May Days

I went out walking by the river yesterday morning, welcoming the warm sun on my face after a weekend of unseasonably chilly air and even a few snowflakes (!?). The whole area surrounding the trail was noisy and teeming with life; there were singing birds of every colour flitting and swooping above me, long grasses rustling under a brisk breeze, streams gurgling over mud and rocks. It was welcome noise, the gentle kind that feeds the heart and grows ideas, rather than the distracting and frustrating kind of too much going on at once.

We seem to have landed in a more balanced phase of life here this year. Some of our activities and schedules have changed, and while everyone is still very engaged in pursuits that interest them, our days feel pleasantly full, rather than frantic and overwhelming as they've often felt in previous years during the months of May and June. There seems to be time for some of everything this spring, and we're all happy and thriving as a result.

I've been doing a lot of writing recently, just not as often here on this blog. The shift of focus has given me a new energy; it's feeling really good to work hard at something new that is still a little beyond my reach. Several weeks ago, I submitted my first ever book proposal to a publisher (for a children's non-fiction book that I thoroughly enjoyed researching), and I'm currently working on a picture book manuscript (which is much more difficult to write than it sounds!) This is work I've had in me to do for years, combining my love of children and books and teaching, and the time feels right now to explore it heartily and see if anything wonderful comes of it.

Here's what else we've been up to around here lately:

We had the opportunity last week to watch Noah perform in two different ways, first as a drummer at Arts Night at his school (he was so good!) and then as a runner at our district high school track and field meet. For anyone who fears that kids today lack grit: go and watch some fourteen year olds race a 3000m. There's plenty of reassurance there that the kids are alright. This week we'll get a chance to watch Will dance at his studio during parent viewing week, a sneak peak of his performances for the upcoming showcase in June. These are proud moments for Matt and I as parents, when we see the delightful results that grow out of all of the boys' passions and hard work.

Will spent the weekend recovering from a nasty foot injury he suffered at school when another student accidentally ran over him with a heavy metal cart loaded with Chromebooks. (This is one of the lesser known risks of technology for youth, I guess!) He came home very upset on Friday about the state of his foot, which was cut and badly bruised in three places, but even more so about the fact that the child who hurt him didn't say he was sorry. A sensitive heart bruises just as easily as the skin does, I think. He's feeling better this week and is back to spending hours every day on his scooter.

Someone is excited about the new scooter parts he ordered with birthday money.

Matt and I have been working hard on the yard whenever the weather allows, mowing, weeding, edging, planting, mulching. It's always such a satisfying feeling to see our spring efforts combined with Mother Nature's to create an inviting outdoor space for all of the creatures who live in it. The robins nesting in our evergreen out front have been doing some work on the property, too. They seem to have a real flair for exterior home decor.

We're looking forward to a May long weekend with fun, good food, and a visit from family! It feels like summer is just around the corner now.

Dreaming of Classes and Busses

I am a high school student on my first day of classes, and in my hand I hold a timetable, the details of which I cannot completely make out. I am scheduled to attend a class located in a building that is far away from the one where my last class just ended, and I cannot for the life of me figure out why things have been set up this way, when there are just five minutes between classes to get from one place to the next. The realization that I'm going to be late, due to circumstances that are no fault of my own, upsets me. I have no directions to get to this other building, so I walk, briskly, anxiously, down a path that twists and turns and always ends up at a place other than the one I am supposed to find.

Somehow I keep ending up back at the beginning again, walking a different path that leads to a different building that is still not, is never, the correct one.

On one attempt, I finally find the building where my class is, but the class is not the one I signed up for. It's a cooking class, and everything I try to produce in that kitchen fails miserably. I make lame excuses to my teacher for my ineptitude, explaining that I'm used to baking gluten-free and that the recipes just don't make sense to me, that they're not what I'm familiar with. It seems to matter a great deal to me that my teacher understands this, and doesn't think me useless.

***

I am in a bus in an unfamiliar foreign city, trying to get somewhere, though precisely where I can't remember. I do not have a good understanding of the city's layout or the bus routes; I chose the bus based only on my best guess, and I have no idea where it's actually going. The bus driver is no help; he seems angry with me for asking too many questions. At one point along the way, I somehow suddenly know that the bus is not going where I want it to take me, so I ring the bell to stop it, and when the bus slows and then comes to a halt, I leave it. I stand alone in the middle of a strange sidewalk, looking this way and that as the noisy traffic rushes by, trying to figure out how I'm going to get back to where I started and try a different bus instead. I ride many buses after that one, but the destination I'm supposed to find remains ever elusive.

