Energy to stay up late

Look out world - Professional Rick is awakening. After a year and a half of 'retirement', i've plunged back into the community by launching FreeRange Consulting. Initially out of financial need, it's quickly emerged into a re-emergence of parts of me that flourish and thrive.

I have skills that are needed in this community - how to raise funds sustainably, how to set a clear vision and achievable strategic plan, how to structure a board and organization to get the job done. And I still have a deep desire to serve, to bring these skills where they can truly help. That drive is reawakening me and bringing a new, different energy.

I also love being involved in the community. Wednesday night I started at "Green Drinks" - a monthly gathering of eco-activists at the local pub - then moved on to a community forum on child and family services, then wound up sharing stories at an open mic night. It feels good to be off the farm for a night, to be out in the world and making connections, weaving together the various strands I've collected and learned.

And beyond any genuine do-gooder drive is the pure thrill of mastery and excellence. I stayed up past midnight last night after finally making a breakthrough in how to structure my consulting website (to be unveiled soon). Whether it's running a training workshop or figuring out my bookkeeping system, there's a linear thinking from problem to solution to Done that I don't get in the cyclical rhythm of farming and parenting.

There are definite drawbacks to letting this professional beast back out of slumber. Writing, renos and napping have taken a blow. I have to dress a bit better a bit more often, and even shower more than once a week. Twilight farming time will be in competition with late-night grant proposals. The kids see me disappear to the computer more frequently. Once this start-up phase is past I'll have to do some careful, intentional limit setting to make sure that all I've gained and learned in these other new realms don't suddenly become a quaint "I used to be a slowed-down in-touch stay-at-home dad/writer farmer" memory. I don't want to have to change the tagline on this blog, just add another descriptor.

So, watch for my grand launch announcement next week, watch me explode creatively on the community, and please watch out in case I lose my balance and need to be gently or forcefully reminded of priorities and family and person. This is yet another brave new experiment, a new piece that I hope fits well into this puzzle we've been creating for the past 18 months. Thanks for helping me find the fit.

A Simple Sixth Birthday

Zekiah's sixth birthday continued to be a benchmark of alternating out-of-control and with-it-nesss, ending up more in the healthy latter category.

Thanks to a flu bug and friends travel, only 3 invited boys came to the party. That's going to be our new rule - 3 kids - it was beautiful, easy, fun, like a themed playdate instead of a hectic bash. Instead of paying some high-stim pool or laser tag for entertainment, we just had fun at home with boys who are the right age to just have fun. Started with an improv story about the greedy Grand Poobah of Ptianderdorfendal, who sequestered all the jewels of the land only to have them stolen away under his nose. When the grant proclamation came for brave knights to scour the land and find them, the boys jumped into their boots and charged out the door on their quest, aided by rather obscure poetic clues scattered about that led them to the budding snow-drops, the neighbour's bonfire, the well, linden tree and deep into the forest to finally find the jewels.

Triumphant young knight stormed back to the house to open three (3) presents that were all lovely, natural and non-electrified, all with hand-drawn cards, then quickly turned their energies toward selecting beads and making necklaces. Some home-made star-shaped bread with butter sustained them, then fresh cherry juice from last summer and a vegan chocolate cupcake with caramelized condensed milk rewarded them. As parents came back 2 hours later, they found their wild ones quiet and wide-eyed on the purple couch listening to how the new Grand Poobah of Ptianderdorfendal had created harmony in the land by allowing people to redistribute jewels to their neighbours.

Key ingredients to a party that had young Liam exclaiming repeatedly "This is fun, isn't it!" :
- $5 of junk jewelry and string from Salvation Army
- $5 worth of home-baked bread and cupcakes
- only 3 guests and a grandma
- a bit of creativity and faith in the boys' own creativity
- a whole 15-minutes of party planning and story conceiving in bed the morning of the party

The time may come when a home party is not enough, when the bowling alley or go-kart track is deemed necessary to keep up with the Jones' boy. But for these 6 year olds, a fun, focused and slightly organized time together was all the birthday magic they needed.

