The healing journey of a widowed, unschooling badass in Delaware.
My sons know where I stand on many issues, but we don’t have a teacher-student relationship. We work a student-student model where one student happens to be older.
In this way, we test each others ideas and try to pry up the loose bricks, replacing them with a stronger foundation. They have influenced me as much as I’ve influenced them.
I believe strongly in making a steel man argument for opinions antithetical to my own.
Nah, not that kid. He was beautiful in my arms this morning as I did my Wim Hof Breathing and listened to a 25-minute Louise Hay meditation.
Then something went sideways. I was fought on going to the grocery store, cleaning up, eating, you name it.
I was spent by afternoon, useless. It’s these days when I really don’t think I’m cut out to be a widower and or an unschooler.
We recovered the day and calmly discussed how we can work together to make our lives as full of the adventures we love much. We’ve had these days and these discussions before. I don’t know if tomorrow will be different, but I do know they weren’t impressed with what was available for dinner tonight.
Anything that is worth the outcome has to include struggle. After *nearly* saying some nasty things to my boys, they still wanted to hold me and tell me they loved me before bed. I trust that as long as we keep our relationships in a loving place, we’ll be okay.
God bless, I appreciate and thank you,
Jason
We don’t share this part enough. Road trips, camping, and adventures contribute to a disordered home life. I’m writing this quickly so I can get to cleaning today, but it’s okay. All of these pictures have books, puzzles, projects, and evidence of our learning lifestyle.
As you embark on your #unschool, #homeschool, or #virtuallearning journey, remember to give yourself grace.
We had tastes of normalcy this week.
My sons played and watched music; viewed, talked about, and interacted with art; and made some art of their own.
I was reminded of how much the term “essential” has been misused in recent months. The arts were discarded for orbitrary biological necessities.
To live is to learn amd adapt. It is not to eat and sanitize. An animal knows precisely how much food it needs and how clean its body needs to be.
Humans have souls and minds that need to be nourished no less than their bodies.
Our obsession with Science has turned the trinity of our existence into a hierarchy of convenience. We have gotten very good at observing and explaining the physical world, so that becomes a comfort zone for us, a place for experts to tell us what our body needs while ignoring the mind and soul. We boast a bit of knowledge about the mind, so it gets a place in the hierarchy just below the body. Many reduce the mind to a physical phenomenon, nesting it neatly in our familiarity with the material.
The soul doesn’t fit into our obsession with the concrete. It can’t be summarized in a textbook. It can’t be generalized and categorized. We can only understand it on an individual basis. Science can help, but it can’t find the answers we seek.
We found a little more balance this week. We had homemade smoothies; pushed our bodies on the jiu-jitsu mats; learned about the Holocaust, Caravaggio, and cinematography; and and fed our souls with yoga, prayer, music, and art.
As tricky as it may seem, it can be made simple: the learning lifestyle is primarily learning about yourself. As you nourish yourself, you will expand your understanding of the physical, non-physical, inner, and outer aspects of existence.
God bless, I appreciate and thank you,
Jason
The learning lifestyle happens everyday. Sometimes it has its greatest power when there are no plans at all.
This morning we grabbed some friends and headed to Ashland Nature Center in Hockessin, Delaware.
During hours of hiking and playing, we learned about spotted lantern flys, Willys-Overland Motor, sycamore bark, archeology, jewel weed, stinging nettle, and much more. We climbed, threw off clothing, dug for treasure, and took our time to observe spotted lantern flies at work on a tree and a redtail hawk hunting in the tall grass.
Once you get in the rhythm of unschooling, you realize more and more what you have accomplished at the end of a day.
God bless, I appreciate and thank you,
Jason
Your child’s failures are not your failures. Your child’s successes are not your successes. How your child defines success and failure is entirely up to him or her, and those definitions will differ from your own.
For months our casual relationships were strained. Divisions grew between us as differing media accounts, risk assessments, political positions, and governmental measures formed.
We were limited in our contact with one another. Impersonal, online slights were never softened by social contact or context.
The truth of my homeschool community is that it thrives on social contact. No matter how much our politics or approaches may divert, we come together with our children and recognize in each other the fundamental focus of our educational choices.
Without those meetups, many fell victim to their own ideology and entrenched themselves in easily-accessed online communities. Carl Jung said, “People don’t have ideas, ideas have people.” We let ourselves be possessed by our ideas.
But for all the bonds that were stressed and broken, there are new, stronger bonds forming. Bonds based on the same focus on our children and a recognition of each other’s good will.
Those who are willing to meet in person and allow each individual to choose his or her level of assumed risk are forming new tribes. Not based on ideology, but a love for our children and fellow man. These tribes are based on grace for those who choose not to join us, as our arms remain wide and welcoming.
It is these tribes that will preserve the things we all love. Music, theatre, sports, homeschool meetups, martial arts, family reunions, parties, weddings, and even memorials. These tribes will not let the paradigm shift away from a social existence among social animals.
In this mad season, “social” falsely preceeds “media” and “distancing.”
I prefer this definition of “social”: living and breeding in more or less organized communities especially for the purposes of cooperation and mutual benefit : not solitary.
I’m grateful for the new tribes. There’s excitement in this wave of meeting new people. I can hardly keep straight the soccer players, homeschoolers, jiu-jitsu practitioners, and yogis I’ve met in recent weeks. We see each other and share big smiles as we dive into the things we share and love.
God bless, I appreciate you, and thank you for reading,
Jason
I’ve struggled with one criticism of those who are less enthusiastic about wearing masks, “What, you can’t handle being uncomfortable to save lives?”
