the meaningful glow: a weekly archive

unseen nests, holding space in transition, sidewalk humanity, a quest for the perfect sandwich bread, and meaningful work

This audio was recorded with a young visitor in the background. Thank you for your patience with this often unpredictable season of my life.

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Countless times this week I sit down to write. Countless times, I am interrupted.

You name it, it happened: a crying 14 month old, big feelings 3 year old, and my oldest awake for the day by 6am. With a perhaps over-ambitious tenacity I open my laptop after I get them to bed, only to realize all I truly want to do - all I am capable of doing - is to close my eyes. I sigh. The laptop is shut again, and I trudge upstairs with the words patiently waiting for my next attempt.

These early years are both beautiful and brutal all at once. Some days I am infinitely even-tempered, others the fatigue of nearly 5 years without consistent sleep catches up to me. My words become sharp. I can’t relax because of the toys everywhere. I deeply crave the kind of silence that permeates my soul, allowing me to curl up and read all day without interruption.

It took me a while to understand that even during this season, even in this winter of a lack of time or space, I can still tap into my deepest self. I am stirring with the roots under the frozen earth, carrying water to the limbs above when all else seems impenetrable. A line from a song by Eddie Vedder comes to mind, “No matter the winter, there’s a spring time ahead.” — Yes, the role of motherhood has shifted what this is, what time devoted to my own hobbies and pursuits looks like. Dedicated chunks of time to anything is a challenge. It doesn’t mean I need to hide who I am from my children. Instead, I aim to show them, as they daily show me, who I am, who I am becoming, alongside them.

I can create space to bake or read or write as they play (or lately wrestle) around me. I can soften my overachiever expectations, recognizing the benefit of their witness to my creativity amidst their chaos. As poet Tess Gallagher says above, there are unseen nests everywhere. If you look up in winter time, you will notice them, too.

Were I to cut down all the saplings in the name of sacrificial parenting, caring for everyone else and never myself, perfectionism, people pleasing, you name it, the nests would remain unseen. I would have nothing left to offer the world. I would have nothing to offer the highest, truest version of myself.

Lately it feels like I see glimpses of her, this me at peace, settled into who she is, everywhere.

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Feelings and thoughts overtake me often, though I acknowledge I am in a time of transition. This past week held my youngest weaning and his move away from the bed beside mine into the room with his older brothers. My second born is potty learning (all I have to say is, real life poop deck). My eldest started with a delightful new Occupational Therapist. Sean, of course, was also out of town. I held a lot of grief and cried many, ugly cry tears. Thankfully I had a therapy appointment on Tuesday. She reminded me that holding space for those feelings is of course important, but so is holding space for delight. For excitement. For the new.

Here are some things I am looking forward to:

Regular bras. Shirts and dresses that don’t require ease of nursing access. Being able to walk into my bedroom without the fear of waking up a sleeping infant. Pretending I can read before bed by carrying some books up there only to fall asleep 5 minutes later (being a night owl has never been one of my skillsets). One less box of diapers to buy each month. New strategies to help my son thrive.

Also:

Tending to myself. Moving and holding the body I am left with after 3 children. Creating more space for intentional time with friends, and sharing our hobbies with each other. Cold winter walks. Setting aside space to read instead of scroll. Talking with loved ones on the phone. Signs of spring in the hardly dead earth.

What are some of your unseen nests? Please share by replying directly to this email, or in the comments below. I love connecting with my readers.

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life with littles

There is a beauty and a strength that comes from knowing your neighbors. Some have become family, others are only by a wave and a hello, but over the years they have added to my and my children’s lives in different ways. Teaching me about gardening. Dropping extra tomatoes on my doorstep or a plate of BBQ. Inviting me over for a glass of wine and deep conversations (one of my greatest loves). Helping me wrestle a stroller stuck on the curb. Leaving an entire meal, books for the kids, and flowers on my doorstep when we all had Covid. Texting when they notice Sean is out of town. Giving my delighted boys a pair of gently loved tricycles (which we have taken out every day since). It is through neighbors like these that my boys know to wave and broadly grin, to ask how someone is doing and mean it. Even though the world is often a painful place, there is still humanity on an ordinary suburban sidewalk, waiting for you to notice it.

What is your relationship like with your neighbors?

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reading/listening/learning

This week I have nearly finished Lucy by the Sea. As always, I will feel sad to close another chapter of Lucy’s life. In the last newsletter, I mentioned it is set during the pandemic. I appreciate all that Strout takes care to mention, including the death of George Floyd, the protests, and the political climate. What really stands out, at least to me, is her devotion to the innate humaneness of people no matter their personal or political leaning.

“What is it like to be you? I need to say: This is the question that has made me a writer; always that deep desire to know what it feels like to be a different person.”

-Lucy by the Sea, Elizabeth Strout

While reading I remembered I have yet to read Olive Kitteridge, a character referenced in this book. It’s been siting on my shelf for an embarrassing amount of time and I think I will pick it up next.

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on the table

It’s decided - this year I am on the quest for the perfect sandwich loaf. I have tried a few so far: King Arthur’s Vermont Whole Wheat Honey Oatmeal Bread, Back-of-the-Bag Oatmeal Bread, and most recently their Classic Sandwich Bread. The Classic is my favorite so far if you are looking for a store-bought loaf quality - it’s incredibly soft, slightly sweet to taste, and easy to slice. The recipe references the tangzhong method, an Asian technique with Japanese origins, that I have always been eager to try. It is essentially creating a slurry or paste from flour and water in a stovetop pan, and only takes a minute or two. The mixture is incorporated into the rest of the dough, creating a moist bread that stays fresher longer. My opinion? Worth it. (*Note: for cold winter kitchens like mine, I find that turning the oven light on and placing the dough inside to rise is a great help.)

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Mid-January is here already. In the week ahead I continue to wish you tenderness toward yourself and the things you feel must be accomplished.

What is your most loving, meaningful work?

Thank you for being here.

Warmly,

Jess

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Looking for someone to guide you in reclaiming your Sacred Wild and stand as your truest self? Take a look at my friend Jac’s coaching, healing, and soul sessions. She is incredible. I took a course with her last weekend that is still resonating with me today.