Oh ya, our presents for our dear 6-year-old child? A 6' length of bamboo to use for channelling water in outside play, and a maple branch that we will together cut and finish to be checker pieces. Simply six.

Lousy Dad

From Super Dad to Lousy Dad in one crashing forgotten birthday. Parental immortality is so temporary.

One of the many beautiful Waldorf traditions is the celebration of a child's birthday in the kindergarten. The teachers weave the story of the child's development and birth into a magical journey, culminating in "coming over the rainbow bridge" with one chosen angel. It sounds a bit flaky in writing, but you gotta be there, you'd have tears.

But over-busy me (yes, too busy) forgot until this morning to write up the details about Zekiah's arrival, so his sad teacher called me from school at 7:30 to say we would have to postpone the party. As I was breaking the news to Zekiah, she called back again to earnestly assure that she "holds no judgement" about it.

Bless her heart, she knows that we parents hold enough self-judgment that hers would be unnecessary. How on earth could my business launch, woodpile, writing, organizing the office, and cleaning the house for mom's visit have been more important than creating magic around my 6-year-old's celebration? We still haven't even sent out invitations for his party in 2 days (sound familiar?).

His teacher may be evolved enough to somehow suspend judgment, but I sure aint. It's inexcusable, it sucks. The only consolation is knowing that Zekiah is so resilient that he will adjust well to the new plan (he's already trumpeting about the 3 days he now gets to celebrate instead of 2), and the renewed resolve to use the next 2 days to create a great party on Sunday.

Sarah's Mama Renew classes rightly teach women to not judge themselves harshly, to accept that we're doing the best we can. And while it may be unhealthy and unproductive to sit wallowing in self-recrimination for the rest of this long morning when I should have been in magic birthland with my child, it would be dishonest to pretend that I was anywhere close to my best this week (ironically a week when I was trumpeting my powers in other blog posts).

So we beat ourselves up a little, vow to better, and move on. I look this lousy Dad moment straight in the eye, acknowledge and learn from it, and hope that somewhere beneath his sunny disposition these little failings don't plant seeds of sadness in my beautiful birthday boy. He deserves more than I gave him this week, and I deserve a little judgment.

Life really is this good

Well, not always. But you don't want to hear about that, do you?

Last week I posted two writings about how "easy" life can be when we focus on the present, devote our full energies to what we are doing and not worry about what we are not doing. The Super Dad day I wrote about was real, the principle is real, and the results are real. But I don't pretend it happens every day.

Other days I'm just as overwhelmed as any stay-at-home parent, or working parent, or pretty much anybody. I start doing dishes and think about the computer, get onto the computer and think about kids I'm ignoring, play with the kids and think about the woodpile running low. It's brutally counter-productive, sapping my energy and contentment, making me less efficient and less Joyful. It's just stupid, a self-defeating spiral that's too easy to fall into, and happens far more often than this blog might make it sound.

So, am I lying? Am I misrepresenting myself and my life? No. I'm trying to stay conscious about what this blog is meant to do, both for the reader and for myself. The goal is to explore ideas, to lay out the best of intentions and energies for myself and others to aspire to, or be inspired by, or at least challenged by. There are enough people and blogs out there propagating negative energy - the Julie/Julia moaners - that I don't need to add to it. There are times when I share sincere worries and insecurities, but only when there's some universal truth to it, some hope that in sharing it we can all feel some connection and some hope of working through it.

Put another way, this blog isn't meant to be a picture of me. If you want more of me, let's go for hot chocolate or a hike. This blog is a sharing of the pieces of me and my life that I believe can touch others. There are plenty of good and bad happenings that my wife thinks (or worries) will make it here, but are just personal. The fact that my very very cute son made a fantastic, imaginative cardboard money-collecting-truck yesterday is just a cute story; if there's something about how his creativity was enabled by the simple presence of a big cardboard box and tin cans and the absence of a tv and clutter, then that might be worth writing.

