Auld Lang Syne

I asked Google what those words actually mean - Auld Lang Syne - I've sung it for years as this very day breaks into tomorrow and realized I've been breaking the rule we hold our children to of not saying (or singing) words we don't know the meaning of. Here's what I found out thanks to dictionary.com: the words are from the Scot tradition and literally mean "old long since" and refer to old times, especially times fondly remembered or an old or long friendship. Fascinating - especially I heard on the radio about 20 minutes ago that 2021 has decided to take America's best friend, Betty White, away from us today - talk about adding insult to injury. Yet I'll probably still sing these words when the clock strikes bedtime (which may or may not be before midnight). So this afternoon I'm pondering the fond times and old friendships of this relative dumpster fire of a year and I've landed on the fact that 2021 was a year of revelation and realization. For starters - this Christmas break has been overflowing with opportunities to truly take a break. Preschool and graduate school ended within 36 hours of each other and I'm not taking a Jan term class, so I have literally been able to unplug. It was initially a challenge, I teetered on the edge of boredom but didn't succumb, and here's what almost 2 whole weeks unplugged looked like for me:

• I've composed 2 blog posts - I don't remember the last time I did this within a week's span, but gosh it has felt like home to write creatively again
• I've swept and mopped our floors twice - if this is something you do  weekly, please don't tell me. Little gives me the simple joy like the feel of clean floors under my bare feet and rarely do I have bandwidth to mop this frequently
• I read a book for FUN - in 2 days - and didn't have to post something on Moodle (if you know, you know) or write a paper about it...more about that later...
• I've taken naps - that's plural - on more than one day of this break
• I've left my computer OFF for more than one day - JOY!
• We've had great family time - immediate and extended. There have been board games, laughs, movies and football

But the revelation part of 2021? WHOA - that fun book I read? It shone a light on some pieces of my self that need some work. I don't make New Year's resolutions because I straight up don't keep them, but now that I know some of these things about myself, the trajectory of 2022 has been defined. Here's what has been revealed:

• I have gotten so busy I haven't done the work to invest in community. When we moved to Marietta, I decided this was a pre-determined temporary stop on our path back to Vancouver. We told the kids not to get too invested in our house because we were going to sell it the minute Lydia graduated and downsize or move back to Vancouver. I told myself I could take some years of driving everywhere because we'd soon enough move back to Vancouver and be able to walk everywhere again. Do you sense a theme? I've gotnwork to do on that "bloom where you're planted" bit. This Christmas Philip gave me Indigo Girls tickets and everyone I was comfortable inviting to go with me to that concert lived out of town, except one person. And then I read Sophie Hudson's book, Stand All the Way Up: Stories of Staying in it When You Want to Burn it All Down. She wrote about a Christmas Eve when she, her husband and her son spent the evening alone eating at a Popeye's and how she realized the importance of leaning into community. I felt like I'd been hit in the face with a frying pan because my introvert really loves to be at home but I also love to have friends to share Indigo Girls with who live nearby. I know lots of people, but I haven't tried to let very many people know me - this, friends, is a growing edge and means I may have to wear a bra more in my 'off' time, engage in conversation when my words are worn out, ask for help (growing edge #2), and make some friends with whom I can spend an evening!
• In the midst of growing my education, I've let my physical self go. I immediately gained weight when we moved back to the States (see above reference to driving everywhere). See also - mac and cheese is a vegetable here, so is cornbread... See also - Moodle posts and paper writing aren't typically active engagements other than mentally. See also - perimenopause and it's trickery (at this point, I must implore you if you've ever made fun of a woman and her hot flashes in your life, stop IMMEDIATELY what you are doing, go to them, fall to your knees, beg for mercy, and apologize like you life depends on it - HOT FLASHES ARE NO JOKE). This year, I'm going to try to get stronger - would love to lose weight, but would love more to feel strong. That means moving more, looking more intently for audio books to listen to while walking, and creating opportunities for Forced Family Fun that are outside.
• 2020 + 2021 = feeling angry and frustrated a lot of the time. The goal for 2022 is to shift focus of that anger away from trying to resolve it and move toward healing it. Remembering that depression  is anger turned inward reminds me that I don't want anger to fester, I don't want to push it down or wallow in it either - it's toxic. Sophie Hudson suggested looking at our anger in a confessional style, naming that it needs redemption and I'm going to give that a whirl too. It sounds freeing just reading about it and seems like it makes better space for good times that I'll remember fondly when I sing Auld Lang Syne this time next year.

