Leaving the Garden of Eden

Since becoming a mom, I have heard the adage the days are long, but the years are short and to make sure I soak it all in, for one day you will long to be back here. In the early days, I inwardly looked at people like they were crazy when they said that to me, a constantly harried mom, ever mindful of what had yet to be accomplished to ensure I had my three home in time before the nap window closed forever–or hunger hit (especially with Adrian’s food sensitivities with wheat, soy and dairy). It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy our time, nor our little life. And, I did make a point of  soaking in the beauty and joy within the chaos. However, I was the type of mom who simultaneously enjoyed the current stage and looked forward to the next. I loved their minds growing and learning and their constant becoming. With every stage, I found there were things I longed to leave behind and things I knew I would miss. However, the end goal was always on my mind: to foster a healthy mix of independence/interdependence, with a thriving sense of self and a huge heart for others. 

Today, I love watching them in their current stage of young adulthood. I love seeing their interpretations of situations, seeing how they adopt–or don’t–the lessons I tried to instill. I love the way they challenge the status quo (much of which I blindly passed on to them), and the way their insights explode my whole brain, keeping me fluid in my worldview. I hurt when they hurt, offering to help in any way I can (which isn’t much any more)–and also rejoice watching them emerge stronger for it on the other side of pain/worry/heartache.

I fully recognize it might be easier for me than other parents, as I have never been one who needs my people near. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE when my people are here. There is nothing better than having all my people in the same place–especially when I am allowed to leave and take a nap in the middle of the chaos for a quiet recharge. To be fully transparent, I need to have some of my people within reach, but who those people are has been fluid throughout my life, teaching me that I can be ok when they are no longer available–even through death. 

This is why I think I have rarely struggled with a feeling that God is not near. Even with all the hard shit I have gone through. There are times throughout my life where there has been distance between us, but that has always been due to my desire to go inward or my frustration with Them bc They are not swooping in to save me from the pain I am experiencing. Or, it's been due to my need to heal and not be asked to do anything else for the cause. While I should inherently trust God to take care of me, I think She understands the hard boundary I give during those times and honors my need for a sense of agency while grieving things I cannot control.  However, I have always felt They are near me and when I am ready for comfort and turn toward, the warmth is immediate. 

During their high school years, I was floored one day to find out that our kids don’t remember much of their childhood. I mean, 100% shocked, and a wee bit hurt. To be fair, my siblings and I don’t remember a lot, but I attributed that to collective trauma. I assumed that, consistent with research, my kids would therefore remember more of the fairy hunts, creative projects, LLM’s (Lutes love moments), snuggles, vacations, zoo trips (so many hours spent at the Milwaukee Zoo), etc. All those moments that I was intentionally creating memories of a happy childhood. I literally saw this as my J-O-B, memory making–equal in importance to consistency of schedule and follow-through (i.e. predictability in their little lives). As a whole, those years were some of my happiest in my life thus far–seeing the world through the eyes of happy and well-loved children–all the hope and beauty that entails. For a few days, I actually grieved their lack of memories before realizing that those memories were actually mine to cherish, hold, and share. Yes, they were important for them–the core memories that they hold in their souls that will shore them up and keep them steady throughout adulthood. They were also pivotal to us surviving individuation during the teen years with relationship still intact. However, they were not the sacred and voluminous treasures I thought I was storing in their minds. Instead, they were--and continue to be--sacred treasures stored in my mind–and I am forever grateful for them. 

This morning, as I reflected on what it is like to process the aftermath of this election with three young adults navigating lives at each of their new colleges, all born and raised female (before they knew themselves well enough to reveal their truest selves), all LGBTQ+, all neurodivergent, all deeply feeling souls, I wished they were young children again. For the first time, I longed to be back in those days to ride this out in an environment in which I could corral and protect them. I recently heard someone describe the Garden of Eden as and allegory for leaving childhood and stepping into adulthood. This allegory popped into to my mind and I wept. Maybe the Garden of Eden was really for God. Maybe She knew what was to come and needed that time of innocence, beauty, and deep connection in order to sustain hope for eternity. Yes, it also created a ‘core memory’ that many of us hold as a way to envision what Heaven will feel like, and what to strive for on earth as we attempt to create heaven on earth through community, connection and our best summoning of God’s love for others. For the first time, I really sat with the fall of the Garden of Eden through God’s heartbreak as I realized for the first time that I do miss my kids’ childhood. I miss being able to keep them safe, shielding them from both physical and emotional dangers. I miss the free-flowing joy and love we shared that wasn’t encumbered by the weight of the world. I miss them looking at me, trusting I was capable of those things. And, most of all, I miss seeing the world through their eyes. 

