PIONEER PERSPECTIVES

Pioneer Perspectives: A few thoughts about entering my mom era

Annalise Braught — Sat, 07 Jun 2025 11:50:00 GMT

When I first realized that my turn in the rotation of these monthly Pioneer Perspectives columns would be in June, I told myself it would work perfectly because it would be right before starting maternity leave.

Yep, that’s right, the editor is having a baby. But not to fear, the newspaper will go on splendidly because I work with the best team in the biz and have no doubt they will get along just fine while I’m off snuggling my little newborn.

As I conceptualized what to write about as I pondered this coincidence of timing, I had a difficult time sorting out exactly what it is I want to share about this whole crazy whirlwind of balancing a busy life and demanding job while entering my mom era.

What I settled on was digging into a few of the important character-building lessons this season has been teaching me. Maybe a few of our readers can relate to them too, or at least be mildly entertained by my struggles and eye-opening experiences.

Lesson No. 1: Doing the work even when you definitely do not feel like it.

My first trimester was nothing short of rough. I was nauseous pretty much every moment of every day with little relief, and had all the typical symptoms of low energy and struggling to feel motivated to accomplish basic tasks.

The hard part of this was that I didn’t have the luxury of slowing down in any capacity. I was in the thick of a very busy season at the Pioneer with several big projects underway and a wild election, in the midst of some tough staff turnover in the newsroom. I was also adjunct teaching at Bemidji State and wrapping up things with the Bagley Area Farmers Market season (which I am also the manager of).

There were so many days I just wanted to stay home and lie on the couch, take a nap and be pampered. But, alas, that wasn’t the life I had chosen, and doing that wouldn’t have been fair to all the people who rely on me daily. So, no matter what I felt like, I pushed on and just took it a day at a time.

This season tested my resolve like no other and really showed me how tough I can be when it comes down to it. It also made me realize that sometimes it’s good to feel a little crappy and be put to the test just to see what you’re really made of when push comes to shove.

This leads me to Lesson No. 2: Not being afraid to ask for help.

As proud as I was of myself for surviving all those icky weeks, it also made me feel so isolated by not really sharing how I was feeling with those around me and just trying to be tough and power through.

And apparently the universe thought that was a lesson I needed driven home, because just as I was about to enter my second trimester, I got the chance to test my new resolve in a big way.

A few days before Christmas, I ended up having to undergo emergency abdominal surgery and spend several days in the hospital, followed by weeks of recovery.

I’ll spare you the nitty gritty details, but long story short, it was the most painful and the most humbling thing I’ve endured to date.

I can’t say I’ve ever had a real emergency situation like that before, where all of a sudden I was just out of commission with no warning — and it was a big wake-up call. While my team at work rallied to help those couple of days I was in the hospital and filled in as I needed it in the days that followed, I was all too aware of how much was on my plate and overwhelmed by my inability to accomplish what I wanted to.

It was weeks before I could do much on my own and asking for help doesn't come naturally to me at all. So this was a trial for me, to say the least. Little things like asking for help to move around or having someone bring me a drink or snack made me feel like the most needy person alive. And even though I wouldn’t wish what I went through on anyone, I’m so grateful for the character-building experience it was.

As my recovery led into the middle of my pregnancy, it helped me know my limits, slow down and let the people in my life come alongside me to meet my needs rather than trying to maintain control and do it all on my own.

Which leads me to Lesson No. 3: Letting go and trusting in the unknown.

I’ve said many times during my pregnancy that it feels like the biggest test of faith of all time, because there is so very little you can control.

So, you wake up every day just trusting that things will work out how they are supposed to. You control what is in your power to control and let go of the rest. Easier said than done, though, right?

While letting go of my hardcore independence and leaning into trust have been ongoing challenges for me, the thing that has kept me going is celebrating the amazing feat of my body growing an entire human.

In the midst of all the fears and intrusive thoughts one can conjure up, my husband and I have experienced the most inexplicable joy and wonder as we enter each new phase of the parenthood process.

There is nothing in the world that compares to seeing our little baby on an ultrasound screen or feeling her move in my belly. The bond I already share with this little world-class wiggler, as I like to call her, is unlike anything I could have ever imagined.

So, even though this journey has tested me on many levels, I’m so grateful for the trials and know they are only preparing me for things to come.

]]>

Pioneer Perspectives: What a weekend trip taught me about leaps of faith

Daltyn Lofstrom — Sat, 03 May 2025 11:50:00 GMT

One short week ago, I made a semi-impromptu weekend trip to Sioux Falls, S.D., and came across a massive stainless-steel sculpture spanning the length of a football field.

Aptly labeled the Arc of Dreams, the sculpture is considered a signature art piece for the city, but I would argue that its relevance extends beyond city limits.

To anybody simply passing through Sioux Falls’ downtown, they might just pass it off as a frivolous structure that looks cool. But the idea behind its construction and a 15-foot gap at its center is what makes it even cooler.

Eighty-five feet above the Big Sioux River, the gap represents “the leap of faith dreamers take to see their dreams come true.”