There's something scary about putting all this into the real world, but there's something liberating about it too - maybe writing the words will cement them in my being and solidify them as my intention. Maybe writing them down where I can read them again will remind me that reading books for fun and naps should be part of life even when we aren't on break. Maybe, sharing these words so publicly will make me feel more accountable. Whatever the case, I hope when we're back together in 2022 that life feels a bit more manageable, that in the next 12 months we can find other Betty Whites to look to as examples of longevity and good sense, that new friendships will have been cemented so they are able to grow into old friendships. Happy New Year, friends - may our growing edges make themselves known and may we all figure out how we can love our neighbours more intentionally and better than we have yet.

Silent Night

There were a lot of years that Christmas wasn't really Christmas unless I stood with my family in a darkened sanctuary and watched light grow as a flame was passed from candle to candle while singing Silent Night. There was something about singing those words in the glow of candles with no other sounds than voices singing that reoriented me to the space and time that is Christmas Eve. 

The Silent Night years  were followed by the chaos of family Christmas Eve services - affectionately known as Bedlam in Bethlehem - where our children participated in an impromptu Christmas pageant. I couldn't tell you the final song of those years because I was just hoping neither of my children fell down the chancel steps or pulled off Mary's headgear. The family service marked the beginning of what was sometimes a very long night of assembly and coordination.

Since the family service years, we've bobbled about looking for our place on Christmas Eve - sometimes at a chuch service, sometimes with friends, last year reading the Christmas story with friends in their home. I haven't found that same moment of reorientation that pre-dated the family service years just yet. I don't know if it's because the chaos and joy and anticipation palpably present among the children with crooked haloes and makeshift costumes imbedded itself in me more than I realized, or if it's because I find it harder to shut everything out save the words of that hymn. But the words are imbedded deep within me regardless of the noise with which they compete:

Silent night, holy night!
All is calm, all is bright.
Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child.
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.

Silent night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight.
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia,
Christ the Saviour is born!
Christ the Saviour is born

Silent night, holy night!
Son of God love’s pure light.
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus Lord, at Thy birth
Jesus Lord, at Thy birth.

This is always my favourite Christmas picture - I take it every year. But it's just a snapshot in time and somehow reminds me of the power of silence and being still. Thematically, it would have been far better if this brief moment where the living room was clean and peaceful had happened at night, but it's real life. And maybe that's why I like this picture so much - real life breaks into our silence, interrupting our quest for spotless holiness, and that frustrates me but this photo captures a moment of peace and quiet. I find there's power in carving out time to be still and I think that's why singing Silent Night in a darkened sanctuary making space for light to grow on Christmas Eve is such a touchpoint for me. 

I'm reminded of how Mary and Joseph must have felt after Jesus' birth - when the chaos of the birthing process had calmed, the sun was nowhere in sight and it was just the new family of three nestled in the barn with animals watching. Holy silence on that first Christmas had to be overwhelming but they leaned into it and trusted their child's destiny. I wonder if we carve out silence for ourselves if we will hear the still, small voice that guides us on our way to who we're called to be. I wonder if we stop and really try to block out the noise of the world, if we can let all of the weight of our emotions wash through us so they don't get stuck in us and if we'll find sleep and heavenly peace.

