It really wasn't that big a deal after all. My life is no worse, and it certainly isn't any better.
The self imposed dread and hype were all for nothing.
I turned 50 sitting a Russian vodka bar with Paul. I can't think of anyone more appropriate with whom to mark the milestone than someone who has known me since grade three. We've had our ups and downs, jointly and separately, but there we were, sitting at the bar wondering how we arrived here so quickly.
When I woke up the next morning, there were no marching bands, nobody treated me any differently, and I just got on with my day. I didn't feel any different, physically. I'm not sure why the big 5-0 is made out to be such a big deal when in reality, the "second half of our lives" begins, for most of us, after 40.
But 50 is such a freaking big number! Seniors discounts are just around the corner, and I'm not even sure what I want to be when I grow up yet!
Of course, I wouldn't be writing this if there wasn't an "A-Ha" moment attached to it. I realized that I have no clue why I needed a milestone to decide who and what I want to be and take control of my life. There have been disappointments, and I have failed, in so many ways, myself and the people closest to me. I realize, after spending a lot of time pondering, a few truths which will, if I am smart enough not to let this moment pass, help me take control of and shape my own destiny and the legacy I leave to my children:
1. I cannot count on any other person for my happiness. I will find that within myself, and all the people in my life who bring me love, comfort and happiness are a big bonus.
2. I can no longer make excuses for today's failures by blaming them on the circumstances of the past. I can't move forward while obsessing over everything is see in the rear view mirror. The past needs to stay where it is. I can learn from it, but I need to leave it there because those are some pretty heavy bags to carry.
3. What other people think of me is none of my business. I read that one somewhere so I cannot take credit for it. But, oh, what truth! As long as I am being the best person I can be, I need to not care what anyone else thinks. This is my journey.
4. I will no longer emulate the Greek god Tantalus. There is absolutely nothing stopping me from achieving that which I long for, except myself. It is time to grow up and realize that no one gets ahead riding the "poor me" train.
I'll finish with a quote from my favourite book of all time, "Oh the Places You'll Go" by Dr. Seuss:
"...you're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So..get on your way!"
I'm fastening my seat belt.....
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
A View From the Other Side of Popular Opinion
Q: When does a stigma become insignificant?
A: When it is associated with wealth, affluence and power.
Where does that leave the rest of us?
Over the past few years "mental health" issues have become the topic of many public awareness campaigns. In and of itself this is a good thing. Canadian celebrities and media personalities such as Clara Hughes and Seamus O'Regan certainly do succeed in helping "average people" realize that mental illness does not discriminate based on affluence, education or achievements. And while I'm at it, kudos to Bell Canada for taking up the cause.
I have no intention of speaking ill against any one's efforts to do good.
I just don't think it is enough, and I can't quite put my finger on the missing link.
Sure we've come along way from the institutionalization of people who have "gone mad" by throwing them in a large facility with largely untrained attendants where physical abuse and unspeakable experiments took place, but we have a long way to go still.
The recent death of Robin Williams by his own hand once again has the whole world talking. That he was kind, generous, sensitive and masked his illness very well is a given, for the purposes of this short dissertation. The point is, this tragedy will eventually fade into "oh yeah, remember when Robin Williams died" and the mental illness part of the conversation will also become but a distant memory.
Until the next one. At some point another prominent person will lose the battle and we'll all talk again and we'll all remember "Oh yeah, that happened to Robin Williams too." And once a year the "Let's Talk" campaign will highlight the issue for yet another few moments in the continuum.
The reality is that most of us who battle depression and other forms of mental illness do not feel empowered to "come out". There is a class system in play here and I challenge anyone to prove me wrong. When Clara Hughes talks about her battles with debilitating depression, we all cheer at how she has overcome and managed to be an Olympic champion in spite of mental illness - as we well should. I admire her spirit, determination and her victories, and I aspire on a smaller scale to achieve the same.
When Joe Average can't get out of bed because the world is closing in around him, and, too ashamed to ask for help, he misses yet another day of work to pound back a bottle of his poison of choice, no one cheers and waves flags when he finally gets back to work and manages to do his job with mere competence.
Intending no disrespect to those of a higher profile who have found the courage to make public their personal demons, I would submit that there is a huge disconnect between them and us.
Why does a woman who take anti-depressant medication in order to function in the regular world still feel compelled to admit, with embarrassment, "ummmm, oh yeah, those are... ummm my happy pills".
People with a physical ailment can count on leagues of supporters to provide comfort, cooked meals, rides to the hospital and other manifestation of human kindness. When someone we know battles mental illness, we don't know what to say.
When the day finally arrives that Joe or Mary Average can publicly share his or her battle with depression without enduring sideways glances, subtle (and sometimes not) discrimination and awkward avoidance of the topic, I'll know we've arrived.
But please; long after we stop hearing on the news that "on this day X years ago Robin Williams died at his own hand after a long battle with depression", let's keep the conversation going until the stigma of mental illness stops those who are struggling feel empowered to find the help they need.
As for me, I'm merely a whisper away from proving that what is sometimes referred to as "The F*** Off Fifties" is indeed not a myth. I'm fortunate enough to have stopped caring, for the most part, what people think of me.
Grinning and full of hope and mischief as I sign off for today....
A: When it is associated with wealth, affluence and power.
Where does that leave the rest of us?
Over the past few years "mental health" issues have become the topic of many public awareness campaigns. In and of itself this is a good thing. Canadian celebrities and media personalities such as Clara Hughes and Seamus O'Regan certainly do succeed in helping "average people" realize that mental illness does not discriminate based on affluence, education or achievements. And while I'm at it, kudos to Bell Canada for taking up the cause.
I have no intention of speaking ill against any one's efforts to do good.
I just don't think it is enough, and I can't quite put my finger on the missing link.
Sure we've come along way from the institutionalization of people who have "gone mad" by throwing them in a large facility with largely untrained attendants where physical abuse and unspeakable experiments took place, but we have a long way to go still.
The recent death of Robin Williams by his own hand once again has the whole world talking. That he was kind, generous, sensitive and masked his illness very well is a given, for the purposes of this short dissertation. The point is, this tragedy will eventually fade into "oh yeah, remember when Robin Williams died" and the mental illness part of the conversation will also become but a distant memory.
Until the next one. At some point another prominent person will lose the battle and we'll all talk again and we'll all remember "Oh yeah, that happened to Robin Williams too." And once a year the "Let's Talk" campaign will highlight the issue for yet another few moments in the continuum.
The reality is that most of us who battle depression and other forms of mental illness do not feel empowered to "come out". There is a class system in play here and I challenge anyone to prove me wrong. When Clara Hughes talks about her battles with debilitating depression, we all cheer at how she has overcome and managed to be an Olympic champion in spite of mental illness - as we well should. I admire her spirit, determination and her victories, and I aspire on a smaller scale to achieve the same.
When Joe Average can't get out of bed because the world is closing in around him, and, too ashamed to ask for help, he misses yet another day of work to pound back a bottle of his poison of choice, no one cheers and waves flags when he finally gets back to work and manages to do his job with mere competence.
Intending no disrespect to those of a higher profile who have found the courage to make public their personal demons, I would submit that there is a huge disconnect between them and us.
Why does a woman who take anti-depressant medication in order to function in the regular world still feel compelled to admit, with embarrassment, "ummmm, oh yeah, those are... ummm my happy pills".
People with a physical ailment can count on leagues of supporters to provide comfort, cooked meals, rides to the hospital and other manifestation of human kindness. When someone we know battles mental illness, we don't know what to say.
When the day finally arrives that Joe or Mary Average can publicly share his or her battle with depression without enduring sideways glances, subtle (and sometimes not) discrimination and awkward avoidance of the topic, I'll know we've arrived.
But please; long after we stop hearing on the news that "on this day X years ago Robin Williams died at his own hand after a long battle with depression", let's keep the conversation going until the stigma of mental illness stops those who are struggling feel empowered to find the help they need.
As for me, I'm merely a whisper away from proving that what is sometimes referred to as "The F*** Off Fifties" is indeed not a myth. I'm fortunate enough to have stopped caring, for the most part, what people think of me.
Grinning and full of hope and mischief as I sign off for today....
Monday, July 28, 2014
Beyond 40-something-Planning for the Fabulous Fifties
I am facing the fact that in three short months the tag line under this blog must change. And what a big change it is. Getting my head around no longer being 40-something is huge. Add to that the fact that I'm hoping to replace suburban with urban and you can imagine that there is a lot going on right now.
I'm curious about the psychology of change, and why it often ends up being connected to a milestone, such as a major birthday. Food for thought and likely the topic of a future post....
Today, I feel like crap and it is finally time to change that. Every time I undertake some grand exercise endeavour and "diet", it ends up failing. It is taking me years to figure out why, no matter what I do, I still end up overweight, unhealthy and as a result unhappy with my inability to get it together and stick with something. Living with chronic illness is no excuse. If anything, having Lupus means it is even more important to eat and live healthy. Of course, I have also come to realize that my inactivity due to the motorcycle accident back in April is now becoming a crutch - an excuse. Even thought the injuries which I am still working on healing will limit my activity for a little longer, it doesn't mean that I can't do anything! Pity party over!
Inspired by my friend of quite a few years Janice Farmer (who is the hottest 40-someting I've ever met), I am going to begin effecting changes, one at a time, slowly, in order to begin a new life of health and wellness. I was following on Facebook how Janice gave up chocolate, as part of a larger goal to begin living a sugar free lifestyle. I was curious because that 3pm craving for a coffee and something sweet on the side has become a habit, and one that doesn't end up making me feel good. I'm tired of feeling bloated and weighed down. I'm tired of carrying my weight in the middle and looking at those body type charts and being compared to an apple. I don't even like apples!
Now, this is not something I woke up and decided frivolously today. Over the past few weeks I have been reading about vegan, raw, sugar, gluten, caffeine and all kinds of things. Gluten free is a given since my diagnosis of celiac disease a few years back. But all of the other changes are overwhelming, and I also realized that trying to take on everything at once ensures that failure is all but certain.
In attempting to make one change at a time, I am also reading about how long it takes to enforce a new habit, or be rid of an old one. I found a cool blog which I think will be helpful. So change number one is sugar. No chocolate bars for me. I'll start with that and see how it goes. I'll also start reading labels for all of the other foods I purchase. As I slowly begin to eliminate sugar from my diet it will be interesting to see how I feel. I am hoping it will be positive and that this one small improvement will inspire me to find another habit to change.
