Breaking the Web

May 30, 2025

Every morning in Santa Fe, Panama began the same way: me, waving a stick in front of my face like a lunatic.

Our rented mountain home was surrounded by lush jungle—beautiful, green, alive. And crawling. The path from the house to the road, though short, was a gauntlet of webs. No matter how recently we’d walked it, a spider would have already rebuilt its architectural marvels across the trail, spanning from palm to papaya. Their dedication was impressive. Their timing, terrible.

So I did what any “good dad” would do. I took the lead. I broke the webs.

I'd shuffle forward, arms in motion, scanning for silk threads glinting in the sun. I took the brunt of the sticky surprises so the kids didn’t have to—no squeals, no creepy crawlies on their cheeks, no morning trauma from a spider doing a surprise dance on their foreheads.

It felt noble. Fatherly. Protective.

But about halfway through our stay, I had a moment. It was early morning, mist still clinging to the trees. I had just cleared a massive golden orb weaver web, the kind that looked like spun gold and also possibly interdimensional. I turned towards the kids and saw them all standing there.  Just waiting. Waiting for me to clear the path for them and make it safe. 

That’s when the question hit me:
Was I protecting them… or preventing them?

Sure, no one likes walking face-first into a spider web. It’s weird and disorienting and triggers a primal flail. But there’s something else in that moment—a jolt, a test, a chance to face discomfort and come out okay. The web is gross. But it’s not fatal.

Maybe this year of travel, with all its changes and challenges and moments of beautiful chaos, has been one long walk through spider webs.

We’ve crossed borders and braved pit toilets, new languages, bad bureks, homesickness, and heatstroke. The kids have gotten lost (briefly), gotten stung (mildly), and gotten out of their comfort zones (frequently). We’ve had tears. We’ve had triumphs. We've had a lot of plain rice for dinner.

And maybe that’s the point.

As a parent, it’s instinctive to walk ahead—clearing the way, smoothing the edges. But life doesn’t come with someone waving a stick. Eventually, they’ll have to walk the path themselves, webs and all.

So maybe the better gift isn’t protecting them from the spider webs—but teaching them how to spot them, face them, and keep walking anyway.

And if a spider ends up in their hair?

Well, that’s just one more story to tell.