not so central

A former student and forever friend messaged me out of the blue yesterday. We played a little bit of catch-up and back-and-forth updates and after a bit, I razzed him for his departure from Asana practice in favor of other athletic pursuits. I was really only giving him a hard time out of love and not in earnest; he got what he needed from his time on the mat. The attention, the care, the breath. All of those lessons are alive in the way he works both his body and his mind now. So, success! Really, in my estimation that all is a massive triumph. 

But really, what it stirs up for me is what has become a much larger consideration of my own life within the sphere and scope of yoga. I am coming more and more to believe, and more deeply understand, the way in which I was indoctrinated into a false belief of the promise of yoga. Its benefit, its purpose, its wholeness. And before I begin to relay some of this growing awareness here, I by no means want my tone to be mistaken as bitter or broken in any way. I am simply disillusioned and in the process of embracing a new and evolving perspective.  

I am also not leaving yoga. I don’t think so. Even while the hierarchy of movement and exercise and wellness is reordering itself inside of my understanding, yoga is still what I have expertise and proficiency in, and also what I am most capable of sharing with others. I am still with this, just hopefully with more honesty, transparency, and accountability than I was brought up with. I no longer see through the rose-colored lenses that had me seeing yoga as the number-one, top-notch, perfect-for-all, movement practice, and spiritual modality that I was so certain it was once upon a time. Nope nope nope. It feels absurd in many ways to even confess how wholeheartedly I was entrenched in that sort of dogmatic thinking. The distance between then and now feels so wide and far and yet like any path away from one thing and toward another, it was built by mostly small steps accumulated one by one over many seasons. Suddenly you arrive in a space where the view is completely transformed from the place you started and it feels simultaneously like everything happened all at once and also the journey of ages.

Cuz truly, none of it was sudden. There were sooooo many breadcrumbs early on in my resistance to locking arms with any formal system and then in my desire to give my attention to what felt best and worked well for me and my own sensibilities above and beyond any trend or teacher. It was also quite a while ago, like maybe a decade, that I began to really steer myself toward longevity in practice and away from advanced postures that took me too far out on the skinny edges of branches. I realized I could either practice in a way that might break me or I could practice in a way that would set me up for a life of practice, one which I could sustain for the long haul. And I turned this way.

It was natural that this in turn led to a consideration of what movements and actions are absent from an asana practice, which is something I had been adamant that for many years was not a thing. And yet, I could not do a pull up- because I never practiced hanging or pulling from anything. I could not lift anything with much weight, on the ground or overhead or on my back, because I never practiced it. It occurred to me then that if there was something that lived outside the scope of possibility in terms of my movement, then what I was doing was incomplete and would not move me in the direction of long-term vitality if I kept only doing the same things.

Somewhere in this window of time, I was also diagnosed with high blood sugar, right on the edge of pre-diabetic. I needed to do something about it and the easiest and most natural answer was to get moving, fast and hard and with a good amount of sweat involved. And so I did. I popped into the CrossFit gym that had just opened in our town and started doing all of the things and I loved it. Not to say, by any means, that I think CrossFit is the thing. I think the thing could be anything that involves weights, sweat, hard work, and a great coach. For me, this is just a sweet option because after years and years of engaging in a practice on my own the community and camaraderie of a group class is just super fun.

My time in the gym has gone on from there. With lots of ebbs and flows and a pregnancy and a cross-country move and a pandemic. All of which resulted in an over three-year window away for the most part. In many ways, the lapse was excellent because I was able to accumulate my own data in terms of my mental and physical states in contrast. My mental health tanked and my body felt the strain of a system that was working hard but in more limited ways. Good to gather info! And really, that stretch of years was different in that I was still lifting lighter weights on occasion at home along with riding the pelo and hiking lots in fair weather. I also continued to inform myself in a variety of movement circles via books and podcasts and conversations (and all the media I consume- for better or for worse).

Blergh but I am not here for the personal recap! I am mostly here to make a claim that yoga is good, but incomplete, and that if you have to choose one thing it seems like the science would say that lifting weights, or resistance training, is the thing. I recently heard my friend and teacher Scott Lamps say that if everyone added pull-ups and squats to their practice it would be life-changing. He knows. Yoga is becoming something that, when separated from history and lineage, looks a lot like mobility and mindfulness, two things that are alive and well in many strength spaces. In fact, I am surprised to see more mindfulness practices alive in gym environments than I do in yoga studios these days. Often referred to as “mindset”. Not to say that it isn’t in yoga studios, but it is often so heavy with all of the pseudo-academic, quasi-posturing, of teachers and practitioners so embedded in a particular tradition or style, that it can get lost and misunderstood or misrepresented.

And listen, I am into history and lineage when it comes to yoga asana. I do not actually think that you can effectively parse them out from the practice. However, I do think we can weight them accordingly and be subtle, and also confident enough, to know that very few if any folks who drop into a yoga class on any ‘ol weeknight need to be plied with any of it. In fact, for most of us the stillness, the breath, and the focus are more than enough to connect us deeply to the space inside that is consciousness, compassion, and grace. Yoga points us in the direction of the infinite, and I think that any way that we choose to relate to that for ourselves is good. Maybe it means learning more about the history, or a particular lineage that resonates. But for most, it means tapping into a feeling and making our own connections from that place. It is also important to recognize, and this is my growing belief, that yoga asana practice does not hold claim to that feeling. It is not the only discipline pointing us in the direction of our true selves. We can access it anywhere. And not just through the body, but if possible the body is an excellent and brilliant way.

So here is what I know today: it was not so much that yoga is the HOLY practice. It is really that the body, in all of its intricacies and sophistication and central nervous system, is the HOLY one. And how we live and move and exist in our bodies is what either exalts or diminishes that holiness. The choice of what and how is ours to make. I am thrilled to be practicing and teaching yoga from this perspective. You can find me teaching in my beloved local gym, beginning tomorrow, and also online. Maybe I’ll teach in a yoga studio again sometime soon, but it really depends on the studio ya know? I gotta keep it real and inclusive and right now this is how. So you’ll see squats in my classes, and lots of functional range work, and some poses for sure. Maybe broken up into component pieces, maybe delivered as an entire shape. Who knows really! I am after a feeling of ease and a sense of connection to self and others, along with work that translates well into all of the other ways you or I long to move our one precious body.

not very exciting

Despite not being the most exciting mom this week to my littlest, I have to think that perhaps I am not doing all that shabby when I listen closely to some of his language. Like when I scrape my leg or bump an arm, a little: oh that will heal right up! Or when my appearance shifts cuz I tied my hair back or threw on a fresh sweatshirt for the first time in days, a small: You look amazing! It is these little phrases that make me think that perhaps my inner critic has been wrong about me and maybe I am actually doing OK at this whole raising good humans schtick.

I mean, I think they are good. Not perfect (thank gods) by any means but still far better than me. Also a relief. I am increasingly convinced that beyond any parenting ideology that I might yoke myself to, any definitive certainty in the sphere of modern parenting, is really just a fad or a flash in the pan and that the far more relevant items are my own decency, humanity, and willingness to repair in the places I inevitably damage. I recently heard Esther Perel interviewed on Dr. Becky Kennedy’s podcast Good Inside in which she mentioned her realization that parenting dogma seems to roll in ten-year trends. This rings so true for me having now navigated almost two full decades of trying my best as a parent and also being completely susceptible to what is hip within my communities at the moment. I had littles in the mid-aughts and I have a little in the 20s and “we” believe different things now than “we” did then. Let me assure you. And what we believe today is no more accurate than what we knew a decade ago, it is simply that our perspective has changed, as it will, again and again and again.

I am sitting up in my bed writing right now while Chris and Eid play with Freddy, much to his relief. I have not been a fun mum this first week back home, to his (mostly) quiet frustration. I did, however, just hear him say to Chris, clear as day: You are being a Butthead. Which is of course, perfect, and further proves whatever flimsy point I am efforting to make here. What we say matters, how we say it matters, and our capacity and willingness to own our missteps especially matters and in fact Chris just said: Yep. I said it! I am doing awesome as a dad! Lol. And he will self-correct or adjust, or he won’t. He will still be a good person but he will just have to make the choice about whether he is willing to have his kid repeat that to anyone else. I am pretty sure that I already know the answer to that.

Which is maybe something else worth saying here today. I have a very low tolerance for rude kids. Or fussy or picky kids. Maybe not at this young toddler age but not much older and I think it is time for them to have a growing sense of their impact in their environments. Wilfred is old enough to begin learning the significance and value of how he shows up in the world. I am never really disappointed in kids that act poorly in this way. But I am a little (or so) judgemental of their parents. And before any of y’all have a mindful parenting spaz I am by no means saying that your kid, and you for that matter, don’t have all the room in the world for your big and messy feelings around me. Today and forever. It’s not about that. It is about two big family values that have been central to our parenting despite whatever trend is of the moment. The first is that I want my kids to do their best to be as open to the world as possible. To say yes as much as they can until they find that a no is a better yes. And second is that we have always encouraged them in understanding that they are little ambassadors of our family, out in the world. When they show up, there is an aspect of all of us that is represented in them. In appearance to a certain and unavoidable degree, but really in their behavior in the form of their communication, their kindness, their honesty, their helpfulness, their humor, their engagement, and their manners. I want the world to see how incredible they are all on its own with not a word of excuse from me. Maybe I lost you there, but hopefully, I didn’t.

Ok. That got a little ranty but not my intent and certainly not my purpose. It was a tangent. The main thrust of which is simply that things change. Seasons come and seasons go. Philosophies trend and then are debunked. Just look at what is happening to yoga right now… something I hope to pull apart at length sooner or later. How we understand the world and its mechanisms changes, and hopefully grows, over time. This is natural right? So I think that what I am looking for inside of all of it, is: how am I showing up? Can I bend? Can I change? Can I repair in the places that I couldn’t see clearly and that in my lack of understanding, I damaged somehow? I think I am ok with most of the shifting that is to be expected in living life. I think it is all perhaps just a stream of collecting data from the mistakes I make and a willingness to say sorry for all of the ways I went about it before I knew better. In perpetuity. Over and over again. Back when I was being a butthead. Ten minutes ago.

That’s it for now. More soon about my big feelings about yoga past and present. But mostly present. Also, I swear I’ll send out a newsletter soon. Soon! And info on the Costa Rica retreat that I just wiped up will be available this week too! Miracle of miracles. Ok. Love yous.

I knew better

I guess I thought that I’d return home after 9 amazing days in the Southwest and have the chance to process and integrate everything that was revealed on my trip, both old and new. But I should have known better. Returning home to family life is always a hit-the-ground-running endeavor and this time has been no exception. I took the red eye on Saturday night and made it back to our home mid-day on Sunday and the whole weekend was kind of like a sleepless soup in that way. Chris had to head up to Canada on Monday morning for a couple of days and so we just did the classic parental handoff. Freddy is sick and it was clear that he was going to be sharing it with me so we laid low as best we could on Monday with the big kids at school. But then of course they had a huge argument about nothing on the way home in the afternoon that resulted in Maple leaving Eider down in Elmore to walk the rest of the way home on his own.

They were in a state, let me tell you. After only a little bit of investigation, it became clear that much of the day for both of them had disrupting and unsettling content, the culmination of which was the occurrence of their active shooter drill. This always derails them and honestly I cannot even imagine. The really fucked up bit is that they both try to explain to me, especially Maple, that it is something that is useful for them to do so that they know how to respond in each different classroom. But it sounds like a nightmare and they are always rattled afterward. Maple struggles being able to discern if it is real or not and on Monday she said it felt like 10 minutes or so before she was certain that it was a drill. She also was in a class that had to move across the hall to a “safer” room positioning, which meant moving through the hallway which is a terrifying space to be in during a drill.

Eider was also in the hallway on his way back from the office when the drill was called. From what I can tell from my kids, the hallway is just the very last place you want to get caught if there were a shooter. And I just gotta pause here to say: can you even fucking imagine what our kids have to deal with in schools because we refuse to keep them safe by any other means? And despite all of these drills and schematic plans as to where to go and how to do it both of my kids have said at different times that even with all of these plans in place they both think in the case of a real event they would head out a door if they could and sprint to the woods. That staying in the building is the very last thing that they would want to do despite being instructed to do just that.

Ugh I cannot even with this shit I tell you. And not just for my kids but for ALL KIDS. I hope that is clear by now. I hate having my kids in school for this reason alone and no, homeschool is not the answer simply because it is not available for everyone even though it is 100% where my littlest will be for as long as I can keep him here.

And then of course on Monday afternoon, with both kids still off-gassing the continued accumulating trauma from these events, we heard on the radio on our way to Eid’s orchestra dress rehearsal what had happened earlier that day in Nashville. Yet again. We processed it, somewhat remotely cuz how can you even when it is clear that kids are collateral for an agenda that never gave a shit about them, to begin with. Eider said that he doesn’t even feel anything when he hears about shootings anymore. That it is a numb and empty space. It is hopeless and bleak so why register it? I can understand this response and I can see its ripple effect in all of the subsequent ways that he dreams of his life, or not.