This blog will not only become the narration of my journey to health, it will also act as an accountability mechanism and enlist the help of some cheerleader. If you were sent this link by e-mail, it means that I hope you will be one of my cheerleaders. If you stumbled upon it, you are welcome to join in too.
Of course, my other random rantings about politics and life will not disappear, but I hope you will follow this journey with me. You can encourage me, and maybe I can encourage you too!
Onward!
I'm curious about the psychology of change, and why it often ends up being connected to a milestone, such as a major birthday. Food for thought and likely the topic of a future post....
Today, I feel like crap and it is finally time to change that. Every time I undertake some grand exercise endeavour and "diet", it ends up failing. It is taking me years to figure out why, no matter what I do, I still end up overweight, unhealthy and as a result unhappy with my inability to get it together and stick with something. Living with chronic illness is no excuse. If anything, having Lupus means it is even more important to eat and live healthy. Of course, I have also come to realize that my inactivity due to the motorcycle accident back in April is now becoming a crutch - an excuse. Even thought the injuries which I am still working on healing will limit my activity for a little longer, it doesn't mean that I can't do anything! Pity party over!
Inspired by my friend of quite a few years Janice Farmer (who is the hottest 40-someting I've ever met), I am going to begin effecting changes, one at a time, slowly, in order to begin a new life of health and wellness. I was following on Facebook how Janice gave up chocolate, as part of a larger goal to begin living a sugar free lifestyle. I was curious because that 3pm craving for a coffee and something sweet on the side has become a habit, and one that doesn't end up making me feel good. I'm tired of feeling bloated and weighed down. I'm tired of carrying my weight in the middle and looking at those body type charts and being compared to an apple. I don't even like apples!
Now, this is not something I woke up and decided frivolously today. Over the past few weeks I have been reading about vegan, raw, sugar, gluten, caffeine and all kinds of things. Gluten free is a given since my diagnosis of celiac disease a few years back. But all of the other changes are overwhelming, and I also realized that trying to take on everything at once ensures that failure is all but certain.
In attempting to make one change at a time, I am also reading about how long it takes to enforce a new habit, or be rid of an old one. I found a cool blog which I think will be helpful. So change number one is sugar. No chocolate bars for me. I'll start with that and see how it goes. I'll also start reading labels for all of the other foods I purchase. As I slowly begin to eliminate sugar from my diet it will be interesting to see how I feel. I am hoping it will be positive and that this one small improvement will inspire me to find another habit to change.
This blog will not only become the narration of my journey to health, it will also act as an accountability mechanism and enlist the help of some cheerleader. If you were sent this link by e-mail, it means that I hope you will be one of my cheerleaders. If you stumbled upon it, you are welcome to join in too.
Of course, my other random rantings about politics and life will not disappear, but I hope you will follow this journey with me. You can encourage me, and maybe I can encourage you too!
Onward!
Monday, August 12, 2013
10 days on the Road: Random Observations
It is true. Every word of it. People from "down east" are the friendliest people in Canada. I'm certain also that with this fuzzy friendly warmth one enjoys little privacy at the same time. We would be having a meal and planning out the next leg of the journey, only to be overheard and joined in our conversation whether or not we had asked for any advice. It is endearing and alarming at the same time.
We went to a McDonalds in Vermont to have a coffee. Every person in the building was morbidly obese except one really old man and a little boy who looked to be about 2. Those Big Macs looked so tiny being consumed by such large people. My body image and self esteem skyrocketed for about 15 minutes.
Americans, as it turns out, are pretty nice people. I have come to realize that it is not their fault that they are so ignorant about anything outside their own borders. I realize now that it is really the big American machine that I don't like: "We're the world's super power and we don't really have to care about anyone or anything else". That trickles down to everyone who lives there but has not had the benefit of an education about anything beyond who and what they are. Sort of like brainwashing. It is actually quite sad. And while bigotry and hatred manage to exist everywhere, it is easy to see why it can be so prevalent in the absence of education. Just smile, wave the flag, sing God Bless America and DON'T ASK ANY QUESTIONS! All that said, it is too easy to mistake a $20 for a $1 because their money is all the same colo(u)r! It was fun, but I'm glad to be on my own side of the sandbox again.
Everybody thinks Quebec drivers are the worst. I beg to differ. When one is barrelling at crazy speeds along the highway on two wheels with nothing beyond a millimetre of leather for protection it is also true that one becomes hyper-aware of the actions of those on four wheels with whom we must share the road. Ten days, three States, four Provinces and 5,000 kilometres later and the verdict is in: Ontarians are the most selfish and narcissistic drivers I have seen on the roads anywhere. In the States, the Eastern Provinces and even Quebec for the most part, everyone drives in the right lane on a two lane highway, and they use the passing lane for... get this... PASSING! It is a thing of beauty to watch how smoothly traffic flows. Return to Ontario and everything changes. On a two lane highway, EVERYBODY sits in the passing lane, including the blissfully oblivious moron who is doing 90 in a 100 zone. Everybody behind him is road raging and getting angry, riding up his tail perilously close, flashing high beams and I can feel the temperature rising on the pavement. Finally giving up, everyone screeches into the empty right lane, racing up a few car lengths and cutting someone off to get back in the passing lane. It is the whackiest phenomenon I have witnessed. I think "Canada's Worst Driver" should focus on Ontario. When there was road word and one lane was closed in Nova Scotia, everyone merged nicely, each one let one in and the delay was minimal. The same lane closure in Ontario has idiots racing up the shoulder to cut in, because god knows they had somewhere important to be that HAD to be more important than where everyone else was going.
The Cabot Trail is a completely disappointing experience on the back of someone else's motorcycle. Now, I guess I should be grateful that I was able to see this stunning little corner of the earth, but I did not have the opportunity to experience it. Unless you're a motorcycle rider this probably won't make sense, but half of the joy of the journey is experiencing the curves and turns. As I sat on back and mostly looked at my own reflection on the back of a big black helmet, I imagined how awesome the riding must have been, but I didn't experience it. All that way, and I did not get to ride the Cabot Trail. This will count as one of the biggest disappointments of 2013. On the bright side, fresh lobster and crab was an amazing experience! Repairs to re-build a clutch are, apparently, universally expensive.
Restaurants are over rated. I love eating out when I've been cooking all week, but I couldn't eat out every day. I like my food the way I like it. When I want it. In the quantity I want it. And, I don't care if I don't have french fries for the foreseeable future. Talk about an over rated food group!
Waterproof and water resistant sound very similar. They are not at all.
For all the beauty I witnessed in three States and four Provinces, it occurs to me that Ontario, when seen with the fresh eyes of someone who has been gone for over a week, is about as beautiful as any place I've been. However, Bradford is as dumpy looking as the day I left. What's with our downtown? Can't anyone afford a few cans of paint?
I'm glad to be home. Until I am restless again.....
We went to a McDonalds in Vermont to have a coffee. Every person in the building was morbidly obese except one really old man and a little boy who looked to be about 2. Those Big Macs looked so tiny being consumed by such large people. My body image and self esteem skyrocketed for about 15 minutes.
Americans, as it turns out, are pretty nice people. I have come to realize that it is not their fault that they are so ignorant about anything outside their own borders. I realize now that it is really the big American machine that I don't like: "We're the world's super power and we don't really have to care about anyone or anything else". That trickles down to everyone who lives there but has not had the benefit of an education about anything beyond who and what they are. Sort of like brainwashing. It is actually quite sad. And while bigotry and hatred manage to exist everywhere, it is easy to see why it can be so prevalent in the absence of education. Just smile, wave the flag, sing God Bless America and DON'T ASK ANY QUESTIONS! All that said, it is too easy to mistake a $20 for a $1 because their money is all the same colo(u)r! It was fun, but I'm glad to be on my own side of the sandbox again.
Everybody thinks Quebec drivers are the worst. I beg to differ. When one is barrelling at crazy speeds along the highway on two wheels with nothing beyond a millimetre of leather for protection it is also true that one becomes hyper-aware of the actions of those on four wheels with whom we must share the road. Ten days, three States, four Provinces and 5,000 kilometres later and the verdict is in: Ontarians are the most selfish and narcissistic drivers I have seen on the roads anywhere. In the States, the Eastern Provinces and even Quebec for the most part, everyone drives in the right lane on a two lane highway, and they use the passing lane for... get this... PASSING! It is a thing of beauty to watch how smoothly traffic flows. Return to Ontario and everything changes. On a two lane highway, EVERYBODY sits in the passing lane, including the blissfully oblivious moron who is doing 90 in a 100 zone. Everybody behind him is road raging and getting angry, riding up his tail perilously close, flashing high beams and I can feel the temperature rising on the pavement. Finally giving up, everyone screeches into the empty right lane, racing up a few car lengths and cutting someone off to get back in the passing lane. It is the whackiest phenomenon I have witnessed. I think "Canada's Worst Driver" should focus on Ontario. When there was road word and one lane was closed in Nova Scotia, everyone merged nicely, each one let one in and the delay was minimal. The same lane closure in Ontario has idiots racing up the shoulder to cut in, because god knows they had somewhere important to be that HAD to be more important than where everyone else was going.
The Cabot Trail is a completely disappointing experience on the back of someone else's motorcycle. Now, I guess I should be grateful that I was able to see this stunning little corner of the earth, but I did not have the opportunity to experience it. Unless you're a motorcycle rider this probably won't make sense, but half of the joy of the journey is experiencing the curves and turns. As I sat on back and mostly looked at my own reflection on the back of a big black helmet, I imagined how awesome the riding must have been, but I didn't experience it. All that way, and I did not get to ride the Cabot Trail. This will count as one of the biggest disappointments of 2013. On the bright side, fresh lobster and crab was an amazing experience! Repairs to re-build a clutch are, apparently, universally expensive.
Restaurants are over rated. I love eating out when I've been cooking all week, but I couldn't eat out every day. I like my food the way I like it. When I want it. In the quantity I want it. And, I don't care if I don't have french fries for the foreseeable future. Talk about an over rated food group!
Waterproof and water resistant sound very similar. They are not at all.
For all the beauty I witnessed in three States and four Provinces, it occurs to me that Ontario, when seen with the fresh eyes of someone who has been gone for over a week, is about as beautiful as any place I've been. However, Bradford is as dumpy looking as the day I left. What's with our downtown? Can't anyone afford a few cans of paint?
I'm glad to be home. Until I am restless again.....
Friday, June 14, 2013
Signing off....