Upon learning of its origin, I began applying such an idea to my own life experiences. I’ve been thinking critically about the moments where I’ve taken such leaps, as well as situations where I couldn’t muster up any courage to jump.

We’re presented with such decisions every day — whether it’s taking up a job offer, choosing which college to attend, moving to a different city or planning a vacation — and the idea of leaps of faith can be applied to each situation, no matter how big or small the decision.

My path was well laid out after high school. I attended Bemidji State University, graduated and landed a job in town. My leaps of faith included attending college in the first place — a dream I long had — as well as the choice to switch majors in my freshman year and become a double-major in my junior year.

My job search presented another leap of faith as I mainly perused positions in Fargo, N.D., where I wanted to relocate. Frankly, Bemidji was not at the top of my list when seeking work.

Nonetheless, I returned to Bemidji as a full-time employee in 2021 after spending four years here as a college student. Though I didn’t expect to return to the area post-graduation, the process led me back.

Earlier this year, I had a conversation with someone regarding future plans and where we would want to live after Bemidji. This person told me — something along the lines — that it was obvious I’d live in Bemidji the rest of my life.

If that ends up being the case, so be it.

Though I hadn’t initially dreamed of staying in Bemidji after college, the process has a way of leading you where you need to go and transforming your dreams in ways you hadn’t considered. Dreams can change, and that’s OK.

That being said, earlier dreams can still be intact and linger. But if they have yet to come to fruition, one must learn to be content where they're at and make the best of their current situation.

Whether I stay in Bemidji, move to a bigger city or immigrate to Canada, I’ve learned that a leap of faith can be the decision to have faith in the process.

And I learned that thanks to a hunk of metal in Sioux Falls.

]]>

Pioneer Perspectives: Reflecting on 5 years since everything changed

Madelyn Haasken — Sat, 05 Apr 2025 11:50:00 GMT

A couple of weeks ago, I started looking through a recent photo gallery by Forum photographers headlined “Look back: Photos from COVID-19's eerie onset 5 years later.” Each image served as a powerful and emotional reminder of that strange time.

Scrolling through the gallery transported me back to the spring of 2020 and caused me to reflect for the thousandth time on how truly uncertain and scary that time was. Although I wish I could say otherwise, it’s an era I find myself ruminating over pretty often.

After reaching that five-year milestone, I feel like a lot of people found themselves thinking either “Wow, that feels like just yesterday,” Or “Wow, that feels like a lifetime ago,” or some combination of the two.

In March 2020, I was months away from graduating from Bemidji State. I spent most days frantically turning in assignments for my last few classes and preparing for the moment I would walk the stage and receive my diploma, a moment that would never happen.

I was riding high that spring; I had somehow landed my dream internship — a content creation role at the National Sports Center in Blaine — and I was elated to start.

And then life hit me in the back of the knees with a baseball bat. Just as I felt like I was ready to be thrust into the real world, everything fell apart when the lockdown was announced.

My remaining classes went virtual, our graduation ceremony was canceled and I was laid off from my retail job. At 21 years old, I found myself moving back in with my parents and filing for unemployment at a point in my life where I had expected to be moving into my first apartment and starting my career.

My internship was canceled because sports were canceled. Of course, everyone who knows me knows the story of my internship getting canceled because I bring it up a little too often; I sound like that old guy who played football in high school who constantly claims he could have gone pro if only it wasn’t for that one elbow sprain that ruined everything.

“You know, I could have a really cool career in sports right now if only it weren’t for —”

“Yes, Madelyn, we know. The internship. The COVID. We know.”

Silver linings

Those days, weeks and months in quarantine passed by slowly, like trudging through spring mud.

I spent a lot of time cooped up in my childhood bedroom, allowing a sense of anxiety-ridden dread to overtake me like a demonic entity. But in between the mental breakdowns, there were also plenty of fun moments from those months quarantining with my parents and my two younger brothers, who were stuck at home too.

Some of my favorites include making various disastrous air-fryer recipes with my mom, going on drive-thru trips to Dairy Queen with my brothers and scheduling family meetings on Zoom.

Once the dystopian feeling of the shutdown started to seem mundane, I also settled into doing the typical quarantine activities.

I watched Tiger King. I learned TikTok dances. I made the trendy whipped coffee everyone was making. I spent a lot of time outdoors as the weather warmed up. I mountain-biked and rollerbladed and even took up running, a hobby that lasted for about two days.

And even though I thought the world was ending, things miraculously started returning to normal-ish. I was able to get a remote internship, then a remote job. I moved back to Bemidji and tried to remember how to be an adult and function in public places.

As much resentment as I have for how my life plans flew out the window during COVID, I know those times were worse for so many people. When I think about how others lost their loved ones to the virus, what I lost becomes so insignificant.

In another sense, I think it’s OK to feel validated in your grief for how a situation turned out, even if it’s not that serious.

When I really analyze it, a specific chain of events that kicked off in the spring of 2020 led me to where I am today, and where I am today is pretty alright.

