Year in review

Dear 2018,

I thought you were going to be amazing.  I thought the pain of 2017 was over and I’d get to sail into my best self, unscathed.  I expected big things and got more than I bargained for.

You gave me loss, again and again.  Loss of family, my heart and of the old self I thought I knew.  You gave me lessons I didn’t want to learn, but needed.

You gave me hope, then pulled the rug out from under me, over and over again.  I was in an ocean of despair, the waves trying their best to drag me down.  But then, you taught me I could swim.  I was strong enough to withstand the riptides and was rewarded with new friends and experiences I wouldn’t have let myself have without all the craziness that came before.

You taught me to to trust myself, to trust the universe and to see the signs guiding me to who I’m meant to be.

I can’t say I won’t be happy to see the end of you, 2018, but I’ll be forever grateful for the lessons you taught me.

xoxo

W

Rant

I don’t normally get involved in overt activism.  I have my beliefs and those around me know what they are.  But I am seeing trends in the world that cause me to pause and question things about myself and my personal safety and I AM DONE.

This morning I read a post on one of my facebook groups dedicated to women travelling alone.  A brave soul told her story of harassment sitting in a coffee shop in Toronto.  All because she was a woman, alone.  In a public place.  In a Tim Hortons for crying out loud!  The friendliest, most Canadian place you can think of.

A young, clean cut, white male approached her out of nowhere and made to kiss her.  When she stepped back as he was in her personal space (completely reasonable for any human to do in that situation), he got verbally abusive and she felt very threatened.

The part that got me though, was when she joined another group of women so she wouldn’t be alone.  They comforted her in solidarity.  Because that’s a thing!  We’ve all experienced it in one way or another.

My boss used a recent situation she encountered as a ‘safety moment’ before a meeting.  She was walking to work in the daylight a few weeks ago and was in the path of some scary looking dude on the street.  She looked around her and saw a ‘normal, business like guy’ walking nearby and adjusted her pace so it looked like they were together.  He moved to her other side to shield her as they passed the threat, knowing exactly what she needed.  He asked ‘you alright now?’, she said ‘yes, thank you’, and both went about their day.

It’s akin to being at a bar with friends.  All single girls know that if you are being harassed, you find the biggest looking guy and pretend he’s your boyfriend to avoid the confrontation with the harasser.

I am not a man hater.  There are good people among us that fill the roles in these situations and I am grateful.  I am also pissed that we still need them to do so.

We have normalized harassment in our society.  Granted, in 2018 Canada, women have come a loooooong way toward equality and there are so many other places that have it much worse.  I am acutely aware of this as an avid solo traveller.  The goal of every trip, every day, really, is to ‘stay sexy & don’t get murdered’.

I was having a conversation with a co-worker friend the other day and we talked about how it’s such an interesting time to raise children.  She has a daughter and I have 2 sons.  In one generation, the look and feel of the world has changed dramatically.  The oppression of humans based on race, religion, sexual orientation and gender is something that our children are learning about in history vs in current events.  The fact that they are outraged these things have ever happened gives me hope that things will only get better.

When you think one person can’t make a difference in the world – look inside.  As parents, we have the opportunity to raise boys and girls who don’t know the boundaries that we once did.  That our mothers and grandmothers did.  That is the beauty of evolution.  You can’t move on from a lesson until you’ve learned it.  Our children have a voice and when they can clearly see right from wrong and stand up for their values, we have won.  I have the amazing opportunity to be the single mom of boys, to help shape how they see the world.  To raise feminists in a world that may no longer need them to be feminists someday, because its a concept that feels outdated and unnecessary in our future.

There are thousands of examples of wrong every single day.  Yesterday, my very favourite chair in the world – my happy place – was stolen from my front deck.  I was annoyed that someone would take it, of course.  I posted pictures of it on social media and filed a police report in the hopes someone would find it an it would be returned to me.  I talked to my children about how people make bad decisions.  We had a life lesson moment.  I told them if they ever decided they needed to take something that didn’t belong to them, they needed to remember what they feel like today when someone else did that to them.  Their first instinct was to ‘catch the bad guys and teach them a lesson’.  Then we talked about instead of getting mad, maybe we need to be just a little extra kind to make up for someone feeling the need to steal.  It sounds naive and trite, but maybe that little pre-bedtime conversation will stick with their 7 and 5 year old brains and they can be part of a generation that takes kindness to another level completely.  That’s all I can hope for.