I read some one's post on Facebook that Nelson Mandela died today. Hmm? Really? I mean, I'm pretty connected to the world by this iPhone of mine. Alerts sound when there is breaking news on CBC; I'm on twitter off an on all day... how could I possibly be so out of the loop?
OMG Nelson Mandela is dead, I said aloud sitting in the basement on the computer. Andrew, who spent some time in South Africa last fall, said "I have to call my friends there and see how they are". Lauren looked like she was going to cry.
But as soon as I said it I realized it didn't seem right. So I checked cbc.ca. I opened twitter. Nothing. I went back and found the link on FB and clicked on it. It lead to a retraction on the Deutsche Welle website. "Retraction: Nelson Mandela 14.06.2013 - We regret that due to a technical error our report of Nelson Mandela's death was unintentionally published. It has now been taken down".
It had not really occurred to me, but I guess it makes sense that every media outlet on the planet has the story ready to go save and except the actual time of death.
As often occurs, this indent caught my attention in the quirky way that things do, and I 'googled' the phrase "reports of my death...." to discover the misquotation of Mark Twain:"the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated", when in fact, he said, in response to the first inaccurate account of his demise in 1897: "the report of my death was an exaggeration". There would be a second report of his death in 1907, well in advance of his actual death in 1910.
There is a website which lists premature obituaries and there are quite a few! Many people I have never heard of have apparently died before they died. As well, George H.W. Bush, Joe DiMaggio, Fidel Castro, Dick Cheney and Barrack Obama must have just about choked on their morning coffee when reading the paper only to discover they were, apparently, dead.
The most amusing to me was reading that text messages circulating of Baroness Thatcher's death almost had Prime Minister Harper issuing a statement of condolence, only to discover that Baroness Thatcher was Minister John Baird's cat. Lady Thatcher did not leave us until 8th of April this year.
So off my mind goes, taking this in two completely different directions:
First: It is obvious but bears repeating. Do not believe everything you read on the Internet.
Second: (This is the big one). Not that I'm well known, but in the event that my obituary was being written in advance, ready to go live on the Internet at the moment of my death, what would it say? In other words, am I living a life that I am content not to have to defend - because I really can't - when I'm gone? Can I stand behind every word and every action? Was I true to myself? Did I have integrity? Lord knows I have not led a perfect life, and I have no illusions that there will be people who say "Oh my god, she's dead - that's terrible" as well as "Oh my god she's dead; hmmm what should we watch on TV tonight?" If I wrote my own obituary and tucked it away to be found after my death, would anyone recognize me through my words? Or would my self perception be out to lunch? I have written about this from a slightly different perspective a while back, and it is amusing to me how the lessons I need to learn most keep making themselves obvious to me in the most roundabout of ways.
Self examination: It seems to happen every time I feel changes coming. It's almost like I have to keep checking on myself so that when the page turns to the next chapter, I have it all together and I move forward as a whole person, with determination and a clear mind. I have no idea what it is, but I feel it and it leaves me edgy, and needing to re-group.
When Nelson Mandela does finally leave us, the world will be a different place. It will be sadder, but better because he was here.
Will the world be a better place because I was here?
OMG Nelson Mandela is dead, I said aloud sitting in the basement on the computer. Andrew, who spent some time in South Africa last fall, said "I have to call my friends there and see how they are". Lauren looked like she was going to cry.
But as soon as I said it I realized it didn't seem right. So I checked cbc.ca. I opened twitter. Nothing. I went back and found the link on FB and clicked on it. It lead to a retraction on the Deutsche Welle website. "Retraction: Nelson Mandela 14.06.2013 - We regret that due to a technical error our report of Nelson Mandela's death was unintentionally published. It has now been taken down".
It had not really occurred to me, but I guess it makes sense that every media outlet on the planet has the story ready to go save and except the actual time of death.
As often occurs, this indent caught my attention in the quirky way that things do, and I 'googled' the phrase "reports of my death...." to discover the misquotation of Mark Twain:"the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated", when in fact, he said, in response to the first inaccurate account of his demise in 1897: "the report of my death was an exaggeration". There would be a second report of his death in 1907, well in advance of his actual death in 1910.
There is a website which lists premature obituaries and there are quite a few! Many people I have never heard of have apparently died before they died. As well, George H.W. Bush, Joe DiMaggio, Fidel Castro, Dick Cheney and Barrack Obama must have just about choked on their morning coffee when reading the paper only to discover they were, apparently, dead.
The most amusing to me was reading that text messages circulating of Baroness Thatcher's death almost had Prime Minister Harper issuing a statement of condolence, only to discover that Baroness Thatcher was Minister John Baird's cat. Lady Thatcher did not leave us until 8th of April this year.
So off my mind goes, taking this in two completely different directions:
First: It is obvious but bears repeating. Do not believe everything you read on the Internet.
Second: (This is the big one). Not that I'm well known, but in the event that my obituary was being written in advance, ready to go live on the Internet at the moment of my death, what would it say? In other words, am I living a life that I am content not to have to defend - because I really can't - when I'm gone? Can I stand behind every word and every action? Was I true to myself? Did I have integrity? Lord knows I have not led a perfect life, and I have no illusions that there will be people who say "Oh my god, she's dead - that's terrible" as well as "Oh my god she's dead; hmmm what should we watch on TV tonight?" If I wrote my own obituary and tucked it away to be found after my death, would anyone recognize me through my words? Or would my self perception be out to lunch? I have written about this from a slightly different perspective a while back, and it is amusing to me how the lessons I need to learn most keep making themselves obvious to me in the most roundabout of ways.
Self examination: It seems to happen every time I feel changes coming. It's almost like I have to keep checking on myself so that when the page turns to the next chapter, I have it all together and I move forward as a whole person, with determination and a clear mind. I have no idea what it is, but I feel it and it leaves me edgy, and needing to re-group.
When Nelson Mandela does finally leave us, the world will be a different place. It will be sadder, but better because he was here.
Will the world be a better place because I was here?
Friday, May 10, 2013
It has been a while....
I just realized that I have not written a blog entry for over a year. No wonder I'm messed up! I'm happiest when I'm creating and somehow, somewhere along the way, part of my creative being has atrophied for lack of use. This isn't good. It must be addressed.
The challenge is that I'm sitting here staring at the ugly blank screen and I can't think of a single thing about which to pontificate in the way I love to do.
In the meantime, I'll just rant for a few minutes, perhaps inspiring me to come up with something worthy of the energy.
One of my greatest fears: atrophy - of my mind, my spirit and my soul. I need to find passion again. I'll be back, better than ever. And then beware.
In the meantime, at least I got the juices flowing again.
Sooner than later.. may it be so ;)
The challenge is that I'm sitting here staring at the ugly blank screen and I can't think of a single thing about which to pontificate in the way I love to do.
In the meantime, I'll just rant for a few minutes, perhaps inspiring me to come up with something worthy of the energy.
One of my greatest fears: atrophy - of my mind, my spirit and my soul. I need to find passion again. I'll be back, better than ever. And then beware.
In the meantime, at least I got the juices flowing again.
Sooner than later.. may it be so ;)
Monday, February 20, 2012
Nothing!
Monday, February 20th. "Family Day" in Ontario. Another excuse for Civil Servants, Teachers and Bankers to have a paid day off. Whatever. My family decided to go skiing today, and I gladly arose at 6:30 this morning to help them get out the door by 7:00. As for me, the human accident looking for a place to happen - they know me by name at Southlake's fracture clinic so I think I'll take a miss.
Then I crawled back into bed. Something startled me - probably the bizarre dream in which I was saving the world. It was 10:45. I fell in and out of consciousness and when the news came on at noon, I dragged myself to the kitchen to find something to eat, heated a bowl of last night's pasta and took it back to my room. Oops there's spaghetti sauce on the newly washed sheets. Oh well, I don't do laundry - wipe it up, keep eating, put the bowl on the floor. And fall asleep.
The phone's not really ringing today, and I can't think of a soul for whom I have the energy or interest to have a conversation. I'm just fine with my own company thank you very much. I awaken and it is 1:30. I'm forced to channel surf because the most ridiculously stupid waste of television air time happens to be on - I thought most of the soap operas had been killed off - do people still really watch that stuff? Wow, no kidding huh?
I find a talk show re-run. And doze off.
I've been feeling guilty off and on about accomplishing nothing today, but obviously not guilty enough to do anything about it. Going full tilt 7 days a week can take its toll. It was kind of nice to regroup, re-energize, and have no one looking for me. Who is really going ot notice if I don't save the world today - they're all goofing off too!
Tomorrow the war begins again, the battle against time to accomplish so much with so little of it. The demands, the phone calls, the making everyone happy.
But today was about me. I accomplished zilch. Zero. Nada. Nothing. Guilt be damned. I had a great time!
I fluttered some more in and out of consciousness. But now, it is suddenly 3:45. The family will be home soon and I promised them my famous meatloaf for dinner.
And so it begins again *sigh*... but it was fun for a while........
Then I crawled back into bed. Something startled me - probably the bizarre dream in which I was saving the world. It was 10:45. I fell in and out of consciousness and when the news came on at noon, I dragged myself to the kitchen to find something to eat, heated a bowl of last night's pasta and took it back to my room. Oops there's spaghetti sauce on the newly washed sheets. Oh well, I don't do laundry - wipe it up, keep eating, put the bowl on the floor. And fall asleep.
The phone's not really ringing today, and I can't think of a soul for whom I have the energy or interest to have a conversation. I'm just fine with my own company thank you very much. I awaken and it is 1:30. I'm forced to channel surf because the most ridiculously stupid waste of television air time happens to be on - I thought most of the soap operas had been killed off - do people still really watch that stuff? Wow, no kidding huh?
I find a talk show re-run. And doze off.
I've been feeling guilty off and on about accomplishing nothing today, but obviously not guilty enough to do anything about it. Going full tilt 7 days a week can take its toll. It was kind of nice to regroup, re-energize, and have no one looking for me. Who is really going ot notice if I don't save the world today - they're all goofing off too!
Tomorrow the war begins again, the battle against time to accomplish so much with so little of it. The demands, the phone calls, the making everyone happy.
But today was about me. I accomplished zilch. Zero. Nada. Nothing. Guilt be damned. I had a great time!
I fluttered some more in and out of consciousness. But now, it is suddenly 3:45. The family will be home soon and I promised them my famous meatloaf for dinner.
And so it begins again *sigh*... but it was fun for a while........
