Taking a Breather

Sometimes, I like to tell myself that I am naturally a very curious person.

This satisfies my need to ask myself why I tend to dump one thing and move on to another, before I've even somewhat mastered it. It helps me to understand why, that time I went to my professor and very ardently told her I wanted to get a PhD in neuropsychology, I buckled and turned from her office in shame when she met me with a frown instead of the celebration I'd envisioned. "Well all right, but what do you want to study, then?"

holding back protects your vital energies

I didn't know.

It takes a lot less courage to move on to something else than it does to keep on, especially when you meet very practical obstacles.


While it might seem like I'm digressing here, this whole nebulous thing (which is, running from a challenge) often comes head to head with my propensity to go all in, in so many directions. I like that there is a world, and that there is so much to learn. There are so many honey pots, and so little time!

What winds up happening is that I fall into a busy trap of my very own making. And suddenly I'm up to my neck. The rush of momentum settles down into a heavy weight, and my wheels are creaking as though they will never start again once I let them pause.

So instead of stopping altogether, I give them a soft place to land.

Crafting as self care wasn't something I discovered until I finally got to college. It took experiencing the frenetic feeling that accompanies so much brain work with so little activity to understand that I need to be hands-on. I started to crochet, and the result was hypnotic. Here was this soothing, meditative and repetitive thing that lulled me into power saver mode, but that also, inexplicably, yielded something tangible that I could touch. It wasn't until more than a year later that I learned about the phenomenon of flow activities. Who knew that the thing I had been doing was a thing that a lot of us were doing, and feeling, and needing? 

We humans are far more relatable creatures than we give ourselves credit for. 

So when my motivation tank came up empty this week, I knew it was time to get my hands on something else. Past me already knew what future me would be needing, and had already purchased the materials for an experimental embroidering session months before.   

It feels worthy of documenting when that nebulous feeling of self collides with your tenacity for doing. To be clear, these are moods. And that they might align seems as rare as the calendar event of a solar eclipse, and not one whit less mysterious.  

Not all of Jenny Holzer's truisms read like platitudes, as this one does, but like any of them it does have teeth. In this case, I chose the more appeasing interpretation. In stitching this sentence down as I rehearsed the words to myself over and over, it was as though in committing to positive intentions I made the physical embodiment of those words a reality. 

Indy haz teeth, too

And just in case any of you actually thought that my dog enjoys posing next to my craftwerks, here is the real reason she agreed to sit next to me for that shot. 

There are a lot of ways to really, bone deep, let-it-go kind of relax, and this is just one of them. But it's a really good one for me. 

Tell me about your secret self care rituals, and how they help you get back to yourself. 

xo

How Does Your Garden Grow?

                                          

          sage

“We have no say over the conditions in which we work and how our work is organised, and how it affects us physically and mentally. This lack of control over the work process transforms our capacity to work creatively into its opposite, so the worker experiences activity as passivity, power as impotence, procreation as emasculation, the worker's own physical and mental energy, his personal life - for what is life but activity? - as an activity directed against himself, which is independent of him and does not belong to him."

- Introduction to Marx's Theory of Alienation by Judy Cox

When we first moved into our house, all I could think about was a garden. That I could put a seed into the ground, give it no more than water and warm thoughts, and have it grow into something that would eventually translate into a meal thoughtfully prepared is nothing short of magic. Also, what better way to know exactly what you are putting into your body than to grow it yourself? To have that degree of control within your grasp is something else entirely. 

According to Marx, when a process that we once were intimately involved with becomes something that is no longer under our control, we become alienated from it. Process meaning the making of a thing, from start to finish, beginning to end. Labor both at home and in the workplace has certainly changed and become a largely piecemeal thing, but so has our relationship with food. Unless you are a farmer, it is frequently viewed as an eccentricity, or badge of hipness, to be an American and raise your own food. Which is strange when you break it down and look at it. Thus Marx's only solution to the problem of alienation is going all in, elbows-deep. Creating a thing from beginning to end is the only antidote to being alienated from it (and thank you, Barbara Kingsolver, for making this wonderful connection between Marx's theory and plant life- if you want to read more about it, read her book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle).