Friends - we're living in dense times but the words of the angels still ring true - "Do not be afraid" for good news has come. May we make room for holy silence, for despair to pass through so there is room for hope. And tonight, on this Christmas Eve, may be reorient ourselves to the grace and mystery of that first Christmas knowing the greatest hope came in the form of a tiny baby. Tonight - maybe our family will go back to the family service to reacquaint ourselves with joyful anticipation and the invitation to imperfection in celebrating Jesus' birth. After all - tradition for tradition sake can be an empty shell if it makes no space for God to break in and turn things upside down.

Reclamation

I'm at a conference delightfully titled "Word Wise" and I've just had the sobering realization that while I fancy myself a writer, I haven't actually written any words just for myself in over six months. It's hard to become what you vision yourself to be if you're not living like its your reality. So here I am - back in the saddle - grateful not to be writing research papers or Covid procedure manuals or emails to preschool parents about updated protocols. The last time I blogged in this space - a space that gave me life and chronicled our family's 4 year adventure in Canada - was Christmastime 2020. In truth, that was the last time it felt like there was time to put words to paper that weren't driven by the outside world and the crises that seem to fuel everyday life. Yet this space is where I come to be most truly myself, truly alive; I wonder why this sacred space is the very space I neglect when the weight of the world intensifies and my soul gets weary? It seems I'd be better served if this were my default, but somehow the crises out there seem to overshadow the in here. 

2021 - not gonna lie - I'm done with you. I do not want to wish time away as I realize how fleeting she is, but seriously child, you have GOT to throw us a bone. Just as pandemic crisis was seemingly beginning to abate allowing me to feel the weariness coursing through me, you've gone and turned up the heat - piling weary on top of weary. There is so much noise, so many opinions, so little grace, so little dialogue - and coming to this safe place to process is overwhelming. Even trying to put into words the pinball game inside my head and heart make me want to close my laptop and go back to writing policies and protocols. Those are safe - they're antiseptic, sterile, emotionless. The require zero vulnerability, zero introspection, zero investment. I let myself off the hook from the vulnerability, introspection and investment in the interest of trying to keep preschoolers in school and reassure parents we are doing the allwecan to prevent the spread of allthethings, most especially this persistent virus that has invaded our lives and seemingly intends to stick around for a long visit. It clearly doesn't buy into the notion that fish and uninvited guests smell after three days.

But this virus did give us (well at least me) a gift - I can see it after I dig through the fear that tried to mask it and the anxiety that tried to blur my vision - a time when the world slowed down and we gave ourselves permission to breathe, to stop, to un-busy ourselves. And if I'm really honest, I miss that slower pace. It was jarring when the world stopped on March 13, 2020 (that's when it stopped in Marietta, GA because schools, churches, and businesses all shut down). It's cute we all thought it was going to be a two week gig. I've found it even more jarring, however, that somewhere around April 2021 my little corner world seemed to jump back into March 1, 2020 mentality with no ramp up. I've wondered why and I didn't resist it more, but I chalk that up to being worn out too. The messages I kept hearing were about getting "back to normal" - I'm sick of hearing that. What even is "normal"? I really don't know anymore. In fact, one of the items on my to-do list is to redefine normal so I can hopefully work toward it.

Things I know I'm ready to scratch off the list of normal:

• Not being able to have a different opinion from someone else without that somehow being a character flaw
• Being convinced that Covid would be gone if they (whoever has the opposite philosophy) would just do what we know is right 
• Seeing our children jerked around by schools' bouncing between in-person and virtual learning as we administrators try like mad to do the best we can in these unprecedented times
• Hearing the words unprecedented times
• Feeling like we're all on a collective roller coaster that goes on forever and the operator has left their station and we'll never get off (maybe THIS is the real Hotel California?)

