An old, familiar companion continues to be a source of growth and peace. Soccer has forever been with me. Through every shift of life I’ve been able to return to the pitch and let go of those things that no longer serve me. Any upgrade I’ve achieved in psychological, spiritual, or emotional realms has translated into my game. Healthier and more beautiful relationships guided me into managing and coaching roles. Meditation and mindful breathing turned my body into a power plant, Soccer isn’t my form of self care, it’s the joyous payoff I can cash in when I’m taking care of my self.
I’ve got the pedal down on self improvement now. I’m a more positive leader and playing with more skill and raw strength than ever. I get to play alongside the best teammates who always have my back and let me have plenty of field time.
Releasing pain, being present, and loving myself manifested in last night’s game. I forgave my bad passes, ran with ease, and picked myself up without anger after some very hard knocks (well, there may have been a verbal bomb, or two, thrown…).
I’m blessed to have the beautiful game in my life.
I’m piling up possessions in corners and hallways, preparing to donate them for Aldersgate United Methodist Church‘s annual Rummage Sale on April 27th. I’m stacking books so Brevity Bookspace can get them into hands that crave them. I’m passing on what I can to those I love.
I’m still attached to many of my possessions, but I’m letting go slowly. I’ve learned that nothing can be possessed. At best, we care for things and people while they are around. At worst, we neglect and abuse things and people while they are around.
The most dangerous of our possessive thoughts come to bear in our relationships. “Our” children, lovers, friends, and family. We “invest” in relationships. We let creep in ideas that we control even the smallest part of another person and feel jealousy when the truth is revealed that an individual can only own himself or herself. And yet we miss that truth in ourselves every day. We forget that we own our thoughts, words, and deeds. We are the only thing we can own and we must take ownership of ourselves and care for ourselves as if we are the most precious possessions.
Let go of something today and be God blessed, Jason
It’s hard to write about the dark times when I wake up and show gratitude for the strength I’ve gained from another descent into my own underworld. I start each day thanking God for those who support me and those who don’t. I thank Him most for the unknowns. The inexplicable shifting of relationships toward and away from love and pain. Tangled paths like playing Snakes and Ladders with the lights out. There’s a rainbow thrill in finding pieces of myself tucked away in another human and there’s a black terror in discovering I don’t even know where I am.
Approaching that black terror is where vision improves and the darkness losses its power. But when I get there, I can’t see anything. The absence of light is so intense that my vision atrophies. My bravery runs dry and I fly to safety. But I can’t escape that kind of black completely. A fragment holds on and crawls inside me. Now it’s mine and I’ve got it on my turf. Do I fight it? Accept it? Integrate it? Give in to it? In grappling with the black I learn from it. I don’t win every match, but I get stronger and braver each time. I’ve gotten so stupidly brave that I’ve gone back into that black terror for more opponents. Whenever I want to roll, more often when I don’t, I’ve always got a nasty troll warmed up, stretched, and ready to kick my ass.
I got my heart broken. The lights were out and I thought I was climbing a ladder into a sunlit room full of love. It turned into a snake and I dropped into its bowels. My vision hasn’t fully returned, I can only understand it in metaphors and ancient images. What I do know is that I’m far from giving in. My heart knows how to heal so well that it hardly needs more than breathing to strengthen itself and prepare for the next adventure. My heart knows God’s love better than my brain can conceive of it.
Widowhood. Single parenthood. Dating after marriage. As of fourteen months ago, none of these had ever crossed my brain as possible scenarios. Death was the easy part. I’ve lost friends and family and I had tools to navigate those feelings. Whatever pieces I was lacking, Mary left me. She left me with an experience of God’s unending love that wins every battle I get myself into.
I still find myself fumbling around in the dark. I’ve pushed myself out of the comfortable places and tried new things, met new people. It is energizing, but I never know when one of these new paths will lead me into darker woods. That’s the excitement, emotional risk-taking with grander bets. I’ve lost big gambles, but when the bankroll is Love, my supply can be unlimited.