Saturday, November 5, 2011
A Life Without Regret
It is an awful, feeling. That terrible knot in the gut, the sinking feeling, the close-your-eyes-throw-your-head-back while taking a deep breath, holding it in and gritting your teeth while you think 'oh my god I was SUCH an idiot'. Those moments in life that you wish you could do over. We all have those. We beat ourselves up. In fact, I have little doubt that each of us possesses the inherent gift of being our own worst critic.
The moments of regret which punctuate life are as inevitable as breathing itself. I'm no psychologist but I would say that it is just part of 'the human condition'. It is a personal shame suffered in silence, wherein a combination of pride an self preservation combine to keep it internal and intensely personal, regardless of the knowledge that every other being on the planet experiences exactly the same phenomena.
But this kind of regret about which I have previously written and is not the topic on this particular day. Funny that it comes to life in my consciousness days before the milestone commonly known as a birthday. When one observes this yearly remembrance of his existence, it seems to be equally part of the human condition to spend some time in refection - looking to and fro in self examination. The past and the future considered from one moment in time called the present. But it is not static because one's perspective of his past can change as a result of both internal and external influences. My view of the choices I made in my 20's evolves as I mature, learn things about myself and my world, and accepting the fact that I merely played the hand I was dealt to the best of my ability.
Do I have regrets? Absolutely. Not at all. I'm not sure.
Andy Rooney, the American writer best known for his curmudgeonly way of putting words and giving validation to the thoughts of so many 'average people' has died at the age of 92. He managed to squeeze every last bit he could out of life, and while 'retiring' a mere month before his passing, I have little double that he worked, as any real writer would be compelled to do, right up until his final day on this earth. His last on air interview managed to compact 92 years into 13 minutes and 7 seconds and of that, my 'light bulb' moment occured during about 30 seconds. Asked what he would do if he had his life to live over, Andy Rooney replied, without hesitation: "If I had my life to live over, I'd be on television, I'd get on 60 Minutes if I could, and I'd do a piece every week of my own. I'd write it and I'd say it. And that's what I do best."
He lived his life, sorry, as in apologetic, for certain small moments, for certain errors in judgement, for mistakes he made which may have hurt or offended others as is the case for any person of conscience. But in the grand scheme of things he lived a life without regret.
Wow. I have to think long and hard about whether I can speak the same way with conviction. Better yet, I need to consider all that I do, beginning today, to live a life with purpose such that during my final interview, I will be able to stand at that singular point in time where there is no looking forward, and look back on a life without regret.
The moments of regret which punctuate life are as inevitable as breathing itself. I'm no psychologist but I would say that it is just part of 'the human condition'. It is a personal shame suffered in silence, wherein a combination of pride an self preservation combine to keep it internal and intensely personal, regardless of the knowledge that every other being on the planet experiences exactly the same phenomena.
But this kind of regret about which I have previously written and is not the topic on this particular day. Funny that it comes to life in my consciousness days before the milestone commonly known as a birthday. When one observes this yearly remembrance of his existence, it seems to be equally part of the human condition to spend some time in refection - looking to and fro in self examination. The past and the future considered from one moment in time called the present. But it is not static because one's perspective of his past can change as a result of both internal and external influences. My view of the choices I made in my 20's evolves as I mature, learn things about myself and my world, and accepting the fact that I merely played the hand I was dealt to the best of my ability.
Do I have regrets? Absolutely. Not at all. I'm not sure.
Andy Rooney, the American writer best known for his curmudgeonly way of putting words and giving validation to the thoughts of so many 'average people' has died at the age of 92. He managed to squeeze every last bit he could out of life, and while 'retiring' a mere month before his passing, I have little double that he worked, as any real writer would be compelled to do, right up until his final day on this earth. His last on air interview managed to compact 92 years into 13 minutes and 7 seconds and of that, my 'light bulb' moment occured during about 30 seconds. Asked what he would do if he had his life to live over, Andy Rooney replied, without hesitation: "If I had my life to live over, I'd be on television, I'd get on 60 Minutes if I could, and I'd do a piece every week of my own. I'd write it and I'd say it. And that's what I do best."
He lived his life, sorry, as in apologetic, for certain small moments, for certain errors in judgement, for mistakes he made which may have hurt or offended others as is the case for any person of conscience. But in the grand scheme of things he lived a life without regret.
Wow. I have to think long and hard about whether I can speak the same way with conviction. Better yet, I need to consider all that I do, beginning today, to live a life with purpose such that during my final interview, I will be able to stand at that singular point in time where there is no looking forward, and look back on a life without regret.
Monday, September 12, 2011
A Life Reduced
I don't bother with my neighbours much. It really isn't all that friendly of a street, which is okay with me. I'm not sure I want to live in a real life soap opera anyway. I would assume that our commonality is limited to geography, but lack the interest and time to be proven wrong.
Likewise, I don't pay much attention to their comings and goings, unless of course, it impacts me directly. They go about their business and I about mine; a polite wave exchanged when we pass each other on the street(with the exception of the freak who lives next door in his parents' basement and who gives me pause to wonder if I could get away with "but officer I really didn't see him dart out from behind the car" after I've run him down) - but I digress - that's a whole other post.
Lately I've noticed something; or I should say noticed someone missing. The old lady two doors over has generally been pretty low key. I am acquainted more with her ex-husband who moved out a number of years ago. Because she is alone, my Matthew has gone over a few times to shovel snow or rake leaves in return for her signature on his community service sheet. Other than that, we hardly see her. Except in the last little while, it occurs to me that I haven't seen her at all.
Then there was the dumpster - the kind people put on their driveways when a massive renovation is taking place. It was quite impressive; I would think large enough to practically take the house back to the bricks in order to start again. At first I thought "how cool - I don't know any old people who would bother with such an enormous undertaking". I mean really, I have elderly family for whom finally hiring an electrician to replace 60 amp service because they couldn't use the toaster and the microwave at the same time just about pushed them over the edge let alone entertaining the thought of retiring the 1970's wallpaper in the bathroom (darn this newfangled technology!) But then, the dumpster wasn't there for more than a week, and I didn't see any tradespeople coming and going.
Then there was the garage sale this past weekend. Actually no, not the kind you see where people put out assorted odds and ends on the driveway. This has been the mother of all garage sales - two full days - with enough items, large and small, to fill a small store. It seemed to be a full blown contents sale. And while I have never understood the concept of putting one's unwanted 'stuff' on display on the front lawn for total strangers to examine, haggle over and purchase, I was loath to ignore the volume of traffic and the number of cars double parked on the street as they impeded my comings and goings somewhat.
Fascinating.... and sad. A life reduced, at least in the eyes of others, to the contents of a dumpster and a yard sale. Then my sadness turned almost to horror at the thought of people rummaging through my 'stuff' after I'm gone. Certain things which are meaningful only to me for reasons no-one else will ever understand - the antithesis of 'one man's junk is another man's treasure' (the obvious, if not misguided, inspiration for the modern day yard sale) left behind to be examined and judged by family and the cast-offs to be rummaged through by complete strangers. It is all very sad.
I shudder at the thought. I'm off to de-clutter my closet now......
Likewise, I don't pay much attention to their comings and goings, unless of course, it impacts me directly. They go about their business and I about mine; a polite wave exchanged when we pass each other on the street(with the exception of the freak who lives next door in his parents' basement and who gives me pause to wonder if I could get away with "but officer I really didn't see him dart out from behind the car" after I've run him down) - but I digress - that's a whole other post.
Lately I've noticed something; or I should say noticed someone missing. The old lady two doors over has generally been pretty low key. I am acquainted more with her ex-husband who moved out a number of years ago. Because she is alone, my Matthew has gone over a few times to shovel snow or rake leaves in return for her signature on his community service sheet. Other than that, we hardly see her. Except in the last little while, it occurs to me that I haven't seen her at all.
Then there was the dumpster - the kind people put on their driveways when a massive renovation is taking place. It was quite impressive; I would think large enough to practically take the house back to the bricks in order to start again. At first I thought "how cool - I don't know any old people who would bother with such an enormous undertaking". I mean really, I have elderly family for whom finally hiring an electrician to replace 60 amp service because they couldn't use the toaster and the microwave at the same time just about pushed them over the edge let alone entertaining the thought of retiring the 1970's wallpaper in the bathroom (darn this newfangled technology!) But then, the dumpster wasn't there for more than a week, and I didn't see any tradespeople coming and going.
Then there was the garage sale this past weekend. Actually no, not the kind you see where people put out assorted odds and ends on the driveway. This has been the mother of all garage sales - two full days - with enough items, large and small, to fill a small store. It seemed to be a full blown contents sale. And while I have never understood the concept of putting one's unwanted 'stuff' on display on the front lawn for total strangers to examine, haggle over and purchase, I was loath to ignore the volume of traffic and the number of cars double parked on the street as they impeded my comings and goings somewhat.
Fascinating.... and sad. A life reduced, at least in the eyes of others, to the contents of a dumpster and a yard sale. Then my sadness turned almost to horror at the thought of people rummaging through my 'stuff' after I'm gone. Certain things which are meaningful only to me for reasons no-one else will ever understand - the antithesis of 'one man's junk is another man's treasure' (the obvious, if not misguided, inspiration for the modern day yard sale) left behind to be examined and judged by family and the cast-offs to be rummaged through by complete strangers. It is all very sad.
I shudder at the thought. I'm off to de-clutter my closet now......
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Blocked!
It's like a craving, a need. And not that I'm always the most articulate person on the planet, and not that I necessarily believe that I have anything to say that the world wants or needs to hear, but still I need to write.
I can't explain it. I can only liken it to people who HAVE to make music; people who MUST compete. It is a compulsion of sorts, this need for self expression.
Why?
I wish I knew.
But I'm blocked right now. I can't think of a single topic which compels me to share even a brief sarcastic comment or something bitingly witty. For all the dreams I have of being 'discovered' and asked to write a daily or weekly column or sorts, I panic and thank the stars that this lack of inspiration isn't going to mean that I'm out of a job.
It's like living in black and white. There is no colour, no joy, no real reason to smile. No inspiration. It is all as blank as the piece of paper just begging for some penned profundity.
It's like the name you can't quite remember; a date; an event. It's on the tip of my tongue but nothing comes out. It's that agitated feeling of being exhausted yet feeling too restless to fall asleep.
The blank piece of paper is the cruelest, mot unkind and stark reality I can imagine. Only I don't have to because it haunts me now.
I'm screaming inside for inspiration. But even the black and white is melting together into the most bleak, nondescript shade of grey which is taking over my thoughts like a vine that grows out of control, choking and killing everything in its path, or worse yet, turning it to apathy.
