On becoming reacquainted with myself

An emerging lesson from Georgia O'Keefe

One of my prayers these days is for God to “teach me the shape of this season of life.” Right now, that seems to be taking the form of a lot of decluttering, which has been somewhat incompatible with my desire to write. But, excuses aside, I’m glad to see that we’re experiencing a delicately new sense of spaciousness in our cramped little a home. More to be done, and more to say about that process, but first … some other thoughts on newness.

This view of the Art Institute from the Adams & Wabash ‘L’ stop is one of my favorites.

About a month ago, I took myself on an outing to the Art Institute of Chicago. I began taking occasional trips like this a few years ago, once the pandemic settled enough that I could head into a public museum without too much trepidation. I enjoy being in a space that feels both familiar and unexpected, full of beauty, creativity, and order. There is no stack of dirty dishes silently scolding me. There is no expectation that I will reply to emails or even answer the phone. My only task is to look around and think, all by myself, and I revel in my anonymity as I walk slowly through the rooms upon rooms of art.

The truth is that I really don’t feel like I know what I’m doing when I’m at the Art Institute. I usually visit the special exhibit on display, then wander around to visit a few old favorites.

“Hi there, ‘A Sunday on La Grande Jatte,’ you dear old pointillist masterpiece by Georges Seurat!”

“Greetings to you,Georgia O’Keefe’s ‘Sky Above Clouds IV’, so big that she had to paint it in her garage!”

“Hello, ‘Miss Expanding Universe’ by Isamu Noguchi, hovering overhead!”

There she is — Miss Expanding Universe herself!

Sometimes I search for ways to get a tiny bit lost in the museum, looking for new pieces that might speak to me, but mostly allowing myself to ramble in body and soul. I discovered last year that members are allowed access to the Member’s Lounge, a lovely open space where Members can enjoy complimentary coffee and tea (in real cups with real saucers!) and eat their sack lunch in peace, at a real table, all while looking out at the oddly comforting rail yards below.

I had planned this Art Institute trip a few weeks before, during the days when we were dropping Lucy off at Wheaton College. I knew that I needed some time for thinking and feeling, and the Art Institute seemed like the kind of place where I could disappear into the crowds, where no one would bother me if I started crying in public, where I could walk endless loops until my emotions became clear.

I’d been creating little pockets of space to feel the feelings, but I hadn’t spent a lot of concerted time examining my wounds. I wanted to press on the bruise a little bit, to see exactly where and how much it hurt. On the train ride downtown, I listened to some old stories — an episode from Sparkle Stories Martin & Sylvia series and a few chapters from the Frog & Toad audiobook (read by Arnold Lobel himself). It’s been a long time since we’ve sat around the kitchen table, working with playdough or beads while listening to stories in the mid-afternoon. Those were homeschool days, pre-pandemic days, pre-pubescent days, long ago days when our cats were still just kittens and we thought Instagram was some kind of shipping service.

Trafalgar Square 2015. The ultimate homeschool field trip!

Surprisingly, the nostalgia didn’t hurt. The stories felt sweet and the music evocative, but I don’t need to return to a time when our kids were tiny. I enjoy my relationship with our girls as it is today, full of shared family memories and each person knowing how to “chill” on their own. I like the sassy jokes and deep feelings and participatory cooking. Sure, it would be fun to snuggle up with a kiddo on my lap again, but I’m okay just sitting next to them on the couch, sharing a blanket while we watch Ted Lasso.

As I walked through the museum, pausing my way sequentially through the special Georgia O’Keefe exhibit (“My New Yorks”), I started to see that my inner ache has less to do with missing our little babies and more to do with missing myself. That young mother, gentle though she seemed, was seriously goal-driven, determined to overcome generations of dysfunction while raising kids who honored their emotional capacity and their own personalities. In those early days, I studied parenting book after parenting book, desperate to fill in the gaping holes that my own wonky upbringing had left in me.

