Going through iCal today, figuring out what I need to do next, I’ll admit to getting teary when I realized there is nothing relating to Camp fYrefly on the horizon. I’ve been so focused on camp the last six months, it’s an odd feeling seeing NOTHING on iCal in purple (purple is the colour I chose for all things Camp fYrefly related, I’m big on colour-coding it’s the only way to keep organized).
I truly feel that everything I’d done in my life, somehow lead up to my position as camp coordinator.
- My work with youth, and winning the “youth for youth” award in high school.
- Personal experiences and interactions throughout high school, university, and beyond.
- All of my equal rights activism
- My life in politics
- The experiences I’ve had running a political party
- The time I’ve spent in front of the camera at media events
- My time behind the camera, appreciating the inherent beauty in all people
- The negative and positive experiences of owning my own business(es)
- The fact that I’m so crafty/artsy
- My being so “sex positive” and open to talking about pretty much anything
- All of the years I’ve spent studying and teaching operant conditioning
- Even becoming a mom
All of it, it all led to the moments at camp. Those vital, amazing, life changing, life AFFIRMING moments. And now, looking at my calendar, knowing that it’s over… well… I’d admit to there being an immense sense of loss. Sure, I still have lots of work before camp stuff will actually be done with. Lots of little detail things, invoices, bills, receipts, paperwork, reports, etc. And I still have all of my amazing, incredible, stupendous campers – none of whom I intend to lose track of, and all whom I hope will be up for the occasional get-together/reunion. But there is still a part of me mourning, seeing nothing actually scheduled in. Nothing purple on my calendar. It’s a feeling I didn’t expect, but there it is, just the same.
I feel lonely.
I’m laying in bed next to my daughter, listening to the quiet of the house. Besides the breathing (the girlie and the dogs), and the muffled click of my fingers on the keys, the house is silent. That simply doesn’t happen very often.
The animals are all still. My husband is out (fetching a movie and slurpees). And I get the simple joy of solitude – without actually being alone.
Moments like these were once taken for granted. Back in my twenties, when it was just DH, the dogs (and other sundry animals) and I. These days though… when the full of energy, high need, super creative, way too smart for her own good, kid is tearing around? Yep. These silent, calm, relaxed, pensive moments are few and far between.
In a house this small, with this many lives within it’s walls, you truly hear someone at almost every hour of every day. Whether it’s the cat padding around the stairwell, or Thora (the Lurcher) running in her sleep, Zenora (our congo african grey) telling tales, or the turtle splashing into her pond… even when the house is mostly still, there is still life to be heard.
And just like that my moment of calm surrender is broken. Liz (the Miniature American Eskimo) started yipping. I’m wondering if she may be coming into heat… she’s being extra annoying. 😉
Happy Easter everyone! Hope you too are able to find a quiet calm moment to just be present, somewhere, today.