I can only hope that inspiration will be mine again soon to flood my dark dreary soul with the bright light of optimism, hope and brilliant creativity.
Until then the blank white page taunts me........
I can't explain it. I can only liken it to people who HAVE to make music; people who MUST compete. It is a compulsion of sorts, this need for self expression.
Why?
I wish I knew.
But I'm blocked right now. I can't think of a single topic which compels me to share even a brief sarcastic comment or something bitingly witty. For all the dreams I have of being 'discovered' and asked to write a daily or weekly column or sorts, I panic and thank the stars that this lack of inspiration isn't going to mean that I'm out of a job.
It's like living in black and white. There is no colour, no joy, no real reason to smile. No inspiration. It is all as blank as the piece of paper just begging for some penned profundity.
It's like the name you can't quite remember; a date; an event. It's on the tip of my tongue but nothing comes out. It's that agitated feeling of being exhausted yet feeling too restless to fall asleep.
The blank piece of paper is the cruelest, mot unkind and stark reality I can imagine. Only I don't have to because it haunts me now.
I'm screaming inside for inspiration. But even the black and white is melting together into the most bleak, nondescript shade of grey which is taking over my thoughts like a vine that grows out of control, choking and killing everything in its path, or worse yet, turning it to apathy.
I can only hope that inspiration will be mine again soon to flood my dark dreary soul with the bright light of optimism, hope and brilliant creativity.
Until then the blank white page taunts me........
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
On my bike...
..there is nowhere I can’t go, nothing I can’t do. The world is my playground. I own whatever road upon which I happen to be travelling.
On my bike...
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On my bike...
I am alone with my thoughts. Or I have none at all. There are no mortgage payments, car payments, bills, appointments, obligations or worries. On my bike I don’t have Lupus; I’ve never had a heart attack; there is no pain; no fear of dying young; I am completely well. On my bike I’ve never suffered trauma or abuse. I am strong. I have never said anything stupid and there is nothing for which I need to feel embarrassment. On my bike there is peace and harmony. There is no conflict, no differences of opinion, no diplomacy is required. On my bike there is no depression, sadness, tears or regret. On my bike there is joy, freedom, inspiration, creativity and love. On my bike anything becomes possible as I embody infinite potential. On my bike I am in control of my destiny; I am supreme; my word is final. On my bike my life is absolutely perfect and I exist solely in that moment. I am one with myself on my bike.
On my bike...
Every pit stop I make is the quaintest location I’ve ever visited and every cup of coffee is the best I’ve ever enjoyed. The sky is more beautiful. The air feels cleaner. The beauty of my surroundings rivals the world’s greatest landmarks. I am right where I am supposed to be at that moment.
I am alone with my thoughts. Or I have none at all. There are no mortgage payments, car payments, bills, appointments, obligations or worries. On my bike I don’t have Lupus; I’ve never had a heart attack; there is no pain; no fear of dying young; I am completely well. On my bike I’ve never suffered trauma or abuse. I am strong. I have never said anything stupid and there is nothing for which I need to feel embarrassment. On my bike there is peace and harmony. There is no conflict, no differences of opinion, no diplomacy is required. On my bike there is no depression, sadness, tears or regret. On my bike there is joy, freedom, inspiration, creativity and love. On my bike anything becomes possible as I embody infinite potential. On my bike I am in control of my destiny; I am supreme; my word is final. On my bike my life is absolutely perfect and I exist solely in that moment. I am one with myself on my bike.
And during the stark, crushing reality which exists in between, through the pain, sorrow, regret and despair; in my mundane existence I daydream, scheme and plan how I can make my next escape.... on my bike.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
They May Not Remember What You Said....
Kim's back!
Tonight I was out and about doing the things that Realtors do in the evening. And as is often the case, I was worked up from work, not quite ready to go home and wind it down, and was deciding whether I needed to do any errands first. There was nothing, but I was craving chocolate, so I decided to pop into Shoppers Drug Mart. I walked in and there was Kim!
Kim has been a cosmetician for quite a long time. I really like her because she know her stuff: she understands what products I need, has a knack for choosing the cosmetics that complement my complexion, and makes the process of dropping a hundred bucks or more even seem fun! But three months ago Kim got a promotion and left Bradford to manage her own cosmetics department in Toronto. Shopping for beauty products just hasn't been the same. In fact, I had even started looking for other places to shop - there just wasn't anyone who knew my needs like Kim did.
So I went in to get my chocolate bar. "Oh my god Tina you look fabulous!" I looked up and there was Kim behind the cosmetics counter. I ran right over and she came out from behind the glass divider and a spontaneous hug as we squealed like old friends who have not seen each other forever.
We hung around and caught up, chatting about her experiences in Toronto, comparing notes about the holidays, talking about real estate, and the familiarity of it felt good.
Suddenly I asked about a product I had been meaning to check out but had put off because I really didn't have anyone who inspired me to feel confident about making the purchase.
Then Kim did what Kim does best. "Tina, remember you said you really liked....... well you should see this......." It went on like this and the next thing I realized I had spent 90 minutes in the cosmetics department and still had no chocolate bar to show for it. My purchases (plural) were lined up and ready to be rung in and I made her wait while I ventured to the other side of the store in order to add a chocolate bar to the pile.
90 minutes and (bleep) dollars later (censored) I left the store feeling really upbeat. I just topped off a good evening with a fun time!
Aha! There was a lesson in it for me too. They may not remember what you said, but they'll never forget how you made them feel. I've heard that many times but tonight I experienced it firsthand.
And I realized that as good as I am at my job, I can do better in different ways, especially as I seek to build relationships rather than completing transactions. Kim, through excellent service and by demonstrating genuine caring that made me feel like I am important to her, has made herself indispensable, even if only in a very small corner of my world. Imagine becoming indispensable to every person who has ever bought or sold with me. I would never have to look for clients again!
I think lessons present themselves to us in ways we could never imagine. Acquiring the discernment to recognize them makes me a better person on so many levels. Lipstick and a life lesson. Very cool.
Tonight I was out and about doing the things that Realtors do in the evening. And as is often the case, I was worked up from work, not quite ready to go home and wind it down, and was deciding whether I needed to do any errands first. There was nothing, but I was craving chocolate, so I decided to pop into Shoppers Drug Mart. I walked in and there was Kim!
Kim has been a cosmetician for quite a long time. I really like her because she know her stuff: she understands what products I need, has a knack for choosing the cosmetics that complement my complexion, and makes the process of dropping a hundred bucks or more even seem fun! But three months ago Kim got a promotion and left Bradford to manage her own cosmetics department in Toronto. Shopping for beauty products just hasn't been the same. In fact, I had even started looking for other places to shop - there just wasn't anyone who knew my needs like Kim did.
So I went in to get my chocolate bar. "Oh my god Tina you look fabulous!" I looked up and there was Kim behind the cosmetics counter. I ran right over and she came out from behind the glass divider and a spontaneous hug as we squealed like old friends who have not seen each other forever.
We hung around and caught up, chatting about her experiences in Toronto, comparing notes about the holidays, talking about real estate, and the familiarity of it felt good.
Suddenly I asked about a product I had been meaning to check out but had put off because I really didn't have anyone who inspired me to feel confident about making the purchase.
Then Kim did what Kim does best. "Tina, remember you said you really liked....... well you should see this......." It went on like this and the next thing I realized I had spent 90 minutes in the cosmetics department and still had no chocolate bar to show for it. My purchases (plural) were lined up and ready to be rung in and I made her wait while I ventured to the other side of the store in order to add a chocolate bar to the pile.
90 minutes and (bleep) dollars later (censored) I left the store feeling really upbeat. I just topped off a good evening with a fun time!
Aha! There was a lesson in it for me too. They may not remember what you said, but they'll never forget how you made them feel. I've heard that many times but tonight I experienced it firsthand.
And I realized that as good as I am at my job, I can do better in different ways, especially as I seek to build relationships rather than completing transactions. Kim, through excellent service and by demonstrating genuine caring that made me feel like I am important to her, has made herself indispensable, even if only in a very small corner of my world. Imagine becoming indispensable to every person who has ever bought or sold with me. I would never have to look for clients again!
I think lessons present themselves to us in ways we could never imagine. Acquiring the discernment to recognize them makes me a better person on so many levels. Lipstick and a life lesson. Very cool.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Giving Back
Politician bashing is a bit of a sport in our Country, manifesting itself in many ways. Rick Mercer has mastered the art! And of course while anyone who puts themselves 'out there', making their lives a matter of public record may be targets and/or subjects of scrutiny, it seems to be the Politicians who are most subjected to criticism and ridicule. I mean, athletes and entertainers behave badly and we hero-worship them - go figure. A Politician has a temper tantrum in an airport and we all shake our heads disapprovingly. We expect more from them and we cut them little slack. Rightly so... to a point.
I know; I've done it! I'll probably continue to do it in a partisan fashion that would make our Prime Minister proud were it not for the fact that he and his party will most often be the targets of my biting rants. (I'd like to say sorry, Helena, but you were such a target rich environment!)
But there's a flip side here - an important one!
Inasmuch as we love to hate our Politicians, I believe we need to consider that these men and women often put a lot on the line to serve Canada. Many of us take for granted the freedoms we enjoy because of our democracy, which would not exist without people stepping up and running for office.
Jim Prentice recently left public service to take a top banking job - good for him. I'm not a fan of him or his government, but I do recognize that 10 years of an MP's salary is a lot less than he could have been earning all this time in the private sector.
We do owe a debt of gratitude to men and women of all political stripes who choose to serve in this way!
It is with this sentiment that I'm proud to throw my support behind Kyle Peterson in Newmarket-Aurora as he seeks the Federal nomination in that riding! Kyle is a passionate Liberal, an articulate communicator, and will make a fine MP. A lawyer, Kyle grew up in the area and is married with one young child. That he is willing to dedicate himself in this way at the prime of his career and earning power is admirable, for sure.
To all Liberal minded folks in the Riding, please sign up HERE for your Membership so we can confirm Kyle's nomination and be ready for the next election!
And to all the others who serve (yes, even you Mr. Harper), Thank you!
I know; I've done it! I'll probably continue to do it in a partisan fashion that would make our Prime Minister proud were it not for the fact that he and his party will most often be the targets of my biting rants. (I'd like to say sorry, Helena, but you were such a target rich environment!)
But there's a flip side here - an important one!