Before he went to school he thought that he would probably really enjoy being a History Teacher. He loves history and I think the idea of summers off has a certain appeal for sure for him. He has been in public school for only 2 months and school in general for less than 8 months and he is already thinking that he really rather not be in the building any longer than absolutely necessary. Yesterday his class visited the local tech center and after hearing more about the trades as well as the framework of heading over there after freshman year and completing your degrees at the center, he thinks that might be where he rather be. Let me first say that I think the trades are amazing and I would be thrilled if that were a path that he wanted to take. However, I worry that he might be curbing a real passion because the prospect of putting your life on the line within a culture that appears to have zero regard for you is less and less appealing. I worry, and I understand.

So, this is what I have come home to. Integrating teachings and experiences will have to wait just as it will for all of us who cannot ignore the threat of daily living that we are all, but especially our children, facing. It is also no surprise that now that Chris is home both big kids are also too sick to go to school today. They wanted to stay home, by any means. And so what to do now? Call your representatives. Opt into information about local actions with Moms Demand and Everytown for Gun Safety. And for the love, never vote for someone whose position on gun control is not completely clear. They must be pro-children, pro-teachers, pro-school, pro assault weapon bans. This is our work right now.

overt or not

I do not talk very much these days about the spiritual underpinnings of my life or experience. Not very outwardly at any rate. I do believe that it is present in my language in general and certainly in my writing, but it is not overt. I speak very little to the spirit when I teach yoga these days and that works quite well for me. I do not instruct very often toward a theme or intention, maybe I will talk about a mood and move attention in that direction but it is not primary to what I am interested in doing on the mat. 

So, a couple of things. Spending a few days- no where near enough- up on Triveni Ashram with friends and teachers and mentors who have long been walking a path steeped in connection to Grace; full of ritual and prayer and devotion and chanting and all the prasad, was an amazing source of renewal and remembering for me. I felt very seamless there. I never felt like I had to be something that I am not but rather that all of my parts were able to step out into the sunshine and drink up the light of love and practice. It was deeply nourishing to the whole of me. 

Contrast that now with a 50-hour teacher training in which there is no part of the spiritual component of yoga instructed. There is no centering (as such), no mantra, no meditation (as such), essentially, no mention. And yet, it works very well for me. I am happy to talk about and then to practice the poses each as their own universe of information and speak only to the muscles, their contraction and their relaxation. I do not think that this is a complete way of being with or understanding the asana practice, however, I am more than happy to make my own connections and keep the alchemical experience that I perceive in my body and in my mind personal and private. I would love to trust that this is similar to how things are unfolding for everyone in the training but that is probably a leap. There are many different levels of experience and understanding in the room. And if I know anything about yoga it is that it can be useful to do what we need to do in the beginning to make the subtle overt and avoid making any assumptions about what is transpiring for any one individual.

At any rate, I am having a marvelous time. I do not really miss my family but that is probably due to keeping in mind that I am never ever gone for this long and who knows when I ever will be again. I am deeply appreciating my time away. I feel so heart full from my time up in the high desert and am clear that seeking out more opportunities for that in the future is something I want to prioritize. I love the ashram and the women there. It was wonderful to spend time in person with Christina and her teachings. There is just a lot that does not translate quite as clearly online, even though I am over the moon thankful for those regular touchstones. 

I am also having a great time down in my old pueblo home. I love being with Sam and Rachel for some days on end even if we only see each other at the beginning and end of the days. The yoga is enlightening and intriguing to me and I am remembering how much I enjoy the particular way that Scott and Ida teach and how well it works for my system and my sensibilities. I am very much a fan of letting the yoga and the inner experience speak for themselves and as teachers, they have that on lockdown. It is effective. And of course, the desert is beautiful this time of year. Full of color and life. 

I think that is it for now. I just put a 30-minute class series up on my site and I intend to get a newsletter out in the next few days. We shall see. Thanks as ever for being here. xxx,m

ashram writing samp: Eid

this is a silly little pic from when moo and e first said hello to their brand new baby cousin fennec. cuuuuuuties all around.

When Eid was born, he didn’t look like me at all. Big and bald and nearly translucent, but also not looking like his sister or their papa. I remember thinking, oh this one is of me, this one is mine. And as melancholy as I was throughout the majority of my pregnancy, and how painful as his labor and delivery were, it was also easy in a way that gave me clues as to who this child would become. He was ease embodied. Empathetic, kind, and patient in a way that was outside of the scope of my parental experience thus far. My daughter had been everything he was not, stubborn and unpredictable and unwavering in her obstinance. And as much as my love for her was complete and consuming from the time before the beginning, I also was not so certain that I had it in me to raise two children of her ilk. I was so nervous about it in fact that I asked for a mantra from an astrologer to help me call in a different sort of a soul- he had done her chart already and knew what I was working with. I clung to those words like a lifeline through my pregnancy.  (Om namo bhagavate vasudevaya) 

I had been scared to have a boy. None of the men or boys that I share blood with are anything I would hope to perpetuate. I had to get my shit together around it in order to get excited. And Maple, being the fierce little manifester that she is, was similarly displeased with the prospect. I remember once when our baby was only a month or so old standing in the co-op with both children and chatting with another mother who had 2 little girls; one newborn as well; and Maple just throwing her head back and wailing that all she had wanted was a little baby sister and that instead what she got was an enormous baby brother. Poor kid. 

But by then I was already in love with my little one, MY baby, more than anyone or anything else. It wasn’t long before his easy ways and steady, dreamy, gentle countenance had us all converted. Boy or no. He was this perfect gem that had been gifted to our family. 

He was so full of feelings. From the very beginning. Not emotion run amok but the big considerations of his beingness. Once, when he was just three, I was snuggling him after reading our nightly stack together and he said to me: mama, if everything living dies, and if I will one day die, does that mean that you are going to one day die too?” And I remember just looking at him and saying: “oh sweetheart. yes. that is what it means.” I held him while we both cried for a very long time that night. He was so little for such a big knowing. It hurt in its beauty. in the perfect horror of its truth. 

When he was five or six I took him to our primary care doctor and asked if she could check him out for anything lurking under the surface. Some silent threat that might take him from me. I was so certain that the love I shared with this little person was not something that I would get to keep for long; that I would lose him sooner than later because how could I ever be deserving of an ease in love the way that I was living it with him? Maybe the only person I have ever loved easy like this. My doctor looked at me with care and I think was generous in responding to something that existed well outside to scope of her expertise, my existential dread at my inevitable loss. My lack of authority within the unfolding of that particular timeline. 

I don’t know why I have been thinking of Eider so much lately. My easy one. The one who never asks for more even when he needs it and the one always willing to curb his own agenda for another’s. Always for mine.
He looks a lot like his papa now. So funny how that turns out. But he is of me. He is of me. 

part one: studio musings // twenty-six+two

lol so k maybe I don’t look like starlight but ya know.

Every time I travel back to WI and take advantage of a handful of 26+2 classes, I can’t help but think that it’d be so great to have a similar hot yoga studio near to me. It is my favorite public class to do on the regular, for so many reasons- some of which I’ll include here. Along with a few others. But not all yoga studios are created equal, and the same is true for those offering “original hot” or 26+2.

I don’t really want to get into all of the iterations or all of the controversy and conflict of that here. Mostly, I want to articulate what I think works best, and why. One of the appeals of the 26+2 series, done in its original 90 minute or in a 60 minute format, is that it really is accessible to most. You can be brand new, or be working through your 1000+ class, and the practice will challenge you, right where you’re at. And not with what’s happening on the outside, but by unearthing and holding space for what is going down on the inside. A great hot studio (or any studio really) is a neutral space. Primarily free of unexplained or non-contextualized iconography and domineering or off-putting instructor personalities. It is completely possible for a yoga space to honor the history and lineage of a method without alienating people of different backgrounds, beliefs, and orientations. It is completely possible for a teacher to be 100% authentically themselves without derailing or compromising the mood of the class with their personality. 

It is my opinion that when a yoga space adds too many esoteric or hybridized or sound-healing-aura-cleansing-booty-shaking-interpretive-primal-screaming classes, it is no longer accessible to the majority of folks and instead has become off-putting. I was 100% brought up and indoctrinated in all things esoteric and this kind of environment is alienating to me too. Too much noise/mayhem on the outside, and it’s gonna be that much more difficult to come alive to my inner world, which debatably is the whole point and purpose anyway.  

So, I long for this kinda space. Clear and open. That you can drop in to and feel confident in what you are gonna get. Reliable and consistent. And if not always excellent, never a flop. With a pristine heating system that’s cranked for some classes and at a slight hum for others. Where everyone comes to engage in the practice. Not because they want to be teachers or even yogis necessarily, but because they want to move and breathe and be still with themselves for an hour or 90-minutes in a way that helps them feel less stressed and more connected. I want it to be a space where I wouldn’t be surprised to see my neighbor or my postal worker or another parent or any one at all. I want it to be a place that is affordable, especially to locals, yoga teachers, students, LGBTQ and BIPOC friends, veterans, and that also supports families by having a couple of classes a week that offer childcare. 

I asked a bunch of folks recently what they love about hot yoga, I’m gonna share that, but before I do I want to share what I love. I came to the 26+2 15 years into my practice and 12 years into teaching. And even though that was over a decade ago now, I still feel new to it. I love that. And I love the way that in each class, when I’m staring down my own eyes in the mirror, I gotta spend a little time getting right with myself. It’s like this ritual of mental self-wrestling the precedes dropping the bullshit. Every time. There becomes a point where I just can’t hang onto what ever junk story I have been telling myself if I want to make it through the class. I gotta let go. Plus, I love sweating so much that it feels like even my brain gets wrung out, and I walk outta there feeling like starlight. Clear, clean, calm, and new. Each time I have to forgive myself and begin again and there is nothing so humbling as that act repeated, every single time. 

Here are a few shares from some friends about what they love about the hot. It’s just a smattering. I know there is a lot more to say. I’ve been saying a lot on and off for the better part of the last ten years here and in other spaces. In the archives as they say. I’d love to hear what you love too if you’d like. Here ya go:
>>>

The repetition.

The work of increasing my endurance in the face of physical/mental discomfort.

Aka, not running away because things are hard or uncomfortable. 

It's a relief to drop into that structure. (And then it's a relief to go back out in the cool air!)

I feel so *aligned* afterwards in many ways. Mentally.

Physically. To my Self.

>>>

I’ll wrap it up today with this: I have never particularly been drawn to teaching this style. I have often incorporated what I’ve learned in this practice into similar postures (and to the space between postures) in my classes. I’ve also encouraged my students to explore classes with some of the teachers I have enjoyed the most. Once, and for a real sweet moment in history, I even had someone I was learning a ton from at the time come lead some group practices to my core student group. It was so awesome and we all look back on that time as one rich in exploration and learning. So it’s both kinda hilarious and exactly right that 25 years into my practice and 20+ years into teaching I am going to get certified next month to offer the beloved 26+2. It feels like a really definitive move for me to make. I have generally felt most comfortable on the fringes of various methods and modalities and so to stake a claim feels big and bold. But I also get the sense that a new season is upon me when it comes to sharing yoga, and this may very well not be the last certification//training I go after in the near future. So anyhow. Adding more to the cup while trying to keep it all as earnest and pure as I can. Like that. 

a village

Maple texted this pic of herself to me the other day with a note saying something along the lines of: I look so much like you here. I got a kick out of it of course, and mused, as I often do, the way she and I are both alike and different, and how, more than anything I just really enjoy the person that she is and I feel lucky to know her. It’s so amazing to know someone “the whole way”, ya know? My sis just had her first a couple of weeks ago and it is so wild to reflect on my own beginning as a mom and even wilder to remember that that tiny, perfect known/unknown newborn was moo.

Recently, Maple was watching Wilfred for me (so that I could escape to the gym to throw heavy things around) and she relayed to me later that he had called her “Maple Mama”. She was like um noooooo, not mama, I am your sister. I got a big chuckle out of this, they have this ongoing disagreement where Freddy will often tell her that I am his mama and not hers, only his. It drives her totally nuts and she insists repeatedly that I am indeed her mama too and that actually I was her mama first, don’t you know? I reassure her always and then make fun of her for getting into a tiff with a toddler. (oh how he is so much like how she once was, bahahaha!) But I also think that it is sweet and maybe even beneficial that he makes a certain distinction with her in terms of understanding that she is not only a sibling for him, but also one of his caregivers. Someone that he can lean on and count on for his tending and well-being in a way similar to that of his parents. It is like this for him with Eider for sure too, and Eid is most certainly someone who cares for and looks after Freddy, but there is a little more play in their relationship that feels so much like brotherhood in a ways that makes it distinct.

Maple, the koala crate magic maker.

I guess I like it both ways or all ways. I like the freedom in the possibility of my children relating to each other in multiple ways. I certainly like that there are more than just Chris and I looking out for these kids. That is what it takes, after all. The village and all that. I was reminded again of this recently, and with a certain amount of gusto, when Maple’s back injury was made clear. A little recap in case you missed it: Our girl has been complaining of hip pain on and off for the past several months, through much of the swim and nordic seasons. She finally went into our primary a couple of weeks ago who confirmed that there was a good deal of inflammation and referred her to a PT. We had a decent-sized list of local options to choose from and I wound up selecting one that is in the same office building as our regular doctors, for ease and convenience. And also because of trust. She was able to get in immediately - thank you to all DRs and PTs who understand this particular type of urgency- and was diagnosed with a slipped or bulging disc in her mid-thoracic that is pinching a nerve which is deferring pain to her hip. They prescribed a 6-week course of visits and gave her one exercise to work on.

