From Sunsets to Storm Clouds

It was today…

April 16th, 2020

April 15th. Vermont’s “stay at home” order was slated to end today. (Before that, the school closure order was scheduled to end on April 6th.) But five days ago, it was extended to May 15th.

I was just flipping through our school planner and dreaming about all the learning that was suppose to happen. We were going to get into gardening for G week and start keeping field journals during J week. This week was suppose to be K week. We hadn’t really fleshed out many plans for this week. My notes just say, “kites & wind, kiwis.” We could have tested different materials and methods for making kites, found the best spot on our school grounds, had flying contests, worked on our collaboration skills. And then, we would have eaten kiwi for snack.

And next week we would have talked about ways that we love the earth…L-week plus Earth Day.

But instead of doing those things, I’m reading about early childhood education and completing professional development and making videos where I read to guinea pigs. As amusing as all of that sounds, I’d rather be making kites and eating kiwis.

Tomorrow, I might make a kite just for the fun of it. I’ll pretend that it’s warmer than my Weather App says and I’ll sit outside to read about outdoor education. I’ll refresh my sourdough starter and prep it for a new adventure. I might have a FaceTime beer with friends.

And then the next day will resemble that…and so will the day after that and the day after that.

Eventually, things will change. It will be so warm that I don’t have to pretend it’s warm. I will share the excess of baked goods with random strangers. I can have a face-to-face beer. Preschoolers will make kites and they’ll garden and they’ll tell me stories about dragons and mice and time machines. They will be geniuses at hand-washing and we’ll go back to giving one another high-fives, playing “beauty shop” with my hair and forgetting to put the books back in the rack so that the spine faces the wall.

Until then? We take it a day at a time.
Have grace

April 8th, 2020

No one really knows what they’re doing right now. Rules and expectations have gone out the window as we try to adjust to this new “normal” where nothing seems stable and there isn’t a clear end in sight. In situations like this, my classic response is control. I want to pull all of the pieces together and create an immovable structure that will stand up against everything that is constantly in flux.

But I forgot to eat dinner the other night. And there have been days when I didn’t really eat lunch. I doubled up on my coffee consumption several days this week.

I stared at a computer for a solid 10 hours on Friday…and most of the days before that. Most of that has been for work because if I stop working, then I have to find somewhere else to focus my brain. Besides the way the world is coming to an end.

I’ve cried at more stupid TV shows than I care to admit. And I’ve watched more stupid TV shows than I care to admit. And don’t even get me started on the stupid block game I keep playing on my phone.

And I said that I would run every other day, but after sliding halfway down a surprisingly snowy/slushy mountain on Saturday, my body completely rejected that as an option on Sunday. I have a very impressive bruise if you need proof.

It feels like I’m completely failing at this. At self-isolation. At productivity. At taking care of myself. At taking care of others. At following rules. At knowing what’s best.

But here’s the thing – there isn’t a “best” or a “worst” way to do this. We haven’t been here before and I’ve never tried to live this life. Waking up and trying again each and every day should count for something.

So instead of beating myself up for not doing all of the things on my million checklists, I’m choosing to have grace. I am allowed to curl up in bed and watch stupid TV shows all morning and then eat a pint of ice cream for dinner. I am allowed to try to read five books at the same time and try a dozen different sourdough recipes in one week. I am allowed to put some goals on the back-burner and focus on developing skills in other areas. And I am also allowed to just take a deep breath and remind myself that I don’t have to wash my hair every day…or every week (sorry, Aunt Sara).

And this goes beyond me! The world is crazy…and we all deserve a little grace right now.

Those folks who turned around 1/4 mile from the top of the trail because they got sketched out by the ice. It’s not necessarily that they didn’t plan or prepare…they’re trying to make the best of life circumstances. And we can laugh about that together

The parent of a preschooler who sends a dozen emails because they’ve forgotten how to parent?? They didn’t forget how to parent. They just want their kid to have fun and be healthy…and in the current situation, that seems too big and impossible and they feel alone in that goal.

The new guy who just moved into the house and has to quarantine for two weeks because he moved from out of state. And every time I go downstairs to cook something, he sits there and talks to me the entire time. It’s my nightmare, but I can let the conversation go for a little while…giving him some much-needed human contact.