BUT - this is the hand we've been dealt. What if we bagged this notion of finding normal and really made a concerted effort to find mutual respect? What if we let go of needing to be right and made space for multiple philosophies? What if we sought intentionally to embrace that we're all a part of a bigger whole instead of living like we have to stake our claim and not allow others in? What if we valued kindness as much as we value success?

Do I think these shifts would make pandemics go away? Not on your life. But I do think they'd make doing life a lot more palatable and a lot more graceful and that we may just glimpse a peek of what God intended for this third rock from the sun. These are dense times - it's been denser than normal for almost 18 months. My goal for the coming months? Return to this space, don't get distracted by the noise, do the work of vulnerability, introspection and investment and try to reclaim who I know in my bones I'm meant to be. I wonder if some of the weariness may fade if I recalibrate and refocus - I suppose only time will tell - but I'm hopeful.

There's Something About Mary

This is how I've always pictured Mary - perfect in her postpartum-dom

Image not attributed but taken from this article

The first Christmas I considered Mary differently than a blue draped mama kneeling pristinely beside a manger right after birthing her baby while animals stood reverently around and shepherds looked on, was the Christmas of 2004. I was 8.75 months pregnant myself and serving a church in SC. It was Christmas Eve and the staff had randomly signed up to read scripture at one of our several Christmas Eve services. As luck would have it, I drew the bit from Luke about Mary being "great with child". It took every ounce of self control to keep my eyes on the words and not step from behind the pulpit, turn sideways for the whole congregation to see and point to my belly. But, I refrained. However, that entire Advent season made the Christmas story come alive to me in a new way - Henry's due date was January 5, we found out he was incubating on Mother's Day (seriously) the previous May; our timeline was akin to Mary's from the start. Yet - I was 28 years old, more than double the age of Mary when she learned she would birth Jesus (per countless a sermon I've heard in my life). I had been married for a year and a half, I wasn't engaged or faced with telling my betrothed that I was carrying the Son of God and that everything was going to be OK because an angel had told me so. Telling my parents was an exciting endeavour - not one I feared. Philip and I both waited for the results of the test expectantly and were both overwhelmed, yet filled with joy when the positive sign appeared. I didn't have the angst of telling Philip the Holy Spirit was going to come to me and I would have God's Son. I didn't have to tell my parents I was pregnant before I was married and that my fiance wasn't the baby's daddy. 

At around the fifth month of my pregnancy, I was feeling great and nesting with vigor and I was completely terrified of the idea of childbirth. The little person I was growing seemed awfully comfortable and I decided this arrangement was one which I was willing to continue indefinitely. The childbirth classes had been honest (read: graphic) and I was pretty certain that if I'd known everything they taught me, we may never have gotten so excited in the first place. Alas - this was a process that culminated in the birth of a baby - it's how it works. However, on that Christmas Eve night, standing in front of a packed sanctuary, belly swollen, I thought about Mary. At that particular moment, the thought of riding anywhere far away from home, particularly on a donkey, sounded like an extreme form of torture. The notion of birthing a baby amid animals in a barn sounded horrendous. Knowingly becoming mother to the Saviour of the World - unthinkable! 

This Christmas, in the year 2020, I see Mary in another new way. Having heard for years that Mary was 13 when she was betrothed to Joseph and the angel appeared to her to let her know she was going to carry God's own Son but that she shouldn't be afraid, hits home in a new way. My daughter is 13. My daughter is the age that preachers have espoused Mary to be for all of my life and Mary was already engaged - at the age of 13. Cultural context is certainly different in Marietta, GA, in 2020, than it was in Nazareth over 2000 years ago, but y'all. My 13 year old daughter is studying Pinterest like a boss, she is helping me know which moisturizers are best for under my eyes as my skin starts to sag a little. She's navigating the throes of middle school and all the funk that goes along with this season in life. She is NOT ready to be engaged or to hear from a heavenly guest that she will be the conduit for the redemption of the world! Can you even imagine? 

