No Fear

When I was a kid, late at night I was sure either E.T. or the Bogey Man were coming to get me. Not every night but enough restless nights for me to remember.

Sometimes I would even sleep upside down to try to trick them into thinking my head was where my feet were and vice versa. My trickery sure paid off because neither of them ever got me.

In reality, I was safe in my home yet I had this very real fear that the shadow in the corner of my room was waiting for me to make a wrong move so they could get me.

A lot’s changed since then. The shadows in my room are easily identified as my running shoes, purse, or Sterling’s books.  But those very real fears are still there. Just about different things now.

This past week led to a number of these fears resurfacing. I started wondering how safe my safe city really was. Ah the trappings of terror. Earthquakes, hateful acts, fire and brimstone. Make you wonder if everything’s going to be alright in paradise.

If only we could live in the cloudy Kingdom of Caring with Brave Heart Lion and my other favourite Care Bears. Things would be simpler there.  Until No Heart made an appearance. That No Heart was never up to any good.

But True Heart and Cheer Heart and Love-a-Lot Bear—they were there to thwart the evil efforts of No Heart and Beastly.  They were there to right the wrongs.

Thankfully, I learned that lesson early on. As long as there’s good in the world—whether it’s the United Kingdom or the Kingdom of Caring—the bad can’t prevail. It won’t prevail.

I don’t know if there’s more bad today than there was in my five-year-old self’s world. Social media and the internet certainly make it seem like it. But they also shed light on some incredible acts of humanity in the face of heinous events.

Those acts of kindness and humanity help alleviate those fears. The outpouring of love, charity, community and kindness…the way people come together. Images like that make the Bogey Man disappear.

He might be ready to stop us in our tracks but we won't let him. Not this time. 

Easy Does It

The other day I got the worst paper cut I’ve had. Ever. It was completely my fault. I was careless in the hazardous task of photocopying. There it was, a large stack of statistics (sorry my tree-loving friends). I just needed to take it from point A: the photocopier, to point B: the box to carry the finished product up to the press box.

I bit off more than I could chew. Underestimated the power of a stack of paper. I grabbed them; they slipped. That terrible feeling of flesh separating itself. I bled. Right down the tip of my middle finger so even now, as I type, I’m reminded by the sting.

I should have just taken a manageable stack. A few manageable stacks and the job would have been done, paper cut-free. Sometimes ambition can be our greatest friend and sometimes, our sorest enemy. Everything in moderation, right? I had too much.

I was reminded of this today as I spoke with my friend at work. She cited a phrase that more of us would do well to adhere to: done is better than perfect. I believe this was coined or certainly used by Facebook. I don’t know but I’d say their business model has turned out pretty well.

But perfect is that ever elusive place we pine for, don’t we? It’s why dieting, exercising, yogaing, makeuping and plastic surgerying are so popular these days. The definition of perfection may change from generation to generation but the pursuit of it does not. 

The pursuit continues because reaching it just can’t happen. Not here. Not now. We can mirror perfection, get close—so close we can taste it but there’s always something more, better, different…

So we adjust our standards. I’m not saying we give up, give in and stop giving a darn. Just realize the picket fence that never peels, the waistline that always appeals and the perfect spouse who’s even keel—those things don’t exist every day. Enjoy the moments they do. Don’t fret the moments they don’t. And just do your best. Done, after all, is better than perfect.

A Whale of a Tale?

I don’t know if you know this but I’m a self proclaimed Hanson lover. If there is such a thing. I don’t listen to them very much anymore but do make sure to attend any concert they put on in a city near me.

Legit Hanson fans will recall a very early album, Three Car Garage. On that album, there’s a song called Stories. It repeats a line over and over…and over (remember Mmmbop?):

Stories will be told

From when our children are young

Until they’re old

Lyrical geniuses those Hanson brothers were!

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. Not that the Hanson brothers are awesome (although they are) but about my story. What’s going to be told?

Just this afternoon I saw a post about an amazing woman with an incredible story. At least the parts that have been told. Irena Sendler. She has an awesomely heroic yet tragic and inspiring story. Check it out if you can.

I wonder if she knew she was as awesome as she was. I think we all probably go through phases where we’re feeling pretty boss. Things are clicking in all the right areas, we’re utilizing our talents and time well—we’re getting stuff done, taking names and leaving a blazing trail in our wake.  Love to hear these stories and have these stories of awesomeness told.