I was super grateful, and at the same time left wanting. I didn’t get the impression that this particular PT was going to be as proactive or as thorough as we both need and expect them to be. And then she canceled Maple’s first visit and when I called the office to request a call from the practitioner to go over what the plan is with me, she never responded. To be fair, I did not really give her a long time to respond. I had a funny feeling and a sense that I could find something better for my kid. Maple’s initial visit was Friday morning, and by Monday midday I was at the gym in class with one of our amazing coaches, who always earnestly checks in with everyone. And as ever, shit with our kids is always front of mind, so when she asked I told her what was up with moo and how I was feeling dissatisfied with the care we were accessing thus far. She validated my experience with a telling of her own and then shared with me the PTs that she works with in Williston who work with athletes and young folks not just looking to “get by” but to perform and thrive. My coach gave me their number and I texted right after class. I got a message back within a couple of hours and by the evening Maple had a spot the following day, Tuesday, from a cancellation.

Wilfred and I took her up for her initial consult and let me tell you it was night and day a completely different vibe from what we had experienced at our local spot. So, we said yes please and booked 8 sessions. (Out of newtwork/ out of pocket be damned!) After that first consult, Maple came home with waaaaaay more information and 12 exercises to begin working with immediately. Not to mention feelings of both confidence and hope, which when you are anyone with an injury, but perhaps most especially a kid with an injury not super common to someone your age, is really exactly what you need.

And in a very real way, I feel held and cared for by people in this funny corner of New England that we have chosen to call home. I am understanding more and more the ways in which they are looking out for us and for one another. I have felt it with the support and care we have received as we navigated moving schools for Eider, I feel it again now with Moo, and if I am honest and keep my eyes and heart clear and open, I can see it in so many of the daily exchanges and seemingly banal interactions I have with folks in all of the places in which we have become regulars. I love that. So much. I feel known in some essential ways that are new to me here. And I feel home. Thank god and about time.

Plus, I am Maple’s mama. Sorry fredzo looks like ya gotta share bahaha and jokes on you number three. And mothering her in small, as well as wide and inclusive and broadly supported ways, is something I know I am so lucky to get to continue to do.

school move

I don’t know. I have been putting off putting this particular post together for a couple of weeks now, first for lack of any real stretches of time to sit down and get my thoughts together, and then because I began to doubt how much I actually wanted to share anyway. Or maybe I was needing to let some of my frustration and grief and disillusionment run its course and wait until I could perhaps come from a more reasonable, rational, resolved frame of mind.

Not that I am there yet. Sometimes I still feel so pissed. And disappointed. But yesterday, when I picked Eider up on my way home from the gym and after the 7th and 8th-grade boys basketball game, I did my daily “how are you liking school?” ask. And he was just like: honestly, I love it, mom. It just feels so normal, he said. Gah. I know what he means when he says that. I can see it in how settled and relaxed he seems. Managing the fullness of his days with ease and enthusiasm in equal measure. He seems like himself. And he seems a lot less stressed.

And yeah, it is a huge fucking bummer that “Yurt School” couldn’t live up to its promise- or that it never was what we dreamed it could be. That does suck. But I knew that it wasn’t that from the very beginning. You can look back to posts from last spring or summer when I was still deliberating the decision; pissed that they hadn’t figured out how to take the tuition voucher, irritated that they were disconnected enough via their own wealth from the local demographic that they couldn’t see the necessity in prioritizing their access. Dreams can be insidious though. They help us to see what we want to see even when all of the real markers point toward something else entirely.

I suppose the first indication that shit was not gonna unfold well for the middle school cohort happened at the very beginning of the year when this “place-based school” indirectly informed us that they had no outdoor education teacher for the year. They said they were “working on it”. But never directly. Nothing was ever direct. A small independent school started by 3 parents turned board members who wanted something different for their kids but weren’t ever willing to loosen their grip on the project enough to apply for grants or state funding that would both ensure the life of the school as well as make it accessible for more students. They were essentially the entirety of the administration. They would never answer any phones and seldom respond to emails. They work other fulltime jobs. It makes sense that they didn’t have much time for it. And yet, they could have done anything about it.

The second indication was when Eider was suspended for 2 days at the end of October. He had been roughhousing with a kid far smaller than him- as one of two 8th graders, they pretty much all were far smaller- and he took it too far. It was an issue for him and one that we were all working on. He felt horrible about it and apologized to the kid and they both processed it with their 2 teachers, who hadn’t seen it but were informed by the children. Eid felt like shit about it, but it seemed he had handled it. Until we get a call from a board member saying that he was to be suspended. Another kid in his class, a board member’s kid, who was threatened by Eider from the jump- by his fast intellect, by his exuberance, by the way her posturing was just silly to him- reported the incident to her mom relaying that she was “scared of him”. Which makes perfect sense when she had told Eider multiple times already to his face that no one wanted him there and that he should leave. Which my kid knows to shake off. He is so good at shaking it off. Which to a sassy little 11-year-old is probably wildly infuriating. Ba!

The whole thing was absurd. Completely without any sort of precedent or protocol and certainly with no evidence of the “restorative justice process,” we had read about in the school handbook. Nothing was ever said to Eider or the other child. No discussion. Certainly no “process”. What became clear is how this school has zero idea of how to work with middle school-aged children, and boys in particular. We immediately began receiving texts and phone calls from other parents, including the mom of the kid Eider had this “alleged incident” with. (Chris started calling the incident “alleged” once the board member (mom) that called us explained that Eider needed to be suspended because you wouldn’t let a “mugger” back into the community immediately. It was fucking game over at that point for Chris. I love him.) They were all stunned and alarmed by this course of action, an appropriate response in my estimation, and everyone began to question who this school was being run by anyway? A child? Who?

But there was no conversation. There was certainly no apology to our son, save by his teachers who also could not believe that this had happened. It was unfair to our kid to the extreme. He took the brunt of their administrative failings and yet they shirked responsibility in favor of targeting the teachers for their inability to create appropriate classroom culture. It’s always easier to hand it off.

It gets better though. Because at this point the board decides they don’t want to talk to the other parents anymore so they appoint the preschool teacher, a woman with a doctorate in education but with no experience with middle school-aged children, as head of school. She seemed like an odd choice and once any of us spoke with her it became clear that she indeed was. Not the person to head up an alternative place-based school that is for sure. She is punitive and narcissistic and I suppose through the lens of a nepotistic parent/founder/board body, an obvious choice. Someone to keep the other parents off their backs. She is a behavioralist through and through and really doesn’t stand a chance. Or the middle school level of the school doesn’t stand a chance.

During the Holiday break- on Christmas actually- we all got an email from her saying that one of the two teachers for the yurts would not be returning for the second semester because he was recently charged with Domestic Assault. Um, yeah. I don’t really want to get into this a ton here save to say that this is obviously complicated and that we all believe that our kids were all entirely safe with this person and that he was clearly struggling and that there are varying degrees of this accusation and we don’t know what happened and also that things are not black and white. People can fuck up and still be entirely worthy of our care and regard, it doesn’t erase our experience of them. The kids cared for him. And while it was appropriate for him to not return to school, it is not appropriate for us to cast people out. I mean, so much to say about this really. But it is not so much the topic of today.

So, at this point, we are down a teacher and 4 or 5 of the 14 kids are not returning after break. We considered leaving too at this point, especially when we realized that Eider wouldn’t be able to play basketball on the public school sports teams because of paperwork that the school had either failed, or simply did not care, to do. (the hits just kept coming with this place let me tell you!) But we decided to stay, for the sake of continuity, for the other families, for the other kids, and for the one remaining classroom teacher. We started having meetings. Just as the parents: which were hopeful and in which we made plans to save the year for them and fill in the gaps and holes in any way we could. And also with the new head of school: in which every parent idea was shot down and the remaining teacher continue to be blamed.

In the second week back to school a letter was sent out that the art teacher would be leaving because, with the departure of so many students, there was no longer the budget to keep her on. So, just to review, at this point the kids have no math and science teacher- they are doing an online math program, they have no outdoor ed teacher, they have no Spanish teacher, they have no art teacher. They have one teacher, who was hired to teach humanities and English language arts. This is beginning to look a lot like a really shitty homeschool collective at this point. Like, the shittiest. Eider asked if we could re-up the math program we used as homeschoolers because it was better than the one they were using at school. The kids, down to 8 and then to 7, could barely do any school work because they were all each braced for the next blow, the next loss. The teacher tried her best to insulate them and help them stabilize which every day was becoming a more impossible task.

Finally, on the second day of the third week back, Eid asked if he could transfer to Peoples Academy Middle Level, the local school and where Maple is in High School. We visited on Thursday. Completed paperwork on Friday. And he began on Monday. But on Thursday, after we had visited and chatted with the principal, who we have known now for nearly four years, I sat down to write letters to the other parents at yurt school, and then to the board/head of school. Here is the letter I sent to the parents:

>>>

Hi Parents, 

What a week. I hate to be writing this email; it was not where I thought we were headed at the beginning of this week. Only two days ago I was talking with < parent > about how we might rally around these kids and do everything we can to make sure they are ok. And then when I picked Eider up the very same afternoon he asked me if he could leave for PAML. I was sort of expecting this. We had discussed it briefly during the break as an option but then decided that we should hang tight for the rest of this year. However, what he came to me with on Tuesday afternoon was his sincere concern that he wouldn't be ready for high school if things continue as they are. And how could they not? It is all only sliding further downhill.

I also think that he is simply ready to not be in the stress, tension, and uncertainty of the current situation. I know this is a concern for each of you as well. They have had to absorb so much with very little to no support from MRS. 

We just visited PAML this morning and spoke with Principal Matt Young at length about making this transition as well as processing the trauma that the kids have undergone this year. He said that talking to the school counselor sounds like it needs to be a top priority and I shit you not when he said that my kid teared up because he has just been holding all of that pain and grief and so much more in. Matt validated that none of what he has experienced: with his suspension, the loss of a teacher, and so much more, is normal; and that they are more than happy to offer him support in processing that as well as making this transition. Y'all, that is what care looks like. That is what educators and actual administrators do. They have a vested interest in the well-being of the children. 

I have had some trepidation about leaving in the sense that every child that leaves is just one step closer to the complete and immediate dissolution of the school. I do not really want Eider's departure to be the straw that breaks the camel's back, and yet I also do not want my kid- or any of yours- to be the collateral in this truly fucked up situation. It is not on any of them, and they should not be asked to bear it. 

So, assuming I can get all of this paperwork done, Eider's last day at MRS will be tomorrow and he will begin at Peoples on Monday. And friends, he is excited. He will be in a math class, a science class, humanities and literacy, gym and health and art, and he'll get to play on the basketball team. So much to look forward to. One of the great things about middle school- and especially eighth grade- is that there are no transcripts. It's just about figuring it out. The whole thing feels hopeful.

However, this is not the outcome that I was hoping for. I definitely am sitting with my own grief and remorse regarding how I had hoped this year would go for Eider. But I am also ready to let go of the fantasy- which seems to be all that remains- and get on with what is best for our son. 

I wanted to make sure I communicated with you first before I notify MRS. Meeting each of you has been a highlight of my year and I would very much like to stay in relationship. Please feel free to reach out, I am here to both process with you and offer support. This has been so incredibly stressful for everyone.

>>>

So that is it. What has unfolded. Now I am just working to get our second-semester tuition refunded. Fingers crossed for that piece.

I am also really sitting with the understanding that there is a real gap in terms of how we are serving middle-school-aged children. I have yet to see any school really hitting the mark with this age especially and it makes sense to me why that is happening. These kids are at an age where they are being exposed to so much more than ever before. And I do not think sheltering them is the answer, or really even appropriate. That is not to say that boundaries and limits aren’t a good idea, of course they are- these kids still need to be parented after all. What I am saying is that I see a gap in what kids are exposed to and as a result what they are being asked to process: mentally, emotionally, and physically; and how the systems are structured to support, nurture, and guide them. There seems to be a lag. The educational structures haven’t caught up to the culture. And it is tricky, right? Because while these kids are being exposed to so much, and asked to absorb and process a lot of content and information and experience that is in many ways far more mature than they are, they are also still children. And even though I have yet to see it, I really believe that there is a way to hold them in both of these truths at the same time. They do not need to be catapulted into premature young adulthood; they also don’t need to be overly sheltered and protected from the world to which they actually belong anyway.

I am chewing on all of this and more these days. I still really believe in homeschooling and centering family in the life of a child. I also know that around 6th grade there are some other needs that stretch beyond even the most social homeschool structure. But I am not convinced that middle schools, in their current iteration, are it. I think there must be some more supportive, functional, whole-person approach to their launch into high school. I am interested in that.

Alright! It was a long one. Hopefully, I am mostly caught up with myself now. All is well! Onward.

whittled down

waiting in the car for the new cluster of meds to be filled. such promise! such hope! but look at the amazing vest that I made, ok?

Alrighty so if you are paying any attention to my internet comings and goings and the on-going saga of sick-for-fucking-ever winter of 22/23 and my partial/false exodus from social media, then maybe this is a good post for you. Who knows. Hopefully, it is a good post for me, which in all honestly is who this now vast, unorganized library of words is primarily for to begin with. Full stop. Sort of. Except I can’t stop! And maybe that is the point or at least what I am going to endeavor to clarify at least for myself in this particular excerpt if not also for you too. You are welcome. Stream of consciousness here we come.