Inasmuch as we love to hate our Politicians, I believe we need to consider that these men and women often put a lot on the line to serve Canada. Many of us take for granted the freedoms we enjoy because of our democracy, which would not exist without people stepping up and running for office.
Jim Prentice recently left public service to take a top banking job - good for him. I'm not a fan of him or his government, but I do recognize that 10 years of an MP's salary is a lot less than he could have been earning all this time in the private sector.
We do owe a debt of gratitude to men and women of all political stripes who choose to serve in this way!
It is with this sentiment that I'm proud to throw my support behind Kyle Peterson in Newmarket-Aurora as he seeks the Federal nomination in that riding! Kyle is a passionate Liberal, an articulate communicator, and will make a fine MP. A lawyer, Kyle grew up in the area and is married with one young child. That he is willing to dedicate himself in this way at the prime of his career and earning power is admirable, for sure.
To all Liberal minded folks in the Riding, please sign up HERE for your Membership so we can confirm Kyle's nomination and be ready for the next election!
And to all the others who serve (yes, even you Mr. Harper), Thank you!
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Is life worth the risk?
Risk. I think this word is fascinating because it is both a noun and a verb. Risk in one's life, therefore can be either a passive or intentional thing.
If I do not pay attention to the fuel gauge in my car, I run the risk of running out of gas. It is avoided by taking an alternate action.
But sometimes risk isn't just incurred by failing to act; it IS a course of action, and that's when life can become really interesting. And just because the English language is so wonderfully complex, even risk as an action is comprised of different, sometimes subtle meanings.
Risk without consideration of the consequences is throwing caution to the wind - like the compulsion of spending one's last fifty bucks at the casino instead of buying food. Often in this kind of risk, one lacks the possession of clear, rational thought or self control, and behaves recklessly.
When one takes a calculated risk it is usually a deliberate, well planned, well thought out process. But even that can be done for different reasons. A wealthy business person may risk a small fortune on a business venture: If it fails, the loss, while disappointing, ultimately lacks the ability to have significant negative impact, while its success would be a wonderful bonus. This is about the closest thing to a best of both worlds scenario that exists. Nothing ventured, nothing gained!
Sometimes one 'takes the plunge' and even though the action was thought out and the consequences considered, it is done because there is an underlying sense that little choice exists but to give it a go, see what happens, and hope for the best. Having things turn out well under these circumstances is the ultimate satisfaction, while the alternative can be completely devastating.
I think for the most part, I have played my life pretty safely. It has had all the makings of a very conservative investment portfolio. No big surprises. I can pinpoint only a couple of times in 46 years where I have actually taken risks that will change the entire course of my life. One paid off quite nicely.
The other? I hope to write about it someday. It is still in play.
Will I regret it? Quite possibly, but I have no choice and the unknown that would haunt me forever because of inaction would ultimately be the biggest disappointment of my life.
If I do not pay attention to the fuel gauge in my car, I run the risk of running out of gas. It is avoided by taking an alternate action.
But sometimes risk isn't just incurred by failing to act; it IS a course of action, and that's when life can become really interesting. And just because the English language is so wonderfully complex, even risk as an action is comprised of different, sometimes subtle meanings.
Risk without consideration of the consequences is throwing caution to the wind - like the compulsion of spending one's last fifty bucks at the casino instead of buying food. Often in this kind of risk, one lacks the possession of clear, rational thought or self control, and behaves recklessly.
When one takes a calculated risk it is usually a deliberate, well planned, well thought out process. But even that can be done for different reasons. A wealthy business person may risk a small fortune on a business venture: If it fails, the loss, while disappointing, ultimately lacks the ability to have significant negative impact, while its success would be a wonderful bonus. This is about the closest thing to a best of both worlds scenario that exists. Nothing ventured, nothing gained!
Sometimes one 'takes the plunge' and even though the action was thought out and the consequences considered, it is done because there is an underlying sense that little choice exists but to give it a go, see what happens, and hope for the best. Having things turn out well under these circumstances is the ultimate satisfaction, while the alternative can be completely devastating.
I think for the most part, I have played my life pretty safely. It has had all the makings of a very conservative investment portfolio. No big surprises. I can pinpoint only a couple of times in 46 years where I have actually taken risks that will change the entire course of my life. One paid off quite nicely.
The other? I hope to write about it someday. It is still in play.
Will I regret it? Quite possibly, but I have no choice and the unknown that would haunt me forever because of inaction would ultimately be the biggest disappointment of my life.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
A pessemist in optimist's clothing
I like my life as a pessimist - I wouldn't trade it! When life is (insert adjective) hard, unfair, dreary, mundane, challenging, bitterly disappointing, as it often is, the expectations of a pessimist are exceedingly lower than those of the optimist, thus the outcomes of many situations are really not that bad, generally speaking. I expect the worst in a situation, and when something less than that is the the actual result, it is 'bonus; free game; play again'. Optimists have much farther to fall when it all falls apart.
Two weeks ago I was involved in a violent collision on a ski hill. The irony is that, while it was my first time on skis in over 22 years, I was in perfect control and looking pretty hot on my trick skis. It was the student, who, having lost control and rocketed straight down the hill like a bullet, hit me and sent me flying like a rag doll. I landed on my back, head pointing down hill, and didn't move for several minutes because I wasn't actually sure if I was alive or dead. It was not immediately apparent to me whether the bright light beckoned me to the great beyond, or if it was just the sun shining on me. Clearly by virtue of the fact that I have written this it turned out to be the latter.
So, the pessimist in me thinks this really sucks. My ski season is over. I had chosen to embrace a winter sport to pass the time until the return of motorcycle season. Now it is just going to be a cold, miserable winter wherein I will impatiently count down the days until spring.
However, I have also come to the alarming realization that as painful and slow to heal as the fractured and dislocated radius may be, and how cumbersome and restricting the cast is, and how slow and frustratingly onerous every normal task has become, the timing of the crash could have been altered by a split second and I could have snapped my neck instead of my forearm. I could be paralyzed. Or dead.
So in the grand scheme of things, the pain, this awful cast, and the excruciatingly long countdown to spring don't collectively seem so bad.
But please don't call me an optimist. I still believe life sucks and then you die. I just borrowed the optimist club jersey..... it is damned cold out there!
Two weeks ago I was involved in a violent collision on a ski hill. The irony is that, while it was my first time on skis in over 22 years, I was in perfect control and looking pretty hot on my trick skis. It was the student, who, having lost control and rocketed straight down the hill like a bullet, hit me and sent me flying like a rag doll. I landed on my back, head pointing down hill, and didn't move for several minutes because I wasn't actually sure if I was alive or dead. It was not immediately apparent to me whether the bright light beckoned me to the great beyond, or if it was just the sun shining on me. Clearly by virtue of the fact that I have written this it turned out to be the latter.
So, the pessimist in me thinks this really sucks. My ski season is over. I had chosen to embrace a winter sport to pass the time until the return of motorcycle season. Now it is just going to be a cold, miserable winter wherein I will impatiently count down the days until spring.
However, I have also come to the alarming realization that as painful and slow to heal as the fractured and dislocated radius may be, and how cumbersome and restricting the cast is, and how slow and frustratingly onerous every normal task has become, the timing of the crash could have been altered by a split second and I could have snapped my neck instead of my forearm. I could be paralyzed. Or dead.
So in the grand scheme of things, the pain, this awful cast, and the excruciatingly long countdown to spring don't collectively seem so bad.
But please don't call me an optimist. I still believe life sucks and then you die. I just borrowed the optimist club jersey..... it is damned cold out there!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
The "ish" factor - learning to chill reaches a whole new level!
So, it was my birthday last week. No big deal - it was relatively uneventful - just the way I wanted.
But something happened. It was one of those moments that made me go 'hmmmm'. Not quite a light bulb moment because it wasn't earth shattering or anything. But nonetheless it was significant enough that it made me stop and think for a moment..
Wait. This story requires a little bit of setting up.
First, MY schedule runs on a clock that is different than anyone else's. Sometimes it is Newfoundland time. Sometimes there's a time zone that is, oh, about 15 minutes behind the rest of the world. When I book appointments, they're done in half hour window, as in "I'll meet you between 3 and 3:30". That's smart for me. I aim for 2:50 and I'm pretty damn sure I'll arrive by about 3:20, which puts me right in the window of time I booked, thus saving me from dreaming up an excuse about why I'm late.
Second, there's my Dad. If he says he'll arrive at 3:00 p.m., he doesn't mean 3:01. He doesn't even mean 2:59 (although he's been known to arrive a minute early and throw me right off). And it doesn't matter if my watch has a different time than his. Only his watch counts. It's like he synchronises it directly with God himself every morning. "Tina-Marie, if you arrive at the train station at 7:31 to catch the 7:30 train, you've missed it." (Heaven help me, I've hear that a million times in my life, and the part where he annoyingly calls me by my real name could be the topic of a whole other post someday!) I've already told him that when he dies, we're going to schedule his funeral for 11:00 a.m. and then start at about 11:12, just so I can see if he makes the coffin rock back and forth in post-mortem agitation.
Now, about my birthday. Tuesday November 9th at 9:00 a.m. I received a phone call from my Mom (Dad can't hear on the phone so well anymore so he gets Mom to call and he just yells at her in the background if she diverts from the message he's trying to send me.
"Happy Birthday Tina." "Thanks Mom," I reply.
"Dad and I would like to take you to lunch today, but we're gong to a meeting this morning so it will have to be after 12:00."
"Ok, that would be nice" I replied.
We agreed on Swiss Chalet at Yonge and Green Lane.
And then it happened.
We're making our plans and I hear Dad in the background: "We think we'll be done by noon, but why don't we say 12:30ish in case we're running a little late".
Now, 12:30is coming out of my Mother's mouth would be no big deal. She and I speak the same language on this one. But.... DAD? 12:30ish?
The planets are no longer aligned and all of the absolutes in this world have been altered forever. Hell, I 'm left wondering if the earth is, indeed, round!
ISH has never been in my Father's vocabulary. I'm just waiting now for snow in July. Better yet, I should go and buy a lottery ticket!
Or, maybe, just maybe, he's learned to chill and enjoy retired life. Honestly, I think this behaviour falls into the realm of an anomaly. Or maybe its just one of those things that will happen on the 9th of November every year.
But something happened. It was one of those moments that made me go 'hmmmm'. Not quite a light bulb moment because it wasn't earth shattering or anything. But nonetheless it was significant enough that it made me stop and think for a moment..
Wait. This story requires a little bit of setting up.