On his way out the door for work this morning, Mike alerted me to the spectacular sunrise. I headed to the front porch and allowed the visual warmth of that sight to wash over my weary soul as I sat, held in God’s open arms, and typed.

A return to margin

It has taken a full week of sunshine, quietly lapping waves, and very little on my agenda–other than devouring words on a page–to get back here. Here, where my body is mostly quiet, mostly content, my mind with space to process and glimpse the possibility of peace. Here, where I am noticing a sprout of restlessness, a familiar itch to create. Here, where there is margin. 

In the summer of 2023, we (who have worked hard to instill in our kids a good work ethic, and realistic valuation of money) told our kids they would not be getting full-time jobs. This was the outline of expectations we gave during a family meeting: 

We would put $ in bank for college for each kid at the end of the summer

Their job was only to earn spending money for the 2023-24 school year

Everyone will ask for Sunday and Thursday off each week so we have family time

Room will be kept clean in order to do social things

Entertain yourself (off screens) and build in your own margin

Do something creative every day

Dad will be working extra, so we will all chip in to help him have margin as well

Reserve time once a week to tackle home project like last summer together—1 hour

Sign up for spot in rotation to cook at least one dinner each week for the family

Tithe 10% to church group of your choice

Do something for family each day—15-20 minutes

Exercise 20 minutes a day–get  your heart rate up and spend time outside

Our goal was to give them  margin, so they could do the things they needed to for mental health 

Last spring, the twins were completing their junior year at Waunakee High School, a year that is known to be grueling, especially for those students looking to earn merit scholarships in college. B was graduating from WHS and had spent the past school year re-learning how to navigate the world, this time without masking autism. Our kids were tired, their mental health was suffering and we wanted to show them that the world’s message valuing constant toil wasn’t worth it. There is  more to life–there must be balance. This was our last summer before B launched and we wanted to set it up for enjoyment! 

The ironic part of this is that while I was leading them to nurture and protect margin, I was depleting my own. Waunakee Artisan Market–a passion project Rona and I co-chaired, was growing annually, more than doubling in all metrics within its first three years. The growth had felt manageable, after adding a great team of volunteers in year two. By fall of 2023, the growth hit a tipping point that we didn’t realize felt exponential until it was upon us! During this same time period, Rona and I had also begun the work to add a non-profit arm to the village committee, Create Waunakee. While we realized birthing a non-profit would be extra work, I grossly underestimated that challenge. On top of all the regular challenges of creating a board, bylaws, infrastructure, branding, we also endeavored to change the name from Waunakee Arts Vision, Inc. to Create Waunakee, Inc. (which, while worth it to keep our beloved name that was gaining recognition in the community and simultaneously solved the branding issue, added many extra hoops). All the while, prepping B for life away at college.

Once we dropped B off, I realized how little inventory I had for my jewelry business–of course, where was the time and space for creativity amidst all of this?! So, in the midst of WAM prep, and beginning recruiting and planning for the Holiday Artisan Crawl (so that it didn’t sneak up and overwhelm us right after WAM), I was also working frantically to make enough inventory for the market. As if this bag of exciting, yet challenging tasks wasn’t enough, we agreed to plan our first fundraiser for Create Waunakee, Inc. a bit over four months out, on February 17th. Our first meeting was held right after the Waunakee Artisan Market in early October. Fully aware of my increasing exhaustion and body limitations, and the weight of my current commitments (Artisan Crawl one month away, the busiest time of year for N’s Whims–and a promise to slow down during the month of December when B was home), I made everyone aware I would not have a large role in planning this event. 

About a week into planning, an opportunity beyond our hopes for CW presented itself and I couldn’t pass it up! In a few weeks time, Tegan Counihan and I launched a collaboration between Main Street Market Piggly Wiggly and Create Waunakee, Inc. The Piggly Wiggly would purchase at full market value up to $5000 of local art, sell it during the lucrative holiday season, and then re-invest the money from sales into our local art scene as they re-stocked their local art market in their grocery store. Participating artists agreed to donate 15% of their income to Create Waunakee, Inc. This collaboration marked our non-profit’s first recurring funding opportunity, and our first ongoing outlet for fair-market sales for local artists. While it was an amazing opportunity for all, it demanded many hours of recruiting artists, setting expectations and process, and marketing. This collaboration launched the week after our Holiday Artisan Crawl. I was now burning the wick dangerously quick at both ends! 