***

Last month I watched a fascinating CBC's The Nature of Things documentary about sleep and dreaming. One segment highlighted the work of a psychologist who sees a continuation between what happens during our waking hours and what goes on in our dreams, and it made me think about the meaning of these two dreams I had on two recent consecutive nights. Where in my life am I trying to go that is unfamiliar and challenging to get to? Why do I care so much about what other people think of me along the way?

The truth is, the fear of failure or of disapproval from others has been a recurring theme in my unrealistically perfectionistic waking life for as long as I can remember. It has often held me back from trying exciting-scary things that might encourage mistake making, or might see me ending up somewhere other than where I had carefully planned to go. 

Something has shifted for me this year, though, and I am both thrilled and pleasantly terrified about a big project I've been working on. It's something I've wanted to do for a long time, but I never felt I knew enough or was good enough to actually pursue it. In some moment of enlightenment (delusion?), some part of me finally decided that whether I know enough or am good enough right now isn't the point; the point is to discover the things I don't know, and to see how much better I can become as I explore the unfamiliar. 

I've found myself often in recent weeks feeling as though I really am wandering that twisty path to the hard-to-find class, or riding a bus that goes to confusing places. I can only give a best guess as to what I'm supposed to do in this new endeavour, and the old fears about people mocking my insufficiencies resurface frequently. Just as often, though, I've felt an uplifting sense of accomplishment, pride, and palpable enjoyment as I've found my own way to each next small step. It feels good to realize that I'm more capable than I allowed myself to believe, even if I don't actually get to where I hope this particular project takes me.

Next stop: who knows, really? Wherever it is, though, I know that I will have gone somewhere in a positive direction, and there's something to be said for that.

January Hues

January is not usually one of the most cheerful months of the year for me. The dark mornings and the endless sea of winter gray and white beyond my windows can seem achingly monotonous after the excitement of a new year wears off, and I find myself longing quietly for some kind of change to happen. Often by this time in the season, the winter blues begin to seep into my bones along with the chill of mid-winter's frigid air.

This January feels different though. Part of it may have to do with winter having arrived so late this year: we are just this week shovelling regular, significant snowfalls from our driveway in the evenings, all four of us awed by the new-again wonder of fresh flakes tumbling from smoky indigo skies. Instead of boredom or sadness, I feel an energetic hum within and an excitement usually reserved for spring, that optimistic season of fresh things bursting into the world .

This feeling has been helped along by me saying yes to new experiences and challenges this month, resisting the urge to let a slowly moving season lull me into a kind of sleep. I decided several weeks ago that I would enter a creative nonfiction writing contest, not because I actually have any hopes of winning it, but because having a lofty goal would encourage me to stretch and write better than I ever have before. I've been working hard to do justice in words to a touching family story that has occupied my mind and heart for months now, and the feeling of deep personal satisfaction I've experienced throughout the writing process has made me feel very much alive.

Also, last weekend, I began the writing adventure that I previously mentioned signing up for. I was definitely nervous but open to the experience as I walked into the room full of writers and other creators. Carrie was warm and welcoming as a guide; she encouraged us all to write without fear or self-criticism, keeping our pens constantly moving as she led us through a series of activities. Creating something completely unplanned, unencumbered, and unexpected was a liberating exercise for me, and made me aware of just how often my internal critic badgers me during my usual creative process. I was grateful for the sudden, exciting realization that I have many ideas and feelings within me waiting to be explored, and they're readily available to me when I'm willing to focus on the writing rather than the end result. I left the session feeling joyful, and eager to return the next Saturday. Now more than I've ever been, I'm sure that the time I spend writing is when I feel most like myself.

January has been an exciting month for Noah and Will so far as well. Noah has happily been spending many of his weekend and weekday evening hours at school these days as a member of a FIRST robotics team. He and his high school teammates are working hard to design, build, and program a robot that will meet the season's engineering challenge, with the guidance of some wonderful, dedicated university student mentors and adult professionals. The team has only six weeks to build the robot from scratch, and then they'll compete in several competitions to see how well it performs. I am thrilled for Noah to have this valuable learning opportunity that speaks to so many of his interests. We're very fortunate that there is such enthusiasm for large-scale, multi-faceted projects like this one at his high school and in our community as a whole.