And now that five years have passed, it's interesting to note which memories have stuck with me and which ones have faded away with time. As scary and uncertain as that time was, the more lighthearted moments spent with my family are what I remember the most.

So whether COVID was an insignificant blip on your radar, a minor setback in your life or something more earth-shattering, I hope you take some time this spring to remind yourself how far you’ve come since five years ago when everything changed.

]]>

Pioneer Perspectives: Junk journaling as a recovering perfectionist

Carley Swanson-Garro — Sat, 01 Mar 2025 12:50:00 GMT

Growing up, I was a very crafty kid. You could always find me at the kitchen table drawing, felting and making jewelry. I even painted the walls of my wooden dollhouse.

But as I got older, I felt pressure to give up these hobbies for "more serious" activities. I gradually shifted my creativity into writing and playing the cello.

The perfectionist in me struggled to give myself permission to make art for fun. If I dedicated a lot of time and energy to making something and it turned out objectively bad, what was the point of doing it at all?

Fast forward to my senior year of college. I took a publishing class and our final project was to make a collection of literary work and design a cover for it.

I was struggling to use the digital program to create cover art, and the end of the semester was nearing. One day after class, I emptied the contents of a small trinket box I never unpacked — a few foreign coins, a magnet, a fortune cookie fortune — onto my desk, which had a brochure from the Minnesota Orchestra on it.

I started rearranging the items, liking the 3D effect they had on the cover. I picked up the brochure and thumbed through it, finding a bunch of cool illustrations and fonts.

I was transported back to making collages on pieces of poster board in elementary school art class. Those early projects had felt overwhelming due to the huge white space I needed to fill up, but by using a magazine cover as the background, I had some guidance.

After collecting more items from around my room and the common space in my college house, I taped them down and scanned the finished collage into my phone.

Collaging meets memory collecting

After I graduated, my mom gave me and my long-distance boyfriend two identical notebooks and I thought about making collages in mine.

Shortly after, I saw a video on Instagram of a girl and her partner exchanging journals every time they saw each other. They were writing love notes and creating a scrapbook of photos and mementos.

I told my boyfriend he could put whatever he wanted in the notebooks, but our entries quickly became a collaborative junk journal: a collection of receipts, tags, notes, programs, stamps, stickers, ribbons and doodles.

A junk journal is a cheaper, messier approach to scrapbooking where the pages are made up of free, found items.

One day I'm cutting my boyfriend's name out of letters from a bookmark I got at the library and the next I'm pressing a fallen leaf from a walk along Lake Bemidji.

Junk journaling is less about telling a story in a linear way and more about drawing from your environment to capture a feeling.

By using double-sided tape, I'm able to layer and move items around to create a collage. Sometimes I go back and add items or notes to a page my boyfriend or I already worked on, creating a collaborative space where we can communicate from afar.

This approach to journaling has helped me work through my perfectionism because the outcome is intentionally less polished than a traditional scrapbook.

Creating a junk journal also keeps me grounded. When I'm in an unfamiliar place, I search for unique items to add to it. Saving bits of cardboard or plastic packaging to cut up and make art from helps keep items out of the landfill.

Things that I used to consider trash have become pieces of the story of my life and a testament to me and my boyfriend's love for each other.

]]>

Pioneer Perspectives: Thanks for getting me through COVID, Indian food

Alex Faber — Sat, 01 Feb 2025 12:50:00 GMT

In the midst of COVID-19, all I had was Indian food.

Alright, that’s a bit melodramatic. But it certainly helped.

When the virus hit, I was working full time at a grocery store in my hometown to pay my way through community college.

To be frank, at that time, I was more worried about getting spit on or threatened by customers than whatever COVID had waiting for me. Don’t fret about my safety, though. When a customer tried to spit on me for not giving her hundreds of dollars in cash for a gift card scam, it hit the protective glass meant to halt those pesky COVID particles. Thanks Governor Whitmer!

Anyway, at the end of the semester, I made my way to Michigan State. My goal had always been to grind as quickly as possible through community college and transfer to an in-state university.

Thanks to the real thinkers over at the university, I still had to live on campus for a year despite the fact that I had spent my first few years at community college and nearly all on-campus activities were still extremely limited thanks to COVID. I’m sure the leadership at Michigan State truly had my best interest in mind; the thousands I had to spend on room and board had absolutely nothing to do with it.

When I moved into my dorm at MSU (the real MSU, sorry Mankato residents), I was isolated. There was a one person per dorm policy and social gatherings were not encouraged. Every single class was online, so I sat in the dorm I spent thousands on and logged on to virtual class each day.

I grew restless. There are only so many books one can read and games of NBA 2K22 one can play before the mind starts to go. So I started ordering food.

Trying something new

I grew up smack-dab in the middle of Michigan. Our specialties in Mt. Pleasant, Mich., were burgers, casseroles with ungodly amounts of butter and the other sorts of regional specialties that make the Midwest so special. I decided to take advantage of the increased diversity of East Lansing and start trying offerings that weren’t available back home.

