Mistakes
Hello Dear Readers,
Sometimes we make mistakes, like putting cardboard boxes of old snapshots in a basement that unexpectedly floods.1
A disaster? Perhaps. But look what emerged.
Family said, “chuck it all,” but for me, that was impossible.
So in the midst of exploring beach treasures of all kinds (Beach Treasures) while on vacation in August, I hung out with moldy snapshots from my mother-in-law’s collection.2
Most were blurry images left in envelopes with negatives, rejects that didn’t make ‘the cut’ for albums or frames.
These were the ‘mistakes,’ now doubly so.
Since last Friday, I’ve been thinking a lot about how to make amends when there is a mistake, not of an image, but in my work.
At the end of last week’s post, I expressed enthusiasm for connecting more with all of you…and then proceeded to describe monthly “Compost Conversations” that would be available to a new kind of subscriber, a “Founding Member” for $250.
What was I thinking? All of you are ‘founders’ because you are here and have been with me during this first year and the word Member makes it all so exclusive…which is not at all my intention with 13 Tons of Love.
The fact is, I was over-thinking, responding to other people’s ideas for what they thought I should do. I let myself get confused between the cultivation of an intimate group of creative people who care about climate and think compost is cool (all of you) with the creation of something even more special for a small group of special people. Yuck!
Moving is among the most stressful of life events, along with the death of a loved one, divorce, major illness or injury and job loss. Even though I tried to ‘rest’ in the month of August, after we moved from our home where we had lived for 21 years, it is clear I am still exhausted from the experience.
Like these photographs covered with beautiful molds, I feel a bit worn out. Unlike those other major life events, though, where a person is given time to recover from the shock, moves, by their very nature, necessitate attention…there is not time, really, to rest, when managing a physical transition.
It is in that context that I got all angsty and thought I needed to do something new, because it’s September, when new things usually begin for me.
So I ask for forgiveness for not honoring you for your commitment to 13 Tons of Love…for just being here with me on this experimental adventure at the convergence of climate, compost and creativity.
As I indicated in last week’s post, I am excited to enrich our small community with a variety of new ways to be together, one of which will be a monthly Compost Conversation ‘practice’ in 2025.
For now, I’m going to keep the exact structure open…But please let me know what kinds of topics you would like me to address by Commenting on this post.
It seems contradictory to say that I need more rest in one paragraph and then suggest an entirely new thing for 2025, but I know that by January I will be hungry for a community with which to share the joys and challenges of mid-life transitions and transformations of all kinds, a community filled with 13 Tons of Love.3
These mixed and mingled objects are now in the landfill, the mold unable to spread where it is not wanted. But the more I look at these impressionistic mildewed images, the more grateful I am for their existence.
Thank you, mistakes…for keeping me humble, open and flexible.
And thank you, as always, for sharing your time and this space with me.
With gratitude for you being you,
Lyn
PS: As I mentioned last week, it’s been a year since I started 13 Tons of Love. My hope is that it brings joy while also inviting curiosity and balance, things that may be helpful as we ride out this tumultuous election cycle. If you know others who might particularly appreciate these visual narratives at this time, please share.
PPS: And if you are new to 13 Tons of Love and have not subscribed yet, please join us!
When my mother-in-law moved to assisted living in 2018, we brought banker’s boxes filled with most of her photography archive, including many albums, large and small, and her entire collection of photo envelopes, neatly organized by year and labeled by event and people, and stored them in the seemingly driest place in her house in Maine…Only to be completely forgotten, until there was mold in said basement and the discovery of water leaking into the very place this archive was stored.
As most of you are well aware, I have a thing for mold. If you haven’t read my posts about meandering mold, see Tangled Histories (March 28, 2024), Elemental Gifts (April 4, 2024) and Messages Converge (April 11, 2024).
I’m also a planner and know that whatever the outcome in November, I will need a group with whom to share whatever comes next nationally. And while my work remains deeply personal, those national conversations have a tendency to permeate and sidetrack…distract from what we care about most. For me, that means showing up to my work, honoring whatever contribution I can make to these larger conversations by staying focused within my own ‘sphere of influence,’ as they say.
The colors in these photos are beautiful. Thanks for making me appreciate the beauty of mold🙂