What I discovered quickly enough is what is obvious to the non-amateur: it's work. Even still I was lucky. It was not me that shoveled through the hard ground to dig out space for our garden beds, nor was I the one to purchase and mix the mixture of peat moss, vermiculite and soil that went inside. What I did do was plant the seeds, water them carefully every morning, and leap with joy every time a new sprout or fruit appeared. What I did after that was nurse my bitter disappointment the morning I stepped outside to find every leaf and stalk shot through as if with teeny, tiny bullets. 

While the the birds and insects might have been thankful for the feast, the joy I had been cultivating in the form of my latest pet project had been blasted to bits. 

brussels sprouts

Like any other form of heartbreak, I made a silent vow to myself that I would never again be so foolish. It became a source of shame when I considered how my personal failure had little more than called out my vanity. Maybe my motives were impure and I really was just pursuing my own personal badge of hipness rather than trying to cultivate a healthier relationship with food. If that was the case, maybe I deserved to fail. 

So when the Texas summer inexplicably waned into fall, planting another vegetable garden was the last thing on my mind. It would never have happened, had my BF's mother not casually mentioned that fall in the prime growing season in our region. I heard what she said, but it still didn't make an impact on me - from my one failure, I had assumed the stance of total ineptitude. 

          Until I thought to ask one question: 'Is there an insect problem during the fall season?' 

          Lee: 'No! That's why it's the perfect time of year.' 

And then, while I stood there slack-jawed in awe at the new possibilities, Lee proceeded to sow 22 square feet of mixed lettuce and kale seeds in two out of our three garden beds. Like the magical person that she is. Okay, it happened like two days later. But still. Slack jawed with awe. 

Not to be outdone, a few days later Nathan and I returned home from our local organic nursery with arms overladen with herbs, fruit and vegetable plants. Between rows of herbs, butter crunch lettuce and cabbage, mixed onions and shallots, broccoli, cauliflower and artichoke plants - not to mention the greens already in the ground - Nathan and I will be keeping in tasty company this winter. 

Regaining faith in myself and plunging right back in turned out to be the best medicine. I am excited again, even joyful, but also realistic. I know it's more than likely that a great majority of what I planted will fail, and that's okay. It doesn't mean I can't dream about what these plants will become. 

For instance, I already know that the gorgeous sage will eventually become this  Pan-Fried Pumpkin Gnocci with Brown Butter Sage. If they yield into the humongous branches you see at the farmer's market this time of year, the brussels sprouts will undoubtedly find themselves nestled on top of this Brussels Sprouts, Bacon and Goat Cheese Pizza. And even more than the final product itself, I am incredibly excited to share this food with people I love. It being the food-centric time of year that it is, I should have plenty of opportunities. 

xo,

Kirsten

Date With My Dog-Child

Single red & white pup seeking new loving relationship. 

I live and die for this face.

Indy wiggle-wormed straight into my life and heart almost 6 years ago when, as a stray puppy, she cased my boyfriend out in his parking lot and followed him to his front door. My life has been 200% better since she became a part of it - she is an incredibly sweet and loyal pup. Making sure she gets enough stimulation and attention never feels like work, but that doesn't mean that it isn't a challenge sometimes. Luckily, I live in a fantastic town for being a dog-lover. 

Read on, dear friends. Let's talk about spending quality time with your canine.

***

Dogs evolved to live with human beings. According to the Monks of New Skete, in Native American lore it was considered good luck when your dog tore up something that belonged to you. The great Shawnee grandmother Kukemthema is always weaving a basket - and when it's finished, the world will end. Luckily for us, dogs unravel her work every night while she sleeps, so she never gets further than she did the day before. As writer Louise Erdrich said on the topic of why there are always dogs in her novels, "there is a special relationship there. Dogs chose us."

(Evidently, some extra-special dogs chose Louise Erdrich. If you don't believe, me, then go find out what her dogs are currently reading and decide for yourself)

After graduating from college I figured it was high time to get a degree in pupology. I found myself favoring the behaviorist perspective and wound up selecting Temple Grandin's Animals Make Us Human to start. What was fascinating was how it challenges the premise that dogs are primarily pack animals. Grandin describes the current state of evidence as supporting the idea that wolves actually prefer to live as families, meaning that pups are raised by their parents. Instead of the ubiquitous wolf pack being the central family unit in the wild, Grandin suggests that packs are the immediate result of adolescent pups being estranged or separated from their parents.

