Kenny here, with another autobiographical snapshot of life at DR.
On New Year’s Day, I woke up anxious. As someone with an anxiety disorder, this isn’t totally abnormal. Nothing needs to be “wrong” to trigger this disease for me, but I had a number of convenient explanations for myself, in order to dodge personal accountability. I was simply anxious because I had another busy day ahead of me, one that was preceded by quite a vivacious party the previous evening.
The goslings (my kiddos) and I had work to do on the house as we continue to establish our winter norms, firewood schedules, meals at home in our newly established kitchen, and cleanup from being out so late the night before. In the afternoon, I had plans with friends to sweat at the sauna (my very first time), followed by a plunge in the nearly-frozen pond.
This was the kind of plan that one agrees to enthusiastically upon hearing the pitch, when one’s social battery is more full than one might need it to be when the time comes to show up. And in the evening, I had a dinner shift for our kitchen coop. This is a doable number of things, and they are things that I love to do: spend time with my kids, hang out with friends, and cook for my kitchen family. Yet, when I’m in an anxiety spiral, taking a single step forward can become an insurmountable task.
When I woke up, I was certain that all I wanted to do was tend the fire, stay home, and unpack a few more boxes, before begrudgingly cooking that night, cleaning, and sneaking back home in the evening.
I managed to make coffee before the goslings woke up at daylight. We shared tea and memories from the past night’s party as the crisp, grey morning sunlight poured into the room. After cleaning up and taking care of some house chores, I was feeling better, but still nervous for the rest of the day. I knew I needed to monitor my energy if I was going to get through it.
When a scheduling conflict pushed the sauna time into my cook shift, I was almost relieved to have the excuse to cancel. That is, until a friend stepped forward to thwart my moping. They offered to help me cook dinner right then and there, so dinner could be done and we could still sauna. As anxiety had me racing through reasons that couldn’t work, I realized at that moment how desperately I was subconsciously clinging to excuses to isolate.
Something I have learned on my mental health journey is that that feeling usually means I need to not isolate. Here was someone, so offering of their time and energy for the chance to spend New Year’s Day with their friends, me included. I relented, I accepted help, I allowed myself to be persuaded, I started believing I could do it.
When the curry and rice were ready for the first dinner of the new year, I enjoyed my first Dancing Rabbit sauna experience with wonderful new friends, people I did not know seven months ago, but cannot imagine my life without now. I spent time afterwards on the dock, letting the sharp, frigid breeze nip at my cheeks and fingertips while I wrote and reflected on the turn of the season. As I walked to dinner with my friend, we were flanked by Venus and Mercury, both piercingly bright in the silver and purple twilight. The wind rattled the dry prairie grasses as we shared laughs and hopes for the new year. Music and the laughter of children filled Skyhouse as we all enjoyed curry and company. After the goslings were settled in their nests for the night, I realized that I was tired, just like I thought I’d be, but I was full.
It is astounding to me that I was ever able to convince myself that moving to Northeastern Missouri would be an alienating experience. I have found more depth and complexity in my relationships with neighbors here than a past lifetime in suburbia had ever taught me.
The holiday season has often been difficult to navigate for me, both logistically and emotionally, especially in my military years. Usually, by the time that December 26 mercifully arrives, I am effectively out of commission until the first business day of the new year.
Dancing Rabbit had me celebrating from Yule on the Solstice through New Year’s Day. Weeks full of trees to light, gingerbread to decorate, and cold plunges to shriek through. So many potlucks with plates of holiday fowl and winter squash, cheese and wine, milk and cookies. So much planning, such an abundance of volunteer goodwill, so much love affirming itself, manifesting a village in its wake.
Liz’s previous article beautifully referenced this matrix of people, the dozens of moving parts that make the whole of DR. This organic machine that turns the land into homes and policy and celebrations is nothing short of magic. It can be a capricious magic, as hard conversations are had in common spaces, and as this great project sometimes fails to deftly navigate the perpetually unique problems it comes across. It takes work to maintain, and so it goes with all of life’s beauty. It is a magic that can turn frozen soil into joy and warmth and love; trust me, I’ve seen it happen.
PS: I was far too busy reveling over the past month to remember to take any pictures, so please enjoy these beautiful pictures from my partner, Julian <3.
Kenny Dane is a newer resident of Dancing Rabbit, having moved here with their family in June, 2024. Their rainbow suspenders and sarcastic sense of humor enrich everyone’s lives here. Kenny’s kids are awesome!
