One of my Most Favorite Places on Earth...

I love the Maritime Provinces.  There is a subtle beauty and charm in the unsophisticated towns and villages that speaks to me in quiet undertones that reverberate into my soul.  My eye is constantly caught by some postcard-perfect setting that just ‘is’.  The scenes are not planned or created with the intent to be beautiful; often the beauty exists because it is a natural state of being.  Nature is allowed to thrive along side those who live here, instead of being torn up and destroyed to make way for people and their needs.  Somehow the needs of both are met with seeming effortlessness.  

Peggy’s Cove, Nova Scotia, is one of my most favorite places on earth. I visited here once before, twenty six years ago and I was joyous to discover it remains much the same even with the passing years. The cove is a barren, yet fragile, place, which speaks to me of desolation, power, and hope. This fishing settlement was built on a natural geographical wonder which is dominated by granite boulders set into an alpine backdrop. The delicate fauna and alpine flowers that grow between the crooks and crevices of immense rocks and spongy bogs speak of possibility, even at great odds. The struggle to survive alongside rocky granite shores where a dark, deep and unforgiving ocean slams against it’s front is a powerful vision to behold. 

A deep fog had settled in while we visited, filling the air with a salty mist that covered the town, adding to it’s feeling of isolation.  As we walked through the village towards the sea, our ears were initially met by the sound of water slapping against the hulls of the fishing boats swaying gently in the mysterious waters of a quiet inlet.  Nets and lobster traps of the fishermen who work and live here scattered the docks and waterfront. Quaint pastel-colored clapboarded homes seem to hover along the shoreline and amongst the rolling hills.  And the lighthouse, which is the  crown jewel of this remarkable town, seem to rise out of the mist atop it’s rocky home, like a beacon reaching out to all who need her.  Built as a warning to stay away, today for those of us on foot, she drew us in to stand upon her rock and feel the power of the ocean with her.  

Emotions run deep to all who behold this wondrous place.  Like me today and  twenty- six years ago, my husband, son and his friend found reverence and awe in this place. I am very grateful to have once again, had the opportunity to experienced her.

Unexpected Words of Wisdom and Inspiration

I am sitting at a picnic table beside a lake just outside of Fredericton, New Brunswick. I am doing due diligence by skipping the “zip line” adventure with my boys to do my UBBT push-ups etc. and to post for this week.  Typing and doing push-ups in the back of an RV is rather difficult, so I am grabbing time when I can get it.  About an hour ago I sat down to write and do my workout.  I have been spreading out my physical practice session with writing so as not to work up a real sweat because showers are difficult to come by, not to worry though - when a shower is available I make the effort to get a good workout in.

Anyways, an old fellow mowing the grass nearby stopped what he was doing to come and talk to me.  Initially I know he was intrigued by our Alberta license plate, as he kept looking over when we first pulled in, but it wasn’t until after the boys had left and I was engrossed my work-out that he make his way over.  He asked about our journey, but didn’t really seem too interested in my answers.  “Maybe he just needs a break from the monotony of mowing the grass” I thought to myself.  A few minutes into the conversation I realize what he was really curious about was my continuous rotation of push-ups, sit-ups and kicks mixed in with my yoga stretches.  When I explained about the UBBT he was excited, though not about Kung Fu part which surprised me, “the beat em up and throw them around” is what people usually want to hear about - but about the actual UBBT.   This little grey bearded man grew taller and in his eastern-Canadian accented voice said “it gives an old man hope for the future to hear of young folk believing in the importance of reaching for the untouchable.  Too many of you are chasing your tails looking for happiness in money and the collection of things.  If you want to collect... collect the feeling of a job well done. There’s nothing more satisfying than knowing ya done good... on your job, kids, marriage and life in general.”

Wow!  “Reaching for the untouchable”. I am sure my jaw was slack in shock after hearing his speech. I have to admit when this arthritic seventy one year old ex railway worker, with a grade six education first came over, I was thoroughly irritated at being interrupted. But by the time he left, I had lost my arrogance and gained a renew perspective.  I had been honored with the best pick me up conversation I have had in long time.  My slack jaw turned into a puppet wide grin.

I read the blogs of my fellow UBBT members and  receive the occasional check-in e-mail from Sifu Brinker, which helps keep the focus, but having someone outside the process excited about our journey, renewed my own excitement and the knowledge that what I am doing is valid and important. If I make the difference in only one life, my own, I have done something important.  Of course “to touch the lives of others in any way positive, that would be something to die happy with...”  those are the old guy - Mr Milton’s words too. 

Niagara... and Her Sister.

I’m a little behind with my posting.  I am finding it hard to leave behind the sight-seeing and sit at a computer to write.  When sitting at staring at the screen, I no longer feel like I am "in the moment"... kind of like watching TV, which I also don’t do much of.  But, alas, I need to post.. here are my thoughts on the latest place I have visited in our incredible Canadian landscape.

I never realized how big Ontario is.  I’m not complaining, as this province is incredibly beautiful, but we have been driving across it for days.  We have just left Niagara Falls, a place I have visited twice before.  The changes are so drastic from the first instances I visited, once in the early 80’s and again in the 90’s, that if the waterfalls weren’t still there, I would never recognize it as the same place. The small quaint and pretty town that used to dress up in her history, has lost her self respect. Pretty little Niagara has been eating too much fatty commercialism and has become swollen with indulgence in her popularity. Her once-pristine landscape is now bloated with hotels and resorts. Tacky shops and sideshows cover her curves like unsightly blemishes, her limbs with veiny hi-ways and over passes.  She has lost her appeal for me, and I greatly miss the soft, natural, uncluttered look that she use to have.

On the other hand, Niagara’s little sister, Niagara-on-the-Lake has taken very good care of herself.  She is still the pleasant girl who shares her the inner beauty of her sweet-growing grapes and colorful fruit trees with all who inhale her.  She is covered in soft grasses, pretty homes and gardens, quaint shops and wineries. People move at slower pace, even stopping to say hello and pet the dog of visitors from Alberta. My husband and I throughly enjoyed this little sister.  Maybe enough to come back for a week’s stay to really get to know her.

"A Never Quit Attitude"

It’s day six and we’ve made it as far as Thunder Bay, Ontario.  Since leaving our driveway, we have covered 2481 km. 

On the onset of our trip, we made a three day stop in Porcupine Plain, Saskatchewan to visit my Grandmother.  We had not initially planned on spending an extended amount of time anywhere until we hit Ottawa and beyond, but shortly before venturing out on this journey she was diagnosed with terminal cancer.  This visit was a bit surreal - being it may well have been the last time with her until it’s my own time to leave this life.

I may be biased, but I think my Grandmother is an amazing lady. At 91 years of age, she is still fully cognizant and living unaided in her immaculate home.  Everything is done at a slower pace, and for some jobs, like vacuuming the stairs,  shear willpower is required.  But she manages better than people a lot younger. I don’t think the words “I can’t” exist in her vocabulary. She rarely complains, though will tell you how she is with all honesty if you care to ask.  

She went ahead and planted her garden this spring, and bought a new cane... still planning for a future regardless of what the doctors say.  When given the diagnosis, she told my uncle, who was stressing out, “I got no time to worry, just time for living.”  This is the second time in her life she has been diagnosed with terminal cancer.  The first time was almost forty years ago. At that time she says she made a deal with God, that if he let her stay she would spend the rest of her days helping others.  She kept her promise. There are remnants of my Grandmother and Grandfather’s labors in every family member’s home - including extended cousins as well as plenty of friends’ homes, too.   

If I had one word to describe her I would have to use “gumption”.  There has rarely been a job too big and definitely not too small for her to tackle.  One the stories I often tell when bragging about my Grandmother, is when, at age 75, she chopped down a twenty foot tree in my yard, bucked it, and hauled it away... all in one afternoon.  With all the time and money my Grandparents spent helping to improve my life, and the lives of others, the only thing her and Grandpa ever asked in return is a note of gratitude and a promise to pass the goodwill forward.   

I have done alot of thinking these past few days about her life and the role she has played in mine.  She has had a regular part in the story of my life, especially in my youth.  Her and my now departed Grandfather spent almost as much time with my sister and I as my parents did.  They played a big part in raising and shaping the foundation of who my sister and I are today.  

Grandma would hate for me to lead anyone to believe she is perfect. She is often pushy, a neat freak, and her and I have on many occasions not seen eye to eye on things, but without a doubt she is the most positively influential woman in my life. Her greatest influence has been in how I deal with living with the Lupus Nephritis.  I know my quality of life has been enhanced by following her “never quit” attitude. 

Thank-you Grandma.... love you!

Across Canada

This week I have been working diligently on not having a panic attack.  My family and I are leaving for a two month adventure across Canada in TWO MORE SLEEPS!  I feel like there is so much to prepare for and loose ends to tie up... I am running out of time!

... I have two months of holidays starting in two days, I feel like I am running out of time.  There is something wrong with this picture.

