To Thine Own Self

November 7, 2025

In Act I of my father’s original musical (oft-mentioned and caffeine-fueled), there is a haunting song for three voices that sounds like it was plucked straight out of a Broadway show. Indeed, Dad was taking inspiration from modern musicals like “Dear Evan Hansen” when he penned this batch of songs.

In the scene, characters commiserate about how people are always offering them business advice or passing judgment on their lives without considering the human being on the other side of these interactions. Ricky, a coffee shop owner, sings that “To myself I will be true… go and find your own reality, [but] if you needed my support, I would be there.”

I have found myself in a handful of situations where a change I made for my personal or financial well-being seems to have altered the way some people see me. In fact, a few months after I quit one job, someone who volunteered with my former organization asked me, “How’s your new reality?”. If this is true, I’m sure it stems from a place of disappointment rather than judgment; many nonprofits are struggling to retain young employees. But then again, I never promised them anything except that I would do my best.

I have written about my experience as a young adult of having older adults tell me I was bound to “save the world” because I was studying natural resources. While they may have been joking, the human being on the other side was serious and still practically a child. It was not “you should try to live a good life with your family”; not “you’re going to make your corner of the world a little better”; not “I believe you’ll be a kind, diligent coworker and grow in your career.” No, you are going to save the entire world. Never mind the despair you will feel when you don’t.

No wonder there’s disappointment in the air. If someone were truly going to save the world, they wouldn’t let the little things – like not being paid enough for their efforts, disagreeing with the direction the group was going, or even just finding a job that they enjoyed more – stop them. We need to give our young people the chance to try things out and to say no when their hearts tell them to, rather than making them shoulder the expectation of fixing everything. If you needed my support, I would be there. But only I can dictate my own path.  

Tread lightly with one another, friends.

Grounded

October 18, 2025

Although I have given up on meditation as it’s officially practiced, the life I lead is meditative in another sense. My jobs and pastimes have always caused me to be confined to a specific ecological region, historic site, or area of personal significance. This relative monasticism has allowed me to deepen my connections within a single community rather than leapfrogging from place to place.

At the risk of distilling the book I hope to write someday into one sentence, I can report that this commitment to place has its benefits but also comes with unique costs. It demands sacrifices that many of my fellow human beings, for good reason, would never attempt to make. I like to think that some of my “grace” comes from finding myself bound by these limits and deciding to make the most of it.

There is always something new to see in my place – as long as I’m paying attention on the proper scale. Lately, as the days get shorter a few minutes at a time, I have started to enjoy the glow that orange and red leaves take up from the last rays of sunlight. Even the still-green oaks along the east side of my street turn to gold for a few minutes every evening. It’s not sensational, but it helps me feel confirmed in my choice to stick around.

When I (inevitably) do get bored, I can turn to someone who will help me see my place with fresh eyes. My job lets me interact both with people who have never set foot in the Driftless and with those who have lived here as long as I have, but whose experiences lie in other corners I haven’t explored. Even in a small town, there can be infinite variety. 

Of course, I chose this life for myself and have the luxury to keep choosing it. I can’t speak for anyone who truly feels confined here and can’t leave. But I have also had to be content with limits that were not self-imposed. Whether these limits were geographical, financial, or emotional, I could still find some tiny thing to observe and celebrate. This doesn’t mean that we should blindly obey the admonition to “think positive”; such gratitude, such groundedness, has to come from within ourselves.

I think the Zen among us would agree.

R&R

September 6, 2025

For all that I am happy when the weekend arrives, or that I am conscious of needing a break during the week, I am terrible at relaxing. If there’s a single chore left undone in my life, I spend all my time thinking about how I should be doing that instead of whatever I’m actually doing. I have been known to eschew reading and TV watching in favor of laying around doing nothing, telling myself I will do those activities when I have free time.

Like most moods, this tendency comes and goes. But my overactive brain won’t stop thinking about the goals I’ve set for myself, often to the point of preventing me from working toward those goals.

