Upon the suggestion of my husband, who is far more in touch with all things technology and pop culture, I did a little research and decided to jump into the world of Substack. Looking for a new place to write, this felt like a perfect match. Simple, yet customizable, I could branch off in my very own open world of prose and informational essays. Organizing would be a breeze. Editing a thing so simple even my digital shortcomings could muster through. ‘Here I am’, I thought. ‘I have arrived.’
The very first day I opened this bright shiny platform I was reeling with ideas for articles, thoughts for titles, research I want to complete, photos I could use coming to mind. I was a bucket overflowing with rainwater. I felt slightly concerned that I couldn't really decide what I would call it but I put that thought out of my mind as I began the first steps. Enter your email address! Done! Choose your handle! Easy! Now, SAY SOMETHING ABOUT YOURSELF.
I froze.
I sat at the computer for a good ten minutes. Frozen. What could I write? What could I write about myself? I fumbled through a few versions, feebly pawing for words, deleting them immediately.
SAY SOMETHING ABOUT YOURSELF.
What would you say? As I was prompted to do something so simple, it felt as if I stood in front of the gates of some medieval castle, wrought iron and wood, strong and menacing. This is what stood between me and starting what I want to do. So, say something about yourself.
Why in the world was this such a crippling practice? What I am generally writing is nonfiction, first person narrative, about me. My life. Things I am learning and going through. Ways I learn from the bees and the seeds and the natural world around me. My tiny slice of this great big existence.
In our culture and society, it is common practice to ask ‘what do you do'?’ when meeting someone new. And while this is not the same question, it hit me the same way. And I hate answering this question. What is it that I do?
Honestly, a lot of laundry.
I am currently trying to develop a chore chart and meal calendar that work for our family.
I grow food. That is somewhat interesting, depending on who you ask. I have turned our backyard into growing space, initially for market growing, now just for us, which brings me far more enjoyment, less stress and probably the same financial gain seeing that we really don’t have to buy produce for a good portion of the year.
I collect seeds. I have a joy and fascination in the very act, saving this piece of the future, frozen in time. From different varieties of tomatoes (Old German, Amish Paste, Sunrise and Striped German being some of my favorites), to lettuces and flowers, it is amazing to witness the shear differences. How easy it is to collect calendula seeds and how hard it is to save beets and carrots (hint: you have to leave them in the ground to flower next season).
I keep honeybees. Well, I am a beekeeper, and have spent the last eight years learning about them, each season bringing new lessons. This year I have not been physically tending my own hives, which has been strange, but has also helped inform my love for them. I have also embraced learning more about native bees, which is a whole different rabbit hole of amazing.
The reason I didn’t keep bees this year is we were getting ready to move, literally across the world. And then we didn’t. We may still, we may not. And that’s all I can say about that right now.
The fact of the matter is, I have never been what I do, but what I do is who I am. Even when I managed a coffee shop, or was a nurse aid, or worked on an organic farm, none of it was necessarily how I best liked to define myself, unless it was to prove I was doing something legitimate (aka making money). Despite the fact that I usually pour my whole self into whatever I do, those titles usually fell short as far as I’m concerned. As do my attributes. I am a wife. I am a mother. I am a sister, a daughter and an aunt (not the super fun one, but I’m ok). I am a Christ follower though I cannot stand the American Church. I hold a Sociology degree. I am currently enrolled in a Master Beekeeping program. All of these things do help paint a picture of who I am and perhaps help inform you, the reader, what you might get out of this, but none of these things necessarily inform clearly where is it that I am going next. Or why.
Or maybe they all do.
Perhaps this entire hold up is just my own resistance, my inability to elevator pitch who I am. To admit defeat of all the versions of myself that have come before this one. It could have something to do with that tightrope walk between indulgent overshare and clammed-up me meeting someone in the grocery store asking what I do and not having a clue what to say. It’s not a simple question.
I have been writing as long as I can remember. I still have my first diary, a small purple hardcover with a little gold lock over the pages, an elegant (and super cheesy) white unicorn on the front. I don’t really remember being into unicorns but I loved that little diary. I nearly always kept a journal, an emotional timeline of my life. And since early adulthood I have been able to write when nothing else made sense. Or everything did. In college it was a guilty pleasure to escape into words rather than read my chemistry textbook. After each of my children were born. I wrote when I thought I had nothing to offer, when I didn’t know who I was.
But writing was my key. My creative outlet beyond work or school or all the supposed-to's I constantly wore.
Writing brings me home. To myself.
Perhaps I read way too far into a simple statement. Say something about yourself.
Well, I supposed that was quite a bit more than something.