I could continue describing the mounting pressures, but I am tiring of typing the repetitive pattern. Every single opportunity was exciting and promising for Create Waunakee. Our inaugural fundraising gala was set to be a striking success, enjoyed by over 350 people. However, even great things can become too much. Suffice it to say that by January, I now resented the constant pressure to be present for CW, Inc (as did my family). Putting out fires, setting up infrastructure, creating more branding, learning how to be an effective non-profit a half-step ahead of doing it. I began warning everyone that once the gala was over, I would only be active with WAM and leading the non-profit board. I now realize I was hoping to hear others give me a resounding yes with permission to breathe earlier than that. And while I heard a few of these, they felt hollow under the weight of all that still needed to be done. 

Momentum is wonderful and necessary, but it is also a liar–insisting that if not constantly and wildly stoked, it will be squelched. Yes, attention is fickle, yes there are a million flitting squirrels everywhere attempting to steal our attention elsewhere. However, there is also a growing desire for real and sustainable meaning in our lives, a simultaneous grounding and momentum that calls us back to ourselves in its presence. This is the quiet voice I stopped hearing last year. In its place, I heard the louder voices of ego, growth, and opportunity swirling into a constant cacophony, driving me further from myself as I attempted to tame them through production. Every day for the last four months, I woke up to a to-do list that grew overnight, believing the lie that if I could complete it by the end of the day, the next would hold space for rest. It is only while we are frantically navigating the hamster wheel of productivity that we remain caught in its web of untruths. Without the pause, we believe the lies of scarcity, become slaves of momentum, get tangled in comparison, and deny that we have the freedom to choose the pace of life desired. 

Now, at the close of this week away from the constant hum of doing, I realize it was never anyone’s job but my own to say ‘enough’. Why did I look to others to validate my pleas to slow down? Not only that, but in the absence of universal validation to slow down, I didn’t accept the message. Since my illness 10 years ago, I have learned from necessity to amplify the voice of my body, believing she knows best. This is what allows me to live the best life possible post-Pita (the nickname we gave my brain tumor). What in the last year changed my focus?

Throughout the year, those closest to me cautiously asked me if my difficulty taking a step back stemmed from ego. I sat with this, but it did not resonate. I never wanted to head a non-profit. I would much rather fly under the radar in my community than be interviewed for the paper! As much as I have passion for the work we do, I would prefer the luxury of being one worker bee amongst many others. I would 100% be ok not being the president of a young non-profit, and in fact would be happier. However, this week, I sat with the question long enough to decipher the answer. While continuing this pace is not driven by feeding my ego, it does serve to protect it. I didn't want to be a leader in this, but since I find myself here, how do I do the position justice? It was wondering what kind of leader I would be if I allowed others to work harder for the cause than I was?! If I didn’t lessen my friends’ loads when they reached their capacity for stress under the weight of dreams with timelines, what kind of leader was I?! I fell for the lies whispered by my ego, emboldened by the sorrow of brokenness and desperate desire for beauty and community, encouraged by the laws of capitalism, and fully immersed in our culture. 

After this week, I know that in order to lead a healthy non-profit–one with steady and sustainable growth, it must come from a different source of strength. It must have enough margin. It requires leadership that encourages balance and honors rest. It requires a resolute dismissal of the mirage that time is a thief of progress. Time is merely a constant. We need the pause between the waves coming in and the waves heading back out to renew us, to make solid choices, to respond measured rather than impulsively react. Without the pause, integrity is endangered, resources are exhausted, and we are not capable of being fully present. Let 2024 be one of margin. No, don’t just let it–don’t blindly hope for it–rather let’s make 2024 one of margin!  Nurture margin, grow margin, fiercely protect margin, and then watch margin allow each of us the opportunity to function as fully integrated beings. That, my friends, is the missing ingredient to a thriving creative community!

Cole Arthur Riley from Black Liturgies: Prayers, Poems and Meditations for Staying Human 

FOR COLLECTIVE CARE: 

“We confess that we are so accustomed to pushing through an exhausted state that we come to expect the same from those nearest to us. We mirror the demands made of us and dissociate from the reality that these demands have harmed us, left us anxious and unwell…. Free us from resentment and envy as we bear witness to the prophets in our lives who practice rest and boundaries well. Let them be our guides into deeper freedom. Help us to never get used to being used. We were made for more. And together we possess the mysterious power of regeneration wrapped up in our bones. May it be so.

Inhale: I deserve more than exhaustion  

Exhale: I return home to myself 

Inhale: May I rest,  

Exhale: that I might dream. 

Inhale: I’ve given enough. 

Exhale: I choose rest.”