Writing on Purpose.

Before I go any further, let me just thank you for being patient with me as I change the titles and descriptions and colours and essence of this blog. I find it hard to be creative within this platform and am struggling to have this space look the way I want it to. I've put everything back to blank titles and generic texts while I figure it out. In the meantime:

The notion of "purpose" has been heavy on my mind lately. For whatever reason, I have had a strong resurgence of the need to have one, a big shiny one. I have always lived a very intentional and purpose-filled life, but never with single-pointed focus.

Homesteading, gardening, cabin dwelling, all of these take up most of my time. I (mostly) really enjoy the various tasks involved, but if I am going to be most honest with you, and I feel like I am betraying the trade a bit by saying so, it is not as high on the list of most important things to me as it has been. It is truly a means to an end, the way by which we can feed ourselves well. We wouldn't be able to afford to eat this way from a grocery store, so it's a bit of time over money. There are definitely times when I wish that we could just buy all this food from someone else. The satisfaction level is immeasurably high as we pull in the harvest, but to come back to the original point, I don't see this lifestyle as being my purpose in life. It's the thing we do, because we do, and we would be bored stiff if we didn't. That and it is a lifestyle that permits us exactly the right balance between community and solitude, for which I am extremely grateful. We have been and continue to set things up so that we can be as efficient as possible with the time we spend on animal and garden related chores. It's a good system, and as I say, I enjoy it, but it's not something that I would ever want to be the only thing for me.

The other obvious that I do a lot of is mothering and all that entails. I was a very guilty mother for quite some time, and I've worked hard to let go of that since my kids seem to think I'm alright. But I always felt quite bad that I wasn't a "mommy mommy", and my house wasn't run like a preschool. I took on the hat "free-range parent" to offset what is probably more benign neglect. I love my children, I don't regret having them, but I just have never felt that motherhood was my purpose. It isn't something that's come very naturally to me. Comparing myself for many years to other mothers made me feel seriously inadequate. I don't do that anymore. My kids are mostly super awesome, and although I'm not going to take credit for that, I do know a small part of their awesomeness comes from how much exploration and discovery they engage in, magnified by me not helicoptering them. Samers as above, I love them, but motherhood could definitely never be the only thing for me.

Once upon a time I had a shining passion for development work. One that took me to live overseas in Africa for the better part of a few years, and then on to various other parts in the world in pursuit of boundaries. Personal boundaries and physical isolation. I wanted to know what existed at the far end of our comfort zones and I found that I could push mine incredibly far without finding an edge. In fact it was, truly, boundary-less. I couldn't find a border that I wasn't capable of crossing. Literally and figuratively (hello, Congo!). What brought me back to Canada was nothing more then a sudden, almost suffocating need to take a breath of cold air. I can remember the moment vividly, I was in Perth at the time. Living without distinct changes of seasons became in a moment intolerable. On top of that, I was bored. Home (Canada) suddenly became the last frontier, the last one I needed to put myself up against. Perhaps I still live that lifestyle and some purpose does still reside there. But I lived that other life long enough to know that there is an emptiness that comes when it is lived with single-focus, simply due the absence of a home and intimate relationships. I couldn't ever exist without a sense of adventure, so I will say it is the only life for me, but elements of it I willingly sacrifice in order to have a relationship and a family. One part purpose, one part letting go.

Food, fitness, in past years yoga. These have always been a giant part of my life. Or at least they have been when I have been also living well and with a sense of belonging to the world. There have been stretches on and off in my adult life where these were absent (early university, and the years of making babies most recently); but with it came strong, debilitating feelings of depression, anxiety, and dis-ease. I am one of "those", one who can't mind over matter what goes in my mouth or forgo moving my body. I will go as far as to say that it is the most important thing I do in my day. I have learned to put it ahead of homesteading/homemaking tasks (for the betterment of all) and my kids know the routine. Several times in my life this has been incorporated into being my profession, in various forms, and it will again.  I am a high-maintenance gal and nutrition and strength training are the two things (along with sleep!) that enable me to even consider that I am capable of something more. Fitness in particular is my vessel for personal and spiritual growth. The discipline, strength and clarity I get from it re-calibrate my mind and open my heart daily. It is the closest thing to purpose that I have felt, the most inline I feel with my reason for being on this planet. Through it I have learned more about myself and my capabilities then I ever thought possible. They will always be the central focus of how I care for my life. I do think therein lies something that I would be willing to dedicate myself to, but in what way I have yet to articulate. It is so beyond macros and micros and numbers and results. It is the daily practice that feeds me, that in turn feeds something else, a hunger to be more, give more, love more. It is the birthplace of my purpose-full life, if not the purpose in itself.

One thing that is certain is I no longer believe that we need to "find" our purpose, or that our purpose will find us. I think we can choose at any point how we would like to direct our focus and make that our gift to the world. Having not found our purpose is more accurately a case of having not yet found something that wakes us up and drives us out of bed in the morning. Something we want to say yes to over and over again. It can be completely impractical or seemingly unnecessary, but it is something that lights us on fire every single time. And the beauty this embodies makes it in actuality completely essential to both us and to the world, no matter how small or niche it may be. And as I type that I can feel the my heart tickling and my thoughts vibrating as I am actually, quite completely, right now, in ownership of that feeling. I do bounce out of bed everyday completely excited about being on the verge of ... something, unknown. I have never felt more that the world has my back or that I can lay to rest the thinking and figuring and just ride out the flow. And as I walk closer and closer to understanding what big offering I may be here for, the loud little voice inside of me simply says: keep moving, stay strong and be consistent, keep breathing that cold air, and... keep writing. Within those practices the details will get clear, all things will come to point.

