sometimes i want to do 92379282 things and change the world and start up companies and pioneer big things but then i think too much about how much work it would be and i get tired before i even start
saturday’s adventure + my new mug ☺️
easter! 🐣
featuring our blooming daffodils 🌼 dan hid a bunch of eggs for me to do an easter egg hunt! and i hid chocolate bars for him along with some other fun surprises and then we got coffee on the river and it was 75 degrees and sunny and absolutely gorgeous and the earth smelled so good. and then we went to my mom’s for “linner” and ate so much good food and talked with family and my sister’s boyfriends and had coffee with our candy at 7pm and it was such a beautiful day i could hardly stand it. so lucky and grateful to be here in this chapter in this life.
i’ve been thinking a lot about this little lady. how she lived, how she felt, what the world looked like through her eyes. rifling through my baby box and seeing what i’d written as a 4 or 5 year old, reading about how much i loved rainbows and animals and most of all, myself. it really is a novel thing to look back at your little self and read about how you thought you were so overwhelmingly intelligent that you could be anything as long as it was conceivable. [and i thought, how wonderful, most of us must find ourselves so smart before we are taught that intelligence can be measured and gauged, and that one is inherently better and more valuable than the other.] or how you were so overwhelmingly beautiful, so much so that you should have been a ballerina. [and i tried to recall any time i spent any time looking in the mirror as a little girl and thinking of myself as beautiful, and then realized that i must have inherently found myself beautiful as the only time i ever looked in the mirror was to make sure i was brushing my teeth correctly.] or how you thought you were wicked fast and athletic and could do whatever sport you wanted. [and all i could recall was the crippling anxiety i had in gym my whole life, wondering when it changed and what had happened to crush my inherent self certainty.]
i kept looking through my baby box and was in awe of the creative confidence i often used to complete my worksheets. fill in the blank exercises were clearly my absolute favorite; there was no answer too ridiculous to be excluded. my favorite answer was in a thanksgiving packet, discussing the life of pilgrims. when asked what pilgrims did before eating their thanksgiving dinner, my answer was:
bowling.
accompanied by the best drawing you have ever seen of a family of pilgrims going bowling.
no notes from the teacher were on this page. just my drawing and fill in the blank answer: bowling.
now i'm not even going to try to guess what my train of thought was leading up to this rather abnormal answer, but how amazing that i must have had some sort of a mental conversation about how if i were a pilgrim, what would be the best thing to do before dinner? and at some point i landed on the answer bowling. and with ecstatic certainty i filled in my answer and proceeded to draw a stunningly accurate portrayal of my family as pilgrims going bowling. honestly, how wonderful is that? but this quickly leads to an uncomfortable question: am i even capable of something like that right now? being able to turn off the logical, analytical, processing, systematic part of my brain to even answer that creatively? and not in a forced way, but genuinely??? simply contemplating this as i type makes me flat out grimace. this part of my brain is so hidden behind boxes and new software and processing systems that it feels like the equivalent to walking into walgreens and asking them if they can develop my film. "well, we still have the machine but it hasn't been used in years... we'll turn it on and see if it even works, so why don't you come back tomorrow since it'll probably take it a day to even start running again." [this is a real conversation i had with a walgreens employee several years ago.]
how do we lose that magical sense of wonder? it feels like thick velvety fog; incandescent, evasive, yet bursting with mystery. but when we are young, it feels so familiar, like your favorite stuffed animal or the soft corner of your prized blanket.
i am on a search for wonder.
maybe magic.
but probably both.
read this book. i am buying a copy and will bring it with me everywhere, until pages are falling out and the binding is worn and it looks like crap. this book means everything.
“That night the mystery of our situation felt like one grand miracle, hidden just out of sight unless you really try to see it. That there is something rather than nothing, and that we are here to be part of it - surely this is amazing. How is this so easy to forget? How is this so easy to ignore, silence, or overlook in the pursuit of other things? Even at a young age we learn the universe is filled with loneliness and fear, but lying there, clinging to the blanket as the earth spun and the meteors fell and the whole of existence stood out on display, I recognized that whatever else it was and whatever I became in it, the universe was also filled - to the very cusp - with wonder.
Now decades later, I worry that the experience of wonder becomes harder and harder for me to find as I get older. This has nothing to do with education - wonder is not the product of ignorance - but it does have something to do with certainty. As an adult, I am tempted to establish and reaffirm at all times the boundaries of my existence - to say ‘This is my life and I have a good grip on it,’ like an ostrich in his own personal kingdom under the sand. But my favorite moments are the ones that shoot this certainty full of holes, that barge in unannounced and track mud all over the carpets, grab me by the shirt, drag me out into the street and say, in effect, ‘Wake up, you fool, and open your eyes. There is more to it than that.’
So if I were to tell you about my experiences as a human being I wouldn’t tell you about my triumphs or my defeats. Everyone has them, and they're more the result of life than the actual stuff of its creation. I wouldn’t tell you about my fears or my suffering. Again, everyone has them, and mine are not particularly unique or acute. All things considered, so far I have been pretty lucky.