The focus in our parenting became more complex as our children grew older, but we always prioritized space for conversation, for working out conflict, for mutual respect, and for moments of delight. We’re now at a place in our lives where we can see that the track has been laid and each of us are rolling along capably. But this moment of satisfaction comes with an awareness that the main organizing force of my days is beginning to shift. Who am I when I’m not a mother to dependent children?

New York Street with Moon, 1925. My favorite piece from the exhibit — definitely the coziest one.

As I strolled through the special O’Keefe exhibit, I let all of these questions and feelings simmer on the back burner while I took in the artwork, listening to the accompanying audio lectures and trying to decode my reaction to the art. I walked through it slowly, remembering that I often don’t really like Georgia O’Keefe’s work very much — too much desert, too many bleached cow skulls and bones, too much that feels alienating rather than homey.

This exhibit showcased the work she created in a five-year period of living in a New York skyscraper. You rarely see O’Keefe paintings of big cities and buildings, but those dominated this particular collection, often showing them next to paintings of more organic subjects so that one could see the similarities. The exhibit page notes this:

The presentation establishes these works not as outliers or anomalous to her practice, but rather as entirely integral to her modernist investigation in the 1920s—from her abstractions and still lifes at Lake George in upstate New York and beyond to her works upon arriving in the Southwest in 1929.

Untitled (City Night), 1970s.

It wasn’t until I had walked through the exhibit twice, gone home, chewed over the experience for several days, and then wrote most of this essay that I had an important insight: Georgia O’Keefe adapted and developed her skills and talent in response to a new environment. I, also, now finding myself in a new environment — and the time has come to adapt and develop my own skills and talent in this context. As Georgia O’Keefe says, “The principles are the same.”

I’m learning what this looks like. There’s less Frog & Toad, more Chappell Roan; fewer bead necklaces, more supervising driving practices. As we move from near-constant togetherness to mutually-supportive independence, I’m watching to see what this looks like for me, too, taking the time to get reacquainted with myself and learn what I’m going to be creating in this new stage.

Apparently, it starts with decluttering. More on that later!

Tidbits

I’ve been leaning into autumn as much as possible these days, which is a challenge when the high is 82° (like today), but I’m up to the task! A few of my favorite things:

• My pet spider. Every September, a large spider makes its home in our backyard. For several years, she set up shop near our back door and we really had to object to that location. But this year, she has built her web over our back basement stairs — and I’ve decided to welcome her to this space. (Despite my warnings not to use those stairs, Jon did accidentally walk into the web one day. Poor guy!) I’m not sure if we should call her “Charlotte” or “Shelob” or something else, but I’ve grown fond of her and bless her mosquito-eating heart.

  

  That’s my girl!

• Planning for Christmas. I know it’s not Christmas season yet, but I decided way back in February that October 1 was the day I needed to start working on preparations — even if only by clearing things away and finishing fall tasks so there is room for Christmas. I think I’ve got a full eight weeks of celebration in me and I want to be prepared! I’ve purchased some dark chocolate peppermint truffles to get me in the mood, but I haven’t actually started listening to Christmas music … yet.

• Pumpkin muffins. The girls have been asking for pumpkin bread for weeks, but I arbitrarily declared October 1 as the start of pumpkin season. And here we are! Now Rosie has been enjoying these pumpkin muffins for breakfast, and we even sent some along for Lucy to enjoy at school. The linked recipe is for pumpkin bread, but it makes 18 muffins. Pro-tip: add a little extra salt to this recipe!

• Anniversary. One of the reasons I love fall is that Jon and I get to mark our anniversary on October 8! We had a lovely celebration the weekend before — Rosie was off on an overnight visit with Lucy at her dorm, so Jon and I made a day of it. Brunch at Tre Kronor, a little shopping at The Sweden Shop, and dinner at Gene & Georgetti’s where we reminisced about traveling to Tuscany as newlyweds and enjoyed cantucci and vin santo for dessert. 24 years together is fun! Let’s have more!

  

  Jon snapped this photo of vin santo and cantucci and me laughing hysterically at something he said — as usual! 😂