Ok so on the sickness front, let’s see…. I went down with something or other, most likely the flu on Christmas Day. Waaaaaaay back then. We were all sick so it seemed part and parcel and in general let me say that I never permit myself to go down as hard as anyone else for obvious reasons that I will spell out anyway: Who the hell would take care of everyone if I were to be rendered non-functional??? This, of course, is a fantasy built on the back of very precarious scaffolding and one that was never made to stand the test of time. But, I digress. I felt like maybe I was on the back end of things the Friday before New Year’s Eve at which point I made the very foolish mistake of seeing if some movement would help. I hopped on my peloton (my postpartum purchase one payment away from mine in its entirety a short 38 months later!) for a relatively easy 30-minute spin. It felt mostly fine, there was some coughing but nothing too extreme. Until 12 or so hours later when I spiked a fever of 102.8. I was laid low.

I rode this out for 3 days, with all of the ibuprofen and Tylenol and Sudafed and Mucinex one can take before finally declaring uncle and spending a few hours in the ER on the 2nd. Not really ER-worthy and mainly because my primary was closed for the holiday, the respite was nice nonetheless. They swabbed me for all the things and I came back positive for RSV which as many of you I am sure know, there is not much to be done about. They gave me an inhaler- helpful- something for my nausea and for the cough-provoking tickle in my throat. Soooo much coughing good lord. Soooo little sleep during this stretch of days. Oof. The lovely nurses there also instructed me toward a much more rigorous protocol of pain relief meds which was also helpful. For better or for worse.

I think it was somewhere around this time that I declared my break from the social media apps which is somewhat laughable now but also totally affirming when I look at it all from my current vantage. I was just so sick, so non-functioning, I couldn’t really read my book, I certainly couldn’t knit, Wilfred was monopolizing the TV and I wasn’t able to make it downstairs anyway. So I would just passively scroll, hitting all of my limits (I think they are set for 60 minutes or so) and blowing right through them. The whole thing was so delirious and really just made me so incredibly nauseous that I felt I had no recourse but to draw an arbitrary line in the sand. And rather than slink away silently I wanted to make an accountable boundary for myself while at the same time asking for a little bit of support and help from my communities.

Fast forward to the end of that week, still not feeling better, still at the absolute bottom wrung of my familial wellness pit, I took a trip back to my doctor who diagnosed a double ear infection - often referred to as a sinus infection in adults, who knew- and prescribed a 10-day course of antibiotics while also encouraging me to stay on top of the NSAID pain management protocols. At this point I remember feeling a curious blend of relief and also panic, just feeling so derailed from my pre-holiday path of health and fitness. But it was at least something in the vast expanse of nothing but illness for soooooo fucking long already.

Also worth noting is how much I hated our woodstove during this whole ordeal. Our pipe/chimney is due for a cleaning (happening this coming Tuesday, not soon enough, but also, thank god) and our wood is perhaps a little less dry this year and well fires have just been a mega challenge to build and therefore, smokey. This collapse in air quality in our house I have felt acutely in my lungs. I have found a little bit of relief in the two fancy-ass fucking expensive air filters that we finally sprung for this winter. Yes, I know, late to the party on this by nearly three years, but also, maybe not?

slow build back to my preferred movement diet. it is gonna take some time! also humbling. and great honestly.

Over the course of the week, I began to slowly get up and do, trying to convince myself that things were improving at least somewhat and that my life was calling me to live it, in whatever fashion I could. So I did, more or less. However, my ear congestion and pain continued to be steady and persistent. And my energy stalled and joie de vivre was at what I can only really describe as “half-mast”. Not horrible. But a far cry from awesome. At which point I began to mentally jockey back and forth between feeling shameful and guilty over my own ableist privilege and perspective while also beginning to truly panic that perhaps I am permanently losing my hearing and that my previous functioning will never actually be restored to its previous levels. Boo Hoo. My friends, I have been whittled down.

All through this stretch of time I am finding myself doing at least some regrouping and reorienting to my own focus and direction for the year ahead and also beginning to engage to the best of my ability in the work of my family and my children, which is always at hand. And so I found myself wanting to write, more and more, as time opened up for this away from mindless scrolling and also in lieu of the larger-than-desired movement break I found myself in the midst of.

In general, I write words and ideas that I enjoy sharing. They are meant for me but they are also meant for others’ eyes. A friend of mine said to me over text tonight that she thinks I would probably still write even if nobody were reading it, to which I was like: would I? I mean yeah I probably would, and let’s be real, I have a very modest size readership. I love engaging over words and ideas and connecting through shared experiences and events and the general living of life that reveals a little bit about who we really are and what matters most underneath all of the comings and goings. HOWEVER, I do not really have a clear or effective way of sharing anything that I write that is independent of social media. This is kind of a bummer but also just what it is right now. I am into finding some kind of solution for this conundrum but I am also not very much into spending any time figuring it out at this point. So, when I have been writing something I then download an app, make a post and share a link directing folks over here and then do my best to engage whatever conversation results wherever it develops and then delete the app again. Sort of effective.

But I kinda miss sharing over in those spaces in general. I like telling stories and anchoring the attention of my day a little in those small and simple moments. I pay a different sort of attention to the detail in those instances I think. I love images. I love coupling words with images. In some ways, I miss the old-school Instagram pre-reels and pre-stories where it was just one image and a caption. Such purity in that particular creative form. I have grown myself into the use of the others but I do find it will tip into overwhelm and distraction if I do not stay mindful. I make a few rules for myself regarding primarily sharing my own content and happenings and not using it as a way to share too much of what is not my own original idea or work or life. If I were more organized and less lazy I would at this point link to other posts in which I have discussed this intention at length. But alas…

All of this, astoundingly and stunningly gets us through last weekend; and the most wretched attempt at making a birthday cake of my life along with the continued and unfortunate implosion of Eider’s school; and into this week in which I successfully and triumphantly weened Freddy off of the TV and re-regulated is similarly addled system. All while simultaneously enduring continued ear pain that wakes me up every night between 2 and 3 when the pain relief wears off and I lie in bed and question whether perhaps my ear drum is weathering this whole debacle intact, or no. This morning I got myself back to the clinic for another peek inside my ear and was prescribed a different course of antibiotics- yay another 10 days- and a steroid to help clear up space in my sinuses more quickly. The doctor did ask me how I was feeling better when things look very much identical to how they did the last time I was in 8 days ago; fluid and puss creating a bubble pushing up against my red and irritated eardrum. Ahem. To which I can only reply that I am either getting used to it and compartmentalizing my discomfort or that my will to live a good life is just that high. One or the other or probably both.

An unexpected and delightful result of the tv detox week is the emergence of a new marriage of loves for wilfs: his ongoing affinity for zoo animals coupled with a newfound puzzle preoccupation. It is very fun. And a big relief.

At any rate, here we are. On the mend in my slow and drawn out and anticlimactic way. Into whatever this year holds for me and my small corner of the world. And honestly, oddly reinspired by the community and connection that exists online, in all of these various spaces. There are real and true and good and important and meaningful things happening here and there if you know where to look and I think, to a certain degree, when you show up as what you are hoping to see, what you are longing to find. I was reminded of this in such massive ways when a friend, with whom I mostly have an online relationship, recently underwent profound trauma and loss but is continuing to show up in these spaces in all of her humanity and truth. The rugged raw realness of her sharing is in my estimation the very best example of how we can both show up and bear witness and offer support in these virtual spaces, as well as the ways in which we have the choice to stay vulnerable and available to the very real love and care that is available to us here, if this is how we would choose to receive it. I am humbled by the possibility of allowing these spaces to be an accurate and authentic portrayal of ourselves. Our lives, our loves, our losses, our triumphs, our ridiculous senses of humor, and the whole brutal/beautiful mess of our humanness. I am here for all of that. With some boundaries and with some breaks, but here nonetheless.

That’s all I got for this, I think. Here is the link to my most recent newsletter if ya wanna peek it. Chris thinks that I shouldn’t put all of the links down at the bottom of them because people will never see them because they have to read through too much in order to get to them. But I think that the whole point of the newsletter is wrapped up in wanting people to read the entire body of them and then the links are like a fun and hopefully interesting prize at the end. IDK. What do you think?

xxx,m

17

On Monday night, when all 5 of us were finally sitting around for a late meal- Maple’s favorite- and a decidedly rushed song+cake dance, Chris said to our birthday girl: Maple, I hope you know, we remember you through all of these stages. From when you were born and changed who we are forever to when you were a cute little squirt like Freddy. Through all of your growing and changing and becoming the magnificent young person that you are. And we could not be more proud of who you are. We adore you.

And as much as relaying these words in this moment makes me cry, they do not even come close to touching what it feels like to have raised and be getting ready to launch this brilliant, funny, generous, compassionate, loving girl of ours. I just gave her the biggest squeeze before she heads out the door. Driving her own self to school for the first time ever this week and to all of the other places that she needs to go. Just doing it ya know. These final ages and stages of growing into her young adult self. Full throttle.

But she knows me well. She assured me the other day that she is not quite fully baked yet. She has a little bit more to go. Ugh I love her. I love who she is and I love the dream of her life, all possibility and hope and whatever grand art idea she cooks up next. Even though I can forget it in the day to day with the closeness and the connection of our relationship as it currently lives, feeling so sturdy and secure. But it was hard won for us. We had to wade our way through a shit ton of grist, especially in her earlier years. There were times, and I kinda hate to admit it, where she wasn’t neccesarily hard for me to love but she was hard for me to want to mother. There were some dark days. (I of course confess all of that and more somewhere in the deep dark histories of this blog. IDK circa 2015? 2016?) Now that feels both like a distant memory and also like a badge of wisdom that we both wear that in a way secures and makes more solid the strength of where we are now. God I love her. More than any other event in my life and more than any other person, she effected and shaped the course of my becoming beyond all else.

For her birthday I had asked Heather and Blake out at Sterling Forest Lodge if she and I could come out there for a few hours in the evening and host a get together with a few of her friends. They generously offered their space up, I think a little curious to see how some older teens might effect the vibe of the space. It was the first time that she has celebrated a birthday with friends since she was 13 and we were still in Mount Horeb. The hurt of that was long and steep and this was a remedy and renewal for that long loneliness. They hung out and ate cake and gave gifts and played games and enjoyed the beauty and peace of such a mindfully curated space. It was simple and elegant and just right. Maple has such a solid friend group right now and it is really something that I am so grateful for. They are diverse and open minded and honest and earnest and I think as teenagers navigating the terrain of gender and sexual identity and mental health and neurodiversity and growing up into a world that is profoundly wounded and suffering is the biggest ask we could possibly hope young people to wake up into. To see this crew navigate it with such soft kindness is really beautiful. They are really straddling a particularly difficult space ya know? The reality and heft of adulthood, with the desire to hold on to in some ways the simplicity and grace of childhood. It’s very pure.

Anyhow. They had a great time. And moo told me that photos of Sterling Forest Lodge do not do it justice at all. It is so chill and so magical and really just such an amazing place to spend time. It was good to be there for an evening and remember that. Got me extra excited for our retreat there next month. It is going to be so chill.

And now we are back to it. I am on the mend- like maybe 30% functioning which is a far cry from zero and, well, that is something. Chris is headed out of town this Sunday for the rest of the month and I am trying not to think about it too hard. It is helpful that Maple is driving herself now, that takes a lot off my plate. Last night she was like mom I am so wiped out from driving myself everywhere this week. I was like: it’s Tuesday. Lol. And also, yeah. It’s fucking exhausting kid!

That’s it for now. January. I have another little something I want to say later this week about instagram and posting and all of that as well as a newsletter to launch this weekend. So keep your eyes out for those things. And as ever, thank you for being here.

x,m

an update

Well, today is the first day in who knows how many that I haven’t taken ibuprofen or acetaminophen, watching the clock like a hawk to make sure I don’t slide too far into the pain zone. I panic texted some friends last night to ask for all the help I can get detoxing and supporting my liver after this NSAID bender. Never have I ever taken so many over-the-counter medications. We are pressing into my third straight week and that doesn’t take into account the 10 days during thanksgiving that I was similarly dosing myself. But good news is that I finally got some antibiotics prescribed on Friday for what had become a sinus infection and I think my ear might actually pop and clear in earnest sometime soon. Waiting with bated breath for that let me tell you. I can’t wait to be all done coughing so hard I gag as all of my sinuses drain/pour down the back of my throat. It’s gonna be amazing. 

It feels like nothing has been happening around here at all because of my convalescent Groundhog Day perspective, but in fact there is quite a bit transpiring nonetheless. On Friday I scraped myself out of bed, took a hot shower, and drove Maple down to Montpelier to take her road test and get her driver’s license. She of course passed but we were both sweating it a bit because the three dudes that went before her all did not. I was like hey no big deal if you have to take it again, it looks like this guy may be kinda tough so ya know just do your best and don’t sweat it. No worries though, she did great. She was so ready. 

She deferred a year, not getting her temps til just before she turned 16. In Vermont you need that permit for a full year and to rack up all sorts of road time inside of that. She has been worried that once she got her license we would never see each other anymore and she wasn’t ready to let go of all of that car time together. I’m not sure I was either. A lot happens when you drive your kids everywhere ya know? Especially when they get to the age where the main time it feels like you see them and have a chance to connect is on your way to and from shit. There’s a lot of driving. And a lot of talking. Plus there is something that happens when you’re both looking out the windshield and not at each other that makes it easier to dig into some of the grittier stuff and we often did. 

