Joy Where You Least Expect It (aka Brussel Sprouts)

I recently made my last foray into the fields to clear out the brussel sprouts before a super hard frost takes them away. My husband harvested the last of the spinach so that I can freeze some spanokopita. I’ve tried twice now on the spinach, feta, phyllo layered pie and each time the 9X12 pan got eaten before it ever hit the freezer. I love this dish as a Christmas appetizer and we often do not have garbage bags full of baby spinach during the holiday season. So stock up I must.

It was the first Saturday since the beginning of May that we could call our own as market ended for us last week. It was a sunny, warm, November day (I can honestly say that I can’t remember ever saying November, sun and warm in the same sentence before). Our children played in the mud. Life was pretty good.

As I made my way down the row of brussel sprouts plants I remarked on the pure joy I was getting out of being there, doing this. Wasn’t this the same job that had drained me of all joy just weeks prior? And yet, here I was, in heaven. Upon further examination (cause you know I couldn’t leave it unexamined), I realized the joy came from not worrying about how many pints I would pick. What the labour costs would be if we paid someone to do it. What we would price them at. Whether they would all sell and how I would preserve them to prevent any waste if they didn’t sell. I loved that the only concerns for that moment were between my hands, my knees, this plant and our dinner table.

This was always the part of farming that made my heart sing and my spirits soar. Feeding the family. Feeding the neighbours, or the food bank or our parents or nephews or dogs or friends would be fine too. It is the business of it all that doesn’t suit my fancy.

I have always wondered whether it is possible to create a business out of your life’s dream and still get enjoyment from the process. I suppose it depends how you go about it and what motivates you. If money thrills you then the business would be the beginning and end of it perhaps. If the creation aspects were the only parts that got you going, then making money from it could be a bit of a problem. But if you know this in advance, perhaps there are ways around spoiling your passion with business that I have not found yet.

As a songwriter in my thirties, I marveled at the very talented people who put their music out there and toured their little hearts out without losing themselves. Or perhaps they did and hid it well. One friend of mine who found great success in the UK and Canada agreed how lonely a life it was to be on a stage singing to a crowd of people. Nobody every talks about this.

I recall standing alone in a bar in Toronto one night, it was nearing midnight (an hour that I have never done that well at) and I was getting ready to go on stage. This was probably the pinnacle of my foray into the musical industry. The best gig I’d had to date. It was at this moment that I realized that this life was not for me. I was a homebody. An early-riser. And someone who did not care for performing exactly. I enjoyed the community of musicians around me and the songwriting process, but not the actual delivery of the songs. Perhaps if I could have been smart and hired a publicist and a tour manager, this would have allowed me better to focus on songwriting and my relationship with my instruments. Instead, I felt drained and overwhelmed from it all.

Drained and overwhelmed. Doesn’t that sound familiar?

I now know I’m not someone who fares well with making a business around my artistic endeavours. My creative self is a free-agent and needs to fly without limits or boundaries or schedules. That said, there is a side of me that thrives on driving towards big, lofty things. Not expectations. But grand ideas about possibilities. Contradictory, I know. I want to learn how to bridge the gap so that I can continue to do the things I love without having them consume me.

So somewhere between the songs and the brussel sprouts, I found joy again where I had grown weary. There is hope for me yet.

I want so badly to remember what it was like to write songs for the pure joy of it. They once came to me like a voice from the heavens and guided me through anything if I’d let them. I never felt like their driver.

I once hated brussel sprouts. I was that kid who ate one a year because I had to try everything on my plate. Now I have discovered that they are an extreme delight and I can’t get enough of them. Perhaps it is how they are grown here or picked or stored that makes them sweet, not bitter. Bursts of gorgeous, buttery, baby cabbage without need for the butter. My son can eat a dozen of them in one sitting.

So this is the moral of my story. There is joy to be found where there was once fear. Where hate once dwelled, a love can grow. What was drained can be filled again. What was overwhelmed can be renewed.

And November can be warm and sunny, especially when you least expect it.

Aim for a Target (or Build One)

I’ve never been one for setting goals. I learned very early on in life that they were a sure way to find out the degree to which I was willing to let myself down. So being an energetic, resourceful sort of person I began to fling myself madly in all directions and then look up at the end to see what I had accomplished. I could meet physical demands this way, work or career goals, romantic aspirations, family desires, lifestyle changes...there was no limit to the directions I could fling. Looking back, I am very satisfied with the milestones of my life, but I do wonder what might have been if I had actually set myself up on a path towards a specific target. In other words, believed in myself and what I could do.

Now that I’m getting a little older and my two wees ones have taken every last bit of extra energy I might have left, it is time to start focusing my energy. My husband has immense focus when he is working on something. Watching our two figures working you would see the steady work horse that is he and the Tasmanian devil that is spinning circles and racing back and forth, to and fro, that is me. In the end we both get the same amount done in the same amount of time. Until recently, I found this infuriating. Now I think it deserves some attention.

So grateful am I to have been given this budget on my energy. I no longer can (or want to) do everything I can fling out in a day. I would rather distribute my energy wisely, with intention, with focus and towards something I have my eye on. I am going to set up some real goals and…well…being the big girl I am now, go ahead and reach them. No more letting myself down. No more selling myself short. That was so last year.