Then there are those times when we’re barely getting by. Relationships are suffering, neglected and showing cracks at the seams. Work, money, play—all leave much to be desired. We can’t seem to do anything right and just don’t feel like there’s any way to rise above whatever’s crushing us any given day. Put the pen away for these stories. Feels like there's nothing to see, nothing to say here, folks.

Then there’s 'La-dee-da Land'. Or Goldilocks land maybe? Not too hot, not too cold, just right. Just a little complacent though. We’re not doing anything exceptional, good or bad. There’s not much to think about, stress about or do period because, well, we’re comfortable just getting by. Not much to write about here either.

Although boring, this is a great place to be—for a while at least. It’s got an expiry date though. Or at least it should. After the first month, you start to wonder what that steaming hot bowl of porridge would be like.  Worse, you start to expect it. Every morning you wonder if this, this will be the day you burn your tongue.

The beauty is, it’s in those uncomfortable experiences that stories are written. There is something to see and something to say.

Your tongue aches but you’ve got a tale to tell. And inevitably, a tougher tongue.

And better yet, you’re not the only one walking around with a burned tongue. That’s where relationships are really forged.  Some people in our story might even offer some soothing ointment to take out the sting. Some might toss some Tabasco sauce in our next bowl just to add insult to injury. We can’t always tell who’s who in our story or where our story’s going but we can tell who we are. How we act and react.

Stories will be told

From when our children are young

Until they’re old

I’m not sure what mine’s going to say but I hope at least it’s said. What’s your story? Is it all Nancy Drew or Sherlock Holmes like? Maybe a little Scarlet Letter or Les Miserables? That'd be epic if it was Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings-esque. Whatever it is, I hope you own it. It's the least we can do.

Nostalgia-osis

Yesterday Sterling gave me the gift of time travel. Not the Marty McFly type (still waiting!) but more like a trip down memory lane. While we were putting off washing our car without a hose (longish story), he started playing some throwback jams. I’m talking Bone Thugs N’ Harmony, Coolio, Puff Daddy (before his umpteenth name change and JLo), Warren G, 2Pac and Hanson. I know, we’re super gangster. Especially with that last one.

So naturally the throwback jams led me to a favourite pastime, playing Nintendo. And that led to reminiscing.

I will never forget a sleepover at my friend Amanda Whiting’s. We were always good for shenanigans at those sleepovers. She had this pool table and a music player in the basement. Perfect ingredients for good times to be had.

So it must have been Grade 5 or 6 (fifth or sixth grade for my American comrades) when we busted out Coolio’s Gangsta’s Paradise at Amanda’s birthday party. Being the cool kids we were, we made up a dance and rapped along “minute after minute, hour after hour”. Or at least for the length of the party.

What transpired yesterday led to some awkwardness…and a letdown…and a subsequent therapeutic car washing.

I went to go send Amanda, and a couple of friends from that party, the link to Gangsta’s Paradise with the plan to instigate what would hopefully be a fond remembrance of good times.  To my dismay, I found I’m no longer Facebook friends with two of the girls. Ouch. Thank you Amanda for hanging in there. I’m happy to read updates about your moves and schooling and marital bliss, even though I never tell you as such. My apologies.

So if you’re reading this and are considering ending our virtual friendship, please don’t click the dreaded ‘unfriend’ button. Just don’t.

I’m awful at keeping in touch but I do creep on your walls when you least expect it (sounds even creepier in print) and I do sporadically...like once a decade…give in to the urge to take friends down memory lane with a song or quick recap of an epic time. I read your blogs. I laugh at your outtakes. My heart hurts at your sorrows.

I’m trying to do better. Actually, this January 1st I made a dreaded resolution that I’m slightly sucking at. I resolved to write a snail mail letter each week. I’ve written a handful now but am slacking at tracking down addresses to send them to. So, if you’re reading this and would like to help me finish this 52-letter resolution, fire me a private message with your address. I’ll try not to disappoint.

Cheers to staying in touch and keepin’ it real.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

The end of a year typically gets me reflecting about where I've been, what I've done, who I've rubbed shoulders with in the previous 330 or so days.

This has been one funky year. You know that Super Mario rainbow track where the colours are so vibrant and blinding they almost become hypnotic? If you're not careful, you end up over the edge, waiting for the little cloud man to rescue you. This year just might be like that track.

I was recently working on a Christmas letter (soon to be shared if I can align my desires with wonderful technology) and as I went through the year, month by month, it dawned on me. For a year uneventful at first glance, this one's been a doozy.

