Finding My Way

Note: This is a long, rambling post, that gives lot of history to get to a very short point. If you don't want to slog through it, just skip to the last two paragraphs.

I feel lost in my hobby.

I have been playing in our medieval hobby group for 17 years, and Hubby has been playing for 13 years. When I first started playing, it was on my own. I was married and had a toddler, but he didn't play (long story). Even so, between Primus staying home with his father and the help of friends minding him, I was able to do a lot of service, teaching, and art. And I had big dreams: to advance my art to the point that the people I look up to and admire in Society would find my artistry acceptable, and that the way in which I conduct myself and serve others would enrich this game we all play to the absolute highest standard. In the next few years, I had a second child, and my friends continued helping me to do everything that brought me joy. In early 2007, BD and I broke up, and several months later, I met and began dating Hubby.

Now that I had a partner that was an active participant in our hobby, the help with kids started to dry up. I'm not bitter about that; it was to be expected - we now had two active, involved, and engaged parents, and I didn't need as much help from others. Besides, everyone wants to hold a baby, but toddlers and preschoolers? Not really. After all, they want to be on the ground, running around! And then I got pregnant. We wanted four kids altogether, so this was the plan. During that pregnancy, I had the opportunity to serve in the largest capacity of my "career" in the group, in a key retinue position. I worked hard, and feel like I acquitted myself well, even with a new baby. One job blended into the next, and I took on an administrative role in our Principality. 16 months later, I had another baby, and I was a very active player until sometime in 2011, when I hit the proverbial wall. I had a "helium hand", and wanted to do as much as I could for as long as I could. I wasn't a good steward of my own resources, and as a result of that, I burned out - HARD. I no longer loved my hobby, so I took a hiatus of more or less two years.

In that time, Hubby took a brief break, then resumed playing. And I began to question my place in the group. Had I made an impact? Had the work I'd done made things better for everyone? Had my efforts in promoting courtesy resulted in a more courteous Society? I felt that there were no concrete answers to those questions, and as a result, it took me longer to come back to it than I had originally anticipated.

The collateral damage of taking a hiatus is that your "career path", for lack of a better term, tends to veer off the map into limbo. People forget who you are, what you did, that you ever did anything, or what you are capable of. And sometimes, you forget, too. In that stretch of time, I really feel like I lost touch with who I was within the greater context of Society. I was boiled down to "wife of" and "mother of", and didn't feel like an entity unto myself

I reluctantly returned, at least part-time, in 2013 because I could see how much Hubby wanted me to. My first event back was when he petitioned our local Baroness to be her Courtier. I wanted to be there to support him, but I wasn't really feeling it, and I spent a good part of the day feeling very isolated. And I know it was me isolating myself; people I hadn't seen in a year or two seemed happy to see me, but I felt nervous and shy. Hubby was playing much more actively than I was. He went to events that I didn't feel like going to, and sometimes, he went to events that we couldn't afford for both of us to go to. His arts mentor encouraged him to attend more and larger events, and these were also events that I did not attend, staying home with the kids so that he could follow his dream. I encouraged it, because he was still passionate about it. I was having a lot of difficulty rediscovering my passion, and I really needed to sit down and think about why that was. Over time, the thought of walking into an event where Hubby had a cadre of friends I didn't know became more and more daunting for this introvert. They certainly wouldn't know who I was, apart from "spouse of that Really Cool Dude Who Does The Neat Stuff"; would anybody know - or care - that I am an embroiderer, weaver, knitter, illuminator, archer? Or am I just support staff for the guy who is clearly on his way to a peerage? What would I do now?