I tried pho. I tried pad Thai. I tried chicken shawarma. And one day, the name Swagath caught my eye: it was an Indian restaurant just off campus. So I called in an order of tikka masala and butter naan, hopped in my car, slipped on my mask and went in to pick it up.

The aromas in the restaurant were immediately intoxicating, even through the cloth covering over my nose. When I got in my car, plastic grocery bag full of food in hand, I couldn’t wait. I took out a couple of napkins, spread them on my console and dug in.

The tastes were unlike anything I had ever tried; the richness, the complicated combination of spices, the depth of the flavor. I immediately fell in love.

Indian food quickly became a ritual for me. At least once a week, sometimes two, I would drive over to pick up a new dish. Eventually, I discovered another restaurant in town, Paradise Indian Cuisine, that quickly became my favorite.

I tried butter chicken, chana masala, aloo gobi, samosas, Nilgiri chicken (my personal favorite) and a host of other dishes, each better than the last.

While the dullness of living in a COVID-isolated dorm, watching a terrible Red Wings season, playing hundreds of games of Call of Duty and ripping through dozens of books picked away at my psyche, I would always look forward to the new experience of a new Indian dish, or the comfort of one of my previous favorites.

Through the years, that ritual has stuck with me. When the COVID restrictions dissipated and one of my best friends from my hometown transferred to Michigan State, we got an apartment together a few miles off campus. Once a week, we would head over to Paradise or try a new restaurant around town.

Sure, other foods made their mark on me in my time in East Lansing. Aladdin’s Restaurant had the best damn chicken shawarma in town. Dagwoods Tavern and Grill offered burgers, fries and a 12-ounce domestic bottle of beer all for $7.50, by far the best deal in town. Thai Princess had massaman curry to die for.

But one way or another, I always found myself drifting back to the allure of cloves, cardamon, garam masala, turmeric and all the other spices that make Indian food so spectacular.

When I decided to move to Bemidji to accept a job at the Pioneer, one of the first things I did was head to Google Maps and find the nearest Indian restaurant. I was devastated to learn there wasn’t one in town, but I’ve adapted.

I’ve learned how to cook a few Indian dishes. For someone who struggles to make a good over-easy egg, it’s been a bit of a learning curve, to say the least. Still not sure if I’m cutting onions right.

Indian food has become one of my favorite pleasures in life, right up there with seeing a great band in concert or winning an especially close game of Madden. All thanks to the fact that I was losing it in a lonely dorm during COVID.

Your Indian food might not be Indian food. It might be a new genre of music, a good book, or a style of art you happen across at a gallery. But you won’t know til you find it. Don’t be like me and wait until the dullness of life forces you out of your comfort zone: go give something new a spin.

]]>

Pioneer Perspectives: Don't drink stagnant water

TJ Rhodes — Sat, 04 Jan 2025 12:50:00 GMT

Many people live their lives day by day, not sure of what the future holds.

That was not me. I planned every step of my life meticulously — to its benefit and detriment.

But an untimely wrench rocketed my life into a new direction, ultimately leading me to Bemidji at the Pioneer.

Now that I’ve time to reflect on this tumultuous period in my life, I want to share a small portion of that with you as I hope to close one chapter and begin anew.

Braking point

I had just a year left of schooling at the University of Iowa before I could enter the real world and attempt to make my mark as a journalist. It was an exciting time in my life.

My enthusiasm came to a crashing halt.

In January 2022, I was leaving a family Christmas celebration to go back to Iowa City, my temporary home. I made the mistake of exiting onto Interstate 80 as ice rained down on the road, something we Iowans are less familiar with.

Even though I was heading down the road slowly, I eventually felt my small sedan spin — I lost control. In a flash and a bang, my car was sticking partially into the road and partially on the shoulder. Part of me felt lucky as I noticed the edge of a guard rail saved me from undoubtedly ending up in a ditch.

But my luck felt short-lived.

A semi-truck was barreling toward me and I feared for my life. I rolled down my window and waved at the driver to switch lanes as if they didn't see me. The oncoming driver did switch lanes but it felt like they did it at the very last instant.

I was spared. But my car was not.

Half of my back bumper was missing, never to be seen again as the muffler, broken on impact, screamed in agony as I pulled into the I-80 Truckstop, the largest of its kind in the world.

In my eyes, the car missing part of its bumper was solely a cosmetic thing and it made for good conversation, so I kept the car but an unrelated issue officially totaled the car by the end of the year, a car that I loved.

This accident affected my life in many ways. It exaggerated my anxiety, which made my job as a delivery driver with Hy-Vee extra challenging. I was in a long-term relationship and was now too afraid to drive the hour that was once my favorite drive. And most importantly, and many with similar trauma will understand, it gave me the excuse to ignore life.

I tell this story because I’ve thought about it a lot lately, especially with the ice rinks we call roads here in Bemidji.

That fateful night on the interstate was my breaking point. It's the moment that separates the positive, happy, vibrant, young and tenacious version of myself from who I was at the start of 2024, someone who despised life — a face I no longer care to recognize — and who I am today, someone who is trying to love life again.