And then there’s the cat that views me as a personal pincushion/pillow and refuses to let me work alone. I’m not really sure how he fits in to all of this…

The point is…grace. We all need it and we can all share it because none of us will get all of this completely right. We can learn together.
Things that made me smile

March 31st, 2020

Life is wild and crazy right now. Okay, maybe not “wild.” But definitely crazy. It’s so easy to get wrapped up in the bad. Every day I spend about fifteen minutes going down a rabbit hole, reading all of the worst articles about current circumstances…probably more than fifteen minutes.

Definitely more than fifteen minutes.

So to combat that, I try to smile at something every day. For several years, I’ve kept a “joy journal.” I write down one thing that bring some joy every day. But these days, I think it’s good to notice more than one thing.

I know what you’re thinking – “The world is going to hell in a hand-basket. There is no joy left in the world!!!” Stop. Don’t think like that. You can share some of my joys.

(1) This is Mars. He is not my cat. He belongs to my roommate. But Mars is a big fan of “working from home.” And he likes “the pets.” All. Of. The. Pets. And no – he’s not very helpful.

(2) Over the weekend, we had a gorgeous day – sunny & warm. The kind of day that makes you think it’s spring. I did some yoga on the deck…with minor assist from Mars. I don’t really watch myself do yoga. But since I had the opportunity to observe my form from a different perspective, I went with it. Watching the video back, though, I mostly just observed my weird faces. And that hair (yikes!).

(3) Sloths socks.

What more can be said?

(Oh yeah – and mud splashes on my pants. Because it’s mud season.)
Hope & calm

March 25th, 2020

Life has changed. (And not just because it snowed 4-6 inches last night…just as everything’s clearing out.)

The Vermont governor just issued a “shelter in place” order that lasts till April 15th (weird date, but he didn’t ask me).

…even beyond that though, life will continue to be different.

Economically. Socially. Physically.

But I’m choosing to act from a place of hope.

I want to be moved and motivated by hope…instead of fear.

So I put a deposit down on a new apartment and set a move-in date for April 25. I’m brainstorming where I want to hike to celebrate my birthday in June (30 miles in one day…I’m still just in the brainstorming phase…). I made a reading list longer than my arm (and I have abnormally long arms). And I’m planning letter of the week activities from now to the end of time (because I’m employed for the moment…and when all is said and done, kids still get excited about letters and I’m here for that!).

Don’t freak out – I’m thinking through my decisions and being wise in what I do. I’m just not letting the world’s chaos become my own.

Back in the day when I was running after school programs in a Nashville community center (a year ago…that was a year ago…), kids would have their moments. You know the kind. We all have them. When the kid finally slowed down for a breath, I’d rest a hand on their shoulder and ask, “Are you adding calm or are you adding chaos?” They’d notice what was going on around them, consider how their actions affected the situation, and adjust…because we all wanted calm.

That’s what you want too, right? Calm? So as the world seems to be falling into shambles around you, take a breath. Look at the situation…consider how your actions affect the situation…and adjust.

Move forward with hope and calm. It’s better than hoarding toilet paper.
Growth

March 15th, 2020

It was my junior year of college. I was juggling all of the normal college things from being in career-relevant clubs to teaching Bible studies to going to all of the classes and trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. My people would probably have described me as very “on top of it” and “together” and “academic” and “nice.” I was your basic good person who was really skilled at “doing school.” And then my car was vandalized.

Nothing really changed. But I discovered something about myself.

I could get really angry. I was sitting in the living room with my back against the front door, slightly shaken up. And the commentary that came from my mouth surprised me. In my own backyard, someone had the audacity to walk up and beat on my car…then there was a knock at the door. It was the cops.

Cop: Yeah, so he started up at the hospital and then made his way through campus busting out windows and knocking down mirrors, but we caught up with him.

Me: I hope you tackled him.

Cop: (giving me a slightly concerned look) Uhhh – well, he was hiding behind some bushes.

Me: I hope you violently pulled him out from behind the bushes.

Cop: Uh, yeah. Sure.