Will is enthusiastic about his new role this month as a young ambassador. Our school's principal was to choose two students to be part of the Elementary Student Senate, which gives Grade 7/8 students "an opportunity to express their voice and opinions as leaders within their schools and communities". He decided to send our Grade 6 boy. Small but mighty; that's always been our Will! I dropped him off at our area high school for a senate orientation meeting this morning; he was keen to begin sharing his ideas about what is working well and what needs improvement at his own elementary school. He was also happy about the possibility of bumping into his big brother today in the high school hallways. I'm proud of Will's commitment and his eagerness to make a difference in his world.

There is much for me to be cheerful about in this first month of 2016. It's been a nice surprise to discover a different set of January hues.

A Different View

The living room seems strangely empty this morning now that everyone has left for work and school, a stark contrast to the previous two weeks when the room was bustling with cozy chaos. Books, games, and the parts for assorted curious projects were often scattered over every surface throughout the holidays, proof that a family was happily living in the space for more than just a few hours a day.

"I was meant to live this way!"  

~Will, age 11, in reference to the unlimited free time he had over the holidays to pursue his various interests

Even though the four of us were all home last night, there was a noticeable hush over the house, the giddy energy of freedom having seemingly been packed away with the last of the twinkling Christmas lights over the weekend. Transitions back to "normal" after a cheerful, rejuvenating, family-focused holiday are always met with some wistful reluctance around here.

Even the cats were begging me not to let Christmas be over -- they were quite happy under the tree.

We all found a new energy shortly after tumbling sleepily out of our beds this morning, though, helped along by the welcome sun that was shining for the first time in what felt like weeks, and by the shock of the suddenly frigid winter air as we stepped out our front door. It was a wake-up call of sorts, after the calming lull of the holidays, an encouragement to open our eyes to the new possibilities we can explore from where we now stand.

***

We sent Will back to school with a brand new pair of glasses today, a first for him as he's never worn glasses before now. His recent optometrist appointment showed that his nearsightedness had progressed to a point where he needed help seeing the board at school, so we walked out of the office with a prescription and a boy who wasn't really sure that he wanted to get glasses. (Funny how that works -- a year ago, when the optometrist mentioned Will's nearsightedness but said that he wasn't yet in need of prescription lenses, Will kept wishing he was getting glasses!)  I was glad to see his excitement, though, when the first pair of frames I pulled down for him from the display wall at Lenscrafters was exactly what he wanted, and he beamed with satisfaction when he saw his fresh new look in the mirror. 

He's thrilled with how clear everything at a distance appears to him now, too. (I am just keeping my fingers crossed that the glasses, which don't need to be worn all the time, will somehow survive their travels to and from school every day and the mysterious black hole that is Will's classroom desk.)

Noah and I are each taking on something new this month as well: he is starting crossfit classes for teens a few times a week, and I've signed up for a "writing adventure" with an accomplished local author whose work I greatly admire. I was curious and excited about the session she's offering when I read about it on her blog, and I signed myself up for it before I allowed myself to think too much about it and talk myself out of participating. I am used to writing all by myself in my living room, usually when no one else is home, only sharing my work once I'm reasonably comfortable with it (and sometimes not at all). The idea of writing through guided exercises in a room with other, very likely more skilled, people and sharing it immediately afterwards with the group definitely makes me feel nervous, but I'm eager to take this next step to see where it might lead me. I'm stretching!

On my way

I'm back home this week after a bustling, compelling, exhilarating few days spent with other writers at Blissdom Canada in the lovely Blue Mountain area. This morning I'm plodding through necessities like buying food, washing clothes, and keeping our insanely curious cat away from the painters working in our basement, but I'm restless, and my mind is whirring with activity that is much more appealing to me than these tasks, which feel especially unimaginative today.