"Mary's Song" - the Magnificat - gets lots of press this time of year.
It comes from Luke 1:46-55:

“My soul magnifies the Lord,
47     and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
48 for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.
    Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
49 for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
    and holy is his name.
50 His mercy is for those who fear him
    from generation to generation.
51 He has shown strength with his arm;
    he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
52 He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
    and lifted up the lowly;
53 he has filled the hungry with good things,
    and sent the rich away empty.
54 He has helped his servant Israel,
    in remembrance of his mercy,
55 according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
    to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”

Until now, I've read this passage as truly a song, a song that Mary sings with great peace and confidence, accepting the angel's admonition to not be afraid. I've heard these words as I've watched 4th and 5th graders vie for the role of Mary in the church Christmas pageant. But this year, as I live daily with a 13 year old girl, I wonder if Mary sang this as a prayer, a longing - over and over - trying to remind herself of God's goodness and might. I wonder if she hit that point in her pregnancy when she was totally scared of the birthing process and wanted to freeze time so she could live the way she'd grown accustomed for the rest of her life. I wonder if motherhood overwhelmed her and if the added pressure of knowing she was carrying God's Son was comforting or terrifying. Today I read these words and I can hear a trembling voice of a child growing into a woman, a voice trying to convince herself that it's all going to be alright. And I wonder how her mama and her daddy comforted her and supported her - or if they supported her. 

Today, in the year 2020, I see Mary as far tougher than I've ever given her credit before now. She didn't have an epidural or an adjustable bed or even a little bit of privacy. She had a supportive husband and she and Joseph were the epitome of 'making do'. They even entertained strangers right after birthing a baby because God had helped them to know this baby was special. As I look at my daughter, I see Mary anew. I see her and Joseph as more remarkable than ever. Yes - generations call her blessed - I also call her strong, trailblazer, incredibly faithful. And I wonder, how we all respond to our own call to be faithful, strong trailblazers and how the work Philip and I do as parents is fostering those abilities in our own children. This year has taught me a lot of things - faith and strength and making do being quite at the top of the list. Perhaps I will look back on this year and see blessings that have yet to bubble to the top of the glass, perhaps I will look back and see times that our family did some trailblazing, perhaps I will see ways our faith and strength deepened in the process. Regardless, I know I will never see Mary the same way again and, for that, I'm grateful.

Gari Melcher's The Nativity

This better captures Mary & Joseph's partnership and toughness

Election 2020

WARNING: This is NOT a political post. Any and all comments endorsing or insulting any candidates will be removed. 

We lived in Canada during the last US Presidential election and it sure was something to be fully invested in a process from which we were so physically removed. I miss that disconnection, especially as we move into tomorrow, Election Day - 2020. In the past 24 hours I have seen people publicly expecting there to be riots in response to how the election works out, I have seen people rail against those they typically pal around with, I have seen social media posts removed because everyone is functioning at 98% pressure. Pressure does strange things - it crushes structures underneath it, it makes us paranoid, it causes us to overreact/underreact. But - (this is a nod to my fellow Instant Pot people) - pressure can make food cook faster, it thaws and cooks simultaneously, it allows us to preserve food for far longer than if we let it sit on our counters, pressure can even make food more tender. 

Consider this: REGARDLESS of who 'wins', roughly HALF of our nation will disapprove. I don't know how we even count that a win. I also know that the path toward healing can't depend on people we elect into office. Healing is the work of the people - us people - the ones who will either be happy or sad come Wednesday, or next week or next month. How do we do the work of healing? I don't know the answer to that in full, but I do know it's work and it's going to get more painful before it gets better. But this painful work is worth it - this painful work is what brings us back to ourselves. We've gotten distracted by all of the commercials and the fliers and the radio ads - they're telling us we can't live or work or talk together without there being a cataclysmic end, but they're wrong. Those voices are the loudest, but we are more in number and we can do better.