I think that was the first time that I wished bodily harm on someone…especially someone that I hadn’t met. And it was all because of my car.

A couple of weeks ago, my car got bumped in the school parking lot (a very icy morning). And that bump caused my car to bump into another car. One of the downstairs teachers came up stairs to pass along the unfortunate news. I shrugged my shoulders, then went downstairs to exchange insurance information with the bump-initiator.

But then I went about my day. At some point, I went out to look at the damage. And again, I just shrugged. I went on with my day – listening to five year olds sing Frozen songs, guiding them on a trek through the woods, encouraging them as they climbed trees, patting their back as they fell asleep for nap-time, watching them slip across an icy playground. A bump to my car is far from the end of the world.

Coronavirus…that might be another thing.
Retaining the wonder

February 24th, 2020

Sometimes, I get bored when I’m hiking.

I feel like I’ve seen all the trees before. I’ve crossed over every stream. I’ve crawled over all the rocks. I’ve felt the exact same burn in my calves and gnawed on the same granola bar (frozen in winter).

So, I make myself stop (…or I give in to the burn in my calves and take a break) and I look for something to inspire wonder.

Chickadees swopping through the highest branches of pine trees.

Scrabbly squirrels chasing each other over the snow and up saplings.

The way the sun reflects off the icy branches ahead on the trail.

Warmth as you come out of tree cover straight into the sunlight.

Tracks from rabbits or deer…or droppings from moose.

Icicles hanging from a rock.

Water that sings as it falls over the edge of cliffs.

Snails.

The first pop of color in the spring…or fall colors that sneak in and catch you off-guard.

I’ve been thinking about how this translates to life off the trail. It’s so easy to fall into habits and routines, forgetting that we constantly encounter people and places that could inspire wonder…if we slow down enough to appreciate it.
Ways we’re broken

February 19th, 2020

For the past several years, my morning commute led me through some of Nashville’s “messiest” neighborhoods. And some of the nicest. As a city, it’s a bit of a patchwork between the nitty-gritty and the gentrified. In the span of two blocks, I would pass $2000/month one-bedroom townhouses and a women’s shelter. I passed restaurants that require reservations months in advance and coffeeshops that charge $5 for a basic drip coffee…and then I would pass corner bodegas with folks smoking outside and taking swigs from paper bags.

With every stop sign I passed, I could taste the brokenness of the city.

These days, I wake up before the sun and drive straight into the mountains just as the pink twinge of the sunrise begins to fade. On my way home, I marvel at the way the snow clings to the trees and try to figure out whether there’s a name for the peaks in the distance (and if I’ve been on them). I listen to the laughter of my students as they roll down a snowy hill or collect materials to build a fairy house or make funny noises just because they can. With a light dusting of snow turning the world into something from my sweetest dreams, it’s hard to believe that anything bad can happen here (besides getting snow in your boots or balaclava).

But there’s brokenness here, too. It’s knowing that kids are born to be a status symbol for their parents. It’s helping five year olds cope when a parent leaves town every other week to ski somewhere else. It’s the shrinking back that happens in someone’s eyes when you tell them you believe in God. It’s watching people avoid their feelings through a haze of marijuana and alcohol. It’s bar fights over girls and cars getting towed. It’s collisions when drivers just can’t find enough patience. It’s a four-year old pushing someone down because they can’t quite figure out how to communicate. And it’s a five year old being told that they’re a “bad boy.”

Brokenness doesn’t pick and choose based on geography or wealth or race. It is real and palpable in so many ways. But the brokenness doesn’t have to break you. There is always a fresh breath of air, a new mountain to climb, and a new day to hug a kiddos who’s feeling a little sad.

The brokenness won’t win…not in Nashville and not in Vermont.
Natural

February 8th, 2020
I came to the end of Monday and realized that my day felt natural. It didn’t feel forced or coerced or unnecessarily stressful. It just felt like I was doing things that made sense for me…for my mind…for my heart. That feeling continued for the rest of the week…which was cut short by a snow day (that’s what happens when 1-2 inches of snow are predicted to fall every hour for an entire day).

A month into being in Vermont…and three weeks into this job, I’m still learning how it all fits together. But there’s a certain sense of gratitude that comes from feeling so settled. I’m not forcing who I am or what I do…I’m just doing something that comes naturally.