I know none of this pertains to Bemidji yet, but I would have never found myself here if I never adopted my life philosophy in early 2024. That philosophy is to never drink stagnant water.

Part of me feels I adopted this philosophy to help me get over the accident after two years of pushing it to the back burner. But honestly, whether I was ready or not, it opened my eyes to the world at large.

Go with the flow

I take a daily pledge to not drink stagnant water — stagnant water is toxic — its flow has stopped and has no natural way of filtering out pollutants like water that flows through a river. It's water that kills if not properly cared for.

This saying, to me, means not remaining in one place in life for too long and especially not feeding into any negative situation.

This could apply as a mental state of mind or a physical affair; regardless, stagnant water exists in every possible stream of life.

I did nothing but drink the stagnant water for the two years that followed my accident.

So I decided to change everything about my surroundings and began looking for work outside of Iowa. I wanted to get better at the idea of going with the flow.

This philosophy and mindset landed me a job in Bagley as the managing editor of the Farmers Independent. Though I did not hold the title for very long, I felt thankful for everything I gained from the experience.

And I know it’s a bit anticlimactic, but that is the story of how I found myself in Bemidji. I still have to remind myself of stagnant water. I contemplate if I am making positive strides forward or if I am reverting back to the water that spiraled my life in a direction that was never planned.

However, it did lead me to one of the best first experiences I’ve had in a very long time: the Bemidji Christmas Bird Count.

Counting birds

Before I was worried about drinking stagnant water, I was enveloped in the world of improv. If one thing stuck with me, it's the principle of saying “yes, and.” Though I have yet to master it, I at least allow myself to consistently say yes to many new experiences. It’s helped me a lot as an introverted journalist.

One of these experiences was the Christmas Bird Count held in Bemidji on Dec. 14. It's the first time since living in Bemidji that I felt a true connection with myself, and I’ve been here since July.

I am very grateful for Kelly Larson and David Harrington who took me under their wing, allowing me to have a complete birding experience. I’ve always loved birds but never quite knew how to show that appreciation, and they showed me how.

Now, I’ll never look at the sky quite the same way and am excited to build on what I learned.

The takeaway, for me, is quite simple. If I never adopted the stagnant water philosophy, I would've never had that experience.

With every new experience and interaction with life, the world drafts a new stream, guiding me to an ocean of possibility, with the wind of change at my back.

And Bemidji was the unlikely landing point, and I am grateful for that.

I tell this story because I enjoy talking about my journey through life but I also hope that you, the reader, can find your own meaning through my foibles.

Whether that is shown through leaving a job to pursue a passion, finding the strength to leave an abusive relationship or simply taking one positive step forward, I wish you luck.

]]>

Pioneer Perspectives: Why intentional solitude might be the ultimate social experience

Ashley McKenzie — Sat, 07 Dec 2024 12:50:00 GMT

As the bitter cold of winter settles in and temperatures plunge well below freezing, many of us find ourselves huddled indoors, seeking refuge from the frigid, howling winds that steal our breath away.

Even at 40, I feel a constant push from friends and family to stay engaged through social media and the relentless barrage of notifications. The assumption often is that if you’re alone, you're lonely — or worse, missing out.

But what if solitude isn't about cutting off from others, but about giving ourselves time to recharge, so we can show up as our best selves when we do connect? Maybe all of us fall somewhere on the introvert-extrovert spectrum. And perhaps even extroverts need to recharge.

Dr. John Cacioppo, a renowned neuroscientist who pioneered social neuroscience, spent years studying loneliness. He found that those who spend time alone often handle stress better and bounce back emotionally.

According to Cacioppo, it’s not about isolation — it’s about making space for a quiet mind, away from daily demands, to regain mental and emotional balance.

Dr. Matthew Lieberman, a professor at UCLA and a leader in social neuroscience, found that even when we’re alone, our brains are still active, processing social and emotional information. In solitude, our brains continue to engage with past interactions and prepare for future ones.

This means our brains don’t shut down socially when we’re alone; rather, they support self-reflection and help us understand others better when we reenter social settings. It’s important to note, however, that Lieberman’s research also emphasizes how chronic isolation can have negative effects. Intentional solitude, on the other hand, is a temporary, balanced practice that has different benefits.

Solitude may also boost creativity. Time alone — without distractions — can improve problem-solving and innovative thinking. Research from the University of Kansas found that people walking alone solved creative problems better than those walking with others.

Solitude helps us think more clearly and come up with fresh solutions.

Solitude as intentional

As someone with a large family, I can’t overstate how important those fleeting moments of solitude are. I actively seek them out, but I’m also good at dissociating into my tasks and filtering out the noise around me. I love my family, but we all need a break. After hours of listening, talking and engaging, I need a hard reset. The world is full of noise, and even when it’s quiet, the noise in my head needs time to settle.

Solitude isn’t an escape but a way to navigate the world more effectively. It’s about coming back to others with a clearer perspective and a more balanced approach — and sometimes, a burst of creativity and motivation for work and social situations.

