let go of what won’t. And that’s my advice on taking advice (but you don’t have to take it)!