The conference was what it has always been for me: a chance to learn, to be inspired, to build relationships with people who also love to do what I do. I was excited to attend sessions where intelligent women shared openly about their experiences as freelance writers, and offered useful advice and warm encouragement for others to find their way along a similar career path. I learned from experts about how to build connections and engagement on social media platforms, and about tools that can help me create posts with visual appeal. Some sessions moved me deeply, as women shared their courageous stories of personal terror and triumph, and as we remembered a kind and beautiful member of our own community who passed away unexpectedly and too soon last spring. I even spent a lively afternoon taking a class with friends at the Collingwood Cooking Academy, where we baked delicious goods with local apples and doted on the resident ducks who quacked enthusiastically outside the kitchen door while we worked. The weekend was filled with an unbridled sharing of ideas and support for one another, and I left the conference feeling buoyed by a vibrant community for the personal possibilities that lie ahead.

The drive home from Blue Mountain was along a route that was mostly unfamiliar. I navigated a long series of turns onto country roads, the open skies revealing sights that were either touching or unnerving to me. At first my hands gripped the steering wheel as I wound through curving roads leading upward, the asphalt made slick by an unseasonably early snowfall, but in time I relaxed into the rhythm of wheels rolling steadily under a canopy of heavily frosted trees. Once I passed the snow belt, the white branches gave way to ones bearing gloriously coloured leaves, clustered together to create a beautiful autumn canvas that stretched on for miles across farmers' fields. I drove past massive wind turbines spinning eerily in the otherwise quiet air, their rotating blades intimidating me in a strange, inexplicable way. I saw flocks of playful sheep and velvety brown cattle grazing peacefully at the sides of the road, and every now and then the sun's rays streamed earnestly through small gaps in the cloud cover, creating brief moments of sublime illumination. Steering myself though the hills and turns, with new discoveries around each bend, made me feel very much alive.

I have a similar kind of unexplored route to navigate in the coming months and years if I want to realize my dreams, one that will certainly be filled with moments of fear and frustration, and hopefully also of surprise and delight. I am so grateful for my experiences at Blissdom and what this community has given me to help me on my way:  direction and inspiration to continually keep moving forward, friends who encourage and believe in me, and a new-found confidence that has come from believing in myself.

Special thanks to Jennifer Powell and the entire Blissdom team for the wonderful conferences and opportunities they've created over the past several years, and best wishes to all of us on the exciting roads that lie ahead.

Stories

Photo Credit

I'm sitting at a small table in my local Starbucks/Chapters store with my laptop this morning in an effort to coax myself into more focused work. It's work my mind has long been eager to do, but a mind can be too willingly sidetracked when work is challenging and the outcome is uncertain. There are easy distractions at home, too many mundane things that "need" to be done before I'll tackle the work that would make me happiest. So this morning I've tried to escape the false urgency with which the stuff of everyday life beckons me by shutting the door and walking away for a little while.

I've quickly discovered there are easy distractions here too, though, in the form of the other people occupying small tables all around me. There is the blonde woman with a tote bag full of colourful yarn who weaves a crochet hook methodically through loops of deep purple, silver speckled wool, creating a pretty hat in the process. A young man rests his darkly stubbled chin on his fist in a thoughtful moment of pause as he considers what he's just typed onto his computer screen. The slender man behind me with the graying hair sips his beverage while turning the pages of a booklet filled with complex, intriguing-looking math equations at slow intervals. Across from me, a flush-cheeked young woman jots down notes in a small black leather book; I notice she is left-handed. I cast quick, curious glances at each of them every now and then, knowing I should just mind my own business, but I can't help wondering what their stories are. What pressing work has brought each of them here on this particular morning? From what might they be trying to escape?

I have always seen the world in stories. As a child, the warm light glowing from windows of other peoples' homes in the evening enticed me to imagine the lives breathing within the buildings' walls. Snippets of conversations overheard in public spaces have often flourished like vines, branching out into full-fledged fictional narratives in my mind. I am driven still to ponder the complex inner workings of human beings and the ways in which they connect with one another. Maybe, then, these people around me who come and go, giving me tiny glimpses into their uncommon lives, are not distractions at all, but interesting possibilities to consider beyond myself as I search out the stories I most want to tell. 

I watch with great interest as the crocheting woman skillfully crafts a little flower out of yarn and attaches it to the hat she has now finished making. Her morning's work has produced something tangible and satisfying. I realize now with sudden gladness that so has mine.