In some magic world, launch day is the day to say wise, conclusive things about the importance of story and the importance of community and how wonderful it is to share our gifts with the world. HAHAHAHAHA.
It's November and the yurt is pierced with cold. We've entered the darkest season of the year. Night falls long before you want it and sticks around long after its welcome is worn out. The worst part is that this isn't even the worst part. For the next four weeks -- the weeks of Advent -- the days will get shorter and shorter yet.
I read somewhere in the midst of my Facebook feed yesterday that God's voice through all this is saying, "I love you. I love you. I love you." It may be drowned out by all the things. Real trauma, real nonsense, real dialogue. But it is still there, through the mist: this beautiful truth that we are loved.
Today's Thursday video is a hopeful and restful chat beside the fire, with emphasis on self care and the question of whether you can identify a certain obscure literary reference.
I've just finished my October (sort-of) fast from social media. I let my phone sit out of reach. I didn't answer all my emails. I didn't produce as much content as I sometimes do, or get as much feedback in return. I disappear a little, when I do this. I turn right into wood, like my trees, and I turn into air like the wind that hugs them. It's a bittersweet magic. Sometimes I have the feeling that our life is such a fragile echo of old times, that it actually could completely disappear. It's like a secret garden, this [...]
The lights went off in the middle of Sadie's birthday party. I hadn't been thinking much about our batteries, or how full they were. ...
Do you ever wake up one day and realize how tired you’ve been for an entire year? I do this pretty much every year, when I take my October Internet fast. First I think, “wow, there are a lot of hours in the day.” And then I think, “oh my gosh, I need to sleep for all of them.”
I put up 200 pounds of tomatoes this weekend. I also turned off my Internet for a couple of days. The tired had gotten all the way down into my bones, and when that happens the only rest is good hard work --- best of all good hard work done leaning slightly on the porch post with a view of the hills turning to autumn.
yet I will be joyful, not numb. Yet I will be human, not machine. Yet I will love the wild plums, and the cat who curls up at my neck, and put my hope in trees.
I don't know if I'm moving fast enough, to meet all the expectations over me right now. I don't know if I can. Honestly, I might be headed into some awkward moments. I can only hope that though I'm stretched thin I'll still be laughing.
You'll be happy to hear that our little tantrum-plagued Sadie is coming through the worst of it. She felt frustrated this morning and emptied two shelves of picture books onto the floor. But then she immediately sat down in the middle of the pile and spent a good half hour looking at them, page by page. If that's the worst of what she's got right now, we're going to make it. I woke up this morning with that thought ringing in my ears. "We're going to make it." It's been one year to the day since we raised the frame [...]
This is the weak point in our little family. This is the chink in our off-grid power couple armor. We are so darn attached to our creativity.