Red Cedar
More apocalypse, less angst
Post #3314: The things that make up a life
(Photo: Seaweed on a foggy day.)
Yesterday, I stepped out for a walk in the deep fog and ran into my neighbour, who told me I’m the talk of the seniors’ centre at the moment. Why? Because I’m playing my fiddle at their monthly lunch this Thursday—an afternoon of live music followed by a soup social.
I agreed to this gig months ago, an easy yes to come and play half an hour of music and then share a meal with folks in my community. After that, I have to go on to our local trust committee meeting to make the case for the inclusion of a green burial cemetery in our community planning process. I took the day off work to do both of these things.
There is a lot going on here day-to-day. A friend is coming next week to stay for a period of songwriting residency, I’m taking weekly fiddle lessons for the first time since I was a kid, we are planning a spring party for the 80th birthday of my father-in-law. I’ve got board meetings and shows and craft socials all piling up over the next little while. And then there is work, with the intensity of knowing that I will wrap it all up before the year is out.
But I’ve also managed to book myself five or six days of silent retreat at a hermitage on another island in early March, and I’m giving myself the space for meditation every morning before the hum begins. Here is where I find the foundation for the things that make up my life, the footholds that show me the way forward.
It’s all very small in the face of the cataclysmic world state, but what else can we do right now but build our communities, our kindnesses and our resilience? All of this is preparation for whatever comings knocking on our doors next.
Post #3313: A rainy day
This photo is proof that we have not had a frost at our place yet this winter. Even weirder than a hydrangea with colour on it in January, is the fact that the old potato patch has sent up their green tops where we missed digging out a couple of potatoes. To say it’s been a warm winter thus far would be an understatement. It’s been wet as hell, but it has not dipped below zero once where I live.
Of course, being still winter, that could change sooner rather than later. Last year we had a similar pattern, only for 2 feet of snow to show up after the turn of the year. It’s not unusual to get a long autumn-wet pattern, with a very short actual winter here.
I’ve returned to work after a 2 week break, and it occurs to me that when I’m not working for money – I spend almost no time at all in front of a computer monitor. I definitely use my phone (too much) and occasionally break out the laptop to write – but this sitting at a machine 8 hours a day is entirely unnatural to how I spend my time when not forced to sit in once place all day long. I am restless and unsatisfied. I want to take my laptop to the coffeeshop and work there instead. Or even better, get back to the books I started reading over the holidays that are beckoning to me now. Finish sewing the pants I started last summer? Tidy up my studio? Clean out the hallway closet? All of these things seem like a better use of my time than the spreadsheet in front of me.
I feel like these next ten months is going to be a continual comparison of what I could be doing instead of working, of what I will be doing when I finally finish working this desk job for good. I’m not a very good example of living in the present that way, and I’ll need to get more focused if I’m going to get everything achieved that I want to before I’m done.
Post #3312: January field notes
This post is the text from the Gabriola Island Field School email I sent out for the month of January. In the Field School year we started in March, and will end on the Spring Equinox.
As this week unfolds, I’ve been noticing that I’m not quite ready to return to the world post-holidays.
Not in a dramatic sense, of course. Nothing is wrong beyond the lingering cold and cough I picked up from my father-in-law. But I’m just not enjoying the increase in pace of the last few days. The calendar has flipped. I have early-new-year commitments. I spent this morning dealing with emails and banking. On Monday, my work routine will firmly reassert itself.
And I just don’t want to.
You know? I don’t want to give up the later mornings curled up in bed reading. I don’t want to force myself back into meetings and deadlines. I don’t want to give up the flexibility of my days to a full-time schedule again.
Part of what’s contributing to this feeling is very practical: January is already over-scheduled, even though I intended it to be a month of rest practice. Looking at what I’ve signed myself up for, I can see a mismatch between my actual intentions for this new year and the commitments I’m carrying forward. What I thought I was stepping into, and what I’ve arranged for myself, aren’t quite the same thing.