History has its eyes on us, friends. Our children are watching how we react to whomever gets elected in the myriad of offices up for grabs - especially our nation's leader. We have a choice to make - do we snuggle in close with those who believe like we do and swear off relationships we may have had for years just to protect our own thought processes? Do we make soothsayers out of the riot predictors and choose looting over dialogue? Do we choose to be brave and try to listen to people who think differently than we do and try to understand a different perspective? Do we choose to work through the pain of divide in an effort to build some sort of unity - however fragile it may be at first? 

I know and love people whom I know are voting differently tomorrow. Frankly, that's OK. My relationships with people are not built on their political stances, my relationships are built on whether we enjoy each other's company, whether we can have soul level conversations. Good people have different opinions and it's up to us to show those running for office how to behave like grown ups - not like children who need to be sent to their rooms to think about their actions. It's time for us to be brave, to show up, to probably mess up, but to also give each other some grace. We're all tired - on a scale of 1-10, I'm tired a million. And we need a valve for some pressure to escape. Let's let it out with grace and grit instead of hate and anger. Let's allow this pressure to make us more tender - with ourselves and with each other. 

Confirmation, Hard Knocks & School

Today is a good day. It's rainy, I'm home before 3pm and have donned my yoga pants and sweatshirt after 3 soggy carpools in a shoe which lost its sole at the preschool. We've gone back to face to face instruction for our Toddlers - Kindergarteners and the last 4 weekdays have felt the closest to normal for me since March 13. My children, however, are slogging through virtual learning, using a new online platform that is far from perfect and rife with frustration. Despite this current reality, however, today is a good day. This notion of good is more nuanced for me than ever before because the density of 'regular life' these last five months has been great. Add to the regular ups and downs of life a host of irregular ups and downs, and good becomes relative - online learning frustrations, rainy carpools and broken shoes get put into perspective. I've struggled to find words in these last few months because my arms have been overfull of irregularities and the bands that held me together felt stretched to near breaking. But a little over a week ago, perspective showed up. It always does...eventually...and its timing was gracious and welcomed. 

Our children began the process of confirmation in January at our church. They were both baptized as infants and Philip and I took vows on their behalf to share with them the larger story into which they are knit. The community around us on their baptism days also took vows - promising to support them and demonstrate to them what it means to be God's own beloved children. This confirmation process, in the PCUSA, is the process by which our children explore their faith to the point they claim it as their own. They went through a series of classes - at first in person and then online (a first for sure!). The process culminated in their making their own profession of belief - making statements in which they affirm the faith into which they were born and that, with God's help, they'd continue to explore and live into as they grow older. Typically, confirmation Sundays are big, joyous and followed by a luncheon with family. This year's was different - after all, isn't everything about this year different? The group of confirmands met at church on a Thursday evening, donning masks, dressed as if it were the church service we used to attend pre-Covid. They stood at the front of the sanctuary, six feet apart, while one parent sat, physically distanced, from the other parents in the room. We were the only people in the room other than their confirmation teacher and our pastors. The pastors led the young people in a litany of questions and answers with reminders to look into the cameras so their faces were captured on video because this portion of the worship service would be incorporated to the rest of the pre-recorded service. Our little foursome went out to dinner afterwards to celebrate, but it was categorically weird.

While the whole confirmation process was weird, I also realized we had become pretty immune to weird - to the point it now has a degree of normal embedded in it. After all, in addition to all of the Covid weirdness, we've been walking through other down and dirty life stuff. It wasn't altogether strange that family wasn't with us for this special moment - we've been distancing ourselves from one another for some time. That distancing began in earnest when my dad was diagnosed with tongue cancer in late May. Though we moved to within a 2.5 hour drive of one another we've felt like we were still on the west coast as we've stayed connected primarily through phone calls and texts. None of us wanted to unknowingly share germs that would hinder his healing or make each other sick. He had surgery in mid-July and is on the mend - for which our gratitude knows no bounds. Hearing the words "no chemo or radiation needed" gave us permission to exhale - I hadn't even realized I'd been holding my breath. On the heels of daddy's diagnosis, Philip's dad began having significant health issues as well. The road has not been easy but the road now has better definition than it did a month ago. And then, my sister who's the picture of good health, was diagnosed with Lupus and is in the midst of redefining regular life in the midst of a global pandemic - again, weird. So these times in which we should all be rallying together and hugging on each other have become times in which we silo more, for fear that we'll make each other's struggles worse. Our world is upside down. 