2012 started with a road trip to Alberta with three people I just think the world of: Sterling, Annamieke and Aaron. I honestly feel so blessed to have each of them in my life. I think I've blogged before about how much I treasured that opportunity. And I still do. I will always appreciate having those last hours to spend with my nephew on this Earth. Even not knowing that would be my last visit with him, it was special at the time.

Then there was February, when Zachary made his way to Heaven. March and its 11 home games, a memorial service for Zachary, my first and second crowns (on my teeth) and preparation for our third move in as many years. April with the move itself, my first in-season road trip with the team, the playoffs, injuring my hip playing basketball and a couple of epic concerts. Then there was a summer of road trips, family reunions and hip treatments. We covered over 8,000 kilometres in our car and made that many memories and then some.

The fall brought more opportunities and more memories. The lockout started September 15th, which in turn signaled a reduction in the work week and subsequent pay. Sterling started his internship and worked on his last class to complete his Bachelor's through BYU-Idaho. Our good friends had a baby, adorable Bennett. Our car broke down a few times for good measure then got broken into the night before I was to go to the hospital for an MR-A (MRI with a nice needle to inject contrast right into the socket of the necessary region--in this case, my hip). Around the same time, Sterling's dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Then I learned I'd need to have my hip surgically repaired and the wait list would be at least two years. Oh, and I was told not to have kids before the surgery is completed. After over 50 years in the same house, my Grammie moved. Then two of my closest friends at work made career changes that took them out of the office we'd all worked at since I started five years ago. Just this past week, Sterling graduated and also received his approval to be a permanent resident (finally!).

So yeah, this year's had some changes. Hopefully it's not a sign of things to come but it just might be. Through all these changes, I am so grateful for some constants and wanted to outline them here:

Family--Sterling, our parents, our siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles and grandparents. I am so grateful for all of them. Sterling for his kindness, unwavering devotion and unconditional love. Parents for support and just caring--they don't have to but they do. Siblings for keeping life interesting and reminding me of my roots. Aunts and uncles for teaching me it really does take a village to raise a child. Grandparents for instilling that same principle and for showering me with a wealth of wisdom only experience can bring. Cousins for sharing so many memories and making more with me: Rook, hockey, days in the park, and ping pong games. So glad to have cousins Drew, Michelle, Dave, Meg, Mark and Robbie so close we can catch up. I always worried I'd lose touch with my cousins like my parents had with theirs. So far, so good. I love each one of them.

Friends--I'm awful at keeping in touch. It's a big part of why I blog. I really take to heart that quote that true friendship isn't being inseparable, it's being separated and nothing changes. I feel that way about so many friends I hold dear, even though I don't say it nearly enough. My D-town girls, old roommates, friends I've worked with, worshiped with. I think of them often and love that when we do see each other, it's as though we'd never spent any time apart at all. I was so glad to see former roommates Kimbo and Wendizzle this past summer. I love weddings, because they bring so many people together, and this past summer's festivities were no exception. Maybe we don't live together, work together or even share the same zip/postal code anymore but I still cherish our memories and hope to make more.

Faith--My constant companion. Though it's wavered and weakened at times, especially the difficult ones, ultimately it's been my buoy. Lifting me up in stormy waters. I don't know everything, not even close, but I know when I pray, He listens. I'm still learning. He's patient. Thankfully.

Fortune--Money's been a sore spot this year but those three constants I outlined above have led to the greatest fortune I could ever hope for.

Fun--Even in darker times, fun has played a role throughout this year. Whether it's been sports, games or just a late night talk that gets a little silly because that's what being tired can do to a person...there's been no shortage of fun this year.

So with those four fs (I always loved alliteration) I get ready to bid farewell to 2012. Come on over 2013. We've been waiting.

All we need is...

It’s not all we need but sometimes it’s enough.

Love.

Songs, books, movies, art..all have been created in one way or another to honour it. And yet, we don’t. Not always. Not when it counts the most.

Today tragedy struck. Senseless, devastating, heart wrenching tragedy. It stripped lives of the innocent; hope from humanity.

The news out of Connecticut today, then China, was heartbreaking. I know I’m not alone in its effects. Social media flooded with sentiments, opinions, outrage, shock and dismay, over the day’s events.

I instantly wondered why? Who? How? The media (albeit inaccurately and prematurely for large parts of the day) had answered the who, what and where questions. But the harder questions. Those still linger. Maybe we’ll find some answers. I hope we don’t have to ask them again.

Too many guns? Too many untreated mental illnesses? Too much media attention creating notoriety-seeking psychopaths? Could it be video games? Is this a media monster? Is this an American problem?

Too many questions we don’t have the answers for.