This past year gave us all the chance to get really ready for it. Like so ready. Like oh my god I can’t wait for her to get her license already ready. Ha. It’s kinda cool how that works. We aren’t worried anymore that we won’t hang out and are more confident that we’ve got it now. We know how to connect. And we know how important it is. As her mama, I can tell when it’s time to check in and watching for that is really on me. She’s a pretty solid communicator, far better than me at a similar age- and even well into my 20s if I’m honest- she does a great job of letting me know when she needs to talk. But it’s still for me to sense out the larger framework of her world so that I can stay fluent with her, aware of the funny little day-to-day things or the larger, more significant stuff. I want to get the full scope of her and that will never only live in what she offers up. Effort is on me, as it should be as her parent, to know when to be spacious and also when to dig a little. For forever. 

Aaaannnnyway. Chris took her up to Burlington yesterday and, with the help of my mom, bought Maple a car. It’s so awesome and I’m so proud of her and so thankful to my ma. My gran bought me my first car and I really hope I’m able to do the same for my grand one day too. What a thing. She has a 2013 red Subaru and I think it’s gonna last her a good long while. She’ll drive away from us in that car which I don’t feel sad about at all right now (I know! very atypical for my standard nostalgic self!) because I know she’ll drive back too. That’s a good knowing. 

Tomorrow is her birthday. She turns 17. Which makes perfect sense and is also just incredibly mind-blowing. Not because I cannot believe that we’ve been parents for that long or that she is almost an adult or any of that. But more because I left my family of origin when I was 17 and to think now that this is somehow growing larger and will eventually eclipse that is so strange. I know family is different for everyone and like many people there was a lot that was really broken for me in my childhood. Not necessarily anything huge or particularly special, but a lot of the day-to-day regular stuff of being a kid. There were a lot of things missing that I now know are standard fare for a person’s emotional health, well-being, and development. I had to do a lot of my growing up after that time and a lot of healing around those original wounds. And I guess I am just amazed that my family story has shifted now into this family’s narrative. We are now the center and the source. And we feel so much more sturdy and secure and safe and honest than that home ever did. That feels really good. 

Ok. I just banged this whole thing out with my thumbs on my phone while Freddy naps. But now I gotta get up and cough for 20 minutes. I know I’m gonna have a lot more I want to write about maple and her birthday and just her general magnificence later in the week. So that’s it for now. Slowly, slowly back into the land of the living…

Oh yeah and Chris and the boys went out to Craftsbury this morning for a ski- even though we need more snow desperately- and he took this cute pic of Wilfred. What a little skier he is!

oh hey rsv

Seems like we’ve been sick with one thing or another more in the last 3.5 months than we have in the last 3.5 years. You too? What started as, most likely, another rendition of the Thanksgiving Flu on Christmas Day morphed into RSV by New Year’s Eve and after a brief jaunt to the ER yesterday I am now back to resting, resting, resting in my own sweaty sheets. I am laid low. A few rungs below the rest of my people who are likewise not great, but also awesome nonetheless. 

ye ol sweat sheet situation

Once I got through triage and back to a room the first thing I did was ask for a pad because everytime I coughed I peed my pants and also was bleeding so it was all a real treat. I was kinda hoping they’d give me some of those mesh mom panties that you get to wear after giving birth but no dice. At any rate I feel extra lucky and thankful for a small-town hospital with nurses who are also friends and the chance to feel like someone and not just somebody.

My hope is that all of the illness is casting off, incinerating, destroying beyond all recognition, all of the outdated programming I have been harboring in my being these past years. Like maybe it is the biggest cellular turnover of all time and I am eviscerating my insides and everything will be washed clean and made new. Not new like new year but new like the most fresh, least weighed down perspective that has ever been. That is very hopeful. I will probably get sick again. But maybe in my newness I will know to surrender to it and let go with a little more ease. 

I have been scrolling IG too much, I haven’t really had the energy for anything- not reading, not knitting- same blast cuff left to complete- not writing. I mostly stare into space or scroll the app taking in everyone’s stance on the calendar page until I am too sick to my stomach and headachey and have to go back to space staring. I think that is what makes the apps so mindless. It is easy to do when you can’t do much. I need an alternate. 

I do most of my writing in this doc on my laptop called “posts/or not” that I started at the beginning of 2022. I write there if I cannot tell at the outset how long something will be or if I want it to be read by anyone else ever anyway. If it’s too long for IG it becomes a blog post and vice versa and all of that feels extra dumb and annoying like there should be a more mature way for me to go about writing in general. I have never been very organized. And my ambitions around it aren’t significant either. So I try not to complain. I have spent a lot of my sick time talking to myself- probably more like muttering on the outside but on the inside it feels like these grand compositions, stringing together words and ideas, whole revelations living inside of this moment right now. I don’t think they ever make it into any doc. Chances are slim. The voice in my head is like an old weathered and worn cowboy, it’s a new alterego for me and I’m kinda into it.

The big kids stayed home from school today, maybe they are sick, maybe it is sympathy sick, but either way it feels right and they get no fuss from me about it. Our house is a disaster and Wilfred has been on the couch watching TV and eating popsicles for weeks which makes me feel like a complete failure as a parent and also just is what it is. What are you gonna do? I am so far below the level of healthy functionality that I guess I gotta just let some things be. I’ll pay some price later, but isn’t that always the case?

Anyway, the main thing I can think of when it comes to this year is that it is the last full calendar year that Maple will live with us. I’m not ready. And I know I need to be. Holy hell I have been trying not to think about this for so long and yet think about it enough that I appreciate every single moment- impossible- that I get to have with her. With each of them. This is a one-way train and we are all on it. I’ve known from the beginning that it is a game of letting go but yikes, it hurts a lot. When you become a parent it’s kinda like relinquishing your wholeness because you know all those parts are bound to disperse eventually. What horror. What privilege.

I don’t have any big ambitions for this year. Right now I just want to feel better. And in general, and forever and every year, I want to keep doing a good job of being me. That is not perfect shit to be sure but it is definitely owning my mess and my inevitable fuckups and learning from all of it. My greatest desire is that no one ever feels othered by me. That feels like a high bar but it is where my heart is. It is how I want to meet today and the year and all of life. Resolution in perpetuity.

I know there are whole cannons more to say on everything but that is all I’ve got in me and FYI I am still alive.

tending skin

Seems like with most of us under the weather and the toddler camped out on the couch for his hundredth hour viewing Cars is as fine a time as any to take a moment to share some skincare tidbits that I have been meaning to tend to for a while. I do not get particularly inspired to put a personal care post together- it feels mundane and insignificant when I think about it loosely. But always when I take a closer look I find the bits and pieces that light me up and get me jazzed and remind me of why I think any of this matters to begin with. I just forget, ya know.

One of the reasons that I wanted to put this particular post together is because of a really common message I receive from a lot of women in their 40s who have never had a skincare routine and are beginning to feel the effects of a life well lived on their one and only beautiful faces. I love it when I get these messages because that was more or less how it went down for me too. I never had any sort of skin care growing up or through my 20s and most of my 30s. In the year or so before my 40th, I began to cleanse and moisturize my face but without any real consistency. I knew I wanted to get to it but I honestly wasn’t really sure how and I was also overwhelmed with the price tag for most skin care. I think this is a pretty common trope. I loved using oils but wouldn’t ever have used them up before they went rancid and were wasted. When I was almost 40 I splurged on some fancy European skincare that a friend of mine sold at her salon. I went for it because I knew it met clean standards that are important to me but I never noticed much of anything while I used it.

A couple of things that I needed to learn were that natural is not synonymous with safe and that chemical is not the same as harmful. This seems fairly obvious now, and also like something- when I recall my understanding of plants- that I already knew but was somehow struggling to apply. But especially in a world that is broadly under or un-regulated, where words have little meaning and are primarily used as a means for leveraging people’s unconscious biases and assumptions. Shit can be made in a lab and be perfectly safe and gentle for your whole biology, and likewise, you could ingest a benign-looking plant in your backyard and drop dead. Nature is strange and the world is weird. So it goes.

Beautycounter came on the scene for me at a really fortuitous time. I was turning 41 and also pregnant which is a real myth-busting experience in regards to age and aging. I had an almost 13-year-old daughter who was wrestling with acne as well as a desire to experiment with makeup. All of this necessitated safe and effective options. But the real deal maker had to do with the company as a whole and the way in which they were using commerce as a means to drive industry-wide change on the level of policy. Not as just by way of serving their own business, but as a way to overhaul the industry as a whole and assert what safety and health standards we deserve to expect from the products on the shelves of our local drugstores, co-ops, and specialty shops alike. I knew that Beautycounter was up to big things and I couldn’t look away.

Take a gander at the Our Story tab on the Beautycounter website and you begin to get a hit of why that is so true for so many of us. As a certified B Corp, transparency is central to the company's mission, and built upon the five living pillars of Safety, Packaging, Responsible Sourcing, Climate, and Advocacy. There is still a shit ton of work to be done, but we are doing the work; you can read about it here, in the 2021 Social Mission Report. We made huge strides in our 10-year-plus lobbying efforts just this week when cosmetics safety legislation passed in the Senate and is now on its way to President Biden’s desk. The provisions included are: “mandatory recall authority to allow the FDA to act on egregious safety fails like formaldehyde that impacts salon workers from hair straightening treatments; safety substantiation requirements to push the industry beyond rubber stamping of ingredients; fragrance allergen disclosure to protect sensitive populations like those undergoing cancer treatments; registration requirements to learn who and where personal care products are being made; overhauls to good manufacturing practices which have set a very low bar for the cleanliness of manufacturing facilities.” Thank you to Lindsay Dahl for the clarity of this content sharing and for the grit to keep up the fight. This work is full of purpose and power that will have a lasting impact on future generations. It is also a really excellent example of what I believe is the direction that all business, big and small, should be setting their sights. And their elbow grease.

I also am taken with a model of business that utilizes crowdsourcing and personal recommendation and story-telling. I want to know what my friends are into and when I am into something I want to make sure all of my buds know about it too. Whether we are talking about great socks, an amazing book, a well-made swimsuit, a good mug, where to get a sweet deal on a car, or an amazing new cafe, information functions best when shared. I think using social media as a means of sharing information is fascinating and I am into it. Especially when it is personal and direct. I am also enjoying other avenues for this sort of info-pooling such as newsletters and group texts. I was mesmerized by Beautycounter’s use of the personal narrative as their primary mode for driving sales, even when they are well positioned to sell on store shelves. I honestly think that they are really onto something and that commission-driven community sharing has some real advantages for modern commerce. I also like the edginess of it and the way it confuses people and they have to question their preconceptions regarding “one of those companies”. I’m not sure exactly what folks mean by that but I think it is probably MLM or Cult and well, this isn’t a post about either of those things but if you want to dig into what is coming up for you when you think about direct sales, well, I am here for that convo too.

The deal was sealed for true once I began using the products. I have dry, 40-something skin and I noticed a difference immediately. Plus, I could see myself and feel myself clearly. I didn’t feel like I was being catered to as some fancy lady that I have never been, but just me in all of my regular simplicity and day to day imperfections and messiness. I could keep it chill, stay authentic to my nature and my values, and take care of my skin in important and meaningful ways at the same time.

All of this seems pretty straightforward and basic but as a person who had never really washed their face regularly, I began to notice another significant piece as I became regular in this new behavior. It became a mindful pause that bookended my day. A brief ritual in which I made contact with my own self. My eyes on my eyes in the mirror, my hands lovingly on my flesh. And not as some special spa treat that I would gift myself now and then but as a twice-daily moment of direct contact with my attention and my body. This has huge implications not only for my own self-regard but also as I relate to my own inner world throughout the day. I have taken a moment to see myself and care for myself in all of my messy humanity and in the mix of all of the unpredictability of family life. It matters. I matter. I exist independent of all else, even in the midst of my interdependence.

I still love to keep it really simple; an oil cleanser or a balm to wash my face and then some oil or easy moisturizer. I often mix in a toner and/or a serum and I love it, but I don’t think much is really necessary to find a big effect. On occasion, I will do a mask, which I always love, but often just don’t take the time for. I like things extra easy and simple. I am most likely to stick with all things if they can be as basic as possible. Just how I role.

Anyhow, that is probably enough of a testimonial and sales pitch for now. Hopefully, I have further contextualized how this part of my world fits into everything else I share (do, think, am) in the public and not public spheres. I do in fact love helping people find a personalized skincare routine that works for them, so if you ever want to chat about that, give me a shout and we’ll get going. Or if you just want to take a peek at my regular-use items, I made this list. We have a pretty sweet sale happening through the 4th so it is a good time to take a gander.

Love y’all. Go easy on yourselves and stay well. xxx

when to ease // when to push

Around this time last year, Chris and Eider and I were hemming and hawing over whether Eider should take a spot on 802 Lacrosse, northern Vermont’s club team. The kid really needed something to work and we just couldn’t tell if he was into it or just trying to please mom and dad. He had recently decided that he was done with soccer, after 8 years of the sport, and it didn’t seem like his enthusiasm for lacrosse was particularly sincere. Plus, puberty is a kick in the pants and Eid had had a rough season the previous spring, with rapid growth-related shin splints that caused him to slow-mo hobble across practices and games for most of those three months. It was tough. To witness and certainly to live inside of for him.