As upside down as it has been, there was something about that masked confirmation service that reminded me of the comfort that comes from knowing we aren't alone. Our family has always been surrounded by others who literally DO life with us. This cancer, lupus, failing health in parallel to confirmation was the conduit for perspective. I've been reminded that as we have walked through some pretty dark valleys, the lessons of faith that I hold so dear still endure. Faith showed up through my children and what clarity these people, on whose behalf I made promises 12 and 15 years ago, have given to me! For me, faith is not some bumper sticker, checklist, who's in and who's out sort of deal. It is, instead, the kind of faith Brene Brown defines as, "a place of mystery, where we find the courage to believe in what we cannot see and the strength to let go of our fear of uncertainty." My children reminded me of this on that Thursday night and helped me wrap my head around all that life has thrown in our lap of late. They helped me make sense of the world in these times where nothing is certain. And they helped me embrace the opportunity to refocus my perspective on living. We hear so much of the sick and dying - literally and figuratively. In these last months watching the news or reading the paper has become a soul sucking, depressing experience because the headlines focus on decay and rot. But cancer, lupus and issues related to aging juxtaposed with our children's claiming hope through our faith has reminded me to train my focus on life. It has also reminded me that no matter where we are in life that our children really are often the ones who lead us and so, this teacher mama has again become the student.

Theologian Howard Thurman says, "Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." In the midst of all this darkness, because of what my children reminded me to embrace, I've taken a leap. At 44 years old, this mama of 2 teenagers who are brave and strong and smart, a full-time employee and a wife of a supportive and loving husband, is now, literally, a student. I've learned from my children, husband, dad, sister and father in law that life is for living. And I want to celebrate their examples by putting into action what has been so clearly demonstrated for me - focusing on hope, and what makes me come alive. Perspective has found me in a dance between dark and light, health and infirmity, faith and doubt as I witnessed one of my own children's journeys. And for all of those who've walked alongside them and me in our becoming, I give great thanks.

Henry Baptism - April, 2005

Confirmation - August, 2020

Lydia Baptism - November, 2007

Confirmation - August, 2020

Pandemication

I'm "off" this week from my job as preschool director - a whole week! I'm not entirely sure what to do with my time because I'm doing this "vacation" alone - our 12 year old still has swim practice, our 15 year old is working and my husband is not off this week so he's in the basement doing his j-o-b job. A couple of things have occurred to me on this Tuesday of my vacation week:

1 - I'm much better at vacation when I do it with my family and we leave our house/normal context.

2 - I'm feeling completely restless and unproductive and, more than once, I've considered going into the office to 'get things done' to help scratch the itch of restlessness.

3 - I'm easy prey for the tyrant known as should.

My most favourite counselor ever is named Judith. She introduced me to the notion of the "tyranny of the shoulds" in my early 20s. This concept was initially named, as best as my cursory research tells me, by Karen Horney (read more about this notion HERE) and every time I read her words about the divide between our real self and ideal self and our inner critic, I'm convicted, empowered, challenged and reminded of just how tyrannical that little 5 letter word should is. For context, a quick Google search revealed the following list of the Top 10 Most Ruthless Tyrants in the World (NOTE: list does not include current leaders - these tyrants all ruled prior to 1980. To view the full article, click HERE):

1 - Atilla the Hun (killed his brother to become the leader)

2 - Genghis Khan (slaughtered civilians en masse, but rose to leadership out of slavery)