Instead, I would tell you about the moments I have stood rapt in awe, or quiet with wonder, and in doing so, seen beyond the surface of things. I have spent most of my life and all of my career trying to understand this experience, yet it has never become commonplace or ordinary. On the contrary, it stands out as one of the only experiences in this world that is wholly good. Wonder, astonishment, magic - that sense of waking up and seeing thing the way you saw them before they became ordinary. This is the root of it for me, the curious joy and the primal dread of the unknown. There’s something there - in the dark sky at night or in the bare branches of the trees against the gray November clouds, or in the summer wind as it comes in from the sea with the smell of another land just over the horizon - reminding us that the universe, the world, and the human heart are larger and more mysterious than we can possibly imagine. This is magic.
So this - all of this - came first. The magic tricks came later, and the less we dwell on them, the better. This is not a book about tricks. This is a book about magic - the experience of magic - and you can find it anywhere. People find it in music and movies, in the mountaintops or conversation, in the night sky or in the Moonlight Sonata. Magic tricks are just a way to remember something you already know, or maybe knew and then forgot somewhere along the way. Take them for what they are and they’re nothing. You can’t look at them. You have to look through them, like a telescope.”
snow! more snow! it falls in the biggest, stickiest flakes and blankets everything, clinging for its life to whatever it can hold onto before melting in the sunshine the next day.
we had our first fire in the kitchen fireplace this weekend and wondered why the heck we hadn’t done it sooner. it was the nicest, loveliest, most relaxing sunday evening ever. we sat and read for hours.
“‘Finding yourself’ is not really how it works. You aren’t a ten-dollar bill in last winter’s coat pocket. You are also not lost. Your true self is right there, buried under cultural conditioning, other people’s opinions, and inaccurate conclusions you drew as a kid that became your beliefs about who you are. ‘Finding yourself’ is actually returning to yourself. An unlearning, an excavation, a remembering who you were before the world got its hands on you.” Emily McDowell
more of our life + house progress 🥰
life has consisted of:
-dog + horse sitting
-sunsets
-snow
-more dogs
what a life.
i’ve been looking at this rain jacket and rain boots basically since they were released and dan bought me the jacket as a “yay! we moved” gift and i bought myself the boots after finishing a recent project! they both showed up today!!!! so as soon as i got home i raced upstairs and stripped down and put them on even though i was only in my underwear and i just love them. so much. 4 year old rachel is on cloud 9. i want to feel like this every time i buy clothes here on out.
this weekend we went to see my dad’s latest project in milwaukee: rehabbing two old buildings that have been totally used as hoarding space and were like water logged and decaying time capsules. it was absolutely amazing. but also terrifying. there were plenty of spots where windows were gone and on one floor there was anywhere from 3in of ice to 6in of water and an old ambulance from the 50s and car doors and new toilets in funky colors from the 80s and tires and more tires and car doors and just so. much. crap. at one point we were walking down these super rickety stairs and my dad just showed how you could almost poke a hole through this gigantic steel joist that was holding up the floor. it was that corroded from water and element exposure. (i was ready to leave at that point. my dad had already almost fallen through a rotted part of the floor. it was very touch and go.) absolute insanity.
camping in our new digs!
- right before we moved in we found out that all of the appliances weren’t going to be there for another 3 WEEKS. dan somehow figured out how to expedite that situation, so we ended up camping in the kitchen from sunday through wednesday! at first we had to run extension cords from the other end of the house to the kitchen as all the outlets in the kitchen were off. we lived off of trader joe’s veggie wontons and fried gnocchi (if you have never fried gnocchi, dear lord please do so it’s amazing) on our griddle
- we got BEAUTIFUL appliances delivered on wednesday and made pasta salad as our first meal! we still don’t have a sink so noodles have to be strained into old menards bucket. no sink? no problem! we are self sufficient nuggets. also dan is in love with our sexy stove.
- washing dishes currently happens in the upstairs master tub. dan leans on an old saddle pad and washes them in there. he says it’s the best sink for washing dishes except for the fact that we have to go upstairs to do the dishes hahaha
- last night we went to make scalloped potatoes in the oven (first time using the oven!) and we had PROBLEMS. within seconds the entire thing filled with massive amounts of smoke so thank the lord that none of the smoke alarms are set up because every single one would have gone off. anyway, aborted mission and went to my moms to finish baking our scalloped potatoes. c’est la vie. today dan + tim the contractor will hopefully figure out why our oven is trying to kill us.
updates updates updates!
- we moved!
- life flooded!
- we live on a lake! for the next year +! what is life!
goodbye, little apartment. thank you for holding us while we needed to be held. 💕
i cannot fucking stand click bait article titles. they need to stop. i was on pinterest and saw this promoted article: “are you really drinking water at the right time of day?”
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME.
we can’t think for ourselves anymore because there’s a fucking article around every corner telling us why we’re wrong. we can’t listen to our bodies anymore because there’s an article on every website proclaiming the negative side effects and aspects to every little thing we do.
