Winter Solstice

New England Open Air goers and the field at The Browne Center which hosts a mowed Labyrinth in the grass

In all the cultural hubbub of the holidays, I have found - in recent years - this has become a time of quiet.  I find my life tends to slow down to about 5-ish mph, where half the day is over by the time I've finished my coffee, I'm taking showers in the afternoon, eating chocolate for breakfast and spend most of the morning petting my cat.  December happens to be the season where I have the least amount of money and most amount of minutes.  The outdoor season has dwindled, school is done, and the weather outside is... well, mild this year, actually.

Coming home is the best because I am actually warm.  We do not watch TV in our coats and hats and I do not even need my snuggie, or socks.  In fact, sometimes we actually have to open a window because the house gets too warm as the wood-burning stove powers on.  After years of living in drafty New England spaces, I realize I grew up spoiled.

Walking through the labyrinth (think path in the field, not David Bowie) of the Browne Center for New England Open Air last weekend, I contemplated the amount of time it takes to get into something and out of something.  Fairy tales and commercials promote this idea of an instant change or fix - a sudden rescue - but in real life, it takes time to walk in and out of experiences.  Experiences linger, grown on us, change us, and we slowly learn to walk with them.

This particular labyrinth is a path mowed on a small portion of a field, where I walk through twists and turns until I find myself in the center of this cerebral-looking grassy maze.  Once I arrive in the center, I stop and sit down, taking in the 55 degree day and the golden green color of the field and grass surrounding me, before I walk the same path out of it.  Ellen Langor talks about mindfulness this way:

"And so, mindfulness, for me, is the very simple process of actively noticing new things. When you actively notice new things that puts you in the present, makes you sensitive to context. As you’re noticing new things, it’s engaging. And it turns out, after a lot of research, that we find that it’s literally, not just figuratively, enlivening."

I think emotions have a way of pulling us in, better than thoughts might do.  They are motions to slow us down enough to notice ourselves and how we are affected by everything.  My dad showed us the video of Carson and Ernie the UPS deliverer... and well, if you don't think you're a particularly emotional being, try watching that.  Langor goes on to talk about what stress is:

"...when there’s stress, there’s an assumption that they’re making that something is going to happen — number one — and that when it happens, it’s going to be awful.  Both of those are mindless.  You want to open it up, both ways.  First, the belief that it’s going to happen.  All you need to do is ask yourself for evidence that it’s not going to happen.  And you always find evidence for whatever you ask yourself."

"I think that it goes back in some sense to Epictetus, who said, not in English, and not with my accent, but that “Events don’t cause stress.  What causes stress are the views you take of events.'  ...almost everybody is mindlessly driven by these absolutes and part of these absolutes are these evaluations of good or bad.  If it’s good, I feel I must have it.  If it’s bad, I must avoid it.  When it’s neither good nor bad, I can just stay put.  And just be.  So we get a lot more control by recognizing the way we’re controlling our present and our future."

Why wrap presents?  We're just going to throw the paper away.  I venture it's because we value the present (double-meaning intended).  We are bringing attention to that present moment, inviting surprise - creating space for joy.  My mom still loves watching us open presents. 

What I love about this season, is that humans decided to invite celebration, merriment, and gift-giving into the darkest days of the year (well.... if you live in the Northern portion of the Northern hemisphere).  To me, it is somehow reflective of the the human spirit's need for community.  We allow ourselves this time to connect with others, value those relationships, check in on people, and delight in giving.  Even if Adele is really what brings us all together, at least we are making an effort. 

The shortest day is upon us and it will take a few months to fully lengthen that light again. 

Time to take a shower. 

Then We Broke the Internet

Based on Real Events

A world without Internet... what?  Luckily, Jaclyn and I grew up in the 90s, so we are familiar with how to live without it.  Remember those days of phone calls, landlines, TV antennas, Blockbuster, letters, and film cameras?  Us too.

At first, we thought, "Oh no! I was going to do a million things..." and in the next breath, we thought, "Oh... I don't have to do a million things."

So we made ourselves some whiskey ciders and sat down.

There are a million reasons why I love the Internet, the first one being that we were looking forward to watching the most recent episode of Fargo.  This world wide web makes my life as a graduate student, long distance relationshipper, photographer, and just plain human navigating Christmas shopping a million times easier.  We can keep up with others, endlessly socialize, and explore the world.  And, at the same time, when it goes out, I appreciate the reminder that I don't need it for connection.

In Wilderness Therapy, a client might ask, "What do you want me to do out here?" or "I don't think I'm making progress out here.  I want to go home to all my normal coping mechanisms." What is hard for them to do, is to sit with themselves.  "I want you to sit with these emotions," the therapist might say, "To me, that is progress."

And it's so hard to do - particularly in the everyday - especially when combined with the amount of guilt one may feel in certain contexts - for not doing anything.  In a culture that equates not taking your vacation time with being a more promotable employer, it can almost feel awkward and vulnerable to admit how many naps you take (and wonder if you're depressed?).

In a world with so many comforts often at our finger tips, you'd think we'd typically feel really good.  But it seems if you want to prove your value, you may feel a push to speak to a stressfully busy life (often I wonder if this is particularly in New England).  I can see how anxiety and depression have become so pervasive.  Setting up boundaries and saying no is such an art.  I admire those who can truly do it well.

I often try to view these dark Winter months as ideal for slowing down, enjoying a meal with a friend - or tea, or drinks - and indulging in the comfort of my space heater.  Somehow the low-lying sun sets a tone of contemplation.  I imagine I have bonded more with the people I've lived with in these moments when we are forced together, inside, and to sit face-to-face.

And so, Jaclyn and I shared our drinks together, and did nothing.

(And the world did not fall apart.)

Finishing Things

I have a friend who used to say he was good at finishing things, and that this is a skill (finish the bathroom, Dad!).  This was in the context of finishing artwork (graphic novels).  As I am nearing my graduation from graduate school (praise be! hallelujah!) I find myself thinking about finishing things - finishing this piece of work I have been working on for a long time.

I realize that I’m not just finishing graduate school, but I’m moving away.  I’m moving away from the Northeast - this region of the country where I have grown all of my community, from childhood through now.  This is where I grew up, went to camp, went to college, worked, and endured graduate school.  Not only that, my skip across the Atlantic to Scotland will now become a double skip across a country and then an ocean.  I can no longer easily hop the Canadian border to visit my brother.  I am making it harder for myself to see the people I know so well and love. 

Why do we do this?  I know I’m not the only one.  It’s funny how you can feel out of place in a place - how you can travel elsewhere and think, “I like this elsewhere” so much that you move to live there.  That’s how I feel about the West.  I love living there.  And I’m probably idealizing it and romanticizing it - of course.  Because you don’t know a place until you truly live there - and to live there is different than visiting.  We all know that.  

And so, I will finish my time here.  For now.  

Me and my Gloucester friends

Winterrrrrr

Lobstah

Hey Rockport

Hey!

Family Portrait Time

Setting Up

To the Prop Shed

Ropes Course Mornings

My CAT

Montreal <3

Dear Friend and Her Dear Alice