Put aside the hyperbole, belittling, debatables, and lack of compassion in that statement, and all I hear is Biff Tannen calling Marty McFly, “Chicken.”
Chicken? Uncomfortable? Getting out of my comfort zone borders on an obsession. I started jiu-jitsu at 41 and I’ve got huge guys laying their weight on my chest a couple nights a week while the intructor has to remind me that I’m not going to die. I mean, I’m small for a soccer player, jiu‐jitsu? Talk about discomfort.
There’s a clear difference in the way I use the terms, “discomfort” and “uncomfortable.”
Discomfortable things are what make us stronger as we explore unknown parts of the world, inner and outer. They are the challenges that press out assumptions and squeeze out weakness. They literally, and figuratively, make our world larger through overcoming them.
Uncomfortable things are signals that something is wrong. They tell us we shouldn’t have had that peanut butter fudge shake or stayed up so late last night. Being uncomfortable is a sign of not honoring one’s mind, body, and soul.
Uncomfort is focusing on breathing behind a mask because you feel the anxiety creeping up. Discomfort is focusing on breathing while a sparing partner presses his weight down on you, trying to wear you down and scare you when you needn’t
Uncomfort is being in a relationship that doesn’t feel right, but you don’t know how to express it. Discomfort is the conversation you have with a romantic partner when something is wrong and you want to get to the bottom of it.
I lived too long being uncomfortable. Hangovers, irregular bowels, easy frustrations, anxiety, fatigue, and numerous other symptoms of not taking care of myself. I was programmed, as many are, to live with these uncomforts as the price of an exciting life. Heck, I see people accepting uncomfortable existences in exchange for mundane and transient peace.
Being okay with being uncomfortable has allowed Americans to become sicker and sicker. We don’t listen to our own bodies and have become disconnected. Our society was primed to be a victim of a virus with a very specific target.
Discomfort is where we go to do the most important learning. Uncomfort is telling us we’re going the wrong way.
God bless, I appreciate you, and thank you for reading,
Jason
My sons found a stash of pictures of their mom and set them up around the house last week. We have a ton of pictures, many in frames, and they tend to rotate in and out of our living spaces. It’s always a bit of a mystery, but our rhythms dictate how often we want to be reminded of Mary’s absence.
They brought out a lot this time. It’s been tough to turn corners and be surprised by those memories. Not crippling or especially sad, but unnerving.
I wonder why I’m not crippled. Widowhood and single parenting seems enough to crush a human spirit. Top that with a pandemic that looks a lot like your late wife’s dis-ease and, well, I don’t know why I’m still standing. Insanely, I’m thriving. I’m taking on new challenges, making new friends, and loving the time I get to spend with my girlfriend. Just typing that out doesn’t make any sense.
I got another clue tonight as I thought a out the educational blessing that my grandparents have been. They lived outside of London during the Blitzkrieg and have related those stories to my sons. They were children at the time and my sons are fascinated by the downed German bombers and evacuation of children to the coal mining country.
A novel cold virus can’t stop people who have lived through watching the end of their street leveled by bombs. They’ve been living as full a life as they can manage and seeing their great-grandsons whenever they can.
I didn’t have to learn a zest for life through hardship, I was raised by parents and grandparents who had done the hard work and modeled positive, meaningful behavior.
When hardship came, I didn’t have a Shut Down button. I had a British Carry On petrol pedal fueled with a whole lot of American muscle.
I learned something about myself today. I’m a little less of a mystery. I’m blessed by the hard work of generations before me and doubly blessed that my sons are witnessing the unstoppable nature of their genetic code.
God bless, I appreciate you, and thank you for reading,
Jason
Fun is learning.
The more you break down the barriers between fun and learning, the more you receive of each.
This past weekend we attended Ohmfest in Dover, Delaware. It was our first camping and music festival since Lockdown and our first yoga festival ever.
I didn’t require any participation, but my sons joined in on three or four yoga sessions. They also figured out how to have breakfast away from the bugs while lounging on yoga mats in the screened in section of our tent.
We set records for our camp set up and break down, some of which happened in heavy rain. And the boys got to experiment with whittling and hatchet use before we got to the fun of the fest.
Saturday storms appeared to keep families away, so we spent much of the day on our mats, playing ga-ga ball (they had to teach me, and then other kids, as families showed the next day), bocci, and soccer near the music.
After an early morning and an action-filled day, we hit the hay just after sunset and survived a late-night rain storm.
Sunday morning I was up early for sound meditation and more yoga. Midday music from Rivers & Rhodes kept our day rolling and The Hungry Spork fueled us back to the ga-ga pit.
My sons made more friends, taught them the game, and I got a break from ga-ga to try Ayurvedic yoga.
It was my first experience with this lifestyle-focused practice and Mallory Rose Spencer offered a wonderful introduction.
The fest was coming to an end, but the best was to come.
Disco Risqué took the stage and started to make things funky. No one was on the dancefloor yet, but these guys were bringing it and deserved some energy in return. I’m not nearly as brave as I seem, so I talked my son into going to the grass with me.
He didn’t stay at first, but once I got myself in front on the music, I wasn’t going to leave. Soon, another dancer hit the ground and both my sons joined us.
I didn’t know how much I needed this: funky trumpet, keyboards, bass, guitar, and drums; sun shining on barefeet pounding the moist ground; and getting loose.
My younger climbed my back and it was a time warp through nine years of that guy bouncing on my shoulders. It almost brought me to tears as I thought of his mom and how much she would love this moment. I looked to the sky and thanked God for this answer to my prayers.
It wasn’t without challenges, but we focused on manifesting fun and were blessed with it in abundance.
God bless and thank you for reading,
Jason