We just couldn’t get a bead on him. I think it took us like 2 months to confirm that Eider would take the spot. It felt like such a huge commitment; lots of cash and tons of driving to get to practices; and we weren’t eager to press that upon him if he wasn’t really into it. I remember feeling like I was searching him, trying to see below what he was saying to us, and trying to find somewhere in there what it was he really wanted.

Finally, we committed. It was a slow roll into certainty but by the time the spring season came around Eider looked stronger and a lot like the earnest little boy eagerness and tenacity had been restored inside of his bigger boy self. And a year later, after a big spring, summer, and fall season under our belts, it is clear that it was the right move for him and he is pumped for another year in the club. It is a good one and he has found a place there to really thrive.

But good grief there was some serious soul-searching that had to happen to land him there. And while some of that feels very particular to parenting Eider, I am reminded over and over again of the way in which that discernment is one of the more difficult aspects of parenting in general. One that I come up against time and time again as I am asked to make decisions for and on behalf of these growing people.

I was reminded of this again big time when I recently decided to defer our family doctor’s preferences and tap out of Wilfred’s vaccination catch-up protocols. I have shared a little bit lately about how rough this has been going for us; the protests and the tears. He has been on a delayed catch-up schedule, beginning when he turned two. Every so often I bring him in for two shots, one in either chubby thigh, playing a slow game of catch up with the recommended vaccination schedule. And it has been a nightmare, increasing in stress and difficulty with every visit. So much so that on some occasions even driving to the side of town that the clinic is on causes him to panic in his car seat, declaring that he does not like shots, he does not like owies, and no no no please no. Sometimes he just begins randomly talking about it, seemingly out of the blue but clearly something he has been worrying about. And when it is actually the time to go in and get another two shots it is a full-on physical freak out from the moment he sees where we are headed. We hold him tight and restrain him through the whole process. It fucking sucks and presses well beyond the limit of my own skillful management of my nervous system. Which of course, he can feel too. Poor little dude.

So whatever last week I pulled the plug. On Friday morning we were supposed to go in for his 3rd Covid shot and I just bailed. I couldn’t. And when I looked at the list of all the shots to follow in the coming weeks and months I just knew I didn’t have it in me to force this upon him right now. So I tapped out. And before anyone comes at me either way about any of this, trust me please, I already know. I both want my kid to get his vaccinations and I also want to respect his emotional well-being and right now I am prioritizing one over the other. And honestly, emotions almost always trump in my book. Unless the situation is truly urgent and/or dire. I did a far more delayed schedule with the bigs; one shot or two shots every year beginning at the ripe old ages of 5 and 8 and then accelerating to near completion when we moved to Vermont and I let them do more of the deciding for themselves. They wanted their shots. Pretty much all of them.

But this is the work, right? Watching, listening, gathering information. It is the hardest shit of parenting in my experience. I know I am not alone here. It is really difficult to make decisions for other people, especially when those people are the ones who you care about beyond all others. Not for the fucking faint of heart I am told. I concur.

I was thinking about this whole dynamic of parenting recently, this searching of our children for information on when it is best to push them a bit through their inertia or resistance, when it is important and necessary as their care provider to override and overrule their preferences in favor (and in faith) of the wellbeing, health, and safety (or thrive) that lives on the other side of the difficulty. It is a moving target for sure and it requires staying fluid and awake to really knowing your kid; who they are, what they tend toward; what they dream of; where their fears live… it’s the whole thing. And let me tell you knowing how to do that even for myself feels like the real work of life so endeavoring to do this for another at the front end of their own, well, it’s just a lot. And there are no breaks from it. Not really. No rest for the weary as they say.

It was always this way, since the very beginning of them. I remember being in labor with Maple, and then with both of the boys, and there being these moments in which the midwife would look at me and tell me that it was time to push now and me just being like “What?? Really?”. It just didn’t feel intuitive at all but something I had to choose to do. I had no idea when to push and no idea when to wait. It made no sense to me and I had to really learn experientially that you pushed during a contraction and when it eased, so did you. The theory of it made no sense. I had to live it. It humbled me then and it humbles me now.

So much of parenting has been this way for me. Learning on the fly how to respond to what is being asked by the child in front of me versus the fantasy about any of it that has occupied my attention. And for sure often this has meant doubling back and changing course or even compensating, restoring, or repairing something that I fucked up on my initial pass-through. I have been fumbling my way through this gig for nearly 17 years now and still, I think perhaps I know next to nothing. Save this: I have to stay awake. To the people in front of me. To the needs that live underneath the desires, to the desires that are screaming to be unearthed, and also to the systems that support the larger framework for their lived experience. I have to stay awake to that in me too. I need to live inside of my wholeness as best as I am able in order to hold the space for them as they find theirs. So much trial and error. So many do-overs. And so much forgiveness asked for. From myself especially.

Anyhow. I am here for it. It is not easy but it is certainly real and I am certain I will continue to second guess everything over and over again throughout the whole course of things. But that is how it goes. At least for me. And I am certain I am not alone. So, onward loves.

owies + dreams + ye ol skin suit

Yesterday was my birthday and I am calling a do-over on the day because anyone who knows me at all knows that gifts are not my thing and all I ever really want is some time together with my people. Yesterday was full-scale Newlin run around and by the time Chris and I fell into bed at the end of it all he told me that he thought the sum total of our time together all 5 of us during the day was about 2 minutes on the same floor in the morning before taking the bigs to school. That was it and that won’t do so it has to be a do-over. With each other and also with cake. Obviously cake.

I did, however, get to go to a CrossFit class in the morning and an extra hot and humid 26+2 class in the evening and also if you know me I want to do all the movement that I love on my birthday too. If my birthday were in the summer I would probably also throw in a hike up a mountain so maybe it is good that I am relegated to the shortest days of the year and what is becoming increasingly disgusting December weather. Anyhow, it was fun. A proper Meg-a-thalon as Chris refers to it.

Today, while I was running out to pick up Eider from school, Chris sent me this pic of him and Freddy. Wilfred was on the tail end of his nap when I ducked out and of course he woke up almost immediately and then was in Chris’ meeting until I got home. I love this image because it totally sums up so much of the juggle of parenting Freddy right now. Chris is extra cute and smiling here but I know it frustrates him. There are a lot of mixed Freddy feelings lately. It is complicated. Cuz obviously we are nuts about the little dude. He is a total dream come true for me and I remember it every single day. And he is also a really big personality with a huge presence and a lot of big feelings. And he is always in our care. The only one that tends him other than one of us (which at one or two or sometimes even four people is A LOT and I know it and still…) and unfortunately we, all too often plop him in front of the tv- like right now while I take a minute to write for myself- and that is not my favorite way to care for him and his needs. Even so.

Every day I try to include something specific for him- something fun with other kids or at least some kind of adventure out of the house in which the majority of my attention is on him. This age is such a gift and I don’t want to miss any of it. Truly. And yet. I also have some hopes and dreams just for me that could use a little extra tending if they are ever going to make it from the little incubator of their seed form in my heart and out into the wide world. Which is why forest preschool was such an exciting prospect for Wilfred, and continues to be. But we also continue to be in the land of Poop Owies and I have yet to find a way of working through that with him. We are pretty tethered to the complication of his stress around pooping- let alone making the transition to the potty, despite being pee-potty trained for over a year. And while I can often see the humor of a poop being what stands between Wilfred and me and a little autonomous and focused time for myself, it still sometimes feels like it may never end and that the part of my life that is about me living into my work in the world is slipping through my forty-five-year-old fingers.

Birthdays stir that shit up more and more for me. You too? It just keeps on becoming more and more of a paradox with each turn of the calendar page, ya know. I am well aware that this aging thing is full on me totally winning at the whole show. Like isn’t this the point? To keep on living? And loving? And that means getting older and I am into all of it. I like getting older. My mind in general is becoming a more and more hospitable place to hang out the older I get. And yet, this skin suit / bag o bones is on a one-way decay track and even though I feel wildly healthy and vital and vibrant, that little edge of invincible that I remember feeling in my teens and 20s when the human growth hormone was coursing through my veins, is long gone. A memory. An idea. What remains is far more (metaphorically) juicy and interesting, nuanced and complex in ways that stir all parts of me. But it is still a mortal coil. A complication in my living that I feel a little more privy to around my birthday. The dark days of the season certainly don’t offer any relief inside of the reflection this time of year. Sometimes I wish I could spend December in the Southern Hemisphere, even just for one go-round.

So anyhow. What am I even saying here? Who knows. I am 45. I’m gonna eat some cake with my fam in the next couple of days. I have some ideas percolating and plans in the works. I love parenting my diverse mix of kiddos with my funny and wise and sexy and compassionate husband. I hope Freddy poops in the potty soon so he can get to go play with some other littles at forest preschool a few days a week and I can start another new business. Bah. I guess that is it. That’s what I have to say.

what gives

When a cold goes on forever there comes a point where you just have to buck up and see if some activity thrown at it shakes anything loose. That was me on Monday, on day whatever double digit of this incredible virus my family has been sharing. I realized that I hadn’t been on my mat in 9 or 10 days, and other than some really special walks in Acadia National Park over the holiday, my movement in general was incredibly minimal. I did a short low impact ride on the Pelo and I did feel a little better, enough that I figured heading to a 26&2 class in the evening might be a great idea. Or a horrible idea. It’s hard to tell when you are in the later stages of a cold that you can’t remember not having. But I think that it had worked in the past so I figured I’d give it go.

I went and it was great. I had the same earth shattering realization that I have had countless times before, when I show up and I need the yoga to be soft on me and it somehow totally is. Like a puffy mattress topper or a fluffy cloud. I am reminded in those moments that it is not just me loving the yoga, but the yoga loving me right on back. In all of its neutrality and independence, in my times of need the yoga goes easy on me and sets its ferocity aside for a bit. And yes it probably had a little bit to do with the Sudafed/Muccinex/Ibuprofen cocktail that I was swimming in, but everything felt warm and soft and easy enough to embrace and tend to all of me. It was a gift.

In the spirit of giving and gifting, I am wanting to clarify something that has been shifting and rearranging in my own relationship to making meaningful donations. When I began making a little cash from my Beautycounter business- which was a pretty big departure from the mostly breaking even relationship I’ve always had with my yoga business- I knew that I wanted to redirect some of that cash to organizations near and dear to my values and my heart. So I tried on a few different iterations of that. From giving 15% of my commissions for all Friday sales, to 5% total throughout the month. I would pick a different org each month based on relevant current events, prioritizing local groups when that made the most sense. For quite some time, this felt robust and dynamic and meaningful to me. But over time, something shifted and some time in the middle of July this year I stalled out.

To understand what happened for me with this I have to take a closer look at what has been at play for me for awhile regarding the ways in which I interact and relate with Social Media. Over the past 12-18 months or so, I have been overhauling how I show up in the apps, primarily Instagram but FB too to a certain extent. A year or so into the pandemic I found myself so fatigued with the content and politic of the socials that I noticed I was no longer motivated to act but rather was becoming overwhelmed and frozen. I was experiencing increasingly intense levels of anxiety that was nudging into semi-regular panic attacks unlike any I had experienced in decades. That didn’t really taper off until this past May actually.

I decided that one of the things that I needed to do was to stay in my own lane and keep my eyes on my own work. I stopped sharing almost all content other than my own; I also gave myself permission to delete comments and began muting or even blocking more individuals. I needed to do a little housekeeping in order to restore my own peace. I knew I didn’t want to leave these spaces entirely; in part, because I do run my businesses from them, but also because I have a deep desire to be seen in my own authenticity and vulnerability. It is probably one of my primary values. I found this quote in the notes on my phone the other day from late 2019- I am not sure who said it; maybe I did because it is weird to have not written any attribution with it but also maybe not. Anyway. “Sometimes I have to be false to my personality in order to be true to my values.” This is a little muddy but I think the point comes across. I do place value in how I show up, and I also place big value on advocacy and social justice and equity and inclusion. So, in some ways, it was a complicated decision to choose not to use my platform as a means for sharing issues and causes that are of great importance to me. And yet, I needed to pull myself out of the stress of that in order to continue doing my work, part of which is to stay an active participant in education and advocacy. What that has looked like is allowing some things to speak for themselves.

I have not stopped my relationship to redirecting resources. I am just not sure how to talk about it in my spaces right now. The shape of things is reconfiguring a bit for me, the details of how frequently I switch up recipients and things like that. I have a few ideas of how to connect more with where it is that my clients would like to be seeing cash go, but again, I am not interested in broadcasting much of that. One of the things that was really attractive to me about Beautycounter in the beginning and continues to be is their B-Corp status. I knew that it was a significant designation to achieve and that it signals a company’s commitment to “meeting high standards of verified performance, accountability, and transparency on factors from employee benefits and charitable giving to supply chain practices and input materials” (from bcorporation.net). Just through one (two?) word(s): B-Corp. What an efficient way to convey a much larger and incredibly significant message. And in some ways, linking arms with BC feels a lot like me getting to convey that as well, but not everyone is in the know and often it feels significantly more personal to say it myself.

Maybe it is a both/and situation yet again. Aren’t they all? I am connected with this business in part because of its commitment to transparency, improvement, and meaningful charitable giving. And also I am compelled to give from my own resources on top of that. I am, probably unnecessarily, just a little bogged down in the logistics of that as well as how to authentically convey that to my people. So, there it is. For anyone who has been wondering what happened to 15% Fridays or 5% giving, it hasn’t really gone anywhere, I just haven’t landed on a way to share what I am up to in that regard that doesn’t feel overly personal and yet is still authentic.