Which means that wolf packs tend to form for the same reason that human gangs do. Is your mind blown yet? It should be. Because dogs really are people, too.

Aside from conceptual knowledge gained, the thing I paid the most attention to in this book was Grandin's suggestion for how to care for your animal. Her recommendation was that if your dog is the only one in the household - and if, like us, you tend to spend 8-10 hours a day at work - then it is crucial that your friend receives a full hour of unadulterated attention every day.

Between the daily constitutional that Indy and I take together, and the unmitigated fawning that occurs nearly every time she catches mine or my boyfriend's eye, she gets a sufficient amount of love from us, no problem. But sometimes it still doesn't seem like enough.

That is when I get the itch to go all out.

So romantic, right? 

So, when time permits, her and I will go on a day date together. This day pictured all throughout was a special one. I took a wrong turn on the highway when on the way to our trail destination, and suddenly realized we were only minutes away from the Mount Bonnell lookout point. After a few quick turns and a hike up the staircase cut into the steep hillside, Indy and I found ourselves with a birds-eye view of the river. Water that usually runs clear and blue on a sunny day was today slugging through the channel like a melted chocolate milkshake due to the rounds of flash flooding Austin can't seem to get enough of these days (Indy thought it looked delicious).

When we'd had enough of the view, we turned around and drove down south to the Town Lake Hike and Bike Trail. We walked a 4-mile loop while alternately checking out parts of the trail that had washed out, and chasing swans. Every now and then, we pit-stopped at these ingenious doggy water fountains that are posted throughout the path.

Austin is an incredibly dog-friendly town, if you couldn't guess it already. Walk Your Dog Austin maintains a comprehensive list of dog services, including patio bars and restaurants where your dog can join you. With events like the Doggy Du-Dash (where you can run a race with your hound) and the Pittie Pride Parade happening all the time, Austinites are consistently trying to incorporate their animal company into their daily lives both in and outside of the home.

What is your favorite way to spend the day with your hound?

xo!

Today, My Heart is Very Full of Yearning

From thirst

...which is also to say that ten years ago today, my father passed away very suddenly. Tomorrow would have been my parent's thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. The day after that it will be my twenty-seventh birthday. I can still remember the cake that caring and concerned family members purchased for me, sliced and set in front of me on my seventeenth birthday. I can still remember how the only thing I even noticed about that day was the way that the crumbs stuck in my throat.

But loss pushes open a huge space in your heart that can, once again, fill up. Like a man-made reservoir, at first the landscape is remarkably sterile, but in time, it will be reclaimed by the earth and become part of a thriving ecosystem. In that way, loss also begets hope.

For the ability to reduce and simplify those most complex of feelings, so that you can sort and count them like change. For the chance encounters that greet you unexpectedly, like a white tree hovering over a lake. For the evolving landscape, and for all of the people that you miss. 

For all of the ways in which it is possible to catch your breath.

xo

Selfies at Sixteen

It is the last Thursday in which I will be twenty-six years old, and thus the last one in which I can legitimately throw-back to the fact that these are photos I took ten years ago.


          Nathan: "That was back when it took a lot longer to get feedback on your selfies."


These photos stayed in the house where I grew up until a few months ago - which means I didn't see them for nearly these entire ten years. Then, last May, when I was sorting through the few remaining possessions in my teen bedroom, I found them. Then, they traveled in a box on a moving truck approximately 2,500 miles. And then, two nights ago, they landed on my table in my house.

The time in which I took them happen to coincide with a time in my life very shortly before everything changed, which makes happening upon them even more momentous. But that's a story for a different day.

For now, I will just muse on these photos because BLOND PIXIE. Because I had thrifting skills back then. And because I wish I knew how old I was when this happened:

          I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, 

          whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced,

          and surprise us, come hammering on the mind's door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to

          know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends.

Joan Didion

Because reacquainting yourself with yourself is important. 

xo,

Kirsten

In Which I Struggle to Put My Finger on it

See, this is the ridiculous part.