Solitude as spiritual

Intentional solitude is something we've been practicing for centuries across various cultures and spiritual practices. In Buddhism, solitude is regarded as a tool for clarity and insight, not isolation. Buddha himself spent significant time alone in meditation, not to avoid people but to prepare for deeper engagement with the world and to practice transcending worldly attachments through reaching enlightenment.

The term "enlightenment" in English comes from Buddhist words like bodhi in Sanskrit. Bodhi refers to wisdom or awakened understanding.

Monasticism is found in several religions, including Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism and Sikhism. This is a religious/spiritual practice in which people cast off worldly attachments and usually live in religious communes, churches or temples where they devote their lives to their spiritual work and community service. Within Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy, monks and nuns dedicate themselves to a life of prayer, service and simplicity as part of their spiritual commitment.

While extreme cases of solitude, like monasticism and the Buddhist idea of enlightenment through meditation, may seem far removed from our daily lives, we can still learn a lot from these traditions. It’s in the stillness that we gain clarity on what truly matters — our intentions, values and how we want to interact with the world.

An ode to the seekers of solitude

Whether it’s a quiet evening, a winter stroll (on a less windy day) or just a moment of stillness, taking time alone can help us feel more grounded when we return to the world.

On a related note, Dr. Naomi Eisenberger, a UCLA researcher and Dr. Lieberman’s wife, has explored how our brains react to social rejection through pain receptors in the same way they react to physical pain. Social pain alerts us that our relationships may need attention in a similar way as our brain alerts us to physical pain that needs attention. So, intentional solitude and self-reflection could help us work through social issues.

Writing this article and putting myself out there triggered my social rejection or "pain receptors." Normally, I don’t broadcast my thoughts like this, which ties into my introverted nature. But I can assure you — I’m not missing anything when I step away from the chaos of life. In fact, I’m likely gaining more by giving myself that break. And I’d bet this could be true for many of you, too.

With the season of giving in full swing, many of us are feeling the constant pressure to meet expectations, attend every social gathering, manage family dynamics and keep up with the rush toward the new year.

Amid all the festivities and piles of wrapping paper, remember to find a moment for yourself — whether it's a meditative cup of coffee or hot cocoa, a quiet walk or just to sit and ponder, remember that this is a gift you give to yourself and all your loved ones. And Happy Holidays!

]]>

Pioneer Perspectives: Coming to terms with the reality of my quarter-life crisis

Jared Rubado — Sat, 05 Oct 2024 11:50:00 GMT

The unwritten rule of nicknames is you never give one to yourself, but everybody gets at least one at some point.

For me, it started when I was too young to remember how it started. My parents called me “Buddy,” which was often shortened to “Bud.” It got to the point where they only called me Jared when they were addressing me in a serious manner.

In middle school, my baseball teammates called me “Ruby,” a common way to refer to many proud members of the Rubado family. But then I got to high school and one name stuck.

By the time I graduated, half of my teachers were calling me “Bado” (Bay-Doe). My best friends and hockey teammates took the suffix of my last name and ran with it, and it spread. It got to the point where introductions became a little awkward.

“My name is Jared, but most people call me Bado.”

Bado didn’t stick when I went to college, which is when I had to get used to people calling me Jared for the first time since I could drive a car. By the time I graduated in 2018, I found a good rhythm. My tight-knit group from high school called me Bado, everybody else called me Jared.

However, I came to a gripping realization that sent me into a quarter-life crisis.

Somewhere along the line in the last six years, the Bado crowd shifted. Instead, they call me “Jerry” now.

What is happening to me? What is becoming of my life?

Like many nicknames, it likely started as a joke. I can’t remember pushing back at the name at any point, and now it’s stuck. I can’t remember the last time I was called Bado. It’s Jared and Jerry.

I can’t be a Jerry, at least not yet. I’m 28 years old. Do you know a 28-year-old Jerry? I don’t, at least I didn’t. Jerry is a name reserved for fathers and stoic men of wisdom. I am neither. But the more I think about it, I keep finding evidence that gives it merit.

The American public recovered from the Great Recession in the 2010s, but my recession was just beginning. I don’t have a forehead, but rather an eight-head. My hair migrated from a proper position to my face and neck.

I may be 28, but my hips are at least 50, thanks to playing goalie for over a decade. I’m starting to find myself complaining about the “cool” things in baseball, like how official scorers are too lenient with designating inside-the-park home runs.

I went to bed at 10:15 p.m. last week. What is wrong with me? I used to greet the newest hours of each day, indulging in West Coast sports or whatever movie piqued my interest. Now my bodily clock is sentencing me to the confines of a queen-sized bed at a respectable, adult hour.

The worst part is, I can’t say I dislike it when my friends call me Jerry. I’ve never blinked twice at it. But I came to the horrific realization that I, too, will eventually introduce myself as Jerry. It’ll play out similarly to Bado, and it’s only a matter of time.

To my knowledge, there isn’t a historical precedent for Jareds to go by Jerry. It’s typically a shortened version of Gerald or Gerrard. Am I part of a new wave of younger Jareds who will evolve into Jerry?

I’ve accepted this is my lot in life. Like the ultimate optimist that I am, I understand this could be good for me.