This trip is one the items from my “before I kick the bucket list.”  Seeing Canada is part of the reason for this trip for my husband and son who have not seen most of the eastern Provinces.  We will be covering over 10,000 kilometers (or 6300 miles for the US team members) in an RV.  From Edmonton, Alberta in the west to Prince Edward Island on the east coast.

Crossing the second largest county in the world will require time and money, both of which we have spent a few years accumulating with a bit of gumption.  We hadn’t actually hit the required amount in savings, and I was getting a little worried about having to put part of the trip on our line of credit, but a tragic massive forest fire started to blaze near our town which meant overtime for my husband.  He has spent the last month working eighty hour weeks, coming home exhausted and trying to prepare for this trip.  It has been hard on him and us as a family, but the trip is now paid. 

The biggest reason for this trip for me, is to have my boys all to myself, with little to no distractions... like forest fires and overtime.  Our daily live get so busy an hectic, that we are often passing each other rather then spending quality time together.  This is probably one of the last times the three of us will be really together for any length of time. In a few years my teenage son will move into adulthood and start his own life to which we will no longer play lead characters.  So I plan on savoring this time together like a last meal, tasting each morsel and loading up on memories to revisit at a later date.  

Next time I blog, it will be via satellite internet from the table of my home on wheels!

Challenge for the Soul - Results

I sent out a challenge a couple of weeks ago that only a few others had the courage to try.  I am hoping the reason it wasn’t responded to enthusiastically was because of my inability to inspire, rather than because people think it’s not important to work on the quality of our characters.  Maybe you all have good habits and enough wisdom and don’t need to work at it.  Myself?  I believe it is vital to make my soul sweat, in order to building good character and the wisdom to survive times of crisis. 

Though I am disappointed by the lack of response by my fellow UBBT members, I have to move past the feeling and take from it all the things I learned.  I completed the task I set out to do, which was to enhance and confirm my own understanding of how doing good in the world can change the lives of those around me, as well as my own life.

My results:

Day 1 - Give one authentic compliment to another person for every hour you are awake:

I was awake for 16 hrs. and gave out 18 honest compliments.  I found this task fun and the smile of gratitude from the recipients lightened my soul.  There are more than one way to give a compliment... vocal, facebook, e-mail, and gestures of gratitude... saying thank-you is a compliment too!

Day 2 - Complete one act of kindness, big or small to another person for every waking hour:

I didn’t manage to do an act of kindness on every hour, but I did do my quota.  Opportunities for acts of kindness presented themselves on this day, without having to search too hard for them.  I gave three rides to my sons friends who were late for school... I would just get one dropped off when on my way home I would find another one jogging past me.  So the first hour I was awake I already had four acts completed.  It was fun trying to find things to do that would positively influence someone else’s day. Whether it be periodically filling and starting the kettle for hot water for all the tea drinkers at work or to adding paper to the copier, I manage to do some good.  While driving, I was extra conscious of others, and let people in ahead of me, I thanked everyone who was kind or not when the helped me.. most often grumpy people need the thank-you more then the happy ones, even if they aren’t grateful for it.  When I went to bed on this day, I felt good about how I spent my time. 

Day 3 - Write a heart felt letter to someone you love and give it to them:

I completed this in a round about way, but he results were wonderful for both my loved one and myself.  How can you not feel good when someone smiles back at you with love in their eyes and heart?

Day 4 - Make a list of everything and everyone in your life you are grateful for:

I am grateful for so much.  Doing this exercise was a fantastic reminder of why I love life and strive to stay healthy and keep living.  

Day 5 - Hug a minimum of 10 different people:

I found this task the hardest of them all, especially to hug without feeling awkward. Hugging has never been something I am comfortable with, except with my husband and son.  Growing up, my immediate family rarely hugged one another, so touching another human being didn’t feel natural until I met my husband. I envy people who can touch and be touched by others as naturally as blinking

Day 6 - Recognize every single negative thought and exchange it with a positive thought or action:

Talk about emotionally exhausting.  I never realized how many negative thoughts appear in my head on a daily basis.  Self talk is something I definitely need to work on.

Day 7 - Is a "ME" day...   Give yourself a compliment by making a list all the qualities your admire about yourself as well as those that make you unique and do something special for yourself... guilt free! 

I did my list and then sat and read an entire book in one day... and not one of those books with a profound message, but full of vampires, lust, and good conquering evil.  Pure pleasure!

The Weight of the World...

If I lift up a twenty pound weight... how heavy is it? “Twenty pounds”, you say. I say it  depends on how long you hold it.   If I hold it for a minute, that’s not a problem....  (with all the push-ups, it should be really really easy).  But the longer I hold it, the heavier it feels.  Before long, twenty pounds may feel like the weight of the world in my arms.

I am finding this also to be true of the burdens in my life.  Initially they feel light and doable.  But over time, if I carry them twenty-four hours a day, they become increasingly encumbersome to carry. Sometimes so heavy that I feel as if I am being crushed beneath their weight.  

We can’t always rid our lives of all burdens, because we have responsibilities with our jobs, families, friends and to ourselves.  But maybe we can set them down when the need arises, to refresh and regroup before having to pick them up again. I believe it is possible to strengthen our souls, by withstand the weight of our burdens.  But like exercising our bodies, the resting after the workout,  is when our strength and endurance is built.  

Or maybe the burdens we are holding onto are not really ours to carry?  Perhaps realistically they are our need to control what is not actually ours to possess.  Stand back and take an honest look in the mirror... does that burden have your name on it, or someone else's? Is it something you can truly fix by hauling it around?  If not, can you lighten your load by surrendering it once and for all?  I am thinking that right now,  the burden I am carrying is no longer mine to hold, and it is time to let it go....

“Surrender self-responsibility means:

Surrender, as in an open-handed letting go of control.  Self-responsibility, as in taking charge of whom and how you are in the world and what you do about it.  Undisturbed calmness of mind is attained by cultivating friendliness toward the happy, compassion for the unhappy, delight in the virtuous, and indifference towards the wicked.”

(The Yoga Sutras of Patanjah)

Mediocrity / Average Part I

Talk of mediocrity and average has been making it’s way around the UBBT blogs.  For some of you who have been tossing around these words, be forewarned I am about to upset you.... I am a mediocre martial artist and worse - I am okay with that.  Close your mouth, it’s quite unattractive when you let it hang open like that.  Now before you get your undies in a knot, let me explain:

There seems to be confusion as to what mediocrity and average really are, and your not alone out there.  I think our society as a whole has it confused.  I know I did for a good portion of my adult life.

It took years for me to figure out why I always felt pulled in so many different directions, exhausted, unsatisfied and bitter.  I thought I needed to be an "A" student at everything.  I failed not from lack of trying, but because it's impossible to give a hundred precent of myself to everything.  The fact is, when I give one hundred percent to one thing, something else always suffers. The effort to be the perfect mother, wife, friend, daughter, sister, granddaughter, martial artist, employee, neighbor, aunty, volunteer, gardener, and all around good person, left me exhausted, depressed, sick and let down by life.  I just couldn’t keep up the standards I had set for myself.

 

Part of the process in reevaluating my life, was the practice of really watching people, and doing so with unbiased eyes.  Then I took stock of my own life. What I saw, and began to understand changed me. I learned a lot including what I feel is the true meaning of mediocrity and average.  With a better understanding of what I consider to be a successful person or life,  I have revamped my own life to better reflect what I feel are healthy values for me. 

What do you consider to be mediocrity... What constitutes success?  What is average?

Well my version is probably different then yours because we are different people.  To me nothing is more important then my family.  Not money, fame, glory.. nothing.  Next is my  health, because if my health goes then so does the quality of my life, and my families life.  After comes my friends and pets.  Like my family, they help to refill my soul when the struggles of life become overwhelming. If my soul is never topped up, how am I to keep giving to those I care about?  My job, though menial, is important because without it my self esteem suffers. I need to feel like a contributing member of my families finances, and or risk feeling like a parasite living off of others. And then comes Kung Fu, yoga and working out.  Kung Fu is near the bottom, but it’s still there. 

I can say without apology  "I am a mediocre practitioner of Kung Fu”, because I am confident with my choice to spend most of my time working at being a fantastic parent and wife.  That does not mean I don’t give a hundred percent to my practice. I always do, when I am doing it. I just don’t spend hours a day practicing Kung Fu. If I did I would be a fantastic martial artist and mediocre at everything else. 

So mediocrity to me is those individuals who don’t make the most of their moments, but also those who choose their moments unwisely.  It is individuals who spend their time striving for success measured not by their own values, but according to what society, their parents, or spouse etc... considers to be successful.  Does average constitute mediocrity?  I am average looking, an average employee, with average talents.  Basically to the world I am all around average person, unless you ask my son and husband.  To them I am special and to myself I am special... and thats what truly counts to me. 

