Possibilities

On a Weekend without a Schedule

My weekends used to be filled with the kids’ activities - Cub Scout events, baseball tournaments, show choir competitions, jazz band competitions, robotics competitions, and church fundraisers. For years, we kept track of what was coming up on a paper calendar that we kept on the end of the kitchen island. We’d capture all events on the monthly calendar as soon as we found out about them. We’d transfer the activities onto the weekly calendar pages each week, identifying conflicts, figuring out when we might be home for a meal or two.

I generally look back on that chapter of life fondly. I can still close my eyes and hear Ben play guitar solos that became increasingly electric or picture Matt going toe-to-toe with the adults that other robotics teams assigned to the role of coach. But mostly, I relish every memory of them growing into themselves. I didn’t care what they were doing. I loved watching them becoming.

It’s been a few years since we bought a paper calendar. Now, Mike and I send each either Outlook invitations to make sure that we’re aware of the other’s commitments and to capture upcoming events. We still have activities almost every weekend - the Broadway series at Hancher, Iowa women’s basketball, weekends away, activities at the University. In some ways, these activities are ways to experiment with our own becoming. Now that our role as parents has changed, what fills that space? What allows us to continue to marvel and grow and support and feel alive? Those are questions that I don’t fully have the answer to, but I think about them a lot. Taking a note from Rilke, for now, I’m living those questions.

But not this weekend. This weekend is different. I realized that this weekend was an anomaly when I was planning for the week. I knew we had several busy weekends coming up in April - the Tippie PhD alumni conference, the sustainability case competition, a trip to Minnesota. And May is always busy - finals, Mother’s Day, and this year, Matt’s college graduation. But the weekend of March 29-30, nestled between spring break and the start of our busy April, was completely blank. No kids coming home. No events. No classes. No responsibilities.

If you’ve been reading this Substack long, or if you know me at all, or even if you’ve just walked by me on the street, you probably have picked up that I am a planner. I have goals. I have responsibilities. And I fill my days with activities that help me achieve my goals and meet my responsibilities. I have a complicated To Do list, which lives in the Notion app and maps next actions onto my goals and projects for both work and life. There are plenty of items on that list that I could fill this weekend with.

But this weekend, I decided to try something else. After I wrote about who I will be in five years last week, a friend messaged me. He is also a planner and has developed many five year plans of his own throughout his career. But he’s nearing retirement, and rather than making a detailed plan for the next five years, he’s looking forward to letting life come to him. He told me that “the absence of goals is itself the goal.”

This idea collided in my head with my realization that an empty weekend was on its way. And so rather than creating a to do list for this weekend, I decided to focus on just being. I’m still tightly wound enough that I can’t help having a few things in mind that might fill my time, but rather than calling it a to do list, I’ve labeled it a possibility list.

Maybe I’ll finish the book I’m reading (Dream State by Eric Puchner) or let an audio book read to me (currently, I’m revisiting Parable of the Sower). Maybe I’ll catch up on the Tournament of Books decisions - the final match is Monday! Maybe I’ll do a load of laundry and actually fold it when it’s done. Maybe I’ll watch basketball. Maybe I’ll listen to the three new albums that came out yesterday from artists I love (Lucy Dacus, Mumford & Sons, and Alison Krauss & Union Station - all on the same day). Maybe I’ll take a lesson from Annie, who lounges on the couch like she was born for just being.

I did write the possibilities list on my white board. I’m experimenting, not completely changing who I am. But if there is a tension between becoming and being, I’m going to dip my toe ever so gently into the being side of the river this weekend. I’ll let you know how it goes.