The most famous Jareds I can think of are a manic, allegedly problematic method actor and a disgraced Subway spokesperson. Now I get to share a name with Jerry Seinfeld and Jerry Rice. I mean, it’s not the best, but it could absolutely be worse.

The moral of the story is time comes for everybody, which is ironic considering most of the people reading this are older than me. While I’m not at the point where I ask IT how to access basic internet functions, I know it’s coming for me down the road. For now, I’m going to enjoy the eclipsing days of my youth with one tab opened on the AARP registration.

Jared can be reached at

(218) 333-9789

jrubado@bemidjipioneer.com.

]]>

Pioneer Perspectives: Chinook helicopter ride to Camp Ripley offers valuable insight

Annalise Braught — Sat, 07 Sep 2024 11:50:00 GMT

It’s been five years since I received a phone call at the Pioneer asking me to cover something about an “ESRG award presentation.”

Upon arriving at the story assignment, I learned that ESGR stands for Employer Support for Guard and Reserve and is a program that helps to support business leaders who have current employees in all branches of the reserve components of the military.

The award being presented was called the Patriot Award and recognizes employers nominated by their employee service members for doing outstanding work in supporting them through training, deployments and more as they navigate the balancing act of living a normal life and being on call for the military.

That fall day in 2019, the awards were presented to Bemidji Ambulance Service and Bemidji Schwan's by Doug Underthun, who retired from the National Guard in 2001 and has been the local representative for the ESGR program for many years.

“When an employee in the National Guard feels like they are getting good support from their employers, they can nominate them for the Patriot Award,” Underthun said at the time. “I go to the units and hand information out about our programs and tell the employee, 'If you really like your employer because they treat you very well and so forth, then put them in for the Patriot Award.' Because it’s good for the employer to be recognized, too.”

Since then we’ve written several more stories about this great organization and the employers in our community doing fantastic work helping our service members receive the support they desperately need to thrive.

As a thank you for our reporting work, I was recently invited to join the annual Boss Lift event held by the ESGR, which offers these community employers a chance to see firsthand what their employees are doing as members of the reserves.

While it was a little out of my comfort zone, I decided to join the fun and use it as a chance to learn a bit more about the group and what takes place at Camp Ripley — a military and civilian training facility operated by the Minnesota National Guard near Little Falls.

On the morning of the event, about 20 local employers gathered at the Bemidji Regional Airport to load up on a Boeing CH-47 Chinook helicopter for a day trip to the base. As soon as the military aircraft landed on the tarmac the reality of what I was about to be part of really hit me.

We’ve all seen that classic movie scene where the back of the helicopter opens up and everyone walks up, bracing against the wind of the propellers — but there was nothing quite like experiencing it in real life. The intensity of the wind whipping my hair and the roar and heat of the turbines hitting me as we approached was unlike anything I’d ever felt.

The communal anxious excitement was obvious as we all filed inside, buckled into our seats and prepared for take off.

Unlike a normal plane ride, the helicopter stayed fairly low and close to the surface for the one-hour ride, which allowed for some great views of the local scenery.

Once we arrived at the military base, we filed off the helicopter and made our way inside the base’s education center for a briefing on what takes place on the base and how it connects to the ESGR from the 2nd Combined Arms Battalion of the 136th Infantry Regiment.

In his presentation, Major Zachary Hendrickson detailed how support from employers is always necessary, but has been even more crucial in recent years.

He explained that between 2010 and 2019 there were 231 soldiers and airmen deployed for 21 state active duty missions, compared to almost 25,000 soldiers being deployed during 2020 and 2021 alone.

One of the more significant deployments was for the unrest in Minneapolis where an entire brigade was sent following the murder of George Floyd in May 2020.

“The interesting part about that is we were actually on a drill weekend when that happened,” Hendrickson recalled. “I remember at about 2 in the morning, we got a knock on our door that says, ‘Hey, we're being activated to go down to the Twin Cities’ and by 10 a.m. we were leaving Camp Ripley with all of our vehicles, headed down to the cities. That was quite the experience.”

He explained that even in the midst of civil unrest or whatever else might arise on a domestic level, they strive to create as much predictability for reserve employees as possible to help both them and their employers.

“If there is ever any concern about your soldier missing too much work for different drills or training, you can reach out,” he said. “Because we understand that they're a vital piece of your organization as well.”

Hendrickson went on to share more information with the employers in the room about the important role their employees play in keeping Minnesota and the U.S. a safe place to live and work.

“I just want to thank you for being here,” he left off. “I want to thank you for the support of our soldiers. We appreciate the time that they are allowed to be here, away from work, away from their families, and it's because of your continued support. We're excited that you're here and will get to go down range and see some of that different stuff they are doing during their time here. But again, thank you for your continued support.”

Once our informational session concluded, we loaded up on a bus and were given a tour of a few of the training grounds. At the sniper range, we got to witness some hands-on training and everyone was offered the chance to shoot one of the weapons themselves. One of the attendees even shot a target that was 814 feet away!