My artistry was suffering. I had hardly picked up silk and needle, or brush and paint. Goodness knows, there isn't a lot of time in the day to create art when you have two kids in diapers. Serving for a year as Treasurer on our elementary school's PAC executive took time and energy, as did the day-to-day work of being a wife, mother, daughter, sister,friend and home-based business owner. I was exhausted. The strain that was placed on us every time Hubby entered a competition was difficult; his focus was singular, particularly in the few weeks leading up to the deadline for documentation, and then leading up to the competition itself. That singularity of purpose, often borne of procrastination and the resulting feeling of last-minute panic sometimes made him short with us, and the lion's share of the work of running and maintaining the home fell on my shoulders. The one saving grace was that he still did the bulk of the cooking - a thing that I appreciate to this day. But it was hard, and I admit that I bristled inwardly each time he announced that he was entering a competition, because I didn't feel like he considered the impact it had on everyone else in the house. It took a lot of difficult talks for him to understand that instead of announcing that he was entering a competition, talking it over with me *before* making a decision was going to go over a lot better, and result in a more supportive and encouraging spouse.

I fully came back to the hobby when I was ready. I missed eventing, and I really missed the people. I missed creating. I missed serving. Most of all, I missed the me that I was when I was doing all of those things. But by the time I came back, my path was untended, and I didn't know how to cut away the overgrowth; how to stand up and allow myself to be seen. Hubby had this whole new group of friends with common interests, and I felt very much not a part of his SCA journey. And I started to feel forgotten. Resentment crept in, which is a horrible thing, because I was truly happy for his progress. But I felt like I had sacrificed my own path in order to secure his. And really, that's exactly what I had done.

I spent seven years feeling like that. So we spent some time talking about that, and getting on the same page.

This past March, just ahead of the shutdown of so many things due to COVID-19, Hubby was recognized as a Peer of the Realm. He had achieved what he had worked so hard for - recognition of his scholarship, his intelligence and his talent. And I was there, right behind him, as I always have been; I saw the look on his face when he realized what was happening, the look of pride on his mentor's face as she called him up, and proceeded to both beam and weep throughout his elevation, the looks of joy, respect, and admiration on the faces of his peers, and the look of delight on the faces of our King and Queen as they bestowed this accolade on him. The Queen was gracious in indicating that Hubby should hug me first before being embraced by his peers, but there was still a part of me that felt very much on the outside of things. He is the first to introduce me to his friends, and to try to include me in conversations with them, but invariably, the topic turns to something I know nothing about, and I get quiet and withdrawn. I still feel very much like I exist on the periphery of his world. The pandemic shut our Kingdom down the day after his elevation, so the isolation and lack of eventing that has ensued has only served to magnify those feelings of disconnect for me.

Where does that leave me? I have spent some time considering not only what I want to pour into my hobby, but also what I need to get from doing so to maintain balance and not spiral into another burnout. I need to figure out who I am in Society now, and who I want to be moving forward. I don't want to spend my days as only "spouse of Peer X"; I want to distinguish myself and be seen as a valuable member of Society in my own right.

So how do I do that?

I'm figuring it out, and I've got a lot going for me. I have the good fortune to be surrounded by beloved friends, truly the family of my heart, that are invested in my happiness and success. I get really sound advice from people I trust implicitly. I have been asked to assume leadership of a large project by a Peer that I adore and admire, that feels I am that perfectly suited for the task. It marries both artistry and service. I am also on a team of people tackling another large project.  Hubby has told me that he's ready to support me on my journey. I think most importantly, I am embarking on a new path, with a new service mentor whom I admire and respect greatly. I have set myself short-, mid-, and long-range plans for both my artistry and service that will allow me to focus my energy on the things that really bring me joy, and I'm learning where the edges of my resources are, so that I'm never pushing the envelope again.

I chose the elements of my personal heraldry when I first joined based on my interests at the time and personal preferences, but the heraldic meaning of it is so much more meaningful now: well-governed industry. So my intention is to ensure that my industry is always well-governed, that I am not taking on too much and risking burnout again, and that I am pouring my energy into activities that always bring me joy. Because if you're not finding joy in your hobby, why are you doing it?

In Over My Head

Today was my first real day of school, and I already feel overwhelmed.

We were given two projects, with due dates of March 27; once the material was presented, we were given lab time to work on them.

I felt completely lost.

This feeling was compounded by observing many of the other students finding their resources easily; one student even completed the first (and more involved) project with time to spare in the first class.