Last year, my guiding intention was to say yes more often—to stretch myself and take up more space as an organizer, facilitator, and visible participant in the work I care about. That “yes” year asked me to move outward toward people, projects, responsibilities, and leadership. In many ways, it was exactly the right thing at the right time. Beginning HRT, and the confidence boost that came with it, gave me greater capacity to explore my edges, my willingness to be seen, and my hands-on skills with people. It was a year of workshops and gatherings, of leading projects both in community and in my workplace.
But heading into this year—one that is likely to include retirement and a rethinking of what work means for me—things feel quite different. What I’m longing for now is something less overt and more inward: a shift in attention. I find myself returning to a regular meditation practice, seeking more spaciousness in my days, and trying to create room for emergence as I orient towards a new branch on my path.
And yet here I am, still moving as if last year’s intentions are the ones that apply. Still saying yes from a familiar place. Still operating out of habit-self, rather than pausing to examine my current time, energy, and headspace.
I suspect I’m not alone in this.
Do you notice this in your own life? That lag between the person you used to be and the one you’re becoming? How easy it is to keep acting out of muscle memory, even after a conscious decision to shift? Sometimes it takes longer than we expect for our outer commitments to catch up with our inner needs—for our lives to realign with who we are now.
This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered this kind of mismatch, and I’m fortunate to have developed tools that help me notice when it happens. Mindful practice. Regular forward planning. Working with my inner beings to renegotiate what my core self is allowed to become (therapy-speak for reconciling and integrating one’s needs).
For me, this feels like a very January practice. noticing and asking the questions:
What wants my attention now?
What no longer fits?
What do I choose to release in order to let new things emerge?
This month’s reflection is more personal and less overtly “Field School” than usual, though it may be entirely in keeping with the slowly returning light after the solstice. I hope you receive it as an invitation: to turn toward the version of yourself that is still catching up, and to ask what you need to carry into this new year to help that self come into being.
Post #3311: Notes from my future self
I keep thinking that after so many colds in the last few months—plus Covid in the spring—I must be immune to whatever is currently going around. Alas, this has not been true. I’ve come down with my third cold since July, picked up somewhere along the way during my holiday travels.
I’m through the worst of it now, grateful to be home and cozy in my studio for the first time in a week. I slept prodigiously last night and am easing back to the computer to catch up on a few things. Here’s hoping this is the final entry in my viral year, and that 2026 holds far fewer sniffles (not to mention, a repair for my aching tooth which flared up on Boxing Day).
I am not so much for making resolutions, but as I anticipate a year of change ahead, I’ve been thinking a lot about next steps. Just before Christmas, I spent some time working through an exercise projecting my year in review – as if it were already the end of 2026. It involved a mix of planning and imaginative writing: mapping intentions, then describing the year as though I had already accomplished some of what I set out to do.
It’s an exercise I’ve seen others write about on the Internet, though I don’t know where it originates. Apparently, writing as if something has already happened seems to activate the brain’s ability to notice pathways, opportunities, and small decisions that move us in that direction. It’s not manifesting so much as a way of orienting attention towards what matters, and what I want to prioritize going forward.
At the end of the exercise, I gathered what I’d written into four main areas that emerged organically: Career & Finances, Health & Spirit, Art & Writing, and Relationships & Community. Not everything that follows is new—some of it is simply a re-affirmation of directions I’m already walking. And some of it may read as a little cryptic, as I’m not quite ready to reveal everything I’m working toward just yet. But you’ll get the idea. Be the end of 2026, future me will be able to say that I:
Career/Finances:
- retired, with all consumer debt paid off in November 2026
- was accepted into a new education program and begin studies
- was accepted into a career-path that surprises everyone around me
Health/Spirit
- have finally returned to the daily meditation practice I abandoned in 2025
- made my workouts are non-negotiable 5 days per week and was super focused
- re-introduced intermittent fasting to help with my health and fitness goals
Art/Writing/Music
- played my fiddle daily, and was rewarded by spending more time in the old time music communities in Vancouver and Victoria, plus I went to NimbleFingers!