My life doesn’t have many deadlines outside of work — a fact for which I am very grateful. I recently sat in on a coffee shop conversation about the idea that all of the “shoulds” in our lives are really “wants”. To give an extreme example: you might say, “I should eat some lunch”, but what you mean is that you want to eat lunch because you’re choosing to experience good feelings instead of the consequences of not eating. I’m not sure of my opinion on all this, but it has been helpful to look at my life through this flipped perspective.

I load plenty of “shoulds” or obligations onto my plate in my daily life. These pressures are nearly all self-imposed or perceived rather than forced on me by others. Inevitably, they become too much for me to handle and I overcorrect, turning myself into a Ping-Pong ball bouncing between extremes.

While I could stand to relax more, I am skilled at recognizing when an opportunity has arisen to pause, reflect, and enjoy what I have — at counting my blessings. I can think of numerous things I could or should be doing right now to improve my life and the lives of others. Some of my blog posts were created from this restlessness (including the one you’re reading now). But another part of me understands how to live in the moment and rest. Instead of pursuing those coulds and shoulds today, I think I’ll stay right here.

Blind Spots

August 24, 2025

I recently learned (or rather, finally got it through my head after several people told me) that something I was doing at work in the name of a helpful gesture was coming across as meddling or creepy to my coworkers. I’m not trying to use loaded language here: their position on the subject was completely valid. I realized I’d been refusing to listen out of sheer pride.

It was a reminder to consider how my actions and words are received in general. No amount of willing people to see things my way can change the fact that they are individuals with their own needs and emotions, which won’t always match with mine. I had naïvely thought I could communicate my intentions without discussing them out loud. I’m glad someone did raise this issue with me. The shock wore off once I realized their problem was with this one thing, and not a rejection of me as a person.

Experts say that being in community with others can show us the “blind spots” we have within ourselves. There are parts of our personality that we simply don’t explore unless we end up in certain interactions. My hesitancy to speak and my tendency to take things personally are two blind spots that were brought into the light this past year.

This job is the first time I’ve worked in an office with coworkers for more than a few months. I have learned so much about myself in proportion. Although that’s not why I took the job, it still marks a turning point in my unfolding adult life.

I too encounter people and things I don’t agree with—especially when I’m in a hurry. Some aspects of small-town life feel just as creepy and meddling to me. While it may seem obvious that I can’t love everyone and everything, I am still learning this lesson. I often feel like I’m the only one making any mistakes. But there are two sides to every interaction, and two human beings each worried about how they are perceived.

Balance

August 10, 2025

While others may go to church of a Sunday morning, I go to a certain back porch of a certain store that’s very dear to me. Maybe you know it. They serve coffee.

Being there is a rite in itself: greet the cashier; grab my favorite mug from its peg (actually, it’s my second favorite after one that broke and is no longer in use); select and pour the coffee; add cream and cinnamon; and march back outside whence I came. What I do next varies based on the weather, the projects on my agenda, the books I’m reading, and the fellow-citizens who might be there. The important part is that I made a choice to leave my house and go be present somewhere.

Recently, four of us Sunday regulars were forced indoors by the oppressive July heat. The air-conditioned cafe area was packed, so we all shared one table: an island of celebrants in a sea of visitors who were making pilgrimages of their own.

Chores are another kind of ritual. At the beginning of each weekend, I often find myself doing laundry or cleaning the house. Rather than feel embarrassed about staying in, I try to be grateful that I have free time at the end of the week to set my ship in order. Manual, meditative tasks help change the focus from abstract stress to what’s right in front of me.

This morning, a neighbor reminded me that when the world’s troubles close in, we should think about what changes we can make right then and there. Indeed, some of the darkest moods I’ve experienced in recent memory have been dispelled when I left my house to go to the laundromat – as if the act of getting up and driving caused those feelings to be left behind.

Although I use the term “ritual”, there’s no mystery to it. Ironically, these regular commitments are what keep me from getting stuck in a rut. They distract me from internal and external unease, even if it’s not a permanent fix. I can look at other scenery and spend time in the presence of other people. I can drink coffee that someone else made. Maybe I can answer a few personal emails. Sometimes, I get clean clothes out of the bargain.