I realize that it's my first day, and that many of the people in the class have been there since last August, but that knowledge really didn't do much to assuage my feelings of failure and worthlessness. I used to pride myself on my intelligence, but I'm being served a mighty big helping of humble pie today, and to be honest, it tastes kind of bitter.

Not at all what I was hoping for.

On The Threshold of A New Life

In seven hours, I will step into a classroom where I am the student for the first time in 28 years.

Just typing those words is scary for me. I've been reassured by many people that I'll do fine, that it will seem easy, that I will be successful... and on some level, I know these things. But I am still scared of the unknown, and until I walk into that classroom at 8 am tomorrow, I'm going to be a bundle of nerves and self-doubt. I'm embarking on 43 weeks of study, and hopefully, by the end of it, I will find full-time employment as an education assistant in this school district.

I spent the last six years cleaning houses for seniors, and it has slowly and systematically been breaking my body. I started out with tendinitis in both hands, the result of working too hard, too fast, and for too long on a cross stitched piece for my best friend in my 20s. Next came bilateral tennis elbow in 2017. In January of this year, due to overcompensating for the pain in my right elbow, I managed to injure my left shoulder. The clinic doctor said biceps tendinitis with possible rotator cuff involvement, and a month later, the physiotherapist says that it's the rotator cuff, which is exacerbating the biceps tendons, left pectoral, elbow, hand, shoulder blade and neck. I'm trying acupuncture and daily exercises, so we'll see how that goes.

But it was this most recent injury that served as the catalyst for a big change. I had initially considered just taking the ASL courses that our local university offers through Continuing Education, in order to better equip myself to be a silent herald for our SCA events. But after a brief perusal of the UFV website, the idea was planted to investigate the feasibility of going back to school full-time to become an EA. This was something that Hubby and I had talked about years ago; we crunched the numbers, and while going back to school to become a teacher was not worth the time and money invested, going back to become an EA was a much more reasonable proposition. But while the kids were young, and would require full-time daycare, the cost was just something we couldn't manage. But now, with Quarta being 9, and Tertius on the verge of going to middle school, it really seemed like the timing was finally right. We still didn't have the funds to pay for it, but I had an idea. I decided to approach my mother about getting an advance on my inheritance to pay for school in full, and to cover any lost income for the duration of my schooling.

Things started moving pretty quickly after the decision was made; I met with one of Hubby's EAs from last year, a recent graduate of a similar program (and longtime psychologist prior to that), and not only did she encourage me to enroll in the program, but she said that I would be great at it, and expressed the hope that I would end up working alongside her at her work site. The next step was calling the school to see what it was going to cost, and when I might be able to start. March 2 was the date. A little faster than I had anticipated, but perhaps it was better that way - less of a chance for me to chicken out. Once that was settled, I spoke to my mum and brother, and they were both fully on board. This was really happening. Then came all the paperwork: criminal record checks, TB tests, doctor's notes, and a composition detailing why I want to do this, and what I bring to the program, and the career. Also, initialing and signing my name enough times to think I was signing over my firstborn child (don't worry, Primus, you're safe).

That brings me to this moment: seven hours away from the start of school. I'm 47, and I'm terrified that my intellect has atrophied so much as to sabotage any chance at success. Maybe I'm so scared because I want this so much? I hope I am equal to the task, because if I'm successful, it means a whole new life for me.

Dad

I’ve been thinking about my dad a lot lately.

We just celebrated the first of two family Thanksgiving dinners, and it gave me pause to remember that Thanksgiving dinner was the last meal I ever cooked for my dad.

Three years. Three years that I haven't been able to call him and laugh about how ridiculous US politics are, or Canadian politics, for that matter. Three years since I got to go over the most recent BC Lions score, or rail at how easily the Canucks gave up their lead. Again. Three years since I asked for his advice about something, anything. Three years since my children crawled onto the armrest of his overstuffed recliner for a snuggle. Three years since I saw saw him smile, or heard his voice.

It was the Monday after Thanksgiving when my father  was hospitalized for the last time.

I had been feeling down for a few days before I realized why:

Grief never ends.