3 - Timur (ordered a tower to be built out of living men cemented together)

4 - Queen Mary I (AKA Bloody Mary who burned people at the stake)

5 - Vladimir Lenin (disregarded the suffering of his countrymen and crushed opposition)

6 - Joseph Stalin (oversaw mass starvation, labour camps and the "Great Purge")

7 - Adolf Hitler (systematically ordered and conducted the murder of roughly 11 million people)

8 - Mao Zedong (policies led to death of 40 million people)

9 - Idi Amin (declared himself president after overthrowing government of Uganda and his regime saw 3 million people killed)

10 - Augusto Pinochet (tortured the people of Chile and many 'disappeared' under his reign)

CONCLUSION: Tyrants are BAD NEWS. To consider, however, that we subject ourselves to tyrannical leadership by falling prey to how we think we are to behave/act/walk through life is pretty damning of our own ability to live as whole hearted people. Here's how SHOULD has crept into my psyche during this pandemication:

1 - My family has tasks to complete this week so I SHOULD make my own task list to work through.

2 - Preschool policies and procedures can't wait a week - I SHOULD just use this time when I'm not in the office to work on them some more.

3 - I SHOULD use this week to redefine my exercise regimen, recommit to a clean diet, get up early, tackle the reorganization of our home's storage spaces, begin writing that book I've been thinking about, etc.

I'm stopping with the list intentionally because here's the thing - the whole point of this week is for me to step away from the lists and procedures and tasks. This notion of needing to be perpetually productive, I contend, is actually a vehicle for avoiding feeling our way through this thing called life. Maybe what I'm actually meant to do this week is to step away from all of the shoulds to make space to be. I know I've been pushing the emotions related to this strange time aside so I could tend to the lists associated with it. And my latest reading of Brene Brown reminds me that in order to live an integrated, whole-hearted life, I've got to feel the feelings so I can really rumble with them and get to a place of reckoning (if you've not read her book Rising Strong, do it). So here I am - looking to get real and be real and what I know is this - these days are no less dense than on March 13 when we dismissed school for the last time for our students and my own children. 

We are almost FOUR MONTHS into DENSE and I need a break. But figuring out what a break looks like when so many things are closed or no longer available for spontaneous adventures (you've got to make a reservation for allthethings) makes it hard for me to discern what a break looks like. I'm sick of Zoom - I can't even find the motivation to join 'fun' Zoom calls where we play games and toast one another across the miles. I'm kind of sick of my house - despite all the work we've done to make it ours in these 4 months. I'm sick of my 6 mile radius of living and I'm truly gutted that it looks like our chance to be physically present at the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade is evaporating before my eyes (even though I knew that would like happen when we booked the trip). It is HARD to vacation during a pandemic, especially when you don't have an ever-present, alternate place to run away to. So here's the plan:

1 - I will NOT look at work email except on Wednesday and Friday of this week (this works because I was on it most of yesterday and that is now in the past).

2 - I will move around as feels appropriate but I'll also nap as feels appropriate.

3 - Home projects (for me) will be put on hold this week.

4 - I will actively and intentionally enjoy my children and husband this week without putting any 

pressure on how this week should look.

5 - I will try to read a book for fun, but will accept the stack of magazines I've yet to wade through as acceptable too.

This vacation is unlike any other I've ever had and, frankly, I don't ever want one like this again. But - I know turning loose to get a better hold is important for me and while it is harder to do from the confines of my home/office/recreation space while the people around me still have to do lists, it really is important for me to do it. And I'll continue to try and overthrow the Should Tyrant and seek, instead, to recommit to living authentically without being seduced by the pressure of justifying my existence through perpetual productivity. There will come a day when this is all a memory and I hope to remember this as a time that added to the quality of my life instead of diminishing it. Here's to hoping for a pandemic free 2021 in which we can adventure and play with less density and weight.