Planting Seeds

July 12, 2025

Once upon a time in the Driftless, there was a young woman who had recently graduated from college and was taking the first few tentative steps in her chosen career field. In the months since she’d walked across that stage to get her diploma, a beloved member of her class had died suddenly and her own father had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. She had moved back home, both to spend more precious time with Dad and because her two jobs didn’t pay enough for an apartment. Her partner of two years had also recently told her he’d never been interested in a long-term relationship. In short, she was having a great year.

The most recent job she had taken on was something she’d never done before. It was rapidly branching into more and more complexity. Everyone she talked to for help added a new layer of suggestions, bringing their decades of experience to the matter. For perfectly understandable reasons, this woman was overwhelmed. She believed she was letting all these people down by not being able to weave the disparate threads into a finished product. In failing to complete this project, she felt like a failure. She asked her supervisor for a meeting.

The two of them sat down at a coffee shop. No tears were shed, but they gathered in the corners of the woman’s eyes as she explained that she felt stuck and overwhelmed. She had come up with a way to divide the project into smaller pieces and voiced the idea that she only be responsible for one piece. It took all the courage she had left. When she was done, what do you think were the first words out of her supervisor’s mouth?

“You signed a contract.”

He spoke it matter-of-factly but with a bit of an edge, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He went on to say that he didn’t see how splitting up the project would make a difference; what mattered was that she had agreed to do this work. As if only one party – the company itself – had real importance and not this young person who was visibly struggling.

He had the opportunity to mentor a recent graduate, burdened by the weight she was already carrying, with just a few words to tell her that she was safe and things would be okay. But instead, he chose to say that her feelings didn’t matter. 

I’m sure he brought his own issues to the table that day. Most likely, someone said the same thing to him at a critical point in his career. Yet, this only makes it more baffling. This man was (and is) respected in his field, viewed unquestionably as a leader – but he failed to see the person he was leading as a fellow human being.

I didn’t realize until today how deeply that moment affected me. I would spend that whole summer in a kind of prolonged mental breakdown. Not only that, but moments like this also instilled in me the sense that I needed to suppress my needs and emotions if I wanted to be a good member of a team. I’m fortunate now to work with supervisors who welcome a healthy back-and-forth, supporting their employees while reminding us of the duties we owe to one another.

I graduated again this spring, this time from a one-year leadership class. A recurring theme in our sessions was some version of “Be kind; everyone you meet is struggling in ways you will never know.” Please don’t continue the cycle embodied by this man. Be considerate, on purpose.

Simple Gifts

Father’s Day 2025

On another June morning four years ago, I was seated on the front porch of a coffee shop just a few feet from where I now write this. It was the hottest and brightest that a Driftless summer day can get. My laptop screen reflected the sun’s glare as customers filtered past me and into the shop. Their friendly greetings, usually a welcome part of my routine, did nothing to improve that particular day.

I was experiencing an identity crisis after choosing to quit what I’d once thought was my dream job. I had discharged most of my duties by this point, but it still felt like the world was spinning around me. My task that morning was to help train my successor. In the mid-pandemic era, this meant signing into a Zoom meeting with someone I would never meet.

I was stuck there, trying to explain the details of my work over the past year – details in which I had taken a personal pride, sometimes to the point of tears. The sounds of my neighbors’ voices were reduced to interruptions as I failed to gather my thoughts. Just as things reached a boiling point, a fellow customer came out and handed me a glass of water. I had said hello to him on his way into the shop (as I am known to do), but we didn’t have anything else in common. He had simply seen that I was in need. The world stopped spinning for a moment, and I became grounded by this gift.

I have been trying to identify gifts in my life after reading Robin Wall Kimmerer’s The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World. I purchased the book this winter as a gift to myself. Among other wisdom, The Serviceberry encourages readers to think of everything – our spoken and written words, the ways we take care of ourselves and others, and our very presence in a community – as gifts we can give freely that have no relationship to money. Kimmerer describes this work (and the serviceberry itself) as “another model, one based upon reciprocity, where wealth comes from the quality of your relationships, not from the illusion of self-sufficiency.”

It’s about time.

We put something new into the world when we choose to do something for another living creature. These can be gifts that cost very little, like a glass of water (or feeding the birds, say.) The gifts I have received in this vein are too numerous to count. It is my aim to give back in kind.

