Back to the Beginning

This all started with hearing William Powers read from his book, Twelve by Twelve: A One Room Cabin Off the Grid and Beyond the American Dream. I'd just moved back to Knoxville to recover (hmmm, actually, I guess it was really more uncover) my life. I don't remember why I was drawn to go.  I've gone to very few book readings in my life since college. It was at a neat bookstore. The topic sounded cool. I've always loved small spaces. (As a child, I loved spending time in small spaces: the clothes hamper, the dog house, the shelf in Daddy's walk-in closet.) And I was already intrigued with the idea of living off the grid.

As I remember it, although he did read a little from the book, it was mostly a discussion, an inquiry into his essential question: What's your twelve by twelve? What are you doing, or what do you want to do, to live in a way that is more sustainable, given the limits of many of our resources, to exist in a way that is less antagonistic toward nature and more in harmony with her rhythms and gifts?

I found the question provocative and inspiring. What is my twelve by twelve?

Somehow, this led me to Beardsley Community Farm. I think he mentioned visiting there. I really don't remember. But within a few days of seeing him, I'd called the farm and scheduled a time to get a tour. I think it was late October or early November.

It was a warm day because I remember wearing shorts. I was greeted by the Farm Manager. She was very warm and welcoming. Her enthusiasm and love for the farm were infectious. By the time I left an hour or so later, I'd signed up to come back at the end of the week and volunteer. I had no idea that I was embarking on a life-changing adventure. I love that we never do.

Let me go back to part of the subtitle of Bill's book (that's what he goes by, Bill), "beyond the American dream," because it has relevance to my current direction in life, my recent divergence from my plan. How does one live beyond the American dream? What does that even mean?

So there I was, looking at houses, planning to buy one. That is part of the American dream, right? To own a home. I was going from home-to-home (many of them perfectly cute and seemingly what I was looking for), subdivison-to-subdivision, one planned, square plot of land after another. But rather than feeling excited about the possibilities, I was getting this increasingly boxed in feeling.

After seeing about 20 houses, I allowed myself to acknowledge: I have a dream, but this isn't it. This is not beyond the American dream, it is squarely (pun intended) in the middle of it, in the middle of The Box. My dream isn't to settle into The Box, but to create something outside of it, which is, by necessity, beyond the box.

Live inside my heart and outside the box. That is my twelve-by-twelve.

What's inside my heart? Farming. Homesteading. Animals (goats!). Music. Writing. Playing. Building. Collaboration. Teaching (but not inside the classroom box). Community.

This is my dream and it all began with a book reading.

Finding Oneself

I've tried on more than one occasion over the past 32 years to live in my hometown. 1991. 2003. Now.

I always go into it with a positive attitude and high hopes. But here's the truth: something about this place just rubs me the wrong way.

Don't get me wrong. There are many aspects that I love. Pistol Creek. The greenway. Sandy Springs. Being able to ride my bike around town. Ye Olde Neighborhoods.

But once I'm here for any length of time, my fur starts feeling all mussed up and full of static electricity. I start hissing and swatting.

I'm sure it's left over stuff, unresolved feelings about childhood experiences and, with a goodly amount of analysis, I could probably overcome it. But why bother? Life's too short. Time to accept the fact that I love to visit but don't want to settle here. So, Knoxville, here I come!

The Farm is on hold. Goats, chickens, bees will be experienced vicariously for now. The cart is being put back in its proper position: after the horse.

I am moving in with my very dear friends, Rocky and Chick. A mini-intentional community, if you will. Community, pets, garden, truck. Sounds good to me!

And just how did this happen? Honesty Openness Willingness

Honesty with myself about the fact that during the house hunting process I quickly came to understand that I didn't want to own, didn't want to farm, didn't want to live in the country all by myself.
Openness to a new idea, to saying, "Yes."
Willingness to let go of trying to make my dream happen and instead give it time to come to be.

It's an interesting process, this letting go of who I thought I was, my story, and being willing to pay attention to what my heart is really telling me about myself. I no longer want to do things simply because I can handle them. Or, more importantly, because I should. I want to do things because they resonate, they bring me joy, they feel good.

A fish cannot drown in water.
A bird does not fall in air.
Each creature God made
must live in its own true nature.

-Mechthilde of Magdeburg

"Part of the blessing and challenge of being human is that we must discover our own God-given nature. This is not some noble, abstract quest, but an inner necessity. For only by living in our own element can we thrive without anxiety. And since human beings are the only life form that can drown and still go to work, the only species that can fall from the sky and still fold laundry, it is imperative that we find that vital element that brings us alive." -Mark Nepo

So, here's to shutting out the Devil voices, to letting go of some imagined person I am supposed to be, to doing what feels right instead of chasing after some imagined Holy Grail of Success.

Namasté