The preponderance of positivity is also a deliberate writing (and living) style. I could have written about an out-of-control day then ended with a plea for mindfulness; instead I chose a good day, a day when I did pull it all together, and put that out into the world as an example of how it can be. It made the same point, but without the negative energy.

There are several personal dangers to this positive approach to communicating. One is that people can have a distorted view of me, which can get in the way of personal friendships. For that I have to trust that friends will understand and seek out other parts of me that don't make it to the screen, and I must also take responsibility to continue sharing other parts of me and my life in more personal ways. I got just as much dirt under my nails as anybody, can relate to and empathize with and hold my friends in their dark times, even if this blog makes it seem like I'll break out in an inappropriate Annie "The sun'll come out tomorrow" burst of sunshine.

Another danger is an appearance of arrogance, of "I've got it so perfect that I'll tell you how you should be living." The best safeguard for this is to see if I'm truly learning and exploring while writing. I'm often surprised at what these fingers type out, and those tend to be my best writings. I don't sit down with a high and mighty truth to preach; i sit down with a question, and then share my inner workings. I didn't know where this posting was going this morning; I just knew that a good friend wrote, "But do you ever need cheering up, Rick??" and I wanted to explore it.

My wife reads my blog to find out what I'm thinking; i write it for the same reason. When she asks, "Why didn't you tell me you were feeling that?", I can honestly answer, "I didn't know I was until I wrote it."

So, dear virtual friends, if this blog gives a distorted view of how together I've got it, I guess that'll just have to be. Know that my intention is not to look good, but to share my deep belief that we all have this good inside us and as a potential in our lives, and to share my own journey in trying to get there. Life isn't always this good, but it sure can be.

3 Steps to Stop Being "Busy"

Life's too short and too rich to be busy. So I quit being "busy" simply by dropping the word from my vocabulary.

I did used to be busy, too busy, overloaded - these were the words that would confront you if you asked how I was. One day I realized just how often I complained to other people about how I had too much to do. That's what they knew of me, that was my defining characteristic. Not the most romantic epitaph: "Here lies Rick - gosh he was busy!"

My first step was, therefore, a very superficial but significant one. I simply stopped telling people about how busy I was. That freed up space to tell them about what I was engaged in, made me a much more enjoyable person to talk with. Probably helped our social life too - why on earth would anyone invite us over to dinner knowing that we were already too busy?

Step two was to take the power away from the word "busy." It's just an adjective, not a noun. It's an interpretation, an internal label that we can control, not a state of affairs buzzing around us like a swarm of To-Do lists. I started using positive words like "full" or "energized" or "active," anything to remind myself that I'm involved in a lot of things that bring Joy and meaning to my life.

Step three came logically from step two - make sure the things we're doing are indeed making us happy, feeding us and the world. All commitments and activities are measured by this criterion; any that don't fit should be dropped. As long as the ways we invest our time and energy fit this definition, they're not "busy" things getting in the way of what we want to do; they are what we want to do, they're the stuff of life.

Magazine articles usually start and end with the commandment to reduce your commitments, pare down activities to be less busy. That just never works - the space fills up again. I am not a person who's happy doing nothing. I'm just as active as a stay-at-home dad/farmer as I ever was as a city-dwelling Executive Director. I just work at being mindful day by day, minute by minute, of how my energies tie into my vision and dreams.

I used to be busy. These days there's just not enough time to be "busy" - there's way too much I want to do.

Thanks to The Art of Non-Conformity blog entry on busy-ness for inspiring this reflection

Super Dad

It's 9:23am and I haven't got a lick of work done yet. All that's been done so far is: boys washed, clothed, fed, brushed, rainproofed & walked to school; two playdates arranged; lunches packed; dinner chicken thawing; bed stripped, 2 loads of laundry washed and hung to dry; yesterday's clean dishes put away and this morning's dishes stacked; cats and cows and chickens fed; fire lit.