First, MY schedule runs on a clock that is different than anyone else's. Sometimes it is Newfoundland time. Sometimes there's a time zone that is, oh, about 15 minutes behind the rest of the world. When I book appointments, they're done in half hour window, as in "I'll meet you between 3 and 3:30". That's smart for me. I aim for 2:50 and I'm pretty damn sure I'll arrive by about 3:20, which puts me right in the window of time I booked, thus saving me from dreaming up an excuse about why I'm late.
Second, there's my Dad. If he says he'll arrive at 3:00 p.m., he doesn't mean 3:01. He doesn't even mean 2:59 (although he's been known to arrive a minute early and throw me right off). And it doesn't matter if my watch has a different time than his. Only his watch counts. It's like he synchronises it directly with God himself every morning. "Tina-Marie, if you arrive at the train station at 7:31 to catch the 7:30 train, you've missed it." (Heaven help me, I've hear that a million times in my life, and the part where he annoyingly calls me by my real name could be the topic of a whole other post someday!) I've already told him that when he dies, we're going to schedule his funeral for 11:00 a.m. and then start at about 11:12, just so I can see if he makes the coffin rock back and forth in post-mortem agitation.
Now, about my birthday. Tuesday November 9th at 9:00 a.m. I received a phone call from my Mom (Dad can't hear on the phone so well anymore so he gets Mom to call and he just yells at her in the background if she diverts from the message he's trying to send me.
"Happy Birthday Tina." "Thanks Mom," I reply.
"Dad and I would like to take you to lunch today, but we're gong to a meeting this morning so it will have to be after 12:00."
"Ok, that would be nice" I replied.
We agreed on Swiss Chalet at Yonge and Green Lane.
And then it happened.
We're making our plans and I hear Dad in the background: "We think we'll be done by noon, but why don't we say 12:30ish in case we're running a little late".
Now, 12:30is coming out of my Mother's mouth would be no big deal. She and I speak the same language on this one. But.... DAD? 12:30ish?
The planets are no longer aligned and all of the absolutes in this world have been altered forever. Hell, I 'm left wondering if the earth is, indeed, round!
ISH has never been in my Father's vocabulary. I'm just waiting now for snow in July. Better yet, I should go and buy a lottery ticket!
Or, maybe, just maybe, he's learned to chill and enjoy retired life. Honestly, I think this behaviour falls into the realm of an anomaly. Or maybe its just one of those things that will happen on the 9th of November every year.
Monday, November 1, 2010
61 Days...
For me the worst day of the year has arrived. I hate November 1st.
It signifies the beginning of the most depressing 61 days on my calendar and I brace myself. Its almost like inhaling deeply and preparing to hold my breath for the countdown to January 1st.
There is nothing redeeming about the month of November - not even my birthday. It is a dark, dreary, depressing month. It is not shocking that there are more suicides during this 30 day period than any other on the calendar. Christmas music starts playing in the malls and stores today and by December I'll even have to take my iPod to do the grocery shopping to avoid it. And ironically, the music means nothing - a clear juxtaposition to the throngs jostling for position in line, fighting for parking spots, and frantically engaging in consumerism in an empty hope of finding some satisfaction in it. Songs in which I once found solace like "O Holy Night" have been reduced to the status of a meaningless commercial jingle.
The days are getting shorter and my body craves the fleeting bursts of sunshine that will be rationed so sparingly.
There will be incredibly tasteless plastic decorations everywhere I look. My own family will clutter our house with trinkets and garland and lights and all manners of tackiness.
And the expectations! Which side of the family gets their Turkey dinner at our house on the 25th? Who will be left disappointed or angry? The visits, the parties, the big meals. People eating and drinking to excess and then providing the diet and fitness industries with their best time of the year in January.
There's such a frantic desperation to this time of year and I find it incredibly hollow and sad.
Yes, you're right. I sound exactly like the Grinch. The difference is that in Dr. Seuss' rendition that Grinch's heart grows five or ten sizes with the revelation that in Whoville "it" remains real meaning even without all the presents and lights and bling.
Toto, I don't think we're in Whoville any more.
Inhale deeply. Hold. Pray for January. May I find strength........
It signifies the beginning of the most depressing 61 days on my calendar and I brace myself. Its almost like inhaling deeply and preparing to hold my breath for the countdown to January 1st.
There is nothing redeeming about the month of November - not even my birthday. It is a dark, dreary, depressing month. It is not shocking that there are more suicides during this 30 day period than any other on the calendar. Christmas music starts playing in the malls and stores today and by December I'll even have to take my iPod to do the grocery shopping to avoid it. And ironically, the music means nothing - a clear juxtaposition to the throngs jostling for position in line, fighting for parking spots, and frantically engaging in consumerism in an empty hope of finding some satisfaction in it. Songs in which I once found solace like "O Holy Night" have been reduced to the status of a meaningless commercial jingle.
The days are getting shorter and my body craves the fleeting bursts of sunshine that will be rationed so sparingly.
There will be incredibly tasteless plastic decorations everywhere I look. My own family will clutter our house with trinkets and garland and lights and all manners of tackiness.
And the expectations! Which side of the family gets their Turkey dinner at our house on the 25th? Who will be left disappointed or angry? The visits, the parties, the big meals. People eating and drinking to excess and then providing the diet and fitness industries with their best time of the year in January.
There's such a frantic desperation to this time of year and I find it incredibly hollow and sad.
Yes, you're right. I sound exactly like the Grinch. The difference is that in Dr. Seuss' rendition that Grinch's heart grows five or ten sizes with the revelation that in Whoville "it" remains real meaning even without all the presents and lights and bling.
Toto, I don't think we're in Whoville any more.
Inhale deeply. Hold. Pray for January. May I find strength........
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
The First Ever....
So.... Calgary just elected its first ever Muslim Mayor.
So what!?
He was the choice of the people. Clearly he won the election for varied reasons: his platform, ideas, ability to engage the electorate and cause them to buy into his vision for Calgary, his effective use of social media. Did he win because he is a Muslim? Did anyone step behind the ballot box and say, "hmmm I think it is about time we elected a Muslim". Who cares that he's Muslim? Is Naheed Nenshi qualified to do the job? Time will tell whether the people's choice was correct but regardless of the outcome I can pretty much guarantee that Mayor Nenshsh's religion will not be a factor.
The Hon. Glen Murray, was the first ever openly gay Mayor of a major North American city, representing Winnipeg, Manitoba from 1998 to 2004. Did the people of Winnipeg decide it was time to have a gay guy running things or did they just chose the candidate with the best credentials?
George Smitherman kissed his spouse in front of a group of reporters "an action normally seen only by heterosexual politicians". So what? They're gay and they are married. Did we expect them to shake hands?
Kim Campbell was Canada's first ever female Prime Minister in 1993. This may be a bad example since her abysmal failure might have been, in part, due to her gender because lord knows the powers that be on the bible thumping religious right don't like feeling emasculated. But nonetheless, did Canadians say "we need a woman running things"? No. They were voting political right in Canada and she happened to be at the helm.
And of course, probably the most notable first ever was watching Barack Obama become the first ever black president of the USA. Did Americans decide it was time to elevate some poor descendant of slaves and give him a shot? Or did Obama actually win because, oh I don't know, he knew what he was doing?
Muslim. Gay. Woman. Black. Am I the only one seeing a pattern here? Not a white heterosexual male in the bunch.
And so why is it that anyone who, through ability, knowledge, character and sheer determination, earns a position of power, either politically or in the private sector, becomes some kind of freakish "wow check this out" kind of news story? Because anyone who isn't a white heterosexual male shouldn't attain such things?
You're right: of course that's a ridiculous notion. Why then is it that we as a society continue to make a big deal when it happens? The simple answer: prejudice, bigotry, and racism.
Harsh, I know. But I believe this to be true. And it continues to be perpetrated by the media, as well as by the formerly marginalized groups who now lay claim to the very bastions of power that they could only once dream about.
So this morning on Canada AM, the story went like this: "Calgary elected its first ever Muslim Mayor in a close race last night".
In my perfect world the story would have gone: "Naheed Nenshi, a 38 year old business professor, narrowly defeated two opponents to become Mayor of Calgary last night. Nenshi's platform included a promise to limit urban sprawl, and to make neighbourhoods more fun, safer, and greener. The mayor elect holds a Bachelor of Commerce degree from the University of Calgary".
Now, I'm not bashing white heterosexual males here: I happen to love white heterosexual males! But when was the last time we made a big deal about one's religion, or the fact that he kissed his spouse prior to the start of a press conference?
We are all guilty of prejudice, bigotry and racism. Every race, every gender, every sexual orientation. I guess it is too much to ask that we can all be judged only by our individual merits. Or maybe my ideal world is far too simple a place! I can dream though......
So what!?
He was the choice of the people. Clearly he won the election for varied reasons: his platform, ideas, ability to engage the electorate and cause them to buy into his vision for Calgary, his effective use of social media. Did he win because he is a Muslim? Did anyone step behind the ballot box and say, "hmmm I think it is about time we elected a Muslim". Who cares that he's Muslim? Is Naheed Nenshi qualified to do the job? Time will tell whether the people's choice was correct but regardless of the outcome I can pretty much guarantee that Mayor Nenshsh's religion will not be a factor.
The Hon. Glen Murray, was the first ever openly gay Mayor of a major North American city, representing Winnipeg, Manitoba from 1998 to 2004. Did the people of Winnipeg decide it was time to have a gay guy running things or did they just chose the candidate with the best credentials?
George Smitherman kissed his spouse in front of a group of reporters "an action normally seen only by heterosexual politicians". So what? They're gay and they are married. Did we expect them to shake hands?
Kim Campbell was Canada's first ever female Prime Minister in 1993. This may be a bad example since her abysmal failure might have been, in part, due to her gender because lord knows the powers that be on the bible thumping religious right don't like feeling emasculated. But nonetheless, did Canadians say "we need a woman running things"? No. They were voting political right in Canada and she happened to be at the helm.
And of course, probably the most notable first ever was watching Barack Obama become the first ever black president of the USA. Did Americans decide it was time to elevate some poor descendant of slaves and give him a shot? Or did Obama actually win because, oh I don't know, he knew what he was doing?
Muslim. Gay. Woman. Black. Am I the only one seeing a pattern here? Not a white heterosexual male in the bunch.
And so why is it that anyone who, through ability, knowledge, character and sheer determination, earns a position of power, either politically or in the private sector, becomes some kind of freakish "wow check this out" kind of news story? Because anyone who isn't a white heterosexual male shouldn't attain such things?
