Last night I was on my porch scrolling through my feeds, reading articles, and attempting to finish some of the NYT games I didn’t get a chance to complete that morning. My week was long and hard and complex and inspiring and exciting and I’m not going to lie — all of those feelings were overwhelming to this leo-and-only-child empath (who also happens to be an external processor). Not in a depleting way, but in a curious-and-tired kind of way. So as I was winding down, I heard an owl. Now, I don’t normally hear owls from my porch, so I perked up a bit. Then out of nowhere a few folks started posting photos of pink and purple skies. I really perked up. Northern Lights! In Alabama? No way.
If you’ve been following me for a while, you know I am obsessed with two things: Svalbard and Northern Lights. Okay, I’m also obsessed with Dolly Parton, Jones Valley Teaching Farm, things my kids say, and many, many, many things, but Svalbard and Northern Lights are a different kind of obsession.
My work and life and friendships and relationships and connections have evolved over the last couple of years. And I guess that’s been the case because my relationship with myself (along with some lifestyle choices) has evolved.
In my youth-and-food-focused non-profit work, I have been talking a lot about holding the “both/and.” How it is important to acknowledge the broken systems while also creating space for joy, wonder, and awe in the work we do. Especially if we are focusing on youth. This week was a personal test to practice all of that “both/and” stuff.
You see, I am excitedly dreaming of building new systems to expand our work in Birmingham AND at the same time I’ve had to confront existing systems head-on. I’ve had to dig deep to understand different points of view while holding my own lived experiences front and center. I’ve celebrated and been inspired by personal and organizational change. I’ve been dreaming about the future while troubleshooting daily challenges that honestly shouldn’t be challenges at all. I’ve also had meaningful, delightful, and unexpected conversations with very diverse communities. And I’ve juggled all of this while being present and not-so-present with my children each night.
Anyway — as I started seeing photos of the northern (southern?) lights from friends in Alabama, I ran outside. I couldn’t see anything. But then the sky started to look strange in one teeny tiny portion of my backyard. The trees were in the way! I held on to hope (like I hold on to hope for snow in Alabama) that I would get to see something. ANYTHING. A friend encouraged me to take a photo because it was harder to see with the naked eye (probably true about most things if we really want to analyze that advice).
I grabbed my 12 and 8-year-old and we looked to the sky. And as the 12-year-old snapped the photos — the pink and purple appeared. We jumped in the car to try to chase them to find a space where we could see them a little better, but we didn’t have much luck.
And so, we found our way back to our backyard. With that owl and the sliver of pink and purple with trees that I briefly wished were not there, but now realized how much they played a role in the experience. It was a gift after a long week to remember that joy, wonder, and awe can be found. The road to it isn’t always easy, but maybe that’s part of the journey.
This life and work is complex and complicated and hard. But it is also incredibly surprising, invigorating, mysterious, and inspiring. So I’m holding the “both/and” this morning and sending all of you love and light (especially the flickering pink and purple kind of light).
Here’s some more inspiration I drew from this week:
Speech to the Young, Speech to the Progress-Toward
Say to them,
say to the down-keepers,
the sun-slappers,
the self-spoilers,
the harmony-ushers,
“Even if you are not ready for day it cannot always be night.”
You will be right.
For that is the hard home-run.
Live not for battles on,
Live not for the-end-of-the-song.
Live in the along.
-Gwendolyn Brooks
And Maria Popova always inspiring me:
And Myia inspiring me at the Jones Valley Teaching Farm Celebration Dinner at the Woodlawn High School farm.
And David Whyte…
“Breath is the very first thing we give to this world and the very last thing we are allowed to take from it. Breathing is what we do before we understand a single thing about our world, and the last thing we will do despite all of our hard-earned wisdom.“
And Putnam Middle School and Oliver Elementary’s Farm Stands!
And this gift:
And finally, Kaitlin Curtice:
Don’t forget,
my love,
to live.
Don’t forget
to bury
your toes in sand
and leave the car keys
and laugh at oddities.
Don’t forget to marvel
and feel despair,
to sense danger
and run from it.
Don’t forget
to take chances,
to climb mountains
that no one believed
you could climb.
Don’t forget
to love yourself,
all of you,
from every season
and every place,
because you never know
when they will
come knocking for
a cup of coffee
and an overdue hug.
Don’t forget
that you are alive
right now
until you won’t be,
and even then,
don’t forget
how beautiful
it was to
call yourself Home.