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.
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.
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If we are not celebrating life, encouraging one another, listening to God, creating value, and kicking ass every day…we are dying.
This has been the hardest year of my life. This week a year ago I was volunteering to support homeless families in their journeys to find employment and stable housing. The world was tipping sideways. Fear was building, but there was hope in the work.
That crumbled in the following three weeks. March got darker and darker and “Two week to flatten the curve” became a fear machine that had no logical end. I decided to change myself as I saw the world would not soon return from this abyss. A year later the fear machine churns on.
The dystopia is worse than I expected, but I’m better. I’m stronger in body, mind, and spirit than I was a year ago. I love myself better. I have a better relationship with God and Jesus. I have daily routines that calm my busy mind and prepare my body for the daily onslaught of fear-based behaviors all around.
I know better now the darkness that was hiding behind the veil of this world. Through knowing that darkness, I can be a brighter light.
I see only two paths. One is toward death, the life that begins and ends in this world. The other is toward life everlasting, the life that God intends for us.
MY girlfriend. MY lover. MY significant other. Possessive labels disturb me more and more as I try to engage in “normal” conversation and realize that too much of what we call “normal” is wrong at best and evil at worst.
She’s a contender. She schools me on the jiu-jitsu mat and enlightens me on the self-awareness path. She’s a comfortable and compassionate parent who connects effortlessly with the small humans temporarily in my charge. She’s an open and passionate lover with strong and clear boundaries.
She’s a trickster and clown that should not be fucked with. She’s disciplined and still refuses to take anything too seriously.
Our journeys have aligned. She inspires me to be a better version of myself and challenges my assumptions. I challenge her because, well, I’m challenging. I can’t think of one person who would disagree with that.
She is a fully engaged partner in both sparing and relationship contexts. We were meant for each other perfectly in this moment. It feels like more than that, but who in the world could ask for more than the perfect moment?
I photobombed this kid a couple years ago. His dad has been playing against me for close to ten years and his mom took this picture before a match. Unbeknownst to me, this boy liked watching my boys and their rough play. When pizza showed up, he displayed interest and they shared a slice.
None of the adults involved actually met each other until this summer when my friends and I formed a type of ignore-the-Lockdown club.
Now his mom is a close friend and I’m playing more soccer than ever (losing the beard didn’t hurt). Our children are friends too and I look forward to seeing his dad on the pitch this coming season.
I can outplay that bearded Jason. I’m fitter, stronger, and smarter than that guy.
As spring approaches, a new Jason is ready for a new season.
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I did all the things. Gave the game plan for the day, arranged for extra game time with friends, sat down and watched the finale of WandaVision before leaving the house, brought snacks, reiterated the game plan throughout the day, made time for screen time, invited friends on our evening adventure, and who knows what else I managed to provide…yet…the meltdown.
He can recover once my promise of fun and excitement and social interaction comes to fruition. I’m slower to recover from his crying accusations and seemingly complete misery.
Now he’s shooting hoops with his brother and a new friend. I’m not sure if I failed in yelling on the way here, or did okay by apologizing and following through with the promised adventure.
I didn’t know José for long. We met when I put together a soccer team for a new indoor league and I wanted a fresh roster.
He was my favorite addition to my soccer family. A strong defender who communicated well and fit my style of play perfectly. Either of us could seemlessly go on an offensive escapade and know the other was there to cover the back. I encourgaed his roaming more than mine because he had the best shot I’ve ever seen on a defender.
There wasn’t much more than that. He smiled at my boys and maybe chatted with them. Westen recognized José’s skill and we talked about him after games.
José was a supportive teammate and asked me how I seemed to gave so much energy on the field. He was just a few months younger than me and I shared my story of tragedy driving me to honor my body.
He had a couple bouts of what seemed like over-exhaustion after two of our games. We kept in touch as I kept bothering him to join me again on the pitch. I thought he was still trying to figure out what was going on when I heard of his passing.
I’m praying for peace for his wife and family. It reminds me to thank God everytime I step into a pair of cleats.
I am grateful I got to meet José. My life is better for having known him.
