These words settle me. Hof’s voice is full of love and joy. No one delivers vulgarity in more beautiful tones.
This practice has built a small calm place inside me. It is there when I need it, when my reactions are poisoned with fear. It turns breath into dance. It turns breath into healing. It turns breath into a smile. It transforms my body into its own best medicine. I need not fear the aches, they become voices communicating their need for my attention and love. I need not fear the tightness in my stomach, it is a resentment I can release with an exhale. I need not fear the future for there is infinite healing and love in this moment.
Join me in healing yourself. Start right now. Wim Hof went searching for life-saving happiness and he found it outside in the cold and inside in the breath.
I was weird before becoming a widower. Widowhood normalizes nothing. It upends every expectation and permanently moves you into a narrow category of humans that most other humans don’t spend too much time considering.
I woke this morning excited about a child-free weekend with a beautiful woman who may be as weird as I am. Without warning, tears fill my eyes and I’m apologizing to my late wife.
It seems every happiness comes with this cost because every happiness in my life now comes without Mary here to share it. Worst are the happy moments that wouldn’t be if she was here. The catch is that virtually every moment is like that. Three years on and my most fulfilling experiences are within relationships. Many of those relationships did not exist when Mary was here and may not if she still was. Existing relationships have changed too. My connections to God and my sons would not be as strong if not for the challenges of these three years.
Nevertheless, I am happy. It may bring me tears or a confused headache at times, but I’ve integrated this dark part of me. It gives me greater appreciation of the moments when I am blessed with happiness. It gives me a way to be grateful for these weirdy, widowy mornings.
Our circle of allschooling families is growing like early spring blooms, but our core group is maturing into a mighty magnolia.
We have yet to remember a group photo. We’re too busy playing video games, laughing, praying, and sharing our troubles and celebrations with each other.
Today was a simple escape from the rain. It was an escape from the drama and confusion that seems to weave themselves into life’s banal tasks.
Last March, I wiped my reusable whiteboard calendar clean. I didn’t have the motivation until 12 months later to use it again. Heck, there hadn’t been anything to put there. But now, this month is full of activities, most of them with, or because of, these families.
I thank God for this new tribe based on nothing but some basic human desires for connection in a world that has put social distance on a hierarchical pedestal.
I’m struggling with a skin condition that appears to be the symptom of gut imbalance. It sucks. I can’t train jiu-jitsu and on the bad days my hands are in constant pain while the skin will break at the slightest impact.
I’m in a series of digestive cleanses while I meditate on a lingering sense of resentment that may be manifesting in dry, inflammed skin.
The last week’s cleanse came with an advertised side effect of lethargy. I self reflect as I struggle to get out of bed in the morning and it has been kicking my ass.
The hands and skin are better today. I’m grateful for the outward healing and the time I was forced away from being “productive.” I’m behind on even more household duties than usual, delayed on prep for my stage and book study assignments, and missing Wim Hof Method breathing sessions and yoga classes. These seasons of life are hardest for me to embrace. This one hasn’t come with more than the affectations of depression though. I’m focused on what is most important. Without maximizing my health and self love, I will let down myself, those who count on me, and God.
I thank God for soccer. I haven’t missed an opportunity to play and have more invitations than I could dream of. My lethargy usually wears off by noon and I haven’t skipped a beat on the field. Tonight’s game was a tough 6-6 tie, but I got a couple goals and walked away feeling an opening space for healing.
There was a loosening of tension after the game. I’m getting up early tomorrow, doing my breathing, and hitting a yoga class before rocking the day with my sons.
I’m calling myself out and letting go of the week’s frustrations. What can you let go of? What injustice can you release? What disappointment in yourself can you forgive?
What is done is done. We cannot change what happened, but we can change our frame of reference and move forward without that weight.
Four years ago we went sledding at Ashland Nature Center. On their last run, Isaac’s face went into the brambles at the bottom of the hill. We went directly to training at Elevated Studios. This kid is tough.
Let’s say I saw a classified ad looking for a Male Rewilding Mentor. How would I respond?
I’m a widowed, unschooling dad and, I guess, an amateur Rewilding Mentor. I host children at my home weekly for Lego building and unstructured play and I’m in an amazing group of homeschooling parents, almost exclusively moms. I care deeply for the daughter of the woman I’m dating and outdoor adventures are our happy place. I’ve built a life surrounded by children and it brings me joy.
I’m not a serious hunting/fishing/survivalist type, but I respect and hold curiosity for all of that and expose my own sons as often as I am able.
What are you searching for and how are you going about it? Are you looking for a paid mentor, or volunteer? I’m not necessarily looking to monetize, I receive many material, spiritual, and emotional gifts from these children and mothers. I’m mentor-curious.
I believe what you are looking for is sorely needed in the world. I want my sons to do this work. I would love them to be Wild Gentlemen. The world would be better with more of that.
I’m not sure how to…what? systemize it, market it, make it go viral, turn the memes into action, manifest a spirit of positive masculinity…
This most unusual year has led to the most unusual and wonderful birthday celebration of my life.
We started building a new social group from scratch: veteran unschoolers and home educators, new homeschoolers, crisis, virtual, isolation, and all types of schoolers came together to provide the personal contact that we all knew pur children needed to develop into healthy individuals.
What the parents underestimated was how much we needed personal contact.
These friendships have saved me from (at least) two periods of depression in the last year. Our Thursday meetups have been a lynchpin in my sanity.
