I have been wanting to write something here for awhile now but I've felt stuck. Where to begin? Things have changed, inner and outer things. The landscape is different. What do I talk about? What gets shared and what remains private? How do I reconnect with you, many of whom I consider friends? Do I try to catch you up since you've been such treasured co-travelers along so much of the way? What is this blog about anyways and what place does blogging have in my life anymore?
I don't know.
Seems to me that simple is often (always?) the answer. What does simple look like here? Now?
I don't know.
Here's something: I feel happy.
It seems to me that truth is alive. It moves and changes and maybe it takes a little practice (or maybe not) to follow this directional pull. Truth is an inner thing. I can't copy your truth, or even what I thought was my truth from last month.
Maybe there are some pillars. Maybe there are some things which remain stable for each of us over the long term. I don't know. Maybe there is some cycling involved, things we come back to that were once true, that we come back to after some time off.
Winter is like this for me. I love winter. When I had a baby, this changed. Now that this baby is 6 and a half years old, and another one dances through our days with us, I am remembering. Mountains and snow and skiing and winter. Pure joy. Most of my life's best moments have happened in the backcountry under a blanket of cold ,white fluff. I worked as a ski patroller, took people winter camping, started an alternative high school program which spent much time in the wilderness in winter, wrote a Masters thesis called "Living with Winter", took mountaineering courses, climbed Mt Athabasca, toured many days at Rogers Pass, got my Canadian Avalanche Operations Level 1 Certification, organized a helicopter in backcountry hut week with friends at Fairy Meadows.
Bundling up chubby baby toes to go out in the cold just didn't quite hold the same appeal. Staying in the warm and cozy house, knitting and cooking and working on myself to be satisfied with what is, following the interests and meeting the needs of these little people became everything. In a way, it's like I morphed into a diffferent person for a few years when I became a mother. Or maybe more like the pause button got pushed on those before-babies passions.
They got un-paused.
My gaze has lifted, widened from the laser focus being entirely on life at home with children. Elliott is going to school. I am working part-time teaching avalanche education classes. I run most days, cook less, wake early to read the weather forecast. I am in love with my husband.
I feel happy.
Some people might call this balance. I have satisfying parenting moments and horrible ones. I spend time with my children and time without them. I don't know what I'm doing most of the time and I surely don't want to give you advice about how to be. I know when things feel right, which usually involves me being kind but sometimes involves me yelling my brains out then watching the dynamic shift. I want to be kind to myself because there is no road map, and maybe even no right or wrong.
I guess this didn't turn out to be so simple after all, eh?
Oh well. Like I said....I don't know. (Uncertainty can be a beautiful thing.)
