Harmonizing

Be at peace knowing what you imagine will become your reality

I’m in a bit of a reflective mood today because my son is about to turn two. I spent his nap putting together a one-minute video (so far of just his first six months) to share at the birthday party. Though I won’t share the video here, it did make me smile to see how much we were outside—imagine a baby sleeping in a stroller next to a frozen creek or lake.

Approaching his second birthday, if we are in town, my son and I spend almost every day in Minneapolis parks. From playgrounds to natural areas, from barefoot paths along quiet creeks to the backpack hikes along the heights of the Mississippi Gorge to bikerides between splash pads and historic sites. This summer, we even wrote a book together (found on Leanpub or in your street’s Free Little Library).

A few days ago it was sunny and hot. Today it is cold and windy with a bit of rain. We are out there regardless. We have a lot of fun together. Meanwhile, in one of the up and coming Minneapolis neighborhoods, my wife works from home, which means our son spends plentiful time with both of us; we eat meals together, play together, read books at night, and so on.

This daily flow was almost not our reality.

About 21 months ago, two days before I anticipated starting as a substitute teacher in Minneapolis, I was at a Lissie concert at the Parkway with my wife. Our recent discussions had centered around where to send our son to daycare, though with some trepidation and worry that we weren’t doing the right thing, and yet we’d been lucky enough, we thought, to find a place that didn’t have restrictions preventing our son joining.

The beginning of the Lissie concert was fine but I wasn’t relaxed like I thought I should have been, this being the first time for my wife and I together away from our son, at home with grandma and grandpa. Then it all changed. When Lissie sang, in what admittedly is a love song, “You can go your own way”, it struck me meaningfully: I knew and decided right there that our son would not be going to daycare on Monday. Nor would I be going to work in the Minneapolis public school system. The rest of the show was much more enjoyable, having finally realized we could go our own way.

Of course, we were taking a financial risk going on one income but only about two weeks later a potential writing gig came up and the co-authors picked me to be their ghostwriter.

When that project wrapped up at the end of 2024, I started another, the first primarily fiction project the company has done. There was no process for such an author and maybe the salespeople shouldn’t have taken the author on but I was eager for something new and took it on. Not without its challenges, it suddenly started going very well at the end of September and early October when, you guessed it, I started envisioning the author having sent me, the ghostwriter, a copy with a handwritten note thanking me for my creative work on it.

I’m excited for the life my family is creating here in Minneapolis, Minnesota. I’ve had the chance to live in several countries—Gabon, Indonesia, China—and have visited many more, sometimes staying with locals, and we really like it here. As I set off with my son through the rain this morning toward one of the city’s lake paths, still in our neighborhood I noticed a tree root emerging above the ground between the road and the sidewalk. After pointing it out to my son, we went on, and I found myself wondering about a comment my neighbor had made over the fence about someone’s roots differing from where they find home. This was a theme, under the surface, in one of my first novels, and the theme echoes today because I’m realizing that I have found a home here, even if my roots were elsewhere.

After playing on some of the equipment on the east side of Lake Nokomis, we had a decision to make at the top of the hill above the north beach. Go on to the library, or follow the lake further north to the park. My son pointed in the direction of the park with determination. I do not give him every decision, he’s not quite two, but his intuition is strong.

There were others there, perhaps five or six moms and dads with about as many children, and we parked at a respectable distance under a tree so the jogging stroller would stay dry enough. My son wandered near a boy and his mother who’d strayed from the group and the mom commented on his moose hat. Later, on the playground structure, my son met his son and I found out it was their first time joining this nature group. Before we left, I decided to say hi. I said a friend of mine had mentioned the 1,000 hours outside, which we now do, but with a smile I added, “We don’t track our steps.” Minutes later the mom who organizes the group that meets at parks every Tuesday, and will continue into winter, added me to the text thread.

This was a significant moment because I had wanted to give my son opportunities to play with other kids outdoors. In combination with the other activities we’ve woven together, a weekly routine of sorts is arising. You can probably feel my excitement and fulfillment through the screen you are reading this on. What’s interesting is that none of this was planned, only (vaguely) imagined; it wasn’t as though we deeply researched various groups online and narrowed down our choice through a trial period. No, it all materialized through natural and inspired actions in line with the vision.

Besides discussion about weekly structured activities, a common talking point with moms, dads, nannies, grandmas and grandpas around town is where and when a child will attend school.

I went to some of the top schools in various countries and I have some great memories but also I was adequately programmed as the system intends. Perhaps what saved me from complete programming was who I am, my parents, and also the varying perspectives that moving to and living in different countries provides.

My son will likely not be going to school (certainly not forced to) because I can’t bring myself to imagine that. (Big caveat! School, no, the entire education system, is likely to change, and quite quickly, once it does, which could have me look at all this again.)

Not only will he not attend school, he’s also unlikely to be home-schooled—by home-school I mean the process of reporting to the state on a child’s development: can they read?, can they pass this and that test?, & etc. I think this opting out of compulsory schooling will be more normal in the coming years than many are currently imagining. But, once more imagine it, it will be more common. That’s how things work! (I am grateful to the varying conversations I’ve had with moms and dads, and their children, who have been or are home-schooling to get a perspective. One home-school mom and daughter described cross-country road trips as part of their curriculum.)

As I write this, my wife is in the basement play space we’ve created, still in progress!, where she is teaching our son to sort his blocks by color. “One hundred percent, so far,” she says. I’ve been asked to check dinner on the stove and I wrote for a few minutes longer and burned the bottom of the first pan, so have transferred dinner to a fresh one. Now I can hear them passing a ball back and forth… I’ve now come back from dinner and catching up on other things… it was fun to watch my son point at letters in a book when prompted to find the M for mama or the D for dada.

Once a month I meet with a friend for breakfast. When I told him my son would probably not be going to school, or doing any schooling at home for that matter, he laughed and said he is eager to find out how my son turns out. So am I. And that will depend a lot on what he imagines for himself. My intention is to show him how things work, to the best of my current understanding, and let him take it from there.