When someone started a record of birthdays days before my own, I knew I was in for cupcakes from our resident master baker and probably a song from everyone.
What happened was the biggest show of appreciation I have ever received.
Some of the core of our group. I didn’t even know most of them a year ago. They’re my best friends and it’s hard to imagine my life without them.Jess took messages from our friends and hand wrote them on a homemade card.I love these kids. They’ve been mistaken for my own on several occasions and that’s fine by me. I’m grateful T decided not to crown me with that cookie.That little guy in black with red stripes gave me the greatest hug after I blew out the candles.Sara made chocolate Lego, cupcakes, and a full birthday cake! I was floored. Isaac looks stunned too.The cookie rascal snuck in for a photobomb.Surrounded By LoveBrooke is the best and the reason this group was formed. She made the banner and stickers and did so much more for this special day.The big kids did their thing at the skate park.My mom gifted us dinner and the Zerbey Boys wrapped a busy day with full bellies.
I don’t struggle with faith, exactly. I struggle with understanding, deepening, and living in harmony with my faith.
This conversation between Jordan Peterson and Jonathan Pageau is the first time I’ve heard Peterson identify as a Christian and volunteer the fact that he doesn’t go to church.
Perhaps my favorite thing about Peterson is the personal investment he brings to intellectual discussion. It can be painful, as important learning must be.
Attending worship services has never settled into routine for us.
Before we were Baptized, Mary and I sought community and stability. We thought we could find that in church. After we had children, Sunday mornings became more challenging. One Sunday, once we had two children and resolved to expose them to regular worship, Mary went to tears before they were awake. We never talked about it deeply, I gave her time. It was months before we started attending again. And then a few months later she asked me about faith.
Mary’s faith was easy. Baptism was a formal declaration of what was on her heart. I was, and am, the overthinker.
I’m confident that Jesus moved my heart, but Peterson did a lot of work on by brain.
Worship as a widower has been different. It feels lonely, especially when one son would rather read Deadpool comics in the front pew than listen to the sermon (mind you, he ALWAYS choses the first or second row as his reading spot). The scripture and the message never fail to carry meaning for me, but there’s something out of place about our little family.
This past year has been especially difficult. I tried virtual worship, virtual Bible study, and virtual Sunday school. It all fell flat for all of us. When I was invited onto a Spanish league soccer team that played on Sundays, there was no conflict. I had begun a daily and developing prayer practice and was feeling closer to God, despite missing fellowship with my Christian brothers and sisters.
Soccer shifted indoors and to different days just as I was invited into a new fellowship. There hardly seemed to be a choice to make when I had the opportunity to meet new people and worship unencumbered by regulations that do not ring true to the way I believe Jesus showed us how to behave.
We are becoming a part of this new fellowship. We have been welcomed and I am leading a small in-person study group.
And soccer season approaches.
Not all the games will interfere with worship, but many will. My body craves the level of competition and comraderie of this league and team. My sense of loyalty and gratitude is activated by last year’s invitation to play “normal” soccer when nothing else was. That one invitation has led to dozens of hours of soccer in places where white people don’t usually get welcomed.
I thank God every day for my actively physical life. Mary knew better than I how important soccer is for me. I’ve embraced that somatic need and I feel closer to God when I thank him for my gifts.
There is an ego-driven piece of me that fears explaining to my Monday group that I missed service for soccer. I wonder if this makes me “less of a Christian.” There is comfort in knowing that Peterson has a similar disconnect in his Christian life. I also try to take heart in God’s Grace not being a thing that humans can sort out among themselves. Being Saved isn’t about works, but what is in one’s heart. God knows that better than we do ourselves.
It’s the aim that counts. I can love God and play soccer in an effort to honor the body that God gave me. I don’t worship the game or the body, I worship the Creator and strive to aim at His Kingdom every day.
Disclosure: The links below are affiliate links, meaning, at no additional cost to you, I will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase.
My older son and I are slowly working through a fantastic history of the Berlin Wall and how the Soviet Union collapsed. The satellite states split off in largely peaceful ways.
Could the United States of America do the same? I’d like to think so.
Disclosure: The links below are affiliate links, meaning, at no additional cost to you, I will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase.
The learning lifestyle, home education, and unschooling are minority interests. Few people have an honest curiosity about them (honest curiosity being at the heart of all three concepts).
My message and lifestyle won’t be heard nor understood by many.
That doesn’t deter me. The world changes one person at a time. Taking on these responsibilities is a highly personal decision and can feel isolating. I have been blessed with a platform from which to speak and a heart prepared to listen.
I sat with a homeschooling mom who was feeling something all parents feel, that our choices will not lead to successful adulthood for our children.
I started with the universality of the sentiment and an assurance that it was good and natural to have fear creep in at times.
I went on to talk about the infinite number of paths available to young people and highlighted how many of us left the school system completely lost and unprepared to tackle life. I also shared my story of being listless in my 20s and taking a long road toward experiencing success. I shared my own fears and how I’ve engaged them and put them to rest.
I see my children developing social cooperation skills across a wide range of ages, ethnicities, and backgrounds. I see them engaged in a world that has put isolation and disengagement at the forefront of priorities. I see them exercising their curiosity on a daily basis, learning how to learn.
This won’t be for everyone, not yet. But until everyone embraces the learning lifestyle, I’ll continue to write and talk about it.