Anyhowwwww. In this season of giving, this is where my thoughts are. Now that the big work of the year’s biggest sale is in my rearview, I am happy to turn my attention to offering gratitude to all of my incredible clients (who literally are the impetus for this conversation) and also toward finding a rhythm of communicating gifting in a way that is real and right for me. I have a few ideas. And I hope to share them when the time is right, but I am not applying much pressure in this regard. Sound good?

Ok. That’s all for now. Happy end of November. Happy almost advent. Happy SAGITTARIUS SEASON my sugar lumps. I am so glad to be here with you.

more of the same

Hopefully, this repeating trope of identity excavation, mixing, and parsing is interesting to you. It is what keeps on keeping on around these parts. Not a whole lot of variety I am afraid. But plenty of redundancy! Lots of learning the same lessons over and over for years! I guess that life, just like seasons, are on a loop- or maybe an expanding spiral- and I just keep circling back around for another, hopefully, deeper, look at the same ‘ol life lessons that I have always been given to digest and assimilate. And honestly, I am 100% here for it. I have had a good set of lessons thus far. No complaints.

ya know ya have a sweet yoga buddy when they have you stay in a pose far longer than you rather so they can take a pic for you. that’s love my dears!

I just called the school office for the 4th day in a row to let them know that Maple is still home sick. Michelle, who works at the front desk and who pretty sure runs the school (iykyk), picked up the phone and just said: Again?!? No aloha. Which feels fair; this cold she has had for the past week definitely feels like it has tipped over into the ridiculous. We finally got her into our (very New England) family practice MD yesterday and she was like: oh it hasn’t even been 10 days yet- check in with me if she is still feeling punk on Saturday and we’ll talk about antibiotics. Good lord.

We have been going to the doctor all of the time as of late, for one shot or another. Wilfred is playing catch up and the rest of us are stacking our boosters and flu shots. It has gotten so frequent that when we drive over to that side of town Freddy begins to cry and panic and shout: No Shots! He, of course, had to come with me when I brought moo in yesterday and he was in a full-on lather the whole time. It is not awesome and ya really can’t blame him, but fortunately, our doc knows who to blame when he is in there freaking out. Obviously me. This wouldn’t be happening if he had been on the proper schedule and yadda yadda yadda. To which I say well it’s a little late for that now (but while I am really thinking well maybe now is a great time to stop and try to play this stupid game of catch-up later).

So, naturally, Wilfred woke up this morning with double pink eye. Gross gross gross. And apparently a breastmilk-resistant strain. But I swear if I call the office and they tell me to bring him in again I am going to lose it. Please, just call in a prescription. Holy hell. It never ends.

Anyway… all of this is just a lead-up and preamble, basically warming up the words knocking around inside of me about this repetitive and ongoing consideration. If I haven’t grossed you out or otherwise offended you and you’re still here, thanks. I will try to walk a not-too-meandering path to my point. Not that I really have one. It is a rambler, after all. But ya know… intentions.

The big things that have been rattling around for me are, like I said, centered around identity. Which always involves a particular dose of reclamation and remembering. So it seems. I have been teaching regular yoga classes more in the past few months than I have since I moved here three and a half years ago and it continues to be of interest to me how much the act of putting a class together and taking the seat opens a door inside of myself to a space of connection, authenticity, and strength. An important part of me stands up inside of myself and lays claim. It takes a minute, but once I have weeded through all of the imposter feelings there is a familiarity and a humility that are very real and raw and right. I feel like me.

But it is tricky right? Cuz when we moved here, and I stepped away from public teaching and back into the mothering of a new little which also felt like stepping back into myself. I had missed that stage of parenting so deeply and it was super powerful to circle back around to it and integrate its lessons more completely. Now that my little is not quite as dependent as a tiny human- (ok he is still extra dependent and I am in no hurry to accelerate any age or stage, never ever never. but it is not like the beginning year or two which is a particular kind of parental endurance event. i think that is clear…) I have a squidge more time and energy to reintegrate my parts. It is very much a reckoning of Both/And. Which it always has been and always will be. Where I remember over and over and over again not to sacrifice the whole for any one part, and vice versa.

So. Teaching has been fun. Practicing continues to be fun. I am into it. Which seems so average and regular. This ongoing assumption I make about yoga being something that people are into if they are into and that’s just how it will always be. Which is false, obviously. I mean it is true for me and some other folks but I have to learn over and over again that being interested and engaged in the practice of yoga asana is quite often a phase or a stage for most people. Yeah, one that lasts a year or five or even ten but then fades to grey as another interest arises and takes its place. This is so fascinating to me. It is so not obvious in the sense that it is so not me. And yet. It's completely normal! Honestly. Even to be expected. And I actually don’t have an agenda around it, I just have to remember to be flexible with the reality of it. And not make any assumptions about someone who loved to practice last year having any interest in practicing today. Seems basic enough. But I have to remember. Ha!

When I first moved to the Madison area from Viroqua over a decade ago, my first order of business was to find out who I could practice with. What were folks doing and might we be a fit? And then my next order of business was to begin training folks to practice with me. Group practices are great for this. But they are also epically hard to build, especially if people have no context for practice in this way. Ya gotta build it. Often folks will be curious about group practice but very few folks stick with it. And there are a ton of factors that make it or break it that have nothing to do with yoga: schedules, work, school, childcare, finances, interest, all the things. Interest in the practice has to be big enough that you are willing to move a lot of shit around to make time for it. And even then, seasons come and seasons go. The progress of the early months or years fades and plateaus last way longer than any cycle of outward gain so naturally interest and commitment ebb. That is how it goes for everyone. Some folks remain through all of this, but a lot go. While this is both natural and to be expected, I always am surprised by the truth of it. That people come and people go.

Which is why the ones who stay become so dear. It is amazing all of those hours logged together on the mat through all of the years and decades. Even if I do not see someone for a stretch of years. I see them again and we pick it right back up. In life and in practice. And for sure the poses come and the poses go- they are not the point. It is the interest and the curiosity and the conversation that make the whole thing withstand the tests of time. It is solid gold and I want to know these people forever. I also know that god willing some of them I have yet to meet and I have yet to co-condition the muscles of long-term practice in relationship with. How cool is that?

All of this was stirred up for me in such big and beautiful and regular ways in a recent practice with a student turned friend turned co-mentor on a trip back to Wisconsin a few weeks ago. She started taking classes with me over 10 years ago when I first started teaching publicly in Madison and offering group practices there. She has stuck with it all this time and edified and claimed her own practice, continuing to train and study and expand into her own coaching practice. I seek her council when it comes to fitness and nutrition and the reciprocity of the relationship is both nourishing and inspiring. I am thrilled that she will be coming to Vermont in February to practice with Sam and me and the truly amazing cohort of folks beginning to coalesce for the retreat. It is so cool like that ya know? The relationship that began with a few points of contact and connection and then solidified into a shared love for a life of practice. I am thankful for and inspired by these relationships that dot the country and occupy my heart. There are a good amount of you out there- friends on the path. And I love you a lot.

It is the “what stays the same” conversation to be sure. If I were good at labeling posts you could probably search through the blog archives and find slews of these conversations around what stays steady underneath the changes inherent in living and loving and growing. I am interested in what is new for you. For sure. But I am enthralled by what it is that stays the same. What is abiding in your life? What has your attention and your heart time and time again through time and space and love and loss and the heartache of all of life’s lessons? That is what captivates me. I want to be steady with you in that way. With a consistent ground of being and dedication to what it is that scaffolds all of the other comings and goings of intrigue and hobby and phase and stage. That’s it. That’s a lot.

Anyhow. I think that is it for now. Thanks for being here and more soon.

from here to belonging

image from all the way back in the middle of the month when the leaves were 1/2 up and 1/2 down.

It has been slow, and I think that if I were not looking for it I really might miss it, but over the course of the last couple of months, I have been feeling more on the inside of things here, in our not-so-new-anymore home. As opposed to on the outside peering in. Almost three and a half years later. Like I said, it has been slow. For all of the obvious reasons. Vermont and New England in general are slow to warm and even slower to welcome. Which is something that I expected, and yet living it is another thing. I think compounded even more by hailing from the Upper Midwest where the belonging is deep (even as the fitting in can be somewhat more complex). I have almost always, especially as an adult, felt very certain of who I am along with my place in things there, some regions more than others no doubt, but it has most often been a certainty that has felt secure.

I was reminded recently of something Alycann Taylor said to me when we first landed in Viroqua from Santa Fe in the months before Maple was born. She and her hubs and newborn (now 17 year old!) had recently made the move back to the midwest from Idaho and they were our first friends in our new town. She said that being from Wisconsin is a lot cooler when you are not in it. It makes me chuckle to remember. Both for its ridiculousness along with the truth of it. I am not slow to claim the rolling hills, rich soils, rivers, and lakes as a big chunk of my heart. And my fervor for that claim has always inflated itself significantly when the Upper Midwest seems like a far-off land.

But like I said, not all regions are the same, and the resonance I felt in some places was not there in others. So it goes. Like we had to really carve out our home in some areas as opposed to the way we had more of an immediate arrival in others. When we first moved from Viroqua to Mount Horeb, I remember Maple just being furious with me. She hated the smallness of our yard. It took her a while to see the bigness of the park and forest right across the street. It was the same for me really. I had to work my butt off to carve it out. The first time that our friend Jess visited us from Viroqua the misalignment of my place was reflected in some of her first words: Yikes. Wrong Habitat.

And honestly, I struggled with it for some time. A few years. The suburbs of Madison were a tough pill to swallow, in part due to the conventionalness of everything, but also because town life, in general, took some getting used to. We did find our way there, mostly. Through a lot of effort and desire, we were able to claim our identities and felt, over time, a strong sense of belonging, even if we still felt a little bit like the weirdo outliers.

And yet, we always knew that it wasn’t forever. We almost left a number of times, but just couldn’t quite find the right spot. There was one moment in particular that stands out as a catalyst for this move. It was Chris and Eider in the driveway looking up at the night sky. Eider said something like: wow! look at all of the stars papa! and chris was like oh my god there are like 10 stars visible and I have failed you Eider. We think about that often now and throw our heads back to laugh as we look up at a sky that on a clear night is all stars from horizon to horizon. It is the little/not so little things that find us here I guess.

When we were visiting and searching out our Northern Vermont landing spot the high school that Maple goes to now, Peoples Academy, stood out to us as something that would work for her. I cannot really say why. It is a public high school with many of the problems of most but somehow we got a hit of something that felt like it would gel for her. And we weren’t wrong. Eighth grade sucked, and then of course Covid blew everything out of the water, but the last almost 2 years at PA have landed her in a sense of community and belonging that I am not certain she would have found to quite this same degree anywhere else. Certainly not in Mount Horeb. She said something the other day about how dad wanted to move here because of the stars and isn’t that funny, isn’t that perfect, because her school has such a strong astronomy program and an incredible telescope. A few weeks ago she was there observing Saturn with some of her friends. She is a Capricorn, ruled by Saturn, and I think for her it feels as though everything has fallen into alignment in this way that simultaneously makes perfect sense and supports a deep and true feeling of belonging in her.

In part, her gravity has been pulling me toward the same sense. Much more slowly and with a few more obstacles standing between me and the purity of that feeling. But slowly, slowly, yes. For me, everyone else needs to be more or less sorted out before I can begin to find my own way and that has been slower than all get out. First I was so concerned about Moo as she navigated social dis-ease followed by mental health obstacles (and gifts), and then as she began to resolve and then really click into place my concern shifted to Eid and the enormity of his loneliness and isolation. But he has recently clicked as well and the weight that has lifted has been so complete that the remaining task of making sure our little one is social and happy and active and engaged in his world has become the easiest and best of daily tasks.

What is left is me and what makes me feel like myself, whole and curious and alive and meg. And slowly but surely. Teaching has always helped me feel like me and as ever I am finding the more I do the more I am. I feel it like roots weaving their way deep into place and into community, by virtue of all of the things. School and school involvement is a huge piece for sure and I am happy to be showing up in those spaces both as my kids’ parent and also as myself. I am also so pleased to be teaching at Sterling Forest and planning for more in that space is both grounding and exciting.

As it turns out I am not alone in the slow-to-be-welcomed-in Vermont experience. I have heard folks say that it has taken as long as five years to really feel it here, so I think then maybe I am fortunate to start sensing it just beyond three. This summer was hard with visits to Maine and Wisconsin both, where my sense of place is easy and complete. It made coming back a challenge, every time, and yet when pressed I never could say that I wanted to give up on this place. This is right for us right now and probably for quite some time. I want to plant and build and grow here. I want to be real and alive and awake here. It is not perfect but it is home. More and more every day.

So we’ll get tattoos to mark our place and time and keep on reaching for engagement and connection and adventure. Maybe we stake a claim that lasts for generations- in spite of our signs and our wanderlust- or maybe this is just a moment. Whatever comes to pass, I want to look back and see as few gaps in embodiment as possible. I want to live and love, know and be known, right here. Right now.

community // concert

Maple and I saw Brandi Carlile in Boston on Friday night. I’m not sure that I am even beginning to come down from the experience yet, it was so much, on every level. We bought the tickets way back in January for Maple’s Birthday and, as it always is in the life of a child, it is incredible how different things are now than they were then. We each feel like so much more than we were back then. Both healed and hardened from this year of moving into the endemic world. Simultaneously licking our wounds, and growing strong new flesh around scars that we couldn’t know how deep were running as we were making them. Brandi’s music was there for us through all of it, both a microscope and a life raft.

