I am sitting in front of five piles.
One is the books, articles, and journaling for my pursuit of TRE Certification.
One is the books, articles, notes, and lesson plans for my volunteer work at one of our two high schools, to teach educators how to work with children in fight/flight/freeze, with or without trauma, and especially with our high ACES (also here) student and community population.
One is my yoga lesson planning journal, where I string yoga poses together and make notes about bringing conscious awareness to the tension holding patterns along the front body, and the back body, and how we can begin to soften these and still stand strong.
One is a newly delivered batch of Kind Wraps quilts, to package and deliver to service providers of people who’ve been harmed by another person–assault, violence, emotional abuse–any kind of hurt.
The last one is for blessed tedium–updating the dog’s microchip registration, paying the bill for my last set of primary care labs, and signing my son up for soccer. Graceful tedium.
This is my work, but this is not my life. There is one more thing on the counter; it’s my journal. Funny, I didn’t even register it down there when I started this post. I visit it so scarcely, and yet so much good is happening in my life. I picked it up today on a whim; both kids are at an art and free play camp, enjoying the company of other small people. I wanted to write a word, or a few, about how this summer has been a gift–so much softening together as a family, and a few moments of synchronicity amidst the chaos.
My son can ride his bike now. We’re growing up.
We have a few more sweet adventures–grandparent time with my mom and dad, and my sisters and little nieces. Backpacking and hiking, and the solar eclipse. We are anticipating a flood of tourists striving to glimpse totality. Uncertainty is palpable in the region. We are rural here, underfunded, under-resourced, and stretched tight. It will be a remarkable opportunity for the farmers, who’ve rented their lands to eager visitors–a chance to lighten the ever-wearying burden of producing, with all its idiosyncracies and unpredictabilities.
These gently twirling plates, all loosely-related and sweet, are my work. My life runs alongside, and crosses gently through all of that. Yes, the soccer, the microchip, and the labs, contributing to my community, and learning.
But moreso, I am going outside to look at the moon tonight, with friends, and I am writing right now, and I’m going to pick that journal up and make a few words sing there, too. I’m going to hug my already-stressed husband, who’s an educator preparing to resume his craft for the next school cycle. I’m going to pet my dog, and I’m going to soften these strong front body muscles that try to keep me in a state of partial readiness for life’s next hit. And I’m going to sit for a minute and do absolutely nothing, but perhaps sip on some water.