It’s really all any of us can hope for.  That we (all of us) see injustice in the world and we step in, even in a small way that doesn’t put us at risk.  We don’t need to be martyrs, but baby steps eventually cause a big ripple.

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”  Margaret Mead

Someone else’s shoes

Yesterday I literally wore someone else’s shoes to work.  My mother in law has the same sized feet and is famous for collecting shoes on all her travels.  She’ll wear them once or twice, then decide they are not for her, or her feet have swollen and they are no longer comfortable.  So, she passes them to me.  Sometimes they are really cute, other times they are not something I would ever wear.  Over time I realized how to politely decline the ones that are not for me and accept only the ones I think I would wear.

Yesterday’s shoes were short green boots.  They were different and I liked the look of them.  When I put them on, though, they weren’t all that comfortable.  The felt foreign.  They didn’t hug my feet.  They didn’t feel bad, per se, just different.  I wore them anyway, figuring my feet would get used to them through the day.

The shoes didn’t hurt my feet, but as the day wore on, they didn’t get more comfortable.  I could feel the strangeness with each step.  Normally, you can’t feel a good shoe at all, it’s just a part of you for as long as you’re wearing it.  Or at least it should be.

I realized that although I liked the look of the shoe, it’s what’s inside that counts.  The way it makes me feel is what counts.  I don’t need to wear someone else’s shoes unless I can make them my own, absorb them into what I already have and love.  I don’t need to carry anyone else’s burdens if they’re not serving me.  I don’t have to carry my own burdens if they’re not serving me.  I give myself permission to be grateful for the shoes I have that are serving me well.  The rest are someone else’s shoes to wear.

If the shoe fits, wear it.

When the book writes itself…

I have a book in my head.  I need to get it out but something is holding me back.  Will it make the story less real, to see the words exposed?  Am I worried about the editing, the formatting, what people will think?  There are ways around all of that, I know.  Yet, the story remains stuck in my head.  Unwilling or unable to set itself free.

This book has taught me more about myself in the last year than any professor in the world could.  I need to write it for me.  Not for the masses, though I’m sure some would enjoy the story.  For now it needs to be personal.  Mine.  A record of the scars and triumphs of the past year.  That I might use it to remember who I was back when all the big stuff was happening.  As a reminder that I got through an awful lot in a short amount of time and came out smiling.  As a guide to send me back to who I really am if I ever lose her again.  As a memoir for my future grandchildren to read when they’re grown and maybe gain some perspective or inspiration.

Can I not write it because I’m still in it?  I don’t want to lose the nuances, the beauty of the experience so not writing it seems wasteful.  Is it because I’m putting too much pressure on myself to record it when I should be living it?  A written selfie.  Seems indulgent, self serving, needing validation. But that’s not what I want.  I have come out the other end of this year victorious in the lack of needing validation.  I am living it for me and maybe that’s where it needs to stay for now.

The project itself is daunting.  Other writers spend hours, weeks, months, even years developing characters, refining the storyline.  I don’t have that kind of time.  A stolen moment here or there, an early morning or late night in the quiet peace is really all I’ve got.  Or is that just an excuse?  I’ve been battling the business of busyness for a while now so that I can carve out time for the things that matter.  It’s a struggle to not fill those empty spaces with things that don’t.

If only the voices in my head could type…

To write about not writing

It’s been a while, dear friend.

The craft, the spell, the loss of time and space.

So much has happened, yet the truth remains the same.

Where to even start?  How to jump back in?  With both feet or one tentative toenail at a time?

To record the words, the prose, the feels, the highs and lows of it all is healing – soul baring yet with strength in the vulnerability.

There is a story in me.  It’s writing itself, yet I find myself avoiding the truth of it.  To write it down, does that make it less real?  More story than truth?  Diluted in it’s significance?

Overthinking as usual.  I know I need to get it out for me, no one else, no matter what.  But its an daunting project.  Am I afraid of letting it out or letting it go?  Only one way to find out, I suppose.

Stay tuned…

When the dinosaur cracks

My 4 year old has a remote control T-rex.  It’s the only thing he wanted Santa to bring him last Christmas and he treasured it as only a 4 year old can.

Meaning of course, the T-rex was thrown, dropped, used as a weapon and stomped on.  It was the stomping that got him in the end, though.  Poor Rexy.

He’s been asking for tape and glue to help fix the unfortunate creature.  I’ve had to explain multiple times that not everything can be fixed.  Rexy may not walk or roar anymore, but he still looks like a scary, scary dinosaur and maybe that’s enough.  Maybe he’ll still be loved for who he is, not what he once was.