Maple says that Brandi is her “ring of keys”. Do you know what that term means? I had to look it up. She had said it to me sometime last year; that listening to “The Joke” helped her know that she wanted to come out. And then she said it to me again on Friday night, through all of the tears and the hugs that carried us through the concert. It was magic y’all. The whole thing, from the first note to the final bow, like something perfect and precious made special for all 30,000 of us. For the LBGTQIA+ community, Brandi is a beacon of courage and love and belonging and there is not one single aspect of that that can be undersung. For a queer kid like moo to grow up with big examples like Brandi Carlile and her family and the community that she just keeps on creating and creating is life-changing. There is so much to relate to: being a gay artist living in rural America with a heart full of love and faith in something brighter and more luminous than any small-minded antiquated ideology could ever bring to bear.

It was magic. I loved every single moment and every single person that was there, on stage and in the massive audience. Every song was perfect and thrilling and made me so thankful to be alive and to be me and love who I love and thankful that I am learning to see and know and love people more and more every year. We stayed in the fancy-ass hotel above the venue that I will be paying off for a while and it was a perfect little nest; like we were birds perched in a canyon skyrise cave looking out over the bright lights and life of downtown. Me and my nearly grown girl. The one who, beyond any doubt and all measure, split my heart open to her and to the care and tending of my life, and my family, and the world. It was all the stuff of mama’s dreams.

Earlier in the week, I taught the first Yoga and Mindfulness class at Peoples Academy, Maple’s high school. The whole thing came about because she asked me to teach some yoga to the track team last spring and afterward we could both see how important it would be to offer to the teens in general. In the days leading up to this first class, Maple asked me what I was going to say, how I was going to lay the foundation for what I was going to be doing with the kids that showed up. She caught me a little off-gaurd and truthfully, I hadn’t thought about it specifically yet at that point. So I asked her what she thought along with what she says to kids who come to the Fiber Arts Club that she started at the high school last year. She said that she would start by recognizing that life is hard, for everyone, and that here (yoga class) is a place to both acknowledge that and build some tools for dealing with the difficulty. (Uhh yeah this is my kid teaching me forever and for the record- along with this: she was always listening. She sure was.) Then she said that one of the big intentions behind Fiber Arts, and really all of the school groups and clubs in her opinion, is for community. For kids to have a place where they feel a sense of belonging along with a knowing that they are a part of something and that they have value in that space, and in all spaces really. She is brilliant, I swear.

I was reflecting on this a bunch throughout the week not just in the classes that I taught at school and at the lodge, and it was in the forefront of my thoughts when I spoke with a woman who is interested in coming to the retreat that Sam Rice and I are leading together in Stowe this Winter. She, similar to me, lives in a place that doesn’t feel proximal to a yoga community, whether by virtue of her own new motherhood or by physical location or both. This dynamic really got me thinking about all of the divergent paths and forks in the road I have either followed or turned away from over the course of my life. Especially as an adult and especially as it relates to yoga and motherhood. Early on it felt big and lonely to choose to begin a family over countless classes and hours spent in the studio with other practitioners and teachers. My friends and my people. And then I had to claim that choice over and over again through the years, through feelings of separation and distance and loneliness. I seldom feel that way ever any more; it was made better in small part through online yoga, certainly; that has helped and you can probably read about it in the countless captions attached to videos I shared during Covid, where that was an ever-present theme and muse. But mostly, my capacity to maintain a sense of belonging has been made possible and been nourished through the regular, all be it occasional efforts made by myself and others to gather and share our breath and movement and heart by immersing ourselves in a practice and a tradition that we each love in our own, yet powerfully similar, ways. It has been another life raft of sorts to carry us through. It has certainly carried me.

I know that when I announced that the retreat Sam and I would be teaching would be an intermediate-level practice experience, it gave some folks pause while they questioned whether or not it was for them; if they belonged in such a “level”. I also know that I haven’t really taken the time to explain what the thought behind that is, in part because I wasn’t quite sure how I could say it that would convey the intention. What I have been saying when I talk to folks about it is more along these lines: that it is intermediate because we are going to spend a lot of time in the yoga. It is not an add-in to a relaxing vacation. It is the central focal point, it is the thread that connects us and draws us together. What I want to say is that it is intermediate because there is an element of the yoga being a force in each of our individual lives that we have given ourselves to. Through time, through space, through loss, and change, and all of the other turbulence that makes up a life, the yoga has held us. Whether through an era of daily practice or a season of seldom making it onto our mat, the light that lives inside of our hearts for practice, has burned. Intermediate is by no means to say that we can do all of the poses, of course not; it doesn’t even mean we can do most. Rather what it speaks to is that the yoga can hold our attention for 5-6 hours and day over a long weekend, and that that stretch of time is a part of a longer conversation and relationship each of us has with practice. This is what we hope to convey through the use of the word “intermediate”.

This mood of community connection through time and space came alive for me at the concert on Friday night. So much of the big coming together of all of these new and old Brandi Carlile fans and her whole vibe of inclusivity and welcome really spoke to the belonging that lives even through the loneliness. So many of her songs weave this theme through them and I think it is in part what makes her music so real and raw and hopeful for so many. When I attach this post to a reel, I will probably put it with a version of “Right On Time” from her newest album (and the delux). I think right now it is one of the very best ballads for expressing where we find ourselves in the pseudo-post-Covid world. Full of recognition for our pain and loss running right alongside our strength and humanity and hope. I think it is just right.

I am sure I have so much more to say about all of this in the coming days and weeks. Especially as it pertains to parenthood and presence and continuity and community. But this is what I have for now. Thanks for being here.

contradictions

A couple of weeks ago Maple helped my mom drive from VT to Wisconsin to deliver a packed car full of baby stuff to my little sister. Yes, there is a new baby coming in the new year and I am over the moon about the whole thing. For real. I actually cannot get into it too much right now because I am here to write about something else this morning, but trust me when I say: O M G I cannot wait to be this little bb’s auntie and I cannot wait for Freddy (and moo and bear) to have a lil’ cuz/sib. The very best. I’m dead.

However! I am here to share something far less exciting and far more irritating than all of the sleepless nights could ever amount to. For some. I actually think that it is a little tricky to figure out how bothered you should or should not be by what I am going to relay. It may seem slight, or average, or just how it is, but I want to encourage each of us, especially myself, to continue to ask why that might be and in so doing buck a little bit more of the cultural expectations and deferential surrender that this world and the status quo ask us to live inside of. Let’s see ok?

To start. We have all been dealing off and on with these interminable colds for much of the fall. It is ridiculous and unending and we are all over it. I have been down with it again this weekend which only bears mentioning because I was also feeling shitty the weekend that Maple and my mom left to drive west. Which was weeks ago now. So, yay, in and out of immune reboot or some such. Maple herself had actually been feeling quite poorly as well and there was some talk of her not going along at all, but clearly, in the end, she did. And while I am glad for it and also proud of her for doing so much of the driving to get there, I am also a little remorseful of what it feels like this kid has to deal with both in terms of familial expectation as well as in the world at large.

The incident actually took place at the very tail end of her journey. She was sitting in the Burlington airport waiting for me and wilfs to pick her up; we were late due to all of the peeper traffic in Stowe. Of course. We were on the phone actually. She was exhausted from her trip physically but also mentally and emotionally worn down from her time with her gran, which can be simultaneously wonderful and complicated. They have always had a very particular relationship and as maple has grown it has become more complicated as both her awareness and understanding of the dynamic and whatever inappropriate tendencies are at play have developed. It is hard. And she is a champ about it. Over and over again. It is delicate you know. Especially with our elders, to navigate the line between respectful deference and clear vision with a perspective that is rooted in reality.

I do not know how it is for other folks in their families, but I have observed in myself simultaneously a desire for along with a lack of any wise elder. It is a source of immense guilt in me. Like I am unable to perceive something that does indeed exist or that maybe it was a false narrative to begin with. I really do long for wise elders in my life. Guides, people to emulate or strive to one day become. It is an absence for sure but also seems to be somewhat the trend when I look around. Especially those of us whose parents are Boomers. They are missing something, are they not? There is an arrested development there that I can see in the culture as a whole but also within the context of my own family. It is also a gross generalization, I realize that. But there is something to it, I am certain, and it leaves the relationships lacking for those of us who are oriented toward the growing edge of our own development as humans. Plus, it is a compounded bummer to see the trickle down effect it has on my kids. And it is triggering in terms of my own parenting as well. Ok, so its a lot!

Anyhow. She was fresh off the excavating of some ancestral wounds, tired, and waiting for her mom to come and get her. She was perhaps a little weepy. And she was on the phone with me, her mother, when an older woman comes up to her, puts her hand on her head, tells her she noticed her in the airport, asks her name, and tells her that she would like to pray for her. Maple, stunned, says that she is ok and that she is on the phone with her mom and does not tell her her name. The woman walks away but Maple is shaken. Or, shook, as the kids say.

And now listen, this may seem like no big whoop. In fact, when she told Chris what happened that was more or less his response. I get that, I really do. I even have tried that response on for size a time or two in the processing of this event. But I would encourage us to not stand inside of that perspective for long. And here is why: this woman profiled a young (queer) adult, she took advantage of her older (white Christian) lady privilege, and she violated an individual’s personal autonomy. A lot of assumptions were made, and my guess is that they all lived inside of this person’s, as well as the culture’s, subconscious to such a degree that to call them out is making all of us uncomfortable right now. But can you see it? Why had she “noticed” Maple? The green hair? The Doc Martins? I mean, really? Why would she approach her, and then proceed to touch her, if she were not occupying a belief that she is somehow Maple’s superior whether by age, or by faith, or heteronormative identity; it doesn’t matter, pick one. If someone of almost any other demographic had reached out and touched my kid and asked their name, it would have been pretty near to the neighborhood of assault, would just not? So call it privilege, call it bias, call it whatever you like: my kid felt the same either way… the only difference being that she had to grapple with whether or not she was expected to simply take it because of the demographic. That is absurd and also, frankly, obscene. Not to mention the enormity of the contradiction that is the Christian Assumption. To which we all defer.

It rattled Maple. A lot. It is hard to know if it would have been so upsetting if it had not been on the heels of several days spent navigating the complexities of her relationship with her primary elder, but honestly, I am not sure that matters all that much. There is an effect here that I think is important to pay attention to. And listen, I do not want to come off as anti-christian, by no means. I love faith and I love prayer and I love all of the ways in which we each connect to our own sense of wonder to the great unknown as it moves through our lives. I am here for it. I am into it. What I am not into is in making any assumptions about what any person’s relationship to faith may or may not be, and certainly, I am not into superimposing mine onto another because of my belief in its rightness. No thank you. And that is what I see the Christian Culture doing time and time again. Whether it is in child-rearing, professional lives, education, local politics, or whatever. This is how it plays out with the rest of us entirely complicit by virtue of our deference to the Christian Belief Structure. Some of you may remember an article I wrote years ago about this contradiction in the home-education sphere that I had submitted for publication in a Secular Homeschooling rag. It was never published (and instead lives somewhere on this blog) because the magazine was nervous that it might be offensive to some. And yet! Don’t worry about offending the rest of us by assuming that we believe what you do, or even worse: disregarding anything we might believe as real or true in light of your own certainty.

A long time ago my big kids decided that they would always refer to themselves as Atheists instead of Agnostics so as to firmly keep the door shut tight against anyone who might perceive the inclusivity of one term as an invitation to convincing or converting. My kids are so smart like that. I keep holding out in my own referencing around self-proclaimed Spiritualism: I do really believe in the whole big interconnectedness of things. But never at the cost of anyone else. That doesn’t add up to a whole, does it?

This may actually be the easier piece to grapple with. Many of us have probably been doing it for years. But what about the automatic deference to our elders, or our belief (hope) that somehow elder is synonymous with wise? It’s not the case really though is it? Or we would have never had to remind ourselves to question authority. Be it the kind that comes with religion, or with whiteness, or with age. And listen I don’t really know anything at all except that I do hold out the belief that Black Elders know a thing or two more than any of the rest of us and I admit to feeling more deference and respect to an elder Black person than I do toward most White ones. This may be a can of worms that I am not very equipped to open and by all means correct my missteps and help me learn and become better. What I really want to say is that with age, discernment is a necessity. It cannot just be that because you are older you are wiser. I know I don’t need to tell you that but maybe if you are older and reaching out to someone younger you want to pause and give yourself an extra moment to consider where that might be coming from and what you hope to serve by doing so. That’s all.

So, today, I don’t know. In the last few months I have been admitting a few more difficult truths to myself, casting off my own internal expectations. And this presses near to that, ya know? I think that sometimes we do in fact make a big deal out of nothing, I know that I do. But I also think that when there is real upset or real dis-ease it is important to look to the roots of why we are feeling the way we feel. Is there some internal struggle with how we think we should be versus the truth of what we know is right? Is it possible to stay in the lane of doing no harm and also be honest? Or what sort of harm is ok within the context of growing our humanity? Truly, I do not have the answers. But I have some clues per the upset. I bet you do too.