I found a poem today that resonated with me, so I'm going to share it below.  Hope you get something out of it.

Gasping for the Flash

A flash
An instant that is meaningless in the endless cosmic cycles
Yet so significant it changes everything
Takes the breath of life from someone you love
A lasso from heaven swept across the sky
Grasping his neck
And taking him back to the dirt and the dust
As our tears turn to rust
As they blanket our face and turn our smiles to stone
And cover our world in a fog of raging fumes
For we lost you
And we are lost with confused chaotic minds
No matter what our beliefs
It doesn’t change the pain of losing a life
A light
Every passing thought of you
Makes the world stop
For moments that seem like hours
And hours that seep into days
I see the air come out of my mouth
Sweet and steaming from a fiery body that still moves
And I feel my life intensify
For every small flash of our lives is so precious
And fragile
I still can’t believe you are gone
You are still so real here
Fresh in our mental recollections

– SHILOW

My Journey of Hope: Day 28 of 28 - Reflections

Well, here we are at the end of the 28 day journey, and while, admittedly, my surgery really derailed things at the end, I am still very pleased with the progress that has been made in my home, and how clean and de-cluttered the areas I've worked on are staying. This house is FAR from done, but I feel that my efforts were worth it, and it's worth it to keep at it, a little bit at a time.

I also think it's worth the time to address what worked, what didn't work, and what I'd like to try with my next phase of this.

What Worked:

1. Looking around and finding something that bugged me enough to change it was the single most motivating factor on this whole thing.

2. Getting buy-in from family members ahead of time. The big, shameful mess in front of our living room bookshelves had a lot of things that didn't belong to me, so I knew that I had to have Hubby on board with addressing his share of it beforehand, and he agreed to deal with his things. Now, his stuff still isn't put away into their proper places, but that's mostly because we just don't have those places yet. Yes, they now reside in the previously cleared part of the office, but they were not shoved back in behind the chairs, and that is progress. I am calling this a win.

3. Pre-writing portions of blog posts. Life gets very hectic very easily, and I found that the best way to stay on top of the blogging was to pre-select topics to write on, put a blurb in, and save them as drafts. The point-form notes reminded me of what I wanted to say, and I was better able to more faithfully blog about the process that way. I allowed life to carry me away, and I was not nearly as good about blogging my progress, so there are things that got done that will not be blogged about, but the important thing is, I can see that they got done, and my home looks better for it.

4. Awareness and mindfulness of our stuff, where it is, and where we leave it has increased dramatically. Both Hubby and I are being more intentional about our belongings and where they live.

What Didn't Work:

1. Getting anything done in Tertius and Quarta's room. I knew that was my biggest obstacle going into this, but I still had hope that they would come on board. And Tertius was pretty enthusiastic at the start. But when he realized that some actual work had to get done, his enthusiasm fizzled out very quickly. They would be asked to pick up in their room, but within minutes, they could be found either re-creating the mess they had just cleaned, or making an even bigger one. I think that this room is a week-long task unto itself, and one that I will have to undertake while they're at school.

2. Pre-selecting areas to work on. It's lovely to make a neat, tidy little list of places that need de-cluttering, but it's another thing entirely to actually work that list.

What I'd Do Differently:

1. More buy-in from family members. I think in order to not be fighting upstream, I need my family to not only buy into me de-cluttering, but I need them to opt in as well.

2. Work for a set time, and make that in the mornings. I'm finding that I am more effective if I just jump right into a task after dropping everyone off at school.

For those of you who jumped onto this crazy train with me, what are your reflections?

Keep On Keepin' On

I've been finding that this whole journey is having new and seemingly lasting benefits. Despite slow days, setbacks and times when I just don't feel like doing a thing around my home, I am noticing that the tendency to do little pockets of de-cluttering have really settled in as a new habit.  This daily striving to have a better home, this persistent de-cluttering, chipping away at the years of stuff - it is becoming an ingrained habit for me to look at an object, analyze it, and make a decisive choice about its worthiness to stay in my life and home. I like this new habit.

For those of you joining in on this journey, are you noticing any positive side-effects? Feel free to share!