We are surrounded by impressive people who bring brilliance, strength, fun, compassion, beauty, bravery, passion, challenge, faith, joy, and love into our world. We gravitate towards excellence and engage it whenever possible. It’s no accident. After 12 hours of adventure in Philadelphia with home-educating families, Brazilian jiu-jitsu bad-asses, an FBI agent, and a couple librarians, I remembered why we frequently pause our adventures to connect with so many people.
I didn’t know it would lead to a holistic learning lifestyle when I first watched my sons asking museum security about a painting. I didn’t know chatting with a martial arts school at a crowded event about their summer camps would blossom into the most consistent component of our learning environment. I didn’t know small talking with homeschooling and unschooling moms would build a support structure that has buoyed us in hard times and created opportunities we would have otherwise missed.
I’ve learned that opportunity is everywhere and it is almost always locked away in a human who can’t wait to reveal it to you. I’ve learned that human connection is the key. Not just to experiences and knowledge, but to deeper understanding of God and the world around us. “Oneness” doesn’t mean we’re all the same, it means there are threads that join each of us together, one at a time. When we are open enough to see these threads and wrap our hands around them, we find something new in ourselves.
Each individual you meaningfully relate with becomes part of your community. Get into the habit of just chatting with people and soon you will find that you have an amazing world opening up around you.
Even when we’re at the park for fun with friends these little learners won’t stop problem solving.
Beyond resolving conflicts, dealing with playground bullies, and inventing games, some of the boys decided this log needed to return to the river. With teamwork and simple machines they accomplished their goal with no adult guidance.
Surely a minor benchmark, but a fine example of how we look for problems to solve everywhere we go.
Last night my son wrote these words and enthusiastically read them in front of strangers and library friends. Instant tears, but I held back the flood. The prompt had been to write three things on a blindly-chosen color sample: A wish, a secret, and what you are most grateful for. After so many mistakes, lost tempers, and raised voices, it amazes me that I’m raising strong and compassionate creatures who lift me up as often as I do it for them.
For my own part, the secret was a real challenge. I’ve shared so much of myself publicly and with friends that I knew I wanted to take this moment to dig a little deeper. Sharing with strangers can be easy, but I was self-conscious as some of the participants knew me from library visits.
“I’m lonelier than I let on.” It was how I felt. It’s not always how I feel. In my efforts to be more present I’ve given myself more space to feel. Sitting here typing I’m entirely at peace, the sun is above the horizon and lighting my kitchen beautifully, the old fridge hums its cranky song, birds sing gently, and I’m happy with no one around at all. Soon, my boys will be up and everything will change. I will change with it and let go of this perfect moment.
Last night was another perfect moment. Saliym Malik of Brevity Bookspace led a poetry workshop introducing Brandywine Hundred Library patrons to Kwansaba, an African-American form of praise poetry. Seven lines, seven words per line, and 1-7 letters per word on a subject you wish to raise up in love.
Unschooling all the way, we had only planned to check out a couple books, but my elder son was drawn by Saliym’s Pied Piper routine into the program. I awkwardly caught up as the group was meditating their way into a creative mind space. My younger confidently trailed unawares with an open graphic novel as his only concern.
Saliym’s energy quietly and quickly drew all of us into his guidance. What followed was beautiful. I found a warm ember under long cold assumptions that my poetry writing days were far gone. I was inspired by exposure to this simple form and scratched out a couple poems. Most exciting was doing this alongside my boys as they asked for help with spelling, letter counting, and line breaks. I never needed quiet to write. I ignored countless teachers droning as I scribbled during class, ran back and forth to an open journal at the server’s station while waiting on tables, and sat alone at noisy bars with that same journal when inspiration struck or conversation lacked.
Writer’s block had gripped me before I met my late wife. I don’t know why, but I have hardly tried to write poetry in 15 years. I promised Mary a poem. I hand wrote her love letters, apologies, and thank you notes, but never followed through on that poem. I regret that and maybe it’ll be enough to write it now and let go of that regret.
I thought of that when Saliym asked us to write about a person, place, idea, or moment that we cherished. Again, I found myself more in the present than the past, and the thought of condensing a lifetime with Mary into seven lines was too heavy to lift.