- started my year with a small cloth-dyeing project which lead to more textile-related ideas carried throughout the year
- returned to weaving and completed three projects
- kept a book of days, a commonplace book, a sketchbook, and a notebook for in-depth writing in continual use
- got two substack newsletters out per month, and also continued with the semi-regular blog posts
- sewed a half dozen new garments, some specific to my faith tradition
Relationships/Community
- committed to more time in relationship with my partner, which included spending time in Vancouver more frequently
- continued to support community as a core practice – staying on the two boards I currently sit on
- supported family with whatever level of effort was required
- tended to my ongoing life and home on Gabriola, taking more care in the garden and on finishing projects.
When I completed this list, I noticed what didn’t make the cut – such as concerts at Birdsong, teaching workshops, time spent with friends, etc. That doesn’t mean those things won’t happen, but this is going to be a year of heavy lifting, and I need to set priorities accordingly to balance both my career and creative goals with life and community responsibilities. I’m curious to look back on my list at the end of 2026 and see what other events arose, or got in the way of my projections!
I have a week of holidays still, before I return to work on the 4th and am home for all of it. This is the part that truly feels like vacation – I’ve got some community stuff going on, we’re hosting a few friends on New Year’s Eve, but most of my time is my own for a few days as I recover from over-feasting, illness, and too little sleep. Another nap is on my near-horizon, and I hope that you can say the same!
Post #3310: Serious thinking
I had a meeting with someone in a somewhat job adjacent field last week. He was young, maybe only 28 or so, but knew what he was talking about, and took himself very seriously. Not in an imperious/obnoxious way, but in the way of someone who knows their currency and is confident in their training.
I found myself unexpectedly unsettled by the encounter. It was not his confidence that troubled me, but my own response to it. As a woman, I have learned to soften my presence: to put others at ease through humor, self-deprecation, or anecdote, even when engaged in work that is consequential or requires authority. Whether representing a union member, facilitating a difficult conversation, or giving project direction, I have often felt an unspoken expectation to make seriousness more palatable by making myself less so.
Afterwards, I asked myself whether my efforts to make others comfortable were not simply accommodations, but also a reflection of how seriously I take myself. On taking stock, a pattern emerges in which I:
- defer to what I perceive as others’ authority, even when not demonstrated through experience
- routinely diminish my own accomplishments
- dismiss my interests as irrational or unserious
- am embarrassed to name aspirations or vocational callings at this stage of life
- constantly assume that my interests or capacities are being quietly judged or dismissed by others
In Internal Family Systems therapy terms, I understand these as responses managed by my “Protector” parts – adaptive strategies or internal messages that arise in order to help me avoid shame or fear by maintaining harmony and avoiding scrutiny. But just like any overly-protective mama, by playing it safe, those parts have also diminished my capacity to act on certain projects or directions (“what will other people think of this”) and limited how I show up in the world to what I believe is expected of me.
Folks who know me might find this an odd self-assessment – for I am outwardly confident, distinct in my efforts, and a problem-solver for others. Yet these tendencies surface most clearly when I am in transition: when I am changing direction, imagining wider possibilities for my own life, or facing the reality that my path does not mirror those of my peers. My retirement in the next year, is certainly a triggering point for these reflections.
Simply recognizing this pattern has already put me in a better frame of mind for the task of redefining my life post-government-job. While I am not ready to divulge my direction just yet, I have spent the last few days asking myself “what would someone who was serious about this do?” and then simply doing it rather than letting feelings of shame or embarrassment creep in and stop me. To be clear: I am doing nothing shameful or embarrassing – but there is a voice inside me that still asks “who are you to think you will do this?” every step of the way.
But even a self-doubting step is a step! And onward we go.
The photo at the head of this post is of the lichen Lobaria pulmonaria, also known as lungwort. It has medicinal properties and can also be used to dye yarn and fabric.
Red Cedar 