My Journey of Hope: Day 14 Retrospective

Hello, friends!

Well, here we are, at the halfway point of my 28 day journey, and I think it's time for some reflection on the first half of things.

The Good:

- I am noticing improvement every time I de-clutter
- I am feeling happier with my home
- I am feeling less stress
- Most members of my family have done one de-cluttering session
- I look to time spent de-cluttering as time spent on me
- I now have the number of a repair man to see to the washing machine (UPDAY: even called and left a message!)
- I like having before, during, and after photos, to show me my progress
- If I have a plan by the morning, I am much more likely to get it done
- I am doing far more on-the-fly de-cluttering; one item here and there throughout the day begins to add up, and I can see that it is becoming easier for me to do it without thinking (or taking photos of it!)

The Bad:

- My family is largely not on board with this; nobody else is de-cluttering with any regularity. This makes the process difficult, as I can't/am not allowed to cull anyone else's stuff
- Being the only one actively doing this, it is very easy to fall into a state of sloth.
- Regular tasks, such as folding laundry aren't getting done. I think this is because I've chosen to de-clutter, and others aren't helping with laundry, which they would normally do
- Having a broken dishwasher and washing machine has  been an enormous obstacle, as I never feel like I'm making headway in the house, but rather, struggling to just catch up
- It is report card time, which means that Hubby is less interested/inclined/motivated to help de-clutter his own stuff
- I am less inclined to de-clutter on rainy days
- a lack of a plan for the day often results in no de-cluttering
- unless I do a significant amount of de-cluttering, I feel that it's not enough to bother taking a photo of

The Ugly:

- I am noticing new things being deposited in the areas I have de-cluttered, and not always by me
- The kids' daily chores aren't being done, compounding the feeling of not being able to just catch up
- I am still struggling to shed my feelings of frustration and resentment about the lack of support and buy-in from my family
- having a sick family member saps my desire to de-clutter

So, from this list, I see that my mental game still has a long way to go. I can knuckle down and just get it done (or at least, as much as I can do without opposition from a family member), but the mindset is taking longer to adjust.

I'm not giving up, though, because I'm worth it, and so is my home.

There's A Kind Of Hush

NB: Let me just say up front that I am also struck by the sheer irony of writing on my laptop about the overuse of electronics for publication on the internet. But I still think it's a conversation worth having.

We are in the middle of a windstorm right now, the kind that serves to make you feel like Judy Garland filming the great twister scene at the beginning of The Wizard of Oz, and makes brushing your hair completely pointless. And, as sometimes happens, things are blowing this way and that on the street, neighbors' belongings are tumbling into each others' yards, and the tops of the trees are bending in a way that we think happens only with a good CGI budget.

So it was really no surprise to me when we lost power. Actually, what surprised me was that within seconds, it was back on. The wind was still howling outside, and I could hear the branches of my rose bush slapping against the craft room window, and a pop can skittering across the road. But I also noticed something palpable; the quiet. Not because the kids aren't here, or that the kettle was suddenly not working the water up into a frenzy, but the hush of electronics; it was the sheer absence of sound that struck me. And it occurred to me that we have grown so accustomed to the sound of electronic devices that it has become part of our subconscious soundtrack for life, and I wonder how that has affected our brain function, our moods, and our interpersonal relations in the last 40 years. I know, deep thoughts of a suburban housewife and all that... ;)

I sat here for a few minutes, trying to hearken back to my childhood, and straining to remember what the ambient noise level was like in the home I shared with my parents and older brother. Now, remember, dear Reader, that I am a child of the 70s; I grew up as one of the first kids in my neighborhood with an Atari 2600, and a TRS-80. My dad loved being on the cusp of new, easily obtainable technology, so we were often the first house on the block to get the new shiny thing from Radio Shack (granted, the Atari was purchased from Simpson-Sears while on vacation in Honolulu, but that's another blog post entirely).

Imagining a summer day is the best, I think, as it eliminates my absence from the home for several hours to attend school, and gives a broader understanding of a typical day in the late 1970s.