To be honest, I have always been secretly and quietly afraid of my potential. Marianne Williamson calls this a woman’s biggest fear. Not of being inadequate but of being capable beyond measure. I don’t know about you, but I feel like I’ve had a boogeyman-type of thing lurking in my closet all of my life and if I ever just turned to let him out, everything would change. My superpowers would be unleashed and I would now be responsible for having a true impact on the world. I would have to own up to my contributions because they did not come about accidentally.

I don’t mean to be self-deprecating here. I think I’ve done a pretty good job with my days. Really, I am proud, if still insecure. I’ve done my best and managed to work some cool stuff into existence. But I still think there is more - much more waiting in the wings. And I’m far too curious to leave that stone unturned despite evidence that I am heading into the ‘latter’ portion of my life.

I started my vision board today. I had the help of my 3 year old boy and 5 year old girl. He cut out all of the sharks and things with wheels. She cut out everything to do with chocolate, butterflies, babies and puppies. Mine? Well, it is still very much a work in progress. Lots of words and quotes – even a couple of insipirational articles by my favourite writer, Martha Beck. Loads of food pictures. Anything to do with colour sequences, make-up (though I don’t wear any), shoes (though my plastic flip-flops or Sorrel winters are my usual style), flags, flowers…a colour explosion.

The process was fantastic. And despite knowing lately that I wanted to create some kind of target for myself, I have been unable to figure out exactly what it would look like. The photo cutting was extremely helpful to move towards shaping this goal. Perhaps it was an exercise in re-discovering the kinds of things I like. Many would attest to the fact that raising wee children can make one forget even what flavour of ice cream they prefer. It just ain’t about you for quite some time, isn’t it?

One important discovery is that I don’t think I necessarily need to find an existing target out there in the world. I may need to build it from scratch. Most things I like to do from scratch, so why not this? It might not be something that anyone has built before. And that should be just fine. My own little mystery to unravel.

So find a target, write it down, paste it up with pictures, tell a friend (or ten), map it out, know the who/what/where’s/whens/whys and with whoms about it.

And last but not least. Don’t sell yourself short. I don’t know you that well, but I know that you are able to do far more than you probably believe. I know this for you more than I know it for myself. Not in an 'over-doing' kind of way, but in a taking care of yourself and giving the best of yourself with the time that you have.

But as always, do it with kindness, patience, permission and surrender. And let me know how it goes!

The Loud and Clear Empty

I awoke this morning to a loud, clear sound. It was just like the one you hear when you’re standing in a large, empty room. The kind of space where the smallest sound will echo and each and every noise tumbles effortlessly off the walls. The sound of emptiness. At first it alarmed me. But then I realized that it had taken the place of what preceded it.

Depression has a low, dull hum to it. It muffles the world around you. It stifles beauty. It is like a cloud hiding the sun. Or fog over a window. The beauty is still there, but cannot be seen or heard. Not right now anyway.

I don’t care for labels and the word ‘depression’ is not one I relate to exactly. But the darkness of feeling overwhelmed, the mask of being a compulsive work soldier, the fog of being trapped in too many day-to-day demands. That one I know like I know the backs of my soiled hands. And it seems to have the same ring to it as depression.

Lately I’ve been creating space, outside and in, my homestead, my life and my body, to make room for wonderful, magical things. Unfortunately the first item of business was to clear away the unwanted debris. This meant getting rid of a lot of junk in my house, trying to move my body in intentional and physical, not just work-horse, ways and carving out time for activities that filled the soul of our family with real and lasting benefits and returns.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. The work of a farm and family are rewarding and fulfilling. They are satisfying in ways that coupon shopping and matinee popcorn could never be effective (at least not for me). But they are limitless and, therefore, always threatening to consume you. And they are willing to take the health of your family down with it. So you need preventative measures to keep your spirit soaring and your heart awakened. You need to make sure everyone is still laughing around you. You need to move slowly, surely and steadily towards brightness. This can happen anywhere: in your work, with your family or on your own time. And I was forgetting how to do this as I made attempts to ‘get everything done’.

So back to my big, empty room. Sounds scary, right? Awaking to the echoes of silence, the boom of nothing. But upon further examination in the dark, I realized that the low, hum had disappeared. Left behind was clarity, a promise of possibility and an endless sea of opportunities waiting to be seized. Terrifying indeed. Who can handle so little structure? You mean I can put ANYTHING I WANT in this big, empty room?

So I guess the next step after clearing away your junk and making a spot to allow yourself to bloom, is to decide what to do with the space. My lady’s lair is now filled with craft materials, music-making tools, books, photo albums, memorabilia and comfy places to write or just sit and strum my guitar. What I had not expected was the change that would occur inside of me. I had imagined needing to eat better (cut out the Halloween treats!), and exercise more to take the sluggish away, but the space in my brain? I didn’t see that coming.

So, yes, I’m terrified. But I’m excited! I think my ass-whooping is working! And we are now November 1st. The day that I had planned to begin this overhaul on the ‘low-hum’ I began to call my life.

What will I put here? Will I just learn to marvel at the sounds my thoughts make when I bounce them around an empty room? Will God come rushing in and show me what comes next?

Well stick around and I’ll be sure to keep you posted on how it all goes.