At the machine gun station, we were able to see several different guns in action including M2 .50 caliber machine guns. While enjoying our lunch afterward, I overheard a few employers chatting about what great insight the whole trip had given them on what their employees are going through when they are on base for training and other duties.

While reflecting on the day’s activities on the trip back, I was mulling over the difference between trying to support someone in something they are going through versus feeling like you can empathize or experience something with someone.

Obviously serving in the military is a unique experience that is hard for many to understand, but this glorified field trip offered these business leaders a little glimpse of what it’s like for their employed service members.

On the helicopter ride home I thought back on the morning briefing, specifically when an ESGR representative was talking about the three-legged stool our service members need to be successful — a willingness to serve, support from their family and quality employment opportunities.

Without steady employment and support, many active military members struggle in civilian life, not knowing what the next day may hold for them. When emergencies arise, we desperately need these soldiers ready and available to help protect those they serve. And that starts with us right here at home.

Though I don’t currently have any service members among my staff, I’m glad to know that there are programs like the ESGR out there ready and waiting to offer guidance and support.

For those interested in learning more about the ESGR or who may wish to nominate their employer for the Patriot Award, visit www.esgr.mil.

Annalise can be reached at

(218) 358-1990

abraught@bemidjipioneer.com.

]]>

Pioneer Perspectives: Sharing real stories of survival and gratitude

Dennis Doeden — Sat, 03 Aug 2024 11:50:00 GMT

Survival and gratitude.

Those words have been on my mind, and I recently learned about two men who can speak about them.

Boy, can they ever.

Mark Kindem and Corey Fuhrman are pastors serving Lutheran churches in Bemidji. But they would not be preaching this weekend if they had not survived life-threatening incidents, and for that they are very grateful. Kindem survived a plane crash on April 29, and Fuhrman survived a massive heart attack on June 15.

“It was a dark and stormy night,” Mark said with a sly grin when describing his airplane accident. A veteran pilot and flight instructor, the Bethel Lutheran pastor was returning from a trip to Stanley, N.D., alone in his rented plane, when the engine stopped. He was just minutes from his destination at the Bemidji Regional Airport. It actually was a cloudy night, and weather conditions were not ideal. But Mark knew what to do in order to keep the plane in the air as long as possible.

“Before I had a chance to get really scared and nervous I felt this presence, like a quilt or a blanket or something with me,” he recalled. After a few minutes, he looked to his left through an opening in the clouds and saw the lights of Clearbrook below.

“It was just like candles on a cake,” he said. “I was above the clouds. There was no way I could just see anything, and there it was, ‘Boom,’ right there.” He knew there was a football field just north of town, so he was able to make a loop to head toward it.

“And that was my last memory,” Mark said.

What he does remember is waking up with his head smashed against the cockpit window and his right leg dangling sideways. The plane had skimmed off the roof of a wild rice plant, flown under utility wires, landed on a road and skidded into a retaining wall.

Mark, 61, was flown to a Fargo hospital and was treated for facial injuries and a broken femur.

During his recovery, congregation members stepped up to lead worship services, and support has come in from family, friends, and people he didn’t even know. Mark and his wife, Miriam, have three adult children and five grandchildren.

“You realize that you're not by yourself,” Mark said. There are people that God places in your path. I'm grateful for every day that I can see my grandchildren,” Mark said, “and then I found out that we’re going to have two more grandchildren.”

Corey Fuhrman also is feeling grateful these days. The First Lutheran pastor is awaiting heart surgery next month, but he is back in the pulpit after suffering a cardiac arrest the day before Father’s Day.

He started the day by attending a graduation party, then officiated a wedding and attended the reception. He experienced discomfort twice while walking from his car to the party and the reception, and thought it might be lung-related and would go away.

But he decided to leave the reception early, and after resting at home, the burning sensation persisted. Fortunately, his son was home for Father’s Day and was able to get Corey to the emergency room.

Two stents were inserted into clogged arteries, and a third artery will be tended to during next month’s surgery. Although he lives a healthy life, Corey was not surprised that the attack occurred. He is 53 years old, and his father had a heart attack at 52.

“OK, so I made it a year beyond Dad,” Corey said. “However, I am my father’s son. There's a lot of similarities in who he was and who I am.”

Like Mark, Corey was moved by the outpouring of support following his attack. Corey and his three children felt a similar outpouring nine years ago when his wife, Kelly, died of cancer.

“It takes a tragedy sometimes to give us a wakeup call to the beauty and thankfulness of life,” Corey said. “And then we live differently because of it. We treat each other differently because of it.”

He said First Lutheran plans to conduct an adult education class about the second half of life and faith and how it's different from the first half.

“The first half of life you're looking at self-discovery, who am I going to be, what's my purpose in the world,” he said. “In the second half, hopefully, those questions by their very nature have been answered. The point of the class is ‘How do we get to that point without tragedy? How do we live a grateful life without having to experience near death.’”

Survival and gratitude. By sharing their stories, Mark and Corey certainly put those words in perspective. For that, and for many other personal reasons, I am grateful.

]]>