I’m sharing my creations below. I’m pleased with how I began to flow as the exercise progressed. I’m pleased to find some of the old music still playing. I’m pleased with how it felt to stand up and read out loud. However, I do wish “treasure” had one less letter.
I love my sons’ poems. The younger is a wild little editor just going for it and the elder runs as deep as a subterranean river.
It feels so good to have poems strewn about the kitchen floor as my sons come looking for breakfast.
April has been good to us.
Have a God blessed day,
Jason
I have five nieces. At least two of them have found me spontaneously crying this year. All of them have been present for me and my children during a most challenging and miraculous time.
When I met Mary she was already an aunt to these wonderful little girls. She was Aunt Mary.
Mary and these girls fueled a fire in me that had burned since I was ten years old, a desire to be a dad.
I wrestled and played silly games with the youngest and argued politics with the teenagers.
After my sons, they’ve become the closest connection I have with Mary in the world. Their memories and tributes to their aunt share much of what I remember and always bring new energy to fading images. Their youthfulness honors Mary’s and mirrors the attitude I have towards my journey.
I went to a concert with niece Emily this weekend. She’s 25, the same age I was when I met Aunt Mary. We talked about music and all the bands Mary and I had introduced her to, about how she copied all the music from my laptop one day and I gave her a speech about “unearned knowledge.”
Just before we met up, I was ambushed by the thought that Mary should be here for this, that it was flat out wrong that she wasn’t driving to D.C. with us to see Beats Antique. I wept and it still feels a little wrong. Mary and I were most connected when we listened to, danced to, and discussed music. From Patsy Cline and Cécile McLorin Salvant to T.Rex and Rage Against the Machine, I never knew anyone with musical tastes as broad as mine until I met Mary. Although…the nieces are getting there.
I discovered Beats early in 2012 and quickly shared the music with the nieces. In 2013, Emily lost her stepfather, my dear brother-in-law, Rich. That same week I talked Mary into backing Beats Antique’s Kickstarter campaign for their A Thousand Faces – Act 1 album. It’s a musical reinterpretation of Joseph Campbell’s “A Hero’s Journey.” In widowhood and single-parenthood I have cast myself as the hero of my own story.
I have been blessed and tested by many powerful goddesses on my journey. Mary still serves as a guide through my nieces. Each of them shows me pieces of Mary’s light and brightens my darkest paths.
Over the last 24 hours virtually every planned activity was cancelled or changed. Most Plan B’s bit the dust as well. I finger-pointed, fussed, and generally acted like Fate’s victim, for a while.
Last night we ended up in Bellevue State Park for a full moon hike that cleared our heads and lead to easy sleep. Today, Delaware snow and unforeseen confusions wiped out all our plans, but we ended up on top of a hill in Brandywine Creek State Park for a short afternoon of sledding before the rain came.
Two of those sleds were rescued from the trash; the tube was given to us by a friendly family we camped next to in Asheville, North Carolina; one hat came from Aunt Ann; another from Cousin Marley; and my niece is wearing my late wife’s snow pants. One picture tells the messy story of hand-me-downs, gifts, and adventures that compose our big, beautiful life.
It’s hard to be grateful when things don’t seem to be going your way. I fought off my confusion today to see more clearly, to understand that things are going to work out, to know that I’ve come pretty far from where I was.
We visited the Marian Coffin-designed Gibraltar Gardens in Wilmington, Delaware, yesterday to enjoy a warm February day and have a relaxing stroll.
What happened was a game of “Non-Ball,” a concoction of wrestling, football, and war games that required nothing but a couple of brothers pounding each other into the neatly manicured lawn. They also climbed the stone wall at the end of the garden and encouraged passing traffic to wave and honk.
I wonder how many rush hour commuters were shocked to see boys on top of a wall over a sidewalk, seemingly unsupervised.
This morning I happened upon an article about the damage done to boys by insisting they not act like boys. Even as a physically active, nature-loving, hero’s-journey-following male I can be overwhelmed by their energy. It is hard to remember that they need to explore their worlds on their terms. Those worlds include the physical and emotional, solo and relational, mental and spritual.