“10 reasons why diet x isn’t working for you.” “are you doing x at the right time of the day?” “7 signs your relationship is x.” “this is why you need product/food/practice x in your life.”
all this is doing is further breeding massive amounts of doubt and insecurity in everyone. not only are we living in a society that literally profits off of instilling outrageously negative thoughts about ourselves and our bodies, but now we live in a time where the only thing that matters are clicks and likes and shares. they do not care if you are filled with anxiety about your diet or your relationship or your body because you read that article. they only care that you are now part of a statistic that proves that scare tactic/doubt infusing marketing works.
if you read these articles, stop. disengage. you are letting everyone who only cares about likes and clicks and shares dictate your beliefs and thoughts about every aspect of your life. these articles are only being written so that the titles instill enough self doubt so that you click the article to read it. you are giving away your power. take. it. back. fuck them. you know better and they sure as hell don’t know you.
if you are writing these articles, stop. are you really happy that you are furthering the crippling self doubt and anxiety hundreds of thousands of people experience on a daily basis? do you really feel that you are writing meaningful content? if you want to write about a topic, do it because you want to. not because you think it’s marketable and will scare the shit out of enough people that they will read it. stop playing the game. you are better than that.
t-8 days until we get to wake up to this view every morning!!!!! ah!!!!!!!!
this year has been a lot about reconnecting with my four year old self. that’s the best way to describe it. the me who was unencumbered by the pressures and rules of society and what “good girls” do and what “good girls” don’t do and who i should be according to everyone else. running butt naked in my front yard collecting dead bugs in my sparkly purple bead box and the prettiest rocks in empty egg cartons. wearing whatever the hell i wanted whenever the hell i wanted to because i thought i looked damn good. singing in the car making up my own songs because i thought i had the most beautiful voice and i just wanted to hear myself sing. jumping out of bed when the sun was up and the day was calling. not spending a second in the bathroom outside of going pee and maybe washing my hands. there was no looking at my skin or scrutinizing my body in the mirror or questioning what i was wearing. i chose my outfits because i loved the color and the fabric, but most of all, i loved how i felt wearing them. i believed i was inherently beautiful. on some days i wanted to be a vet and on others i wanted to be a geologist and the next i wanted to ride horses. i believed i could be whoever i wanted to be whenever i wanted to be. there was no such thing as “choosing a career that would be recession proof and financially stable.” there was no such thing as “choosing one thing to do for the rest of your life because you can’t just switch whenever you feel like it.” there was no such thing as “going to college to do what you want otherwise you’ll never be able to get a job.” i ate when i was hungry. i slept when i was tired. i didn’t care what anyone else did because i just assumed they were living their dream life like i was and that didn’t make them any better or worse than me. i deserved good things because i was me. i existed. that was all i had to do to be enough. it was not because i had to earn it or prove my worth or let some religious institute dictate whether or not i was a good person. i loved fearlessly and without question. i trusted anyone and everyone without a second thought. i saw everyone as perfect.
and underneath all the baggage, all the rules, all the assumptions, all the fear, all the doubts, all the games,
that is still me.
i am growing back into my four year old self. watching how every action of mine is the result of wanting to be good enough, the fear of not being good enough, the anxiety that i might do the wrong thing and be criticized or told something about me is wrong. the self doubt i experience when i want to do something but am afraid it’s not the “right” thing is crippling. i am realizing i was taught that every action has a consequence: you were right and earned praise or you were wrong and earned criticism and punishment. you could never just be.
i am learning to be my four year old self. eating oreos before dinner or a soda with breakfast because it sounds like the best thing ever. wearing the clothes that my four year old self would die to wear. choosing things that are bright and airy and lovely. getting rid of all the clothes that don’t spark that excitement. not buying clothes because they’re “reasonably priced” or “age appropriate” or “business casual” or “in style” or “slimming” or have “tummy control.” no. how have we been taught so much absolute shit. i am buying rain boots in the brightest colors so i can splash in puddles. i am buying dresses that remind me of my absolute favorite tea dress that i wore almost every single day for an entire summer because i loved it that much. i am surrounding myself in pinks and yellows and purples and the brightest most lovely colors i can find.
i am learning to talk like my four year old self. to say what i want when i want. to see something beautiful in someone or something and speak it. to freely express emotions and feelings. to say no more. but to also say yes. to freely accept compliments and good things. to not think so much about whether what i’ve said is right or has proof or has been researched or can be backed up by facts. i am learning how to talk again.
i’ve allowed the world to make me so hard, unfeeling, suspicious, pessimistic, negative, and scared. it’s not my fault, nor is it my parent’s. it’s just what life has taught them and what they’ve taught me. but i don’t want it to be like that a second longer. there is too much beauty to be seen through the eyes of my four year old self. there is too much joy and ecstatic glee to be felt through the innocence of my four year old self. there is too much we are missing to not be our four year old selves. there is just too much we have been robbed of. and i am taking it back. i am going to remaster the lost art that is the innocent simplicity of childlike faith and awe and wonder in this world. i am taking it back.