Remember long ago when I bravely stated that things go smoother when my wife's away? Well it's still true - this same stuff would have been done but by two adults instead of one. Housework expands not only to the time allotted but also to the people allotted.

Part of my unspoken new year's resolution is to step it up another notch of responsibility in the house. Instead of looking at the dishes, just quickly do them - last night it took just 22 minutes to clean a full day of dishes, including Sarah's Mama Renew class. Cook more dinners, sweep more floors. If I can do it so easily when she's gone, I can darn well do it when she's here.

Anyways, it's now 9:31am and I've got until 2:30 to do Me stuff - webpage design, basement reno, emails, yoga... After that I'll be full-on dad - pick-up, bike repairs and bouncing zekiah's new ball from the dentist like we planned this morning, animals, then inside for the usual dinner-bedtime routine. 22 minutes of clean-up and I'll be a free man once again by 8:00.

Could it really be this easy? 2.5 hours in the morning plus 5.5 hours after school of full-attention parenting and housekeeping, plus 5 daytime hours and 3 nighttime hours for Me/Us stuff? If I can stay intentionally in one or the other realm for each block of time, not flitting back and forth between roles, perhaps I truly can do each more efficiently and fully and Joyfully. Perhaps, just perhaps, the key to achieving balance is to just do it.

Missing: One Man-Cave

I love photos on the walls. I love going to friends' houses and seeing what and who matters to them, what journey they've been on, what they find worthy to display of themselves and their world. So why are there no photos up in my own house?

An online article about "The Decline of the Male Space" contends that

the pendulum has swung from one extreme to the other; instead of creating a world that’s friendly to both male and female space, we’ve created one that benefits female space at the expense of male space.

I left the article to wander room to room, looking vainly for anything of mine on the walls. Any African paintings on recycled cement bags, childhood or travel photos, Guatemalan tapestries, carved wooden masks, even ski posters with inspiring quotes - things that had adorned my life for the 25 years since I was strong enough to push a tack into a wall. I found things I like, things we've created together, our wedding vows, but nothing that is Me. Just a lonely nail where my dream-catcher, given to me by dear Aunt Sally in my rocky adolescent days, was removed yesterday when Sarah finally revealed that she loathes its heaviness in our bedroom.

Just walked around again, counting 9 (nine) wall hangings that are Hers. I do like most of them, but that's not the point. The point is that the author is right, that men have lost their power in the home, settling instead for a mutual agreement practice that ends up usually with the man ceding to the woman's "better taste." Just ask any man who's been asked for his "input" on paint colours.

This is why I get belligerent about not accepting input about my reno projects, my outdoor projects, MY projects. With a chainsaw or a cow or a sledge hammer, I'm in my realm, I'm the boss, I can just Do it, follow my vision and passion without checking in with the other half or my boss or the board. Down comes that tree, just where I'd planned (OK, a bit closer to the chicken coop than I'd planned), and in flows the sunlight just as I'd envisioned. Me and my pitchfork just go ahead and scoop up that manure and lay down fresh straw, and only the cows know. My home may no longer be my palace, but gosh darn it I'm the undisputed King of the Cowshed.

I suppose I could be stronger, demand that the dream catcher and photos etc go up. It's half my house dammit and I should get my own nine hangings. But the reality is that I love my wife and the harmony we have in our shared home, and if an item truly oppresses her then it can't make me happy. If upon reading this she offers to put the dream catcher back up, I'll have to refuse - not out of bitterness, but I could genuinely not feel Joy from it anymore knowing how she feels about it.

So I guess it's time to finally organize my workshop and re-hang all my treasures there, as they have been in the garage or basement or laundry room of all our other homes. I don't need an escape, don't need to drink behind the woodshed or cuss and spit at an all-men's gym. Just need a space (other than my wardrobe) where I see my corny, outlandish, awkward and even sometimes tasteless Me-ness expressed freely. I need my man-cave.