"Isn't it amazing when someone knows exactly how you feel?"

Stella hollered that out to me yesterday morning while biking to to art class, right after saying that the loud wind sounded exactly like the omnipresent whirring noise I've described in my left ear.

"Isn't it amazing when someone knows exactly how you feel?"

Although her statement was more physiological than psychological, I couldn't help but contemplate the emotional element of it, indulging in what I suppose is a close cousin of anthropomorphism.

As we settle into our uprooted life here, I'm acutely aware of the simultaneous interdependence and independence of our family. For all that we share with each other, we're each on our own metaphorical trip. While Chris and I get the chance to compare notes late at night, the children don't spend much time waxing poetic about their emotional adjustments; rather, little tibits ooze out of them in unexpected and peripheral moments. We're left to infer the rest.

After Stella made her proclamation on the bike, we spent a few minutes chatting about how truly amazing it feels when someone really knows you. I imagined her mentally staring over the precipice of the grand canyon of childhood realizations - that we are each individual and alone in may ways. I think she took a few steps back from the edge, but she's exploring all the facets of her growing independence with each passing day. It's bittersweet and awe-inspiring to witness her wrestle with the complexity of it all.

My girl.