wellbeing – Katie Kearns

The Eldering

The Eldering is the title of my horror film. It’s found in the moment when you realize your cultural anchors don’t land with the people around you. It’s when you realize your biological age and psychological age don’t match up, when what you can do and want to do are not exactly overlapping bubbles. What could satisfying Eldering look like instead of a dystopian psychological horror film?

A love letter to educational developers

A large fire in a firepit. The fire is about person-sized, with sticks at the bottom. It is bright orange.

This is an invitation for educators of goodwill to put fortitude, hope, and courage into the collective pot to share and borrow as needed. Below is what comes to mind for me today.

Changing course

A picture of a sign that says "Coweeta Hydrologic Laboratory Southern Research Station, US Department of Agriculture". There are pine trees around the sign and rolling mountains in the distance. It's a sunny day. The picture is yellowed.

As much as I enjoyed living in the mountains of western North Carolina, I became aware that I did not enjoy the experiment and field work enough to keep going or do it over. The research question was important, but I needed to not be the person doing it with degree progress depending on the weather cooperating. My dissertation life had become unmanageable to me.

Clicky pens

a package of three BIC pens with one on the side of the container. There are four scribbles on the side: black, blue, green, and red

What isn’t verifiable is my internal experience of that class. I can still unearth the sensations from layers of quiet panic related to that class. It’s a Pavlovian experience for me; if I hear the click from that kind of pen, I am taken right in my mind and body to the sensations of being in that orgo class.

Leaving the hibernation den

Two feet from mid-calf down. They are wearing black sneakers with white soles. The person is wearing dark grey sweatpants. They are standing on a wood floor.

I promised myself that the first day I would work only a half-day in-person. Even that was a lot. The office lights were excruciatingly bright and the considerate, everyday noise of people in the office overwhelmed my sensory system. I retreated to my office “den” where I used desk lamps instead of the overhead lights and kept my door cracked or closed.

Baby steps

A white cat sleeping on a bed spread with pastel boxes of color.

Discomforts started setting in by around day three. Sensations which I had long ago adapted to and learned to manage subconsciously were now very consciously noticed new sensations. I felt really overstimulated and mentally exhausted. And cranky and impatient.

Reflections and intentions: Being in community

The sun is setting and reflecting on a lake. The water is frozen near the beach, which is in the foreground. The water in the middle of the lake is open water. There are rocks in the foreground, and hills with trees in the background.

I am entering into this new calendar year with more self-compassionate approaches to reflection and intention setting. What did I learn about myself for this year? What did I do for myself this year? What values do I continue to uphold and want to focus on for next year?

Making decisions

six pieces of blown glass of different colors - a bowl, a vase, a pitcher, a cup, a globe, an ornament.

I’m making everyday decisions with harsh critics watching over my shoulder. I act as if I have to have The One final outcome imagined with detail. What if making that one tiny decision IS the decision? The question: do I want to get these toes fixed now? Notice the question is not, will I get these toes fixed now, and who will do it, how, how will it feel, when, what if…, who will take care of.., and then what about…? Just the simple question, do I want to get these toes fixed now? The answer: yes, I want to get my toes fixed now.

This is fine

A cartoon of a yellow dog with big eyes, black ears, and black nose sitting in a chair. There are flames all around him. He has a red hat on. He's smiling. Below him are the words, "This is fine"

I am today years old in realizing the extraordinary self-doubt I feel in my capability to discern “this is fine” from “this is not fine.” I don’t believe myself to be a reliable narrator.

My dislocated toes: A thorough update

Cross legs, the left on top of the right. The toenails are painted purple. The legs are on a clay-colored sheet and blue fleece blanket. On the right foot (which is on the left-hand side of the image), the second and third toes are crooked.

I’m inviting friends to help me tend to my fears about pain, loneliness, and urgent need as best I can. I get to have new experiences of care from and with my friends. I get to expand my self-knowledge about what feels good to me. I get to learn more about the people in my community and what they like to do.