"The planet does not need more successful people. The planet desperately needs more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of every kind." Dalai Lama

"Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground." Rumi

Failure as Feedback / Homemaker4Life

“In life, three ingredients are necessary: sunshine, a commanding view and legs aching with remembered effort.” Sylvain Tesson.

"I've failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."  Michael Jordan

The last couple weeks have been... busy? What does that even mean anyways. We are all busy, pathologically so. We did manage to do an overnight hike on Maroon Mountain, a first time for backcountry camping or even getting up a mountain with kids in tow. Both of us used to do both, and we did attempt basic tenting a small handful of times in our earliest parenting years. Until we had one of those pivotal moments, miserable with a toddler and infant, tired from trying to divert them from falling into a fire or down a hill, recognizing that everything we loved about camping could not co-exist with children, and so we declared WE ARE GROWN UPS AND WE CAN DO WHATEVER WE WANT. Including packing up, driving home and vowing to never ever do that again. Righteous may have been the word. Did we fail? Maybe? Did we care? Not even a little bit. If failure is feedback then the message was clear: we let it go, be it for now or forever. What a relief to be an adult not governed by ideals and/or guilt.

The creek that won the day.

So feeling optimistic, maybe idealistic, but really just longing to feel once more those aching legs and panoramic views, 6 years later we try again. Did we go car camping? Of course not. We went backcountry camping, up a mountain, with four rather young children. It started out shaky as we found our feet (the grown ups, not the children), got a whole lot better as we switchbacked up the mountain, and then just before we were to reach the meadow (which we could not see so we did not know), serious adult-sized doubt set in. We were tired from hauling humans and gear and  worried that we wouldn't find a creek soon enough to replenish our water, that we had overestimated or poorly planned or both. Tears were shed on behalf of children at the thought of returning, small humans who had faced every challenge up to that moment without an ounce of misery. We had found ourselves yet again in a pivotal moment. Same as years past, but so very different. Returning down the mountain out of concerns for our well-being would be totally

Henry still processing that we could have had to
 turn around, even after we knew that we were in the clear.

 warranted (and let's be clear it's a decision we would make no matter what if it was needed), but was our well-being actually at risk? Risk defined as the edge of your skills and abilities, where it meets up with possible danger. Our perception certainly was that we were riding in that zone, simply because of the number and ages of our children. Overarching that decision, without either of us saying it out loud, both Stephan I knew the consequences of "quitting" would be painful The feedback from this failure would be dire to our wilderness dreams. Children don't understand risk. They do understand a lot of effort with no reward, and they don't tend to want to repeat those experiences. If it had to be done it had to be done, but if there was a sliver of a chance that it didn't, that's where our thoughts needed to reside. And so we didn't agree to turn around, we didn't agree to keep going. We kept walking forward only because the flies didn't permit us to stand still and within a few minutes we heard the glorious sound of running water and not long after were filling our water bottles at the creek. The relief, the victory, the emotion was palpable. The next few hours were still not exactly pleasant with an overtired toddler but that we are skilled in handling. The only thing that mattered is we hadn't quit, the ramifications of which were innumerable. It wasn't until later that evening though when some sleepless kids and I watched the sun setting over the Coast Mountains that the magic truly set in. For them, and for me. They knew as well as I that we were in a place most people don't get to, never mind families like ours. That night we were the only ones atop that mountain, staking a claim to that view. And it surely wouldn't have been so sweet had we not physically and mentally wrestled our way there. Again, without needing to say a word, the consensus was clear. As a family, we can do anything, so long as it is the thing we all together, deeply want and need. 

Over the course of this same weekend I started a job. Although I have taught yoga, sold farm goods and a few other odds and ends over the years since becoming a mother, I have never worked anywhere with fixed hours. Of all the possible ways to go back to work, this was ideal. Very close to home so no commuting, no real childcare costs once the school year got going, a low stress environment and a chance for me to regularly get out and chat with people from our community. Although I am the ultimate home-body, I have been slowly coming to understand the fact that all humans have an innate need for community. A truly physiological desire that has been recognized as a marker for health all around the world. From the surface this job would fill that void and also contribute a bit of finance to our family which of course, never goes astray. All sounds good. Well, it took approximately one day of me away from the house for a coyote to come and snatch one of our chickens (the first ever animal in 4 years we have lost to a predator), meals to fall to the way side, drought to take hold in the garden. extracurricular activities to be abandoned, laundry to creep out of control and primary income provider stress levels to skyrocket. Should we have recognized this could happen before starting? I guess although it is pretty hard to know until you try, especially in a situation as seemingly ideal as this. Should we have not considered it at all, at risk of failure? I don't think that would have been the right choice, in this or any decision. Is there some guilt present? Absolutely. In a small community one wants to show up wholeheartedly always. Will we learn from this and not seek out a similar opportunity? Absolutely. Ultimately though, be it a selfish one, we received the very best gift possible over the course of those few days of chaos, the affirmation that I am so very fundamental to the running of our home. Most days I look around and see an endless to do list or unkempt kids and just honestly feel so deeply tired. I deduct from this that I am perhaps not cut out for this role, that my energies may be better spent elsewhere, or that just in general something needs to change. But the feedback from this failure is clear.  A woman's place is certainly not in the home, but mine most definitely is. Cooking, cleaning, mothering and homesteading has never felt so good.