“Here’s to freedom, cheers to art. Here’s to having an excellent adventure and may the stopping never start.” ― Jason Mraz
My life requires a great deal of organization. Helping my 6 kids navigate the ins-and-outs of regular life is activity enough, but the 6 of them are spread across 4 different schools, plus one a traditional homeschooler. 3 of them have an IEP each, 1 has a 504 Plan, and one has a mental health diagnosis that involved both a heavy mental and physical burden on the child and the family. Between the 6 kids we regularly see a neurologist, a therapist, a psychologist, a psychiatrist, a dermatologist, 3 different pediatricians, and a disability case manager. I have a slew of spreadsheets, bullet journals, and digital calendars to keep me on top of everyone’s needs.
I’m not a naturally organized person. I invest a lot of energy into my systems. If left to my own devices, I am sure I’d be a happy and carefree sometimes-artist living in a van down by the river.
I work hard to know myself and to create patterns that benefit me and my kids rather than stunt me and damage them. However, delineating my days and weeks by appointments and the needs of others can make me feel like an empty robot. Not a cool robot who feels feelings against all odds or a R2D2 who dances with Ewoks, but a cold, input-output, happiness-does-not-compute robot.
Feeling like a robot exhausts me, fries my circuit boards, if you will. Not the type of exhaustion you feel after a half-marathon but the type of exhaustion you feel from getting up too early for too many days in a row while managing grief, trauma and a full household. A deep, to-the-bone weariness that isn’t fixed by a nap.
Have you felt this level of weariness? Do you know the deep ache for rest that can’t be quelled with an afternoon nap or a surprise pedicure? The kind that causes your belly to sour when you hear the too early pound of kid feet in the morning. The kind that makes your head swim when just one more typical kid fight comes on the night you are solo parenting. The kind that keeps you staring in the refrigerator at all those ingredients with zero energy for creatively assembling them into a meal. This level of exhaustion was my constant companion for well over 10 years.
The past few years I have slowly woken to myself. I have realized that weariness, like fear, is no longer welcome in my life. I’ve worked to create boundaries with that weariness, to make myself as important as my children, to recognize the value of who I am in the world apart from what I do. Who I am is great. I want to honor my greatness.
So, after considerable trial and error, I’ve found the cure for my robot funk. Returning to my lovely, fun, connected human form is found through adventure. Now, I realize that this may seem counterintuitive. Why would I go on an adventure when you barely have energy to shower all the way? I certainly couldn’t be asking you to DO more, could I?
No, I’m not. I would never seek to add to your load. In fact, all I will ever ask you to do is LESS. You need nourishment at the soul-deep level. This can only be achieved by doing less and experiencing more.
Adventure is not a task to be added to a to-do list, a means of stressing your already taxed adrenal system, or about adding expensive gear to keep safe and manage on top of all your other household stuffs. Adventure is about resuscitating then rejuvenating your truest self, nourishing your soul and connecting with your body. Adventure is about feeling a youthful glee with God while we embrace the freedom we innately posses.
If your soul longs for the freedom of adventure, for the joy and lightness that comes with discovery, the purpose and fulfilment that results from meaningful connections then this is the place for you. Here we will seek out ways to add adventure to our lives, on our own and with our family. We will figure out what we can say NO to in order to say YES to adventure. We will learn to open our eyes to the adventure in our every day lives but also adjusting our focus out into our community and into the whole world.