One of the ways I stay anchored is verbal processing.
I don’t like that I need to talk through things out loud with another human in order to figure out how I feel or what I think.
I’d like to be self sufficient, but there are times that everything just builds up inside in a huge murky morass until I relent and the Chaplain submits to the maelstrom.
Every year in California, there is a big thing called Costume College. It’s a weekend where costumers, especially historical costumers, get together to dress up, geek out, and learn how to better their craft. Even though I was terrified and felt ill prepared, I signed up to go this year.
I hopped onto Instagram for some pretty pictures this weekend and found a lot of melancholy. People were taking stock of their lives and feeling sad and discouraged. It seemed to be a theme.
It makes sense. It’s Labor Day weekend, and according to a book I just read, When: The Scientific Secrets of Perfect Timing, by Daniel H. Pink, we tend to assess where we are and make big changes on significant days in our lives.
For me, fall is a heavy hitter – it’s the beginning of the school year, Labor Day, and my birthday. Three opportunities to launch into a fresh start, or flop over sideways with a weak wave.
It was fascinating to be reading about this phenomenon of significant days in our lives being a catalyst for change while seeing the real-time effects of Labor Day weekend play out on social media.
I picked a really bold fabric for my wearable muslin of the Estuary Skirt from Meg of Sew Liberated. The fabric was out of my comfort zone and beyond my color palette but it was so beautiful that I went for it.
There is a time and place for experimentation, but I went too far. Not that it isn’t a gorgeous skirt: It is.
Years ago, when I had fewer kids, I would go barefoot in the house come summertime. The first warm day there was a bit of dread as I came downstairs sockless in the morning, knowing I was about to find out how dirty my floors had gotten over the winter.
I’d feel the grit under my feet and pull out the broom, and the rest of the summer would be a tug between kids, crumbs, dirt, and my bare feet.
Several kids later, I’ve given up and wear socks year-round. I do clean my floors, often multiple times a day, but not frequently enough for bare feet.