I paved space for literally whatever I wanted to write about, but here I am, in this space that I created, literally quaking in my boots about actually putting words into it. The worst part is that it feels like a trap I set for myself. I decided I was going to write a blog, and I told a few of my friends about it. Then I made a brunch date with a blogger friend, and we talked about blogging, and the conversation was so dang good that I walked away feeling like I'd accomplished enough that I didn't need to start the actual writing until tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month.

And just like that, my largest source of excitement - a thing I entered into out of pure desire, committed to by way of social accountability - became a thing burdened by expectation. An expectation that I did not fulfill. And so I shrank from it. With shame. 

It's at times like these that essentials come back with awful clarity - as in a conversation with my blogger friend where she said that the most important thing being that you write - which was something I both nodded my head vigorously to while mentally filing it away under the (duh) category at the time. My inner pompous self answered this call to work with, Of course writing is the most important thing; isn't that what a blog is for? I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS, IT WILL NOT BE A PROBLEM.

The fact of the matter is that, even though I consider myself a writer, I do not write. It's part of the reason why I decided that this, here, now, was the right thing to do. I have many loves, and when your interests are so divergent it can be difficult to find the specificity of mind to compose anything that is little more than nonsense.

The reason that a blog is necessary for me is that I write differently when I write for an audience. I had to stop keeping personal journals because every time I came back to them days or weeks later, they read as little more than cryptic drivel. While a psychoanalyst might have a heyday with that, it just hasn't been good enough for me. In order for writing to do for me what I need it to, I need a space where I am forced to stay organized by stringing words together in arrangements that order and lend meaning to the things happening in my life. 

I would like to tempt fate by proclaiming here and now that I have written my way through the great obstruction, and that it's going to be all peaches from here. But I know myself better than that. All I can do is remind myself that the best way to lead myself through it is often the most overlooked way - being really unflatteringly honest about it. I have long had a conversation with myself about how I'd like to be a person without secrets - that is, I'd like to find a way to live in which I am able to be transparent. So now, I can notch this one under an experiment in digital transparency, and we will see if it takes.

xo,

Kirsten 

This is, Excuse Me, A Damn Fine Cup of Weekend

This is usually what my idea of a good weekend looks like too, Ben. However, October and November marks the time of year when my days begin to fill up in a feel-good kind of way. In honor of the art of weekending - and in a tradition I can't promise to stick to - I present to you the weekend list: volume I.

• You know when you make tipsy plans, and you're so excited that you're totally going to do this thing but the next day it seems doubtful at best? Sometimes we get lucky and those plans stick, which is what happened when a few of my favorite ladies stopped by my house on Friday night (I was even pleased to find one of them already there, hanging with the BF when I got back from my jog). We caught up over drinks on the porch, then walked down the street to my neighborhood brew-pub, where I discovered my new love: the Agent Cooper.

oatmeal stout brewed with coffee and rum-soaked cherries

• Then we went to an animal-themed costume party - which, I assumed, was going to be a party where everyone wore an animal costume. It turned out to be a costume party where everyone brings their dogs. 
• I woke up rested and on-time for the final day of training for my third (yes, third) job on Saturday morning. 
• I took the pup to the coffee drive-thru with me- an Americano for me, a puppuccino for her - and, coffee in hand, Nathan and I headed to an organic plant nursery and loaded up his car with pots, houseplants, strawberries and vegetables.
• We ventured out to our neighborhood Korean restaurant where I tried bibimbap for the first time. 
• After six years of friendship, my friend's mother flew out from Austria - and I got to enjoy the extreme pleasure of these wonderful ladies preparing and serving a Sunday Austrian meal in my home for my family and me.

2 (or 3) cooks in the kitchen

• It was wonderful - all of my family at one table. When, like me, you moved away from both your family and the town where you grew up literally the day after graduating high school, it is impossible to put a premium on something like that. 

Finally, after a full day of food and family, Nathan and I relaxed on the couch to watch the latest episode of the Walking Dead.A great weekend deserves a great list, and now that I've exhausted all of you with mine, I want to hear about yours! Share your weekending list with me - whether it was last weekend, your greatest weekend ever, or the weekend of your dreams. 

xo,

Kirsten