I'd have woken up on my own, as I didn't yet have an alarm clock. I'd probably hear Mumsy in the kitchen, or perhaps putting a load of laundry on downstairs. Maybe she'd just be sitting quietly with a coffee, knitting or reading. That was the sum total of noise in the house. If we needed to do dishes, she would haul our nifty avocado green dishwasher across the kitchen and over to the sink to hook it up, and we'd hear the whir-swish-thump of it while we enjoyed having this hand-me-down modern convenience. I remember having chores, fishing sticklebacks out of the slough, and watching Mr. Yakishiro taking his dog, Fuji, for a walk - this largely consisted of him tying Fuji's leash to the handlebars of his bike and yelling, "Fuji, GO!". I remember playing street hockey and cops and robbers and freeze tag with the other kids on our street, trying to avoid the Fletcher boys, dressing up dolls with my friend Tracy from across the street, and writing and performing plays in our backyard, charging folks on our street 5¢ apiece for the privilege of watching the dreck we thought up, though in retrospect, the monster kidnapping story starring my brother as the monster (who won the role by virtue of the drawstring hood on his puffy winter coat, obscuring his face) was pretty good.

But I don't remember watching much TV; I do remember Sci-Fi Theatre, though I'm fuzzy on when it aired, but it was either on Saturday mornings, or Sunday afternoons, or both (KVOS-TV, airing out of Bellingham). I remember having 13 WHOLE CHANNELS, and having to walk over to the TV and turn the dial to change the channel, probably the job of most 70s kids in their houses. And I remember that most TV viewing was done in the evening. I also don't remember the stereo being on much outside of parties my parents would have. Oh, but there was this one time that my brother and I decided we wanted to have a sleepover in the rec room downstairs, and my dad (who had hooked up his Hi-Fi to speakers in the rec room) pulling out the microphone, turning the volume up to full, and doing his best evil mastermind laugh into it, sending my brother and I screaming up the stairs for him to save us - jerk :P

In thinking about it, I realise that there was a lot less noise present in our house when I was a child. And I have to wonder if this higher level of ambient noise is negatively impacting mood, attention spans, and how well we deal with others.

I think we, as a society, are less patient. We're all so focused on our own stuff - our job, our errands, our needs - that we no longer take the time to notice what's going on around us, or the people who are likewise trying to go about their day. We smile less, we speak to strangers less, we don't nod, and most certainly, if it infringes on our ability to get where we need to go and do what we need to do, we don't look at other people. That might invite them to engage us, and that would make us late. We can't have that. 

In the last few years, as I've noticed we leave the Wii and PS3 on 24/7 (it makes accessing Netflix SO much easier), I've noticed a decline in my ability to retain information, and to stay on track without resorting to making lists for everything from chores to outings, to reminders to eat and hydrate. I always had a very sharp mind, and now I seem to rely on these lists more and more, and feel increasingly scattered. Now, I realise that I'm in my 40s, and memory starts to go at a certain point, but this feels more pervasive than simply getting older. Our kids have a very basic set of jobs after school (put backpack away, get lunchbag out and pick snacks for the next day, do homework, do a household chore), and it is a daily struggle to keep them on track without having either a verbal or visual reminder for them. 

Primus has significant environmental allergies, his biggest allergens being grass and trees. I've asked him what it's like when his allergies are bugging him, and he likens the experience to having a low-grade buzzing in his head all the time. This results in him being terse, even grumpy, and he is given to being short-tempered for very little cause. Low-grade buzzing. Huh. Maybe there's something to that? I know that when I'm tired, or hungry, or otherwise not functioning within acceptable parameters, I get short-tempered, too. And I think the constant low-volume buzzing of electronics is exacerbating it. And if it's making it worse for me, could it be doing the same thing for everyone else?

So please, the next time you find yourself feeling fuzzy-headed or forgetful, or on edge for some unknown reason, stop for a moment and really notice what's going on around you. Are you hungry? Tired? Sore? Is there ambient noise you were previously unaware of? Is that noise actually bothering you after all? And if so, does turning it off make things better? I challenge you to try it, and let me know the results here.