Fear

This past week was a tough one. I have not been feeling very well: physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually, to be fully honest. An astrologer might say the moon and these eclipses have something to do with it. A nutritionist might say I am not eating enough nutrients or drinking enough water to meet my basic needs. A therapist might say OF COURSE I am having a hard time - look around. Our country is so openly divisive, we are addicted to our phones (most of us specifically spending far too much time on social media), and our kids are so distracted they can barely tolerate a ten minute lesson at school. We don't spend enough time in community, in conversation, in creation of something just for the sake of creativity itself. We don't watch enough sun rises or sun sets. We don't get enough exercise or sleep. We don't spend enough time with our families and our friends. We don't do the things we used to love to do - dancing, writing, singing, painting, roller skating. We use way too much energy judging other people or disagreeing with them and not enough energy spreading love and generosity and grace.

While this depressive/allergy episode wrecks havoc on my mood, I still have some hope left. So much hope, in fact, that over the weekend I sketched out a very basic layout of my future farmstead. My wife and I want a smaller house than we have now (less space means less room for extra stuff we don't actually use/need, less cleaning/maintaining, lower energy costs... plus it's cozy). I want a front porch with a swing on it. We want the home to sit on about 8-10 acres here in central Illinois, in or around Springfield. We want most of the acreage to be native plants and natural wildlife with some hiking paths carved through, a wildflower meadow near our beekeeping area off to the edge of the property, an expansive community garden where we lend plots for free to neighbors and friends, a pond and/or creek, a large stained-glass greenhouse we build by hand where we can host large community gatherings such as family dinners, yoga and art classes, and events. Maybe someday we would get horses and goats and chickens. We could host community camp outs and retreats where people can come to connect with nature, their community members, and their truest selves. Ideally, the property we find would have a large outbuilding that I could convert into the school with an indoor trampoline, climbing wall, large saltwater fish tank, slides and swings. Outside the school: treehouse, zipline, saucer swings, hammocks, complex water and sand play areas. Everything would eventually be self-sustaining, zero waste, fully solar and wind powered, teeming with life and connection to the earth we live on and all that inhabit or visit there.

Maybe this place in my imagination does not exist and will not exist. Maybe I will buy a building downtown Springfield and turn it into a bookstore/cafe with the school upstairs. I do like the idea of being walkable to the library, Lincoln sites, parks, museums, community activism, etc. I don't know exactly what the next chapter of this story will look like. But it is fun to imagine the future, to dream as big as my subconscious will allow so far, to picture exactly what it is I want to build (even though I know it will continue to evolve and change). Right now, I am limited to my current resources. I might have less resources next year, or I might have more. And I am truly excited to see what the future has in store for us.

All of that being said - I am truly grateful to be in this moment of the story. This chapter, this month and year and this day. Even the hard days. The days where I question my sanity and my audacity, to think that I could build a school, to think that I could write a book that someone will actually want to buy and read, to think that I have something to say.

On those days, I think I am worth nothing and just a silly little weirdo who can't even fully explain my own gender, even to myself. I doubt myself on those days. But then, before I know it, a day passes (or sometimes even just an hour), and I feel a bit better. The dark gray clouds part just a bit, just enough for me to remember the sun is persistent behind them, even when I can't see it. I remember this Marianne Williamson quote, which I adore:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be

brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?'

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God*.

Your playing small does not serve the world.

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking

so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine,

as children do.

We were born to make manifest

the glory of God* that is within us.

It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,

we unconsciously give other people

permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear,

our presence automatically liberates others."

*If the idea of God does not align with your personal belief system, feel free to replace it here with The Universe or Source or Mother or Earth or Yourself, or whatever else you'd like.

Without those hard, scary days, I would not be able to notice the joy as it arrives and always seems to catch me off guard. To illustrate this: Imagine if you were in a lukewarm pool, you would not notice if someone dumped in a bucket of very cold or very hot water. But if you are in a very hot pool and then immediately get into a cold pool (or vice versa), surely you will be aware of the sudden temperature change. You can stay in the lukewarm pool and you'll never know the chill of an ice bath or the steam of a hot tub. You won't have to worry about getting too cold or too hot. But if you dare to try out the highs and lows, just be aware that they can be intense. They can knock the wind right out of you. They can make you doubt everything. However, I have heard it said that right before you hit a massive breakthrough and experience great joy and fulfillment, you often have to go through a storm of self-doubt and fear and pain that resurfaces to be released, in order to make room for all the good stuff. I have seen this happen in my own life before. I have found that I am willing to press on, even as I actively try to ditch the bricks of self-loathing out of this heavy backpack I've been carrying for far too long, because I know that the pain doesn't last forever. It ebbs and flows, like waves. If you can ride it out, you have no idea what is waiting for you on the other side. It won't be the exact thing you pictured, but it will be better. I know we can do this. Thank you for being here.