“I guess I should have been more gentle with him”, my young man mused.

That statement made me think.  Then think some more.

We throw ourselves into work, into service for others.  We drop to the ground when we least expect it.  We get used in emotional warfare and sometimes it seems life stomps on us whenever we feel like we’re finally coming up for air.

Sometimes we crack, too.

Sometimes it takes more than glue or tape to make us whole again.

Sometimes time and space are what we need.

Sometimes we’ll never be the same as we once were.  We may get put back together, but the scars remain.

And that’s ok.

When we’re gentler with ourselves from the beginning, there aren’t as many cracks to worry about.

 

Imagine

I think we can all agree that the glamour days of airline travel are gone. Watch an episode of Mad Men to remember how miraculous commercial airline travel used to be. Back when people dressed for the occasion and were amazed they could travel the from one end of a country or even the world in a relatively short amount of time.

Traveling today has certainly highlighted the differences for me. Arriving at the airport the night before an early morning flight, standing in lineup after lineup to print boarding passes and luggage tags, removing hazardous things like shoes and toothpaste in order to make it successfully through security. Then lining up again to have a machine take my picture which I then hand to a person in order to welcome me into another country (while still in my home country).

I couldn’t help but think of John Lennon’s immortal song ‘Imagine’. I absolutely love this haunting version by Eva Cassidy. Imagine there’s no countries. We wouldn’t need to stand in lines to explore this incredible planet we call home. We wouldn’t need documents allowing us permission to leave and return to our homes. There would be nothing to kill or die for. The borders we’ve put on the world are self imposed by humans. Many of them long ago, but why are we not questioning this system? We accept that this is the way it is. The thought makes me endlessly sad.

Wouldn’t it be amazing to share all the world?

You may say I’m a dreamer. But I’m not the only one.

Holding on

One day, my son needed a kleenex.  I always have an abundance in my pocket.  He asked very seriously if the one I was giving him was clean or dirty.  I promised it a was a new one that had never touched a nose.  When he finished blowing, he tried to give the used tissue back to me.  I told him to keep it in his pocket until we came across a garbage can.  He again, very seriously, said “I don’t like to carry garbage around with me”.

It’s not until this moment I remembered that interaction and the lesson in it blows me away.  I don’t have to carry garbage with me.  I don’t need to hold on to the dirty tissues full of heartbreak, anger, loneliness or any other emotion I could pour into them.  If it doesn’t serve me, I need to let it go.

I also don’t need to carry around anyone else’s garbage.  My pockets are full.

The lessons I learn from a 7 year old are truly astounding.  There is so much wisdom in a child not yet jaded by the world around him, but who doesn’t quite have the words or context to express his insight.  The only thing I need to hold on to is the patience to listen and truly understand.  I love that kid more & more every day.

What matters most

The connection between sun and sky, land and sea

How does it all relate to me?

Not the wind and rain, the hurricane

of rushing around, no peace found

between the lists, of musts and shoulds.

I wonder if I ever could be the peace of sun and sky from another human’s eye?

Truth is, I already am, when I take him by the hand.

He sees and loves only me.

Perfect as the sea – in every way, with every thought.

When is it that we’re taught to doubt the beauty within?

Worry we’re too fat or thin?

Not enough by an unknown scale when the comparison is so pale

to the sun and sky, the land and sea.

What matters most is you and me

in this time and space, no worries or race to get things done, but be as one.

The love of a mother for her son.

 

 

 

 

Pause

It’s amazing how some rest can Change everything. Not necessarily your situation but maybe how you approach it or cope with it. Sleep doesn’t make it better or worse or even change your perspective in some cases, but allowing the body and mind some space to not dwell is such a gift.

To wake up and the first thought it – I’m awake – I lived another night, another experience and will continue to do so until my time is up. The mind doesn’t instantly go to the problem. It takes a pause, allowing a bit of gratitude- even for a second before jumping back in to the issues at hand. I’m grateful for that pause and will do my best to embrace it.

Many years ago, in a foreign land, speaking a foreign language, a teacher would exclaim ‘Pause!’, which in her language and accent came out sounding like ‘Powza’. My friends and I lived for that time to step away from what we were learning to go explore, have fun and be ourselves. The times in the Pause of all the ‘stuff’ were the best parts of my experience there.

Just writing this down makes me realize just how important the Pauses are. They’re not always long or exotic, but recognizing that we all have the ability to go to that space of nothingness at will helps me to face the day ahead.