Stories come out of my back pocket and songs are sung as we walk down the street. We explore the woods and find fairy houses, collecting tools to build our own. We hike along trails and use our senses to decide what’s safe or unsafe. We make lists of A-words and then count our words and figure out what “27” looks like because we have 27 A-words. We learn sign language and sing songs that end with us spinning around and sitting down on sit spots. And then we talk about how we treat our friends and our books (what’s the spine of a book??). We stop everything to watch the snow fall and listen to woodpeckers and chase squirrels. And we might talk about math while we make zucchini bread. And one day, when I have a pencil perched behind my ear, a five-year old approaches me with a pencil of her own and says that she wants to wear a pencil behind her ear too…and she needs me to show her how to do it.

So today, when school was cancelled because of snow, I felt a little bit sad because of the missed adventures and stories and songs. Maybe I miss it just because it’s so new and fresh and exciting…but I prefer to think that I’ve found something that feeds my soul (at least for this season).
Balaclava

January 29th, 2020

Vocabulary is such a funny thing. It’s shaped by our experiences. It can be highly specialized based on where we live and the people we encounter. And it varies based on our context.

I grew up as the daughter of two teachers. So I knew about principals and professional development and recess and cafeterias and homework before most kids even thought about starting kindergarten. And because there was a catalpa tree in our backyard, I developed an early understanding of seasons and caterpillar life-cycles. And I learned about land development as I watched my neighborhood change while I grew up.

This was my experience and my context.

But at age 29, I struggle to call a “balaclava” by its proper name…instead of “baklava.”

Every day, I am surrounded by tiny human beings that have a strong command of snow-related language…and even the ability to maneuver on snow (I’ve fallen three times in the past week). I think that’s the thing that has surprised me the most in this new job. They don’t bat an eye at putting on 3 + layers of clothing to go romp around in snow.

And then as they romp, snow covered trees become school buses or space ships or rogue pirate ships preparing to land on a beach. They’ll spend 20 minutes hitting branches against a tree and then comparing their branches to see which one is larger. Empty milk crates become shields for baby bushes or parts of a train or steps to get on top of [insert taller object]. And when you ask them what they want to be when they grow up, someone is bound to say “ski racer.”

Of course – there are all of the typical preschool-aged problems. Initiating play. Not knowing how to express our feelings. Naptime (it might be the death of me). And today, I had to intervene between two toddlers when one of them decided to weaponize a plastic sled.

This is all part of the territory. And I will savor every chaotic, ice-cold moment that’s ahead in this newest adventure.
Putting together pieces

January 21st, 2020
Last night, I finished crocheting a blanket. Prior to now, I’ve made a few blankets…but this is my first to make from “granny squares.”

This blanket started in Maine, when my parents came to explore the northeast and peep at some leaves. Sitting in a quiet, coastal AirBnB…making a blanket seemed like the thing to do. On our next trip into town, I picked up some yarn and a hook.

That weekend, I started a pile of granny squares. Back in New Hampshire, I ran out of gray yarn. During a trip into Conway for some rock climbing, I persuaded my friends to stop at the store so that I could get some more yarn.
From Maine to New Hampshire to Montreal to Tennessee to Arkansas…and back to Vermont. With bouncing dogs and playful cats (not mine). In breweries and cabins. Sitting in noisy kitchens or on quiet couches with friends. This blanket has been with me for three months, slowly coming together. At any point in time, all I had to show for my work was a bag full of crochet squares.

This blanket – the squares – it all reminds me of my life. There are all of these random pieces, completely disconnected. And I just keep trying to find a way to put all of it together.

A passion for kids. A skill for teaching. A love of the outdoors. A constant need to do something different. A refusal to sit at a desk all day. A fear of settling.

All of that (and more) brought me to this new adventure…to Vermont…to teach in an outdoor preschool. It starts tomorrow and I am all sorts of terrified. I am overwhelmed at the prospect of trying something so far beyond what I’ve done in the past. But at the same time, I see how this fits right in with everything I’ve done up to this point.

And that makes me more excited than overwhelmed.