You're right: of course that's a ridiculous notion. Why then is it that we as a society continue to make a big deal when it happens? The simple answer: prejudice, bigotry, and racism.
Harsh, I know. But I believe this to be true. And it continues to be perpetrated by the media, as well as by the formerly marginalized groups who now lay claim to the very bastions of power that they could only once dream about.
So this morning on Canada AM, the story went like this: "Calgary elected its first ever Muslim Mayor in a close race last night".
In my perfect world the story would have gone: "Naheed Nenshi, a 38 year old business professor, narrowly defeated two opponents to become Mayor of Calgary last night. Nenshi's platform included a promise to limit urban sprawl, and to make neighbourhoods more fun, safer, and greener. The mayor elect holds a Bachelor of Commerce degree from the University of Calgary".
Now, I'm not bashing white heterosexual males here: I happen to love white heterosexual males! But when was the last time we made a big deal about one's religion, or the fact that he kissed his spouse prior to the start of a press conference?
We are all guilty of prejudice, bigotry and racism. Every race, every gender, every sexual orientation. I guess it is too much to ask that we can all be judged only by our individual merits. Or maybe my ideal world is far too simple a place! I can dream though......
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Thankful for Thomas Edison
You know, I hate swimming in the same direction as everyone else. I've spent most of my life swimming up stream, either because it is my nature or it is by choice, and I'm just determined not to be the same breed of fish as everyone else. (Interesting topic for another time!)
Either way, it kind of bugs me when I fall into thinking about "what I'm thankful for" on Thanksgiving. Ideally, I would do that every day of my life. But for many varied reasons, it is impossible not to fall into step with the rest of the world on this particular weekend.
So, I'm thankful for Thomas Edison. Yes, I mean THE Thomas Edison - of phonograph and motion picture camera fame. He also invented something that seems to have become a recurring image and theme in my life of late: the light bulb.
During the past 13 years I have experienced euphoric highs and devastating lows. Being diagnosed with Lupus in 1997 was a defining time in my life, even though I was determined that the diagnosis would not define ME. But in some ways most surprising, it did.
As a result of this diagnosis I have made some fabulous choices and I have made many that were on the verge of cataclysmic. Being faced with one's own mortality has a funny way of bringing about profound change: Challenging everything that was once the norm; examining my interaction with the world around me; being forced to look deep into the core of my very being and coming to the devastating realization that mine has not been a life of purpose, but rather of reaction fuelled by anger, hate and hurt.
Living with a life altering health challenge that's here to stay has forced me to face issues head on which have deep roots in my childhood and have profoundly affected my past, to a lesser extent my present - but I have determined, not my future.
I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse at the hand of an extended family member. It is not something that I ever planned to parade for the world, but my need to close a dark chapter in my life once and for all precludes my silence on the subject any longer. And the fact that I was, at last, recently able to share this with my parents 30 years or so later allows me to finally turn a corner and be free.
Over the past year and a half or so, I've done some very difficult, painful, intensely private, introspective work in order to be well again. Where my personal demons consumed me and caused me to behave self destructively at times, I'm finally learning to live with purpose; I'm learning the meaning of forgiveness, and I am realizing that the journey we know as life is much easier when one doesn't have to carry such heavy suitcases filled with remorse, regret, anger, hate, and self loathing.
So back to the light bulb. Sometimes over the past while, I've struggled to get my head around certain concepts as I focus on building a future of fulfillment, joy and peace. And I want the answer for something in particular to come so badly that my brain hurts. Sometimes I wait for what seems like an eternity. And then, it happens - a light bulb moment, and its brightness fills even the darkest reaches of my being with a sense of calm understanding and and the light of knowledge. And the joy and delight in these revelations is that they just happen, sometimes at the least likely of times and in a manner that seems completely random, even though I know it can't be.
I wonder if Thomas Edison understood that his invention, while important to modernization of the world, would also provide strong symbolism to our quest for deeper knowledge and understanding of the universe and the supreme being that created it.
I have so much more work yet to do. But I continue to be thankful for Thomas Edison, whose invention shines light on the fledgling seeds of all the good things I hope will grow and help me become the best person I can be.
"Many of life's failures are experienced by people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up." - Thomas Edison
May I never give up.
Either way, it kind of bugs me when I fall into thinking about "what I'm thankful for" on Thanksgiving. Ideally, I would do that every day of my life. But for many varied reasons, it is impossible not to fall into step with the rest of the world on this particular weekend.
So, I'm thankful for Thomas Edison. Yes, I mean THE Thomas Edison - of phonograph and motion picture camera fame. He also invented something that seems to have become a recurring image and theme in my life of late: the light bulb.During the past 13 years I have experienced euphoric highs and devastating lows. Being diagnosed with Lupus in 1997 was a defining time in my life, even though I was determined that the diagnosis would not define ME. But in some ways most surprising, it did.
As a result of this diagnosis I have made some fabulous choices and I have made many that were on the verge of cataclysmic. Being faced with one's own mortality has a funny way of bringing about profound change: Challenging everything that was once the norm; examining my interaction with the world around me; being forced to look deep into the core of my very being and coming to the devastating realization that mine has not been a life of purpose, but rather of reaction fuelled by anger, hate and hurt.
Living with a life altering health challenge that's here to stay has forced me to face issues head on which have deep roots in my childhood and have profoundly affected my past, to a lesser extent my present - but I have determined, not my future.
I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse at the hand of an extended family member. It is not something that I ever planned to parade for the world, but my need to close a dark chapter in my life once and for all precludes my silence on the subject any longer. And the fact that I was, at last, recently able to share this with my parents 30 years or so later allows me to finally turn a corner and be free.
Over the past year and a half or so, I've done some very difficult, painful, intensely private, introspective work in order to be well again. Where my personal demons consumed me and caused me to behave self destructively at times, I'm finally learning to live with purpose; I'm learning the meaning of forgiveness, and I am realizing that the journey we know as life is much easier when one doesn't have to carry such heavy suitcases filled with remorse, regret, anger, hate, and self loathing.
So back to the light bulb. Sometimes over the past while, I've struggled to get my head around certain concepts as I focus on building a future of fulfillment, joy and peace. And I want the answer for something in particular to come so badly that my brain hurts. Sometimes I wait for what seems like an eternity. And then, it happens - a light bulb moment, and its brightness fills even the darkest reaches of my being with a sense of calm understanding and and the light of knowledge. And the joy and delight in these revelations is that they just happen, sometimes at the least likely of times and in a manner that seems completely random, even though I know it can't be.
I wonder if Thomas Edison understood that his invention, while important to modernization of the world, would also provide strong symbolism to our quest for deeper knowledge and understanding of the universe and the supreme being that created it.
I have so much more work yet to do. But I continue to be thankful for Thomas Edison, whose invention shines light on the fledgling seeds of all the good things I hope will grow and help me become the best person I can be.
"Many of life's failures are experienced by people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up." - Thomas Edison
May I never give up.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night
We saw Heart in Concert last week, and it seemed odd to be amongst the younger segment of those in attendance. In fact, it didn't feel like I fit the demographic at all. There were "old" people rocking and shouting and singing with passion and excitement.
Even the mosh pit was old! Thankfully I didn't see any walkers or canes jockeying for position.
Ann and Nancy Wilson are 60 and 56 - but man, Ann can still belt out those notes and Nancy struts and dances with that electric guitar and kicks her legs in the air as well as any 30something rocker I've ever seen. She was totally sexy and hot - the only tattletale exposing her well preserved secret being her hands when the jumbo tron showed a close of up of a wickedly intense guitar riff.
It seemed like everyone there was desperately hanging on to the past. Balding, grey haired men dressed 30 years younger in jeans and women in sexy rocker chick clothes and high heels.
Its ironic. I think all the time about never going gentle into that good night. Aging 'gracefully' is not in my game plan. But at the same time, I couldn't be paid to go back and re-live my 20's or even my 30's for that matter. I like right now, regardless of the fact that "that good night" looms constantly closer.
As a significant group of the population in general ages, there is something to the saying that "40 is the new 30" and "50 is the new 40". Everywhere I go I see "old guys" on motorcycles, driving sports cars and playing sports. I have a couple of female acquaintances in their 50's who run marathons and have hot bods to rival any young thing I've seen.
Being the very youngest of the "baby boomer" generation, I love watching my older boomer brothers and sisters living like they are 30 somethings. They inspire me to stay young. I hope I'm still a rocker chick when I'm 60, and I hope I'll still be on my motorcycle when I'm 70 or 80! And because it seems like this generation never gets too old to do the things that "young people" do, I'm dying to learn to play the drums. You never know, I may get tired of real estate and want to run away to be in a rock and roll band.
Do not go gentle into that good night...... kick and scream and make noise all the way! I know that's what I'll be doing.
Even the mosh pit was old! Thankfully I didn't see any walkers or canes jockeying for position.
Ann and Nancy Wilson are 60 and 56 - but man, Ann can still belt out those notes and Nancy struts and dances with that electric guitar and kicks her legs in the air as well as any 30something rocker I've ever seen. She was totally sexy and hot - the only tattletale exposing her well preserved secret being her hands when the jumbo tron showed a close of up of a wickedly intense guitar riff.
It seemed like everyone there was desperately hanging on to the past. Balding, grey haired men dressed 30 years younger in jeans and women in sexy rocker chick clothes and high heels.
Its ironic. I think all the time about never going gentle into that good night. Aging 'gracefully' is not in my game plan. But at the same time, I couldn't be paid to go back and re-live my 20's or even my 30's for that matter. I like right now, regardless of the fact that "that good night" looms constantly closer.
As a significant group of the population in general ages, there is something to the saying that "40 is the new 30" and "50 is the new 40". Everywhere I go I see "old guys" on motorcycles, driving sports cars and playing sports. I have a couple of female acquaintances in their 50's who run marathons and have hot bods to rival any young thing I've seen.
Being the very youngest of the "baby boomer" generation, I love watching my older boomer brothers and sisters living like they are 30 somethings. They inspire me to stay young. I hope I'm still a rocker chick when I'm 60, and I hope I'll still be on my motorcycle when I'm 70 or 80! And because it seems like this generation never gets too old to do the things that "young people" do, I'm dying to learn to play the drums. You never know, I may get tired of real estate and want to run away to be in a rock and roll band.
Do not go gentle into that good night...... kick and scream and make noise all the way! I know that's what I'll be doing.
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