It’s so wrong that there are so many days like this to remember or forget..but there are. This has happened too many times. Each time it happens, I, like many, go through a gamut of emotions. Shock, sadness, wonder, despair, anger, more sadness. I want to blame someone but this has happened too many times to blame any one person or any one thing.   

Yes, those committing these heinous acts are wrong for taking out whatever's going on inside on others outside. Maybe, just maybe, there needed to be more intervention when it came to mental health. Maybe there were warning signs. And yes, gun reform needs to happen. It’s too late in many cases but not too late to act as some sort of prevention for repeats of today’s events. No human being should ever hold, use, own or find need for a semi-automatic weapon. Why we’ve created these killing machines, I’ll never know. One-upmanship I suppose. All I know is this world would be a lot better place without them.

This isn’t just a gun issue though. This is a humanity issue.

The outpouring of love, harmony, community and turning to God is so awe inspiring after days like today. But then it waxes and wanes and it feels like the coldness seeps back into our hearts before we even know it’s there.

On my drive home from work, my heart ached especially for the families, friends and first responders all affected directly by the actions of one man. I wanted to become a beacon of love for everyone. Live charity every day, not just around the Christmas holidays or when my heart was feeling full because a tragedy reminded me how precious life is.

But then when a begging man approached my car, all I gave him was a wave and an “I’m sorry” even though I’m not. I’m just selfish. I’d rather hang onto my few pennies and dimes rather than give another a handful of hope.

There it was, my chance to lift another’s spirit in some small way. But I reasoned and reckoned my way out of helping. And that’s not the first time. 

What I take from all of this is that time is short. Sometimes too short. So we do our best to make the best of it. And we fall short. Then we try again. We give where we can, love when it counts, hug when it hurts and when it just seems to fit the moment. And sometimes we don't. Sometimes we go cold.

Thoughts and prayers will go a long way. Advocacy for change too. I personally am pushing for all of them but I believe where we really make the most of our time here is when we love. Love now while we can because, while I believe love endures beyond this often messed up world, right now, this world’s what we’ve got.

An Owly Observation

For the longest time I thought the intro song to CSI went something like “Ooooo Wally---Ooo Ooo. Ooo ooo.”

What a day when I learned it was actually “Who are you—who who? Who who?”

That made so much more sense.

So lately I’ve had that line in my head. Who are you?

Last spring I suffered a bit of an injury. Enough of one that I invested a lot of money into getting better and actually stopped playing sports. I think 1986 may have been the last time I went this long without playing sports.

Recently I had an appointment where the doctor told me she believed I would need a surgery to get back to activity and that since it was such a specialized surgery I would need to wait a couple of years to get it.

It rocked my foundation a little bit. Who am I if not an athlete? That’s basically been the centre of my universe for as long as I can remember.

In high school when it came down to choosing between seminary and early morning practices I made the easy choice---morning practices. Confession: I slightly regret that because I feel like I missed out not attending seminary. Alas, sports were my priority. And have been all along I suppose.

As a kid I collected hockey cards—off Kraft Dinner and Jell-O boxes even. I watched the Blue Jays win the World Series. Twice. I rollerbladed around my garage, hockey stick in hand as I listened to the heartache of Game 7 during the Canucks ’94 run to the Stanley Cup. I fell in love with field hockey and dribbled around my living room night after night. I shot hundreds of baskets every day on my younger siblings’ Fisherprice basketball hoop. I’m sure if I asked my mom, she’d say my first word was “win”. Because I love to win and love even more the pursuit of becoming a winner.

When my grandma said I needed to stop watching Sportcentre and start focusing on getting a real job I made a job in sports my focus. And then it happened. The stars aligned and sports remained the centre of my universe.

Then in an innocent basketball game, in a local women’s league, I took a hard foul courtesy of a couple of ‘ladies’ and knew something was wrong the second I tried to stand up. For the first time in a long time I couldn’t play through it. Not like the broken toes, shin splints and countless aches and pains I’d shrugged off so many times.

So four months later it’s still lingering and I get this new possibility. No sports for two years? Now what?

Could I forge a new identity after 28 years of the same old, same old?

 Are sports my identity anyways? Are we identified by what we love? Who we love? How we love?

Am I a writer, guitar player, drummer, camper, and occasional Nintendo player? Or a wife, daughter, sister, aunt, friend? Am I loyal, ambitious, tenacious, stubborn, fair and creative?

What makes us who we are? What changes who we are?

I may not be an athlete right now and may have to reel it in moving forward but I’ll find new ways and new things to define my identity. For now, I am in limbo. At least that’s a start.