Social Fabric

May 30, 2025

The last graduating class of Northland College walked the stage this past weekend.

I have written about how my time at Northland taught me to take an active role in my community and to leave it better than I found it. There is a direct line leading from my professors’ exhortations of “show up” to the texture and color of my current life in Spring Green.

Spring Green boasts a large number of nonprofits for its size (an attribute it shares with the city of Ashland, home to Northland). Small groups gather in public meeting spaces, lit by fluorescent bulbs as they engage in passionate debates about how best to carry out their mission. The agendas, the reports, the search through old emails for a certain correspondence, the moments of tension and (sometimes) resolution: these are the stitches that hold this community together through the years.

I feel at home in such an environment. My fellow-citizens are sometimes surprised to learn that I’ve only lived here for four years, based on my involvement in local groups and the connections I’ve forged with many of my neighbors. But I couldn’t exist in a place like Spring Green without being involved; the two concepts are the same to me. It’s how I navigate a new place while fighting loneliness.

Outsiders may say there’s no obvious “reason” to get involved in a citizen group. It doesn’t add to our personal wealth or even grow our town’s population by a measurable amount. However, there are needs in this community that would never have been filled if individuals hadn’t shown up in some capacity.

What’s more, we are filling our own needs by choosing to be with others. Instead of shutting ourselves away in our homes, we can find common ground with those who also choose to make a home here and work for the good of all. Involvement both holds back darkness and increases light – even if it is the fluorescent kind.

The Plot Thickens

May 12, 2025

I finally broke through my recent bout with uncertainty to find that I had a lot of very certain work to do in my garden. It’s mid-May, and I’m still working to prepare the plot so I can plant my future charges.

Luckily, the folks at the community garden couldn’t make it any easier. I know enough about gardening to be dangerous, but the organization provides tools, seeds, shared labor, and knowledge to help everyone get more enjoyment out of their summer. I passed a lovely hour this week “shopping” in the seed library. Just handling the many packets with their colorful photos renewed my sense of purpose and hope.

I also installed a small sign dubbing my plot “The No Work Garden.” This will be appropriate whether I don’t work enough on my garden, it doesn’t work, or it’s so successful that it requires no work.

Growing new life in the garden will be a welcome complement to the invasive species removal work I’ve done lately. It seems that these are the two modes of my life: getting rid of the negative and nurturing the positive. I owe this revelation to my time spent in silence on the land.

If I fail in the garden endeavor, it will be because I didn’t take advantage of all the support available. And yet, working alone will deepen my connection to this patch of ground. More time spent struggling in the garden might result in more inspiration for my writing. The choice is up to me.

The community garden volunteers give their time and talent so my neighbors and I can provide ourselves with fresh food and fresh ideas. What better way to approach this time of uncertainty?

Outcome Unknown

April 27, 2025

I have a confession that will shock no one: uncertainty is very, very difficult for me. Even as several positive transformations have been taking place in my life, I feel concern about the unknowns and the things that are left to do. I could have 98 percent of my day planned but spend it all worrying about that last two percent.

On the other hand, I regularly engage in spontaneous walks and drives this time of year if the weather and timing feel right. (My use of the phrase “engage in” proves that spontaneity is not my strong suit.) I go through self-conscious phases when I feel sure that I’m always late, I’m not put together, and I don’t have a clue. And yet, there are gifts for my loved ones that are meant for Christmas 2025 sitting in my apartment as I write this. Do I fall into both camps, or neither?

I can handle the day-to-day planning or the lack thereof. What bothers me (and has caused no shortage of teeth-grinding) is the question of how my life will look one, two, five, or fifty years from now. The recent political upheaval has underscored this question. Even if things turn out okay, will I even recognize the world by then?

I’m trying to take action to stem the tide of anxiety. I have a space at the community garden where I can attempt to grow my own food. I’ve joined groups of like-minded people who provide a safe local space for venting or just shaking one’s head at the state of things. I drink coffee, which makes everything better. And as a fellow member of a leadership program said to my cohort recently, no matter how hard things get I can still count on “a warm bed and a roof over my head.” This will be my mantra as I settle into a new chapter.