 

I know there are lazy depressed people out there, but look closely at who and what you call average... it just may be what you consider spending your time doing, is just different then how they choose to spend their time.  Everyones values are different, not less important then our own.  So be careful who and what you think is average. Maybe you need to look deeper into their life, before applying the label of average and mediocre. The same goes for your own true passions and dreams.  Are you afraid of not being special to the world, or of others labeling you as insignificant so your not being true to your values?  If you only had a short time to live, would you do it at the gym pumping iron, or with your family laughing and loving?  Does one have less value then the other?  Only you can decide that and then live it.  What really matters to you?

Living Hero #2

I have been searching for another living hero to write about, and I keep coming back with the same thought.  So I’m going with it....

My living hero number #2 are all the quality Firefighters, Emergency Medical Technicians (EMT’s) and Paramedics out there.  I’ll admit, I am a little biased because my husband and brother-in-law are Firefighter/Paramedics (they are a part of an integrated service).  But I also have the inside scoop on how difficult their jobs are, so I have a true appreciation.  I often joke with my better half that his “sleep overs” at the fire hall don’t count as a real job, because he dines on home cooked meals, plays pool, watches movies and workouts with the rest of boy’s club.  In all seriousness though, I know that when he’s called into service, his occupation is far more dangerous and stressful then any day I will ever have on the job.  

On those days he comes home elated and exhausted, with bruises and burns from long hours of trying to contain someone’s home or business from igniting the neighboring buildings, and I feel reverential respect.  When I listen to him and his buddies talking over the events, and hear about how  “so and so” went in, when everyone was coming out, I feel their pride in each other and for what they do.  (Though as a wife it makes me scared silly for their safety.) Then every so often the exhilaration of physically fighting “the beast” is laced with sadness. There are difficult calls; like having to watched and listen to a teen burn to death in a car, because they could not get through the heat and flames to save her.  These types of calls do not end with the scene clean up for the firefighters.  Memories attained in incidents such as these, revisit their dreams for a very long time afterwards.

Most of the emotionally difficult moments for my husband and his mates have been in their roles as a Paramedics and EMT’s. The gore and sadness of trying to save lives sometimes gets to be too much for the soul to contain and the emotions run over. On days when they can’t save a two year old child who choked on a pretzel, or when they have to consoled a mother of a teen who hung themselves in the garage, it is difficult for them to find their equilibrium again. There are also calls where a bullet proof vest becomes part of their uniform, and they are helping someone who has little regard for human life. That brings a whole different set of emotions to deal with.

The senseless deaths of children and teens affect my husband the hardest, with the death and destruction left in the wake of drunk drivers coming in a close second.  Not long ago he held the hand of a child embedded in a mashed vehicle, injured but alive and waiting for the “Jaws of Life” to free her from the wreckage, while the body of her mother lay inches away.  The drunk who hit them survived with nothing but a few bruises to show for it.   Unfortunately this is not a unique story, but that train of thought is for another post.

The dark shifts are frequent, but there are also days when he gets to help bring a baby into the world, or arrive in time to administer life-saving drugs to a heart attack victim. And on the preventative side, they have opportunities to teach children that it’s a fireman, not Darth Vader breathing down their door, and not to hide.  It is these kinds of connections to people and the happy memory making moments that help keep the passion these special individuals have for their job.

There are frequent hugs, cards and genuine gifts of gratitude continuously arriving at the firehall, expressing how important the  department members and their efforts are to the lives of the people in our community. But I know, for the Firefighter, EMT’s, and Paramedics who grace my life,  it’s the hope that they are able to impacted someone's existence in some meaningful way during dark times, that keep them doing what they do. Whether it be pulling family pets from a burning house, or providing medical help and hand holding reassurance to the ill, injured, dying. These men and women give a hundred percent of themselves to make a difference when we need it the most.

So my better half;  when I tease you about your lax job, please know I actually consider you and your brothers in uniform heros, and I am so very, very proud of you.

Government Forced Environmental Health Hazard 

By 2012, incandescent light bulbs will no longer be sold in Canada, making energy saving fluorescent light bulbs the only option.  My home and yours is being forced to go entirely to those slow starting, flickering UVB and UVA bulbs because of the positive impact they are suppose to have on the environment. But  has anyone stopped to find out how these bulbs impact the health of the people using them?

There are many individuals like myself, whose health is adversely affected by fluorescent and halogen light bulbs.  People who are sun sensitive are also sensitive to the toxic UVB and UVA in these energy savers.  I wear sunscreen to protect myself when I go to work, the doctors office and hospital, shopping, the gym, or take the dog for a walk.  Now I am going to have to wear it in my own home or stay in the dark.  I sometimes feel like a vampire from the Twilight series, but at least they got eternal life, and they didn’t have to hide from the sun in their own home.

Beside the sun-sensitive individuals, there are also folks with epilepsy, who are prone to seizures from  the refresh rate of the fluorescent type bulbs.  For these people, those flickering illuminations above, are like night club lights flashing in intervals to an unheard beat.  Are they to also remain in the dark or wear dark glasses every waking hour of the day? 

To completely eradicate the use of incandescent light bulbs is an irresponsible method of  force compliance.  At what point is the environment more important than the health of  people?  

I guess when my stock pile of incandescent bulbs run out, I’ll light a candle.  

Commentary leads to Change

I contemplated not posting this week.  I have no excuse other than I just don’t feel like talking to the wall, which is what blogging has been feeling like.  Then I pushed play on a video Tom Callos sent via Facebook, and I was re-inspired by his commentary.  Minutes later I read Master Brinker’s commentary and learned something valuable there too. 

I have been growing discouraged  for the past few weeks.  It started a while ago when I made a comment on someone’s post. Their words caused me to pause and think about something deeper, and in my view, more meaningful then how many pushups had been done this week.  I love it when I get an “ah ha” moment because I can feel my character growing, from the strain of a brain and soul workout, provided by a deep and meaningful idea or thought.  The individual responded to my comment, by saying they had not written with the intent of starting a commentary....   My unspoken response...  Huh?! 

Commentary:

noun

the expression of opinions or explanations about an event or situation:

an editorial commentary / narrative overlaid with commentary.

• opinion, either written or spoken.
• a descriptive spoken account of an event or  performance as it happens.
• a set of explanatory or critical notes on a text.
• narration, description, account, report, review, explanation, interpretation, appraisal, criticism, comments...

Posting is a form of commentary!  

Why do we not just write in a diary and keeping it locked beneath our pillows, instead of posting for the world to read, if commentary is not desired?   I could be out to lunch... it wouldn’t be the first time, but I feel part of the UBBT agenda is to reach out to the world with commentary!  How can change happen if it’s not talked about, expressed and thought about first?   Conveying and exchanging opinions,  and explanations about significant ideas and thoughts, is required to bring meaning to our lives and our UBBT goal.  I was under the impression, change and therefore commentary, is a requirement in this UBBT journey. So for me to do not provide commentary, and my weekly post, would mean I am not fulfilling the promise I made to Master Brinker, my team mates and myself, of helping to create change in our world.  

So, I am back to feeling energized about squeezing my brain, and finding the emotional courage to step out of my comfort zone.  I am also once again excited to gaining ideas and insights from the brain squeezing, and emotional courage you put into your commentaries... I mean posts.  

I am Unburdened 

Being unburdened means there is an understanding that we are not the sum of our past or the sum of our future.  They are but reflections of what we were, and whom we may become. We learn from the past and prepare for the future - in this moment. Nothing we do now can alter history, and the goals we plan for only conceivably set the stage for the future, so there is no need to dwell on them. We are the sum of who we are now - at “this” moment. The present is what is real, what is true, and what is unaltered.     Of the three realms - past, present, and future; this moment is the only time you exist.  To remain unburdened, do the best that you can with this moment, because in reality, that’s all you have.  Today is an entire lifetime - make it sacred. 

Living Hero #1

Greg Mortenson

I was first introduced to Greg Mortenson in the book “Three Cups of Tea”.  This 82 week New York Times bestseller is a true account about “one mans mission to promote peace... one school at a time”.  

Greg Mortenson is remarkable human being.  He is a self proclaimed “ordinary person” who made a rash promise to a group of children in a remote region in Pakistan and kept it.  In 1993 while descending K2, Mortenson lost his way and was injured.  While recovering in an obscure rural village, he made a promise to a group of children trying to learn by writing in the sand, that he would someday come back and build them a school.

Since that day, Mortenson has established over 78 schools in rural and often volatile regions of Pakistan and Afghanistan, including institutions for the education of girls. His efforts have brought about the possibility of an education to over 28,000 children, making it more difficult for the extremists to recruit them. Mortenson has been homeless, kidnapped, received repeated death threats and is often separated from his family for months at a time, because of his work. He is the co-founder of the nonprofit Central Asia Institute and Pennies for Peace.   

Mortenson believes that “education saves lives, empowers women and communities, and helps connect often exploited indigenous societies isolated by illiteracy, to the outside world.”  His work and the book “Three Cups of Tea”, also help to educate and therefore alleviate ignorance of the western world about the east.  Fear and ignorance existed before 911, but afterwards it  grew to ugly proportions. In an interview Mortenson says “ Since 911, we’ve been building more walls than bridges, and that is very dangerous, as we live in a global community, where our very survival is dependent on cooperation , compassion and to overcome our fears of reaching out to those that are different than us.”

Greg Mortenson and his book “Three Cups of Tea”, have helped to give me hope in mankind, and in a future of global peace. Like him, I too believe that anyone can make a difference and that the greatest poverty in the world is in compassion and ignorance. If compassion instead of ignorance and gluttony lived in every heart, there would be no war, poverty, loneliness, and fear.  Mr. Mortenson life’s work of promoting peace through education and literacy, exemplifies what it means to be a hero.  If you want to be inspired and enjoy a good read... seek out “Three Cups of Tea” by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin.

I am Open Minded

Is your mind blocked up and constipated because you're feeding yourself an over abundance of presumption, speculation, expectation, prejudices, false impressions and unfounded conclusions?

If so, a good helping of willingness, awareness, optimism, empathy, tolerance, imagination, love and humor can open you up again!

What constitutes being open minded? 

To be open minded necessitates an awareness of the world and requires a person to be receptive to life experiences, as well as to the feelings, thoughts, and needs of others.

It means being a student of life, which has nothing to do with sophistication or qualifications, but everything to do with being aware of, and able to, seize the moment. 

It means realizing and accepting that all people, including yourself, are works in progress.  Mistakes will be made in the process of living, and if we can learn from our own mistakes, as well as from the mistakes of others, our possibilities are endless. 

It means knowing the difference between judging the person and judging their actions.  To survive in this world as a collective, we must judge others only in so far as how their actions affect our lives, the lives of others, and respond accordingly. 

It means understanding and accepting there are differences in opinions.  An opinion can be a view point, a belief or a conviction, depending on emotional biases and evidence of proof or fact.  All opinions can or will vary from someone else.  Know... unless you are sharing the same set of eyes, the view is always going to be dissimilar, and that’s okay.  

It means having an awareness of when being in control has become restricting and limiting.  Knowing when the line has been crossed - resulting in leading becoming dominating, which closes the mind to the thoughts, feelings and well being of others.

It means sensing when self-restraint is healthy, or when it feels more like being shackled.  Keeping yourself ‘in check’ can be   beneficial, but when it becomes a crushing tyranny that enslaves your identity and self expression, revisit the idea of your own feelings, thoughts and needs.  If you lock the door on anything getting out, it also locks the door on anything getting in. 

It means having a sense of humor.  The ability to perceive, enjoy, and express a ‘witty’ state of mind or mood because of something or someone amusing, comical, incongruous, or absurd means the mind is receptive to the world.    

It means being aware that your presumption, expectations, speculations, impressions, prejudices and conclusions can constipate the process of being open minded.  Stay free of these obstructions by always being receptive to possibility.

Empathy Required...

Pity Not Allowed

Since I first started this process in November, I have been contemplating the empathy training and wondering how I am going to proceed with it.  How much should I expose to give an honest effort to this UBBT requirement?  It would be silly of me to do the day in a wheel chair or pretend to be blind or mute when I have experienced them first hand. The disease I have has many different faces, and since I have been living with it for over twenty-five years, I have experienced most of them - including being blind, mute and paralyzed.  I try to avoid revisiting the times in my life when I faced these challenges, and try to keep my attention pointing to the present, so this UBBT requirement is a difficult task.  Please, this is not meant to be a pity party with me as the guest of honor.  I just want find a way to bring understanding to those of you who are interested in what it feels like to lose control of your world, and still keep your spirit and soul intact.

..... The first time it happened I was fifteen years old and I had spent a glorious day at the pool with my friends.  The sun was shining, the wind was blowing hot and dry, and I had the attention of a really cute boy. The reason for his attention probably came in the form of a tiny two piece bikini that my friend had loaned me for the day.  I can remember squeezing fresh lemon into our hair to help bleach it, and then lathering ourselves in baby oil before laying back to soak up the sun.  Today’s world may consider tanning a sign of vanity and poor judgement for good health, but back in the ‘old’ days having a suntan was reflection of beauty and well-being. 

As the afternoon progressed so did a feeling of discomfort within my body.  My head felt swollen, my joints achy and within a hour my friends were telling me my face looked sun burnt.  So with a giggle I stiffly leaned over and stole the hat from the towel of the boy I was flirting with.  I put the ball cap on my head, and rolled over to tan the back half of my body. The ache intensified and I felt as if I was starting to boiling inside. At one point my girlfriend helped me slide into the pool to cool off, but my joints still hurt like I had worked out without a break for a week straight, and then was hit with a truck.   Eventually my friends took pity on me and after handing me a couple of pain relievers we changed into our street clothes, and headed to McDonald’s for food.  I felt kind of better now that we were out of the sun, and after throwing up my McDonald’s hamburgler meal, so I went a party, hopeful to see the boy again and to feel better.  

It wasn’t long until, boy or no boy, I needed to find dark, quiet spot and lie down.  I picked a room with a bed and closed my eyes.  When I woke up I could hear the voices of my friends.  They were far away, down a long dark tunnel and I had trouble reaching out to them. I heard them talking about trying to call my parents without success.  So, being the lightweight with the nickname of ‘Bones’,  the group of kids picked me up and delivered me home to bed.  Thank goodness they left the basement light on, otherwise my mom may never have come downstairs to check on me.  By the time she got home, I was near completely paralyzed.  

When we reached the hospital I was rigid.  Every joint had swelled and locked.  My muscles screamed in protest and my fever had peaked to 105 degrees. I moved in and out of conscience wishing someone would permanently end my suffering.

Within a week I was better.  The doctors had no explanation.

When it happened again at the age of eighteen I headed straight to the hospital.  I was terrified from the onset, knowing I was going to crash and there was nothing I could do could do stop the momentum.  It took longer to drop my temperature, I had a seizure, and lost consciousness.  As I emerged in and out of lucidity, I can remember hearing and feeling fans blowing past bowls of ice onto my bare skin, and being colder than I had ever been in my life.  Freezing, unable to move, more scared  then ever before and unable to talk, I silently screamed and pleaded with God for mercy.  

Time passed intermittently as I moved in and out of my deep sleep. I remember masked faces in yellow gowns leaning over and talking to me in voices I could not always understand.  Sometimes, I could feel someone holding my hand and it gave me comfort that I was not alone.  Weeks of testing followed until a friend of my mom, who was a nurse, suggested they test me for Systematic Lupus Erythematosus, which turned out to be the correct diagnosis.(Lupus in simplistic terms means, my immune system is over active, and works at destroying my body instead of helping it.)  Gradually the drugs to push back my immune system took effect,  and my body began to heal. 

 

It took six months before life was any where close to normal again. I had not eaten anything in weeks, and being rather skinny to begin with, I was now sack bones.  My muscles and joints had swelled enormously, and with all the tests that had being done, I was left with green and yellow bruises all over my body. I spent time in a wheel chair, and had to slowly worked up my strength to walking again before I was released  to go home.   Unable to cope with returning to University and my regular life, I move back to my parents.   I was at the mercy of the goodwill of others, as I was frequently too exhausted to do much myself.   

With all that had happened and the bleak future I was given by my doctors, I thought my life was over. Before this, I was a ‘wonderer’ who use to run and walk my town for hours, and I missed it terribly.  I missed being able to sketch with pain free hands. I missed being in charge of my body, as it now seemed as though it was in charge of me. I missed my independence.  Being unable to control my physical self was devastating. The lack of power over my body, for even the smallest of tasks was terrifying, and almost too much for my mind to bear.  The inability to use a washroom, eat, and move from point ‘a’ to point ‘b’ without effort or thought, planning a future and speaking aloud my fears, are all things that healthy people take for granted. 

And sometimes, healthy people fail to remember an individual alot like them, resides in a disabled body.  As a person who has at times, needed the acceptance and help of my friends and family, I have experience quite a spectrum of responses to my sometimes needy position.  Understanding and empathy for those with disabilities is a necessity in oder to find tolerance for their sometimes special needs.  Most often a lack of empathy shows up as a lack of patience for those who are in need or handicapped. People are often uncomfortable and either take over or look away, forgetting that a real person with a need of respect, lives in that body.  "Needy" does not always constitute ‘I need help’, often it means I need to be left to do it on my own, or risk loosing my self respect.  And yes, other times it means; I need understanding that the effort is too great and I am unable to participate, or need a helping hand in order to join in.  If you assume you may get it wrong. If you ask they will let you know.   Please be patience with those whose bodies are chained down.  Remember the spirits and souls attached to these bodies still have the desire to fly freely, and live their life to it’s fullest. 

I am fortunate that my stay in a wheel chair was only long enough to gain an appreciation for what it means to be without the freedom to move. Today life is frequently glorious, even with the small struggles that come with having a chronic illness. I fully enjoy the good days, and use the other ones for quiet tasks.  I am able to exercise and participate in life to a greater degree than was ever expected. My secret: the people in my life don’t limit me, and I don’t think in limits - I just “do” the best “I” can.  The influence of Kung Fu in my life has help with this enormously.  I still miss enjoying the heat of the sun without fear of relapsing, waking up without feeling already exhausted, jumping out of bed - instead of easing myself out of it, and eating tastier food.  Mostly I miss the innocence of thinking I am invincible, and that my tomorrows will always be there.  But most often I am happy and grateful for what I can do, the time I have, and for what life has given me.

Dear Diary....

Sunday was spent preparing for a visit to the hospital on Monday.  I always find it amazing how much I crave food when I am told I can’t have it.  

Monday, with my IV in and while I was laying in the cold procedure room waiting for that deep sleep, my doctor arrives with a big smile on his face, leans over me and says “hows it going”.  My laughter practice kicked in and I got the giggles.  “Really!  You can’t be serious!” I say to him with my eyebrows touching my hairline.  Then he got the giggles and the nurses got the giggles.  As I counted backwards, I fell asleep a stress free happy girl.  

I went home with the phone number of one of my nurses who wants private yoga lessons. She said my healthy attitude towards the Lupus was tangible and felt I had something I could teach her.  She would come by my bed and rub my arm, saying she was hoping some of my calm and happy spirit would rub onto her.  Little did she know I am terrified what it means not to be a model patient.  The nurses and doctors hold the power of my health while I am in their care.  Still, what a compliment she gave me and what great bed side manner she had.  It made my ordeal much much easier having someone like her looking out for me.

Tuesday and Wednesday I did a gentle seven knife hands and tiger punches etc.. so I could at least add something to my UBBT check sheets.  I feel hung over from the Demerol and on top of the obvious sore body parts, my hamstring muscle is still killing me from pulling it in Kung Fu last Friday.  The Vicodin is a wonder drug... too good to keep around in case I grow to like it too much.....

I received some bad news about a family member I am not sure what to do with, if anything.  I am not surprised but that seed of hope I carry has been crushed once again.  It make it hard to keep up the hope... I have little expectations and am tired of the drama of it all. 

I worked on my belated post from last week, and other projects for my UBBT requirements including my empathy training.  Too emotional to post the results of my writing... being down and out has made me a bit on the weepy side.

Went to work for a partial day on Thursday and Friday.  My boss was incredible and we spent most of the time I was there relaying stories and laughing, which hurt at the same time as feeling good.  I finally got to talk to him and my co-workers about the UBBT.  We had an interesting discussion about my requirements -  including purchasing only things I need vs want, and about collecting for the emergency shelters in our area.  When I came in on Friday there was a gift for me that I couldn’t purchase for myself, and  a bag full of mitts, hats and socks left anonymously on my desk for me to take to the shelter.  My heart swells in appreciation.

Spent last part of the week worried about my boys who took a trip to Banff to go snow boarding.  The snow storm made the roads treacherous and I worried about avalanches engulfing them.

I missed Kung Fu class (I can join in via the internet) because my friends stopped by to check on me and cheer me up just as I was picking up the phone to call Master Brinker to hook me up.  I was uncomfortably torn between the need to fulfill the commitment to Kung Fu and the need to appreciate the good will of my friends.

My twenty-one year old cat has started to pee in odd places in the house.  I hate to have to put him down.  Is it terrible to wish he would just pass in his sleep so I don’t have to face that decision?

Sunday I read all the newly posted UBBT blogs and was inspired.  Then I indulged on the couch with a movie -  “Nights in Rodanthe” and cried like a baby.

My boys made it home happy and healthy so I can sleep peacefully tonight.

I am a Beacon:

In the dictionary it says a beacon, as a verb, is “to shine”.  As a noun, it is “a fire or light set up in a high or prominent position as a warning signal, guide or celebration”.  

When Master Brinker first convinced me to attend his Kung Fu classes, I was terrified of getting physically hurt and making an idiot of myself.  Somewhere around blue belt this changed....  From then on, the scariest part of Kung Fu has remained the possibility of not upholding one of the most important requirements of becoming a black belt - being a beacon of integrity.

The prominent position of black belt is about being the essence of good character.  It is, with out a doubt, a difficult station to attain and uphold, which is why getting a black belt is such a monumental achievement.  A guiding light must be something or someone that is completely trustworthy, so as to safely and effectively lead those who are following.     A black belt encircling your waists conveys that you have earned the respect of your peers, and of your fellow students.  It says you are sincere in your efforts to be fair minded, reliable, honest, compassionate, highly principled and diligent in striving for your own personal excellence.

When I became aware of what it meant to be a black belt, I can remember pulling back on my training and resisting growth. I was terrified of being unable to achieve the standards of those who were my beacons.  Eventually I realized I either had to quit or move ahead, so choosing the latter - put my head down and plowed through.  But I kept waiting for someone to pull me aside to say “I know your not lighthouse material”!  When I finally earned my black belt and I found myself in the prominent position of officially being a beacon to those around me, I was shaking in my uniform.

In the years away from Silent River, I visited many other schools, trying to find somewhere to call home.  Mostly what I found were people who called them selves black belts because their egos alone could break the neck of they guy standing next to them.  Their seemingly lack of strong moral principles disappointed me, and I knew I could not trust them to be my guide, and worse, I did not want my reputation sullied by them.   So I am working through the difficulty of distance and have rejoined Silent River Kung Fu, whom I am proud to be associated with.  I am also proud to be coming home at a time when, through the UBBT, Silent River and it’s members are taking what it means to be martial artists and black belts to a new level, by enhance the world with their beacons of integrity.  

The Cycle of Addiction

Currently I am reading “In the Realm of Hungry Ghost” by Gabor Mate, M.D. This up close and personal viewpoint on addiction is refreshing yet uncomfortably penetrating.  Vincent Felitti, M.D., sums the book best when he states: “Dr Mate gives us the disturbing truths about the nature of addiction and its roots in people’s early years - truths that are usually concealed by time and protected by shame, secrecy and social taboo.”

This is one of many such books I have read on the subject of addiction and mental illness because the subject is one that frequents my life.  This past summer I attended the difficult funeral of a friend who died from an overdose of cocaine, leaving behind children and a wife. A month ago my husband and I were called to look for the drug addicted brother of a close friend, who they thought had frozen to death inside his van. He wasn’t there thank goodness.  The stress of the family waiting inside, too afraid to see the frozen body of their loved one was a sad thing to be apart of.  But, the emotional ups and downs of having a family member who is an addict is nothing new in my life. 

My Grandfather was an addict and a “street person”.  He’s gone now, and sadly, the most obvious way to describe him is with the label of “Street Person or drunk”, as it is the part of his legacy that stands out the most. He was also a soldier, which is part of how I believe he ended up a street person. According to Grandma, he never recovered from the horrors he witnessed in Europe during WWII defending our freedom and came home a stranger who was violent and cruel. He was rarely spoken of by my family and never by my father; his son, so I only have the tid-bits I have accumulated over the years. He was a chronic alcoholic and I surmise he drank to numb his pain, and then his pain became his families’ burden instead.  Then when oil was discovered on his land he went from poor to having money to support his alcoholic addiction. From the occasional crumb dropped here and there, I have ascertained he was a frightening man to have as a father and husband, and wasn’t a contributing member of society in any healthy sense of the word.  So the second part of his legacy he left behind is addiction, abuse, and shame that has be carried on down to the next generations. 

Grandfather lived in the bars, alleys and rooming houses of a city in Saskatchewan.  I actually thought he was dead because he was never spoken of, until during one of his rare sober moments he approached me in a store.  My curiosity was peaked.   Although we didn’t live in the same city, I spent my holidays and parts of my summers there at my other Grandparents while my parents worked.  I would see him here and there while I was roaming the town with my friends and cousins from the “other side of the family”.  A couple of times I stole away from the gang and watched him from a distance.  He was interesting to watch, but I found other people’s reaction to him more remarkable.  There was fear, avoidance, disgust, anger, annoyance, and shame but never compassion.  I tried to ask family questions about him but just like Dr. Mate’s description of “In the Realm of Hungry Ghost” he was a truth my family concealed and protected with time and shame, he was a secret and a social taboo. 

The story of my Grandfather has preoccupied me over the years. In all corners of one side of my heritage are the remnants of his life.  I see internal and external wars with addiction and abuse in the homes of my loved ones, which causes a battle to rise up in me, though mine, is not with addiction.  Like my family and the strangers who I used to watch react to my Grandfather as he drunkenly manoeuvre himself in and out of his dark places, my relatives’ wars with compulsive behaviour initiates shame, disgust, annoyance, anger and avoidance to emerge within me. I struggle to push back those feelings and let compassion take hold, but I am not always successful.  I pray for them to be delivered from their demons. I pray for society to support those who are just getting lost and for those who are already lost. I dream of having the story book family.

 The influences of addiction have sat with me during my life journey, so I understand it.  I also understand that sometimes to live as an addict is a choice and with help, people can get clean.  My sister spent most of her teens and twenties heavily involved in the drug world but many years ago made the choice to live clean.  We all have choices; don’t we?  We choose to eat and work too much, drink alcohol, smoke cigarettes, pop pills, etc…, don’t we?   My grandfather was a wealthy man, yet he chose to exist out of rooming houses and alleyways, and often left his children to go hungry.  I wonder if he was actually mentally ill, not just haunted by his past.  Is addiction a mental illness, and is that why some of the inflicted souls cannot or do not want to crawl out of the gutter?  I wonder, can accumulative years of mental and physical abuse cause mental illnesses? Did the War initiate my Grandfather’s illness, causing a domino effect that triggered my Dad’s and his siblings and then, in turn, my sister’s disease?  I often speculate that if there had been an intervention with my Grandfather, would life for my family be different today?

Unfortunately we all don’t enjoy privileged existences in our county, and issues like physical and emotional poverty and abuse exist in our very own society.  So how does one go about changing society’s view of addiction and mental illness so that it isn’t a symbol of shame? Shouldn’t there be more helping hands for the mistreated, mentally ill, and the children that are lost in homes of abuse.  I don’t just mean government programs, but the general public too. How do these atrocities still happen where we live and in this era?  Why is society still pretending people like my Grandfather don’t exist?  

If there was more accountability from parents, teachers, and even the behavior of children, we would have fewer issues with drug abuse and social misfits. I feel if we exerted as much energy on raising our children as we did on earning the $$$ to buy ‘things’, we would have a healthier population. We also need to spend less time with our eyes to the ground avoiding the unattractive and more time looking up, speaking up and then stepping up to do the right thing. And, I believe if all people developed a sense of empathy and, in turn, compassion towards street people, addicts, and the mentally ill, society as a whole would benefit. 

As a casualty of the war of abuse and addiction, how do I find that place within me where I don’t have to work to slough off emotions of pain, anger, and shame?  Would the first step to helping those with addiction be finding my own compassion for their plight?  What if they don’t want our help?  How do we help the affected children and put a stop to the cycle of addiction and abuse if we don’t speak of it and reach out to prevent it?  Personally I am making my mark as a defender of children. They are the future and by helping them I believe we can create the biggest difference to most amount of people.  Formally I teach radKIDS child safety education and work with teens; informally I show tolerance, respect and affection to children - especially to teens. I reach out often by listening, watching, and sharing in the occasional heart wrenching post for this UBBT experience.  Awareness, openness and communication leads to opportunities for connecting, influencing and creating change.  Most of all, I strive to be a good example and to be the change I wish to see in the world! 

“A child who is loved and nurtured grows up to become a healthy and happy adult who continues that cycle.”

 

Alberta’s Child Abuse Hotline             1-800-387-5437

Kids Help Line             1-888-668-6868

Little Warriors            www.littlewarriors.ca

radKIDS                        www.radkids.org/

Bosco Homes                        www.boscohomes.ca

Youth Emergency Shelter Society                        www.yes.org

Hope Mission                     www.hopemission.com

Alberta Council of Women’s Shelters            (780) 456-7000            www.acws.ca

National Office of Victims            1-866-525-0554

Dusting

As a safety and fitness educator for children, and because my husband and many of our friends work in emergency services, I hear of and see many stories of broken children and teens.  Many of the stories of these children and their families are heart-wrenching, and induce feelings of helplessness and frustration because of the senselessness of it. This weekend, another sad story came to light when an emergency call from a frantic mother was answered by the 911 operator.  The distraught mother had found her child non-responsive, with a purple face staring out beneath a plastic bag with a can of Dust Off lying next to the body.  I say body, because the once-beautiful healthy young teen was dead because of something called Sudden Sniffing Death Syndrome.

Sudden Sniffing Death Syndrome is when huffing, or the intentional breathing of gas or vapors with the purpose of getting high, causes the user to to die in the 1st, 10th or 20th time using the inhalant. 

This is not the first time this form of substance abuse has reared its ugly head in our affluent community, and from the research I have done, it is a growing problem amongst teens age 11 to 17 who come from middle class families.  The products, which range from dusting agents to spray deodorants and cooking sprays, are easily available and the practice is easily hidden from adults.  Dust Off is only one of a thousand different products these kids use.  The Dust Off is unique only because most kids do not relate the inhaling of it, or its counterparts, to huffing because it has no chemical scent, and some mistakenly believe the can contains nothing but compressed air. In actuality, it also contains a propellant called Difluorethane, which is a refrigerant, or gas, that gives the “buzz” and causes Sudden Sniffing Death Syndrome.

The predominate cause of death with all inhalant use is that the vapor reduces the amount of oxygen available to the lungs, which causes the user to suffocate to death. Huffing can also create sudden heart irregularities, which in turn leads to the heart to stop pumping, which causes death.   If the high chance of death is not enough of a deterrent, other side effects can include permanent kidney, liver, brain, lungs, heart damage and blood and nerve disorders, as well as hallucinations followed by episodes of violent compulsions.  Some of the signs of huffing can include finding the product missing from your supply or in your child’s possession, frost bite, chemical burns or sores around the mouth and nose, chemical smell on their body, breath and cloths, ill tempered, as well as a dazed or drunk appearance. 

I am using the UBBT as a forum to bring light to this problem because this recent death has touched me deeply, and if all of you spoke to your children, their friends, and all the young people in your life about ‘Huffing or Dusting”,  maybe that awareness will prevent the senseless death of another young soul.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LpFqVyx62o

Required Humor 

One of my personal UBBT requirements is to recognize and record one funny event everyday.  This has been an interesting and ‘fun’ quest.  I added this requirement  to my curriculum because my view of life has gotten far too serious and I want to learn how to lighten up again.  The idea came from one of my all time favorite books called “The Healing Power of Humor” by Allen Klein.  Mr. Klein believes everyone needs a daily dose of what he calls ‘vitamin H!’, so I decided to give myself just that. I am happy to report it is working.  Laughter is frequenting my life more often and it feels really, really good!  

I thought I would share a few of the funnier things I have come across over the last few months... and maybe tickle your funny bone so you too can take a vacation to a place of warmth and good cheer.

• Sitting in a restaurant I over heard a conversation:  a seven year old boy who was reading from the menu ask his parents if he ordered the rib-eye steak, can he just eat the rib or does he have to eat the “eye” too?

• While waiting for my son at a clothing store I watched a three year old boy pull the fish-net stockings off a mannequin wearing a mini skirt.  His mother, upon catching him and noticing me watching said  “ The doctor told me he would be hitting all his milestones early.. I never guessed that would include undressing women”.

• My son, who has spent years attending a school for gifted children, telling us about a friend who just texted from some place outside Calgary with the funny name of  “Air Dry”.

• A sign in an ice arena read: “Pubic skating 2 - 4 p.m.

• After teaching a session on fire safety, one of my six year old students was listening to me tell her dad, who is a firefighter, that my husband also preferred being a fireman over being a paramedic.   The dad replied, “Ya... once you get a taste of fire that’s where you want to stay and eat.”  The little girl looked horrified and said “Daddy!  You eat fire?”

• I laughed until I wet myself watching my son’s crazy cat, pulling a stolen loaf between it’s legs down the stairs.  She tried to run but due to the size of the loaf, mostly rode it like a toboggan.  Nearing the bottom step the loaf had became flat enough that the cat’s paws could touched the ground, so at a full gallop she took off  looking like she was riding a horse.

• In a family-owned shop in Jasper, I approached the gentleman at the counter, pointed to a banner on the wall and asked  if they had another one.  He looked at the wall hanging that recited a quote about harmony and yelled to his wife; “Honey, do we have Harmony hung up in the back?”  She looked at him blankly for a moment then started to laugh.  A moment later he started to laugh too.  When the two of them got themselves together, they explained to me while wiping the tears of laughter from their eyes, that they had a daughter named Harmony.

• My husband was playing in an outdoor hockey tournament  the weekend it was -35 degree Celsius.  He asked in all seriousness if I was going to come and watch him play... I thought that was really, really funny.

• Another article read: Joe Francis can now roam a little further.  An U.S. district judge has ended the Girls Gone Wild  creator’s house arrest, but restricted his travel to seven countries in Southern  California.

• In yet another newspaper:   Grow-up Dismantled  Morinville RCMP say they have taken down a grow operation of  572 marijuana plants in Sturgeon County.....

I am finding opportunities to lighten up everywhere and I can attest that it’s true; “Vitamin H” does make a body feel healthier.  Mr Klein also states it is a “scientific fact that humour and play shift our internal chemistry and  profoundly impact our body’s systems, including the nervous, circulatory, endocrine and immune systems.”   I have also found it diffuses tension, anger, pain, sorrow and a monotonous day.

I am not a particularly funny person myself.  I always considered ‘being funny’ an art, and comedians as gifted artists who work really hard at their craft.  Humour can be perilous; what is funny to one person, can be considered vulgar to another.  But I am finding the courage to express my witty side, and in the process I have discovered, its benefits far out weigh its risks.  I am learning to relax enough to share some funnies when teaching my classes, as well as with my family and friends.  An ‘A ha’ moment for me was in learning that even a poor joke can be funny if you can laugh at yourself!

P.S.  I'm a late bloomer... I have just discovered that You Tube has what seems to be a never ending supply of funny video... I'm so not cool!

Do I really wish?...

I want to be healthy so I can do all the things my mind dreams of. I want to be able to come and go as I please.  I want to have more children.  I want to have had a childhood, full of happy memories with parents that make you feel safe, valued and loved. I want never to have been abused or bullied, lonely, rejected, misunderstood, devalued in any way. I want to be talented, smart, beautiful, rich, famous...

Wait.... Really?

If I any of those things were true, would I still be me? If I changed how my story read, would I love the same people and would they love me? Would I modify any part of my past or present if it meant never meeting my husband, son, sister, friends and pets? Would I be compassionate or understanding if I never experienced elements of pain? Would I have dreams and goals if I already understood it all, owned it all, and was it all? If I had it entirely figured out and had nothing left to learn in life... what would be the purpose of living?

The people I have met, as well as the successes and failures in my life, have helped to create who I am, and all the difficult experiences have had learning value. In fact the knowledge gained from the hardships in my life have probably been the most poignant and important lessons, so to have them never to have happened would significantly change who I am.

I need to appreciate ‘all' that has been and currently is in my life. The past has brought me to the present, which helps me to choose my future. The past and present don't define me, but it has helped mold me, and really am I all that bad? Besides, if the person in the first paragraph really exists, their story would be boring and pointless. I don't know about all of you, but I like my novels to have a little mystery and tension to go along with the happy ending.

How does your story read?

"To wish you were someone else is to waste the person you are."

I am Brave

A person can only be brave if they are first afraid.

I am brave. Unfortunately, I am not brave as often as I am afraid.  Why?  To be brave requires gumption.  Sometimes I lack the motivation to be gutsy and move past my apprehension. In these instances, living becomes existing as life passes me by.  To prevent this, I am constantly striving to take the initiative to ‘buck-up’, even if it means swallowing back the bile that rises to my throat from my churning stomach.  

Personally, I find the best method to conquering fear is to jump right in.  Pulling the bandage off little bit by little bit is worse then removing it in one big pull. For me, courage can not be won by sneaking up on what I am afraid of, as I usually lose my nerve and go running back with my tail between my legs.  

I have Systematic Lupus Nephritis with a side dish of Addisons. In English - I have an over-active immune system that attacks my body instead of helping it, kidneys that leak protein, one functional lung, a heart with a leaky valve, and non-functioning adrenal glands. Because of this I am afraid often.  And because I have to be, I am brave often too.

Pain is my constant companion, whether it’s from the disease itself, the medications, or from the poking and prodding of the medical community.  Yet I am not often afraid while in the moment of pain, but while I am anticipating it.  I am destined for the hospital again on March 2nd and I’m afraid.  I am always frightened prior to the occurrence of being poked, prodded and cut open.  But I know courage will arrive just before the event takes place - it consistently does.  When the scary event finally happens, there is nothing more I can do, so acceptance takes place, courage takes over, and fear vacates the premises. 

The only time courage doesn’t show up is when I don’t show up to challenge it.  If I never make the initiative to face my phobias, fear wins because courage never had the chance to intervene.  I know it sounds silly considering everything I deal with on an ongoing basis, but I am afraid of driving in winter weather.  I am a white-knuckled winter driver, so sometimes I forgo driving and stay home with my fear.  At those times my neurosis wins and I remain a coward. 

Part of my UBBT requirements is to attend a certain number of classes at Silent River, which is an hour away from my home.  On account of my commitment to the UBBT, Master Brinker and to myself, I am brave more often because now there is acceptance that I must fulfill my obligations and drive to Stony Plain to Kung Fu class.  

Darnell McKinley

Silent River Kung Fu

Stony Plain, Alberta 

Canada

~ Punch when you have to punch. Kick when you have to kick. ~

Bruce Lee

Change Gives Way to 'Thank-you'

Since starting the UBBT journey in November, I have often felt raw and slightly disoriented; yet there is a clarity to my life that hasn’t been there for many years.  There is joy in the reemerging of purpose in my life which started the same night I found the courage to once again commit to Kung Fu which, in actuality, refers to committing to myself. 

A lot has occurred in the years I have been away from Kung Fu.  I wonder if it is so noticeable to me because I have been gone so long, which makes the changes seem extreme?  I had thought the hardest part of coming back to class was going to be seeing the progress others have made in my absence; to see the people who were once beside or behind me, ahead. But though the confidence and eloquence of your practice has progressed, mine has declined and when I got past the initial moment of envy, I was inspired by all that has been accomplished.   The changes I have seen in the people of my past, who are now in my present, are discernible.  I wish I could show the white and colored belts what I see, so they would believe in the process and know how possible it is for them achieve their goals and dreams too.

Beyond the current abilities of my former mates and the new forms and techniques, I see changes in the persona of the people around me (and not just the addition of wrinkles). There are fresh nuances of people’s characters transmitted in the journals I have been reading.   I wonder though, if it is ‘changes in them’ I see, or if it is because ‘I have changed’ that I see them differently?  Or, has the UBBT journalling helped us to connect at a deeper level?  All I know is the people at Silent River seem familiar, yet not.

I have noticed confident, well-spoken adults these past few weeks who were children when I last saw them.  Some are even married now, but all carry the self-possessed conviction of seasoned adults.

I have read posts and spoken to individuals who were once shy and unable or unwilling to speak their own truths, but who now have the courage to express opinions and speak their minds. It is you who help to give me the courage to be vulnerable in my postings.

There are people who were still struggling with uncoordinated and sometimes inflexible bodies when I left, who are now moving works of art.  For one individual, I know it is by sheer gumption that they are now beautiful in their expression of Kung Fu.  That individual has provided a surge of inspiration to work through my own physical challenges.  

I have see a change so great in someone, that I wonder if I just wasn’t really seeing you all those months we spent readying ourselves for black belt.  You were as quiet as a mouse then.  I am curious, where did this energizer bunny come from...  it is so rare to see someone so young know what they want out of life, and have the tenacity to make it happen.  I am in my forties and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.  Watching your journey to fulfill your dreams is going to be inspiring... I can feel the foreshadowing of something great!

I have connected again with someone who I have missed over the years. The changes I see is through the way others respond to you. I wonder if it was always this way, and I just took you for granted and never stopped to notice?  The respect expressed by the students towards you is tangible, I think, because your compassion is evident regardless of how tough you like to sound. In the past your spontaneous warmth as helped me feel special and welcome. I am very grateful your spontaneous nature has not disappeared, as it is largely because of you that my re-entry to Silent River has been as pleasant as it has.  Thank-you!

In the person who started as my friend and then became my teacher, my mentor -  I see more reasons to be in your light, which somehow seems deeper.  I see specifics to which I don’t feel qualified to speak of with such a large audience in attendance. But I do feel inclined to share that you are one of the few people who has, with intention, consistently and gently influenced my adult life. Whether it be with silence or conversation, with subtle coercion, personal example, or by letting me learn by trial an error, you have continuously made the effort to help in my growth.  Even when I left, you still cared enough to check into my well-being, and let me know you were waiting in the wings if I needed you, or that I could come back when I was ready.  I know I have let you down countless times, yet you remain steadfast as my teacher and friend.  I have often wondered why you find me worthy of your time and effort.  It is at those times that I feed off your trust in my possibility, and I work to prove you right. Please know I am grateful for and to you.

I am not sure where this post came from as it is not even close to what I had intended to write about.  I know if I re-read this I won’t have the courage to post it. So I won’t be able to correct the grammar and it will have to appear as is, or it won’t appear at all.     

Sifu McKinley

Silent River Kung Fu - Stony Plain, Alberta  Canada

"NAMASTE!"

There has been a lot of talk around acts of kindness, which makes me smile because that means people are thinking beyond the push-ups and sit-ups of this endeavor to which we have committed ourselves. What sometimes shortens my good cheer is that some people, for varies reasons, don’t want to celebrate the successes they have with acts of kindness. Yet, when there are a few pounds lost or triumph with push-ups and sit-ups, it is recorded and celebrated. Is one criteria more important with the success of this program than another. My natural tendency is it’s okay to feed our souls by celebrating both. But, my fear of being different is trying to squash that inclination. Why? Are acts of kindness so valuable they need to be locked away safely from the view of others? But they can’t be tarnished or stolen away so that doesn’t make sense. So then do act of kindness have less value than completing a hundred and fifty push-ups?

It has been said that we shouldn’t look for a pat on the back for completing acts of kindness, that we should be doing it regardless of what is given in return. Is the sharing of this part of the UBBT adventure mean seeking a pat on the back, or is it part of the process to help enhance the experience for yourself and your team members? Why is so easy to praise accomplishments like weight loss or the completion of push ups and sit-ups, but not the act of doing something wonderful for another human being?

For me the physical discipline learned through the martial arts is not about having small hips and buff arms, but about creating a body capable of enhancing the journey in this life. As a person who has a body which fails as often as it works, I have come to understand that our physical selves are nothing more than a vehicle to experience life. Our bodies are not the sum of who we are, but are a means to an end result; which is to grow spiritually. If you and I exchanged bodies for a day, we would not become someone else inside. I would still be me and you would still be you, just seeing the world through different eyes. I am okay with the reason I don’t think too hard about the physical component of this challenge. I just do it, and don’t look too far into celebrating my push ups. But I do struggle with the acts of kindness because of listening to the world around me, has me questioning the process.

The UBBT challenge is part of the process of reclaiming my life, physically in Kung Fu, but mostly mentally as a whole. My son and I record both the acts we do, and ones that are done to us. I particularly like the process of giving recognition of the ones done to us, as the last few years I often find myself uninspired by the world around me. I need to see and feel the goodness of others. I need hope.... and the whole process of giving recognition to the acts of kindness is a reminder beacon that good and wholesome people still exist in the world. People who are willing to do the right thing instead of the easy thing. People who are willing to step out of their comfort zones to help others. I wonder if I find it so hard to see moral excellence in the world because it is not celebrated as much as physical and monetary accomplishments are.

The self discipline and respect learned in the martial arts creates a mindset to build exceptional bodies and minds which enhance our journey through life. The opposite can be said of our society, which often glorifies material wealth, physical prowess and external beauty. It amazes me how little the life of someone like Mother Theresa was honored as compared a drug-overdosed movie star, or an overpaid idolized professional athlete. I want to yell out “Namaste”! It’s what’s inside that counts...let us recognize and rejoice in the goodness within each other and within ourselves.

I don’t want to feel like a flasher in a trench coat when I yell from the roof tops “There are good and wholesome people in this world, willing to step out of their comfort zones and lend a helping hand”!

I know, without a doubt, that the gift of what is important in life is on the inside of this package which I call a body. Because of that, my goal this year is to refuse to shrink back, but to continue to say “Namaste” to the world on a regular basis without shame! Part of my way of doing this is by journalling all acts of kindness and occasionally sharing those moments that truly affect my life.

I look forward to celebrating with you as I read in your posts, what is of value to you on this journey.

I AM A STUDENT

Make a Smilebox slideshow

Blessing

It is Thursday morning and I am running late in getting to work.   My kitten had kept me awake most of the night wanting to play, cuddle or both, so I am tired and cranky.  I pick out a pair of pants and shirt and lay them on the bed while I shower, only to come back to find my cat has left his regurgitated breakfast on them.  My kid is poking along, so I am having to nudge him into action and off to school.  It is one of those chaotic mornings I wish I could go back to bed and hide my head under the pillow for another hour or so before trying it again.

But finally I’m zipping up my winter coat and heading out the door.  I quickly scrape the frost off the windshield before climbing into the driver’s seat.  With my gloved hands on the steering wheel, I take a big breath to try find my center again before hitting the road, when realize I left my purse and lunch in the house.  Quick as a wink I am back into the house to grab my stuff and the phone starts ringing.  The call display flashes the name of my son’s school, so I pick it up to hear my son on the other end pleading with me to bring his forgotten binder to school.  Back to the vehicle I go with the binder, my purse and lunch in hand. I am now officially late for work and I haven’t even gotten out of my driveway.   With gigantic sigh, I shift my vehicle into reverse, back out of the driveway, then throw it into drive.

I make it almost to the middle of the second block when I notice an old lady,

inappropriately dressed for the weather, standing on the sidewalk crying.  

I slow down and for a brief moment and contemplate whether to stop or not.  My heart is screaming “Yes, you have to stop.  Look, she’s crying and cold!”   The head on the other hand, is thinking about the misery my boss is going to put me through when I finally reach the office. Then, wham, I was lambasted by a gigantic thought - UBBT!

The head and heart reach a consensus instantly, so I back up and roll down my window.

“Do you need help ma’am, a ride maybe?”

It takes a moment for her mind to register what I have said.

“Oh bless your heart dear, I think I’m lost.”

I get out of the vehicle and take note of the white cotton gloves and lovely but flimsy spring time coat. 

“My name is Darnell, can I help you to get in?”  

“Please,” she says, still crying.

I ask for her name and she replies as I help her into the passenger side seat. 

When I’m back in the vehicle I flip the seat warming button to help with her shivering and crank up the heat.

“Do you want me to take you home?”  

“Please, I was trying to find the bus stop and have somehow gotten lost.  Nothing looks familiar.” she says obviously embarrassed.

“Can you tell me what your address is?”

When she replies and I realize she is only two blocks from home.

We arrive at the address she has given but she is unsure as to whether it is her house or not.  So we head to the front door together and sure enough this is her home. After being thanked profusely, I head off to to the school to drop off the binder.  When I finally reach work, I am a full forty minutes late, but I am relaxed and there is a hop in my step and a smile on my face.

What a blessing the encounter with that little lady was on my day.   Thank goodness I stopped so she could help me.

Hair Cuts and Jelly Beans

Every so often I am asked a seemingly fluffy question by girly girls and men who think women should look a certain way.  My answer is probably just what they expect, but I don’t think it is really understood.  

 “Why do you wear your hair so short?” they ask. 

 “I don’t have the extra time to spend doing it,” I reply.  I don’t. But really, does anyone have ‘extra time’? 

I am not sure why I did it, but one day, twenty years ago, a few weeks before my wedding, I sat down and figured out how much time I used up in a year doing my hair.  The total was a shocking 10,950 minutes a year, and that didn’t include washing or the special times where it took more time.  Then I figured out how much money I spent on the upkeep, which was approximately $1800.00 a year with product and hair dressing fees.  I translated that into how many hours I had to work to earn that amount and added that to the 10,950 and got a grand total of 11,100 hours.

I was so horrified at the time I had wasted doing my hair that within two hours I was at the hair dressers getting it cut off.  I went from being able to sit on it to razoring it above my ears with one swift stroke.  I felt naked, cold, but free!  Being unencumbered by the duty of my hair lifted more weight then that of the pony tail I took home in a bag that afternoon!  

Since that day I have been more aware of how I use my time, and after being diagnosed with Lupus Nephritis I have become a miser in how I spend it. All exchanges must be made for moments of value. I have little tolerance of people who waste time, especially mine. I feel it is our most valuable possession, as every moment that goes by can never be replaced.  It can’t be saved up like money or collected like valuable metals and gems. Time has limits to which, for the most part, we have no control over.  Death is a secret until it appears and then it is too late.    

Most people have the “it can’t happen to me” syndrome and I think it is difficult for them to understand the significance of every single solitary moment in their life.  I have an advantage over the general population as I was told when I was nineteen that I probably wouldn’t see forty; I am forty one.  Then I was told I would be lucky to get two more years out of my kidneys - that was eight years ago.  My options of how I spend my time are very black and white to me.  I could spend each day wallowing in self pity, or I could make the most of my life with what I have coined “memory-making moments”.  These times are filled with beauty, learning, laughter, dreaming, relaxation, creativeness, and because all of those standard, I have wonderful moments of reflection.  It’s not that I don’t do my share of wallowing and have the occasional bout of boredom - I do - but I refuse to linger in it.  

I must be completely honest; being a time snob is, for the most part, a big turn off for the rest of the world.  Most people are not in the same place I am and I scare people by my intensity.  I often feel like I am surrounded by ghosts because people seem to have no depth.   There is little room in my life for inconsequential conversations and social events, which extremely limits the number of people in my life.  I struggle to find empathy for people who bemoan a common cold and luxuriate in anger or self pity about the inconveniences of life.  

I would never wish an illness on anyone, but I do want people to realize how valuable time is.  Have you ever stopped to figure out approximately how many days, barring tragedy, you could have in your life?

365 days in a year

multiplied by the average

80 years of life

equals

29,200 days of life

I once gave a seminar about this subject to a group of teens.  For a visual I took 29,200 jelly beans which represented 80 years and put them in a glass tank.  I had them take out 5,840 because those had already been used up in their sixteen years.  Wow! was the consensus.  It really puts it into perspective when visualized like that.

If you want a great reminder to never waste your time or the time of someone else, try filling a jar with enough candy to represent how many years you hope to have left of life,   then at the end of each day, take one out and eat it.  It helps make the seemingly intangible - tangible.

Darnell McKinley

“ We say we waste time, but that is impossible, what we waste is ourselves.”

   Alice Bloch

 A Tale of Decisions                 

The disheveled woman stood with her encumbersome box outside the restaurant, looking mournfully through it’s vast glass window at a table where two men and two women currently sat.  Three hundred and sixty five days ago to this very minute she had sat at that very table with her family and they too had been laughing, breathing, and believing the world was theirs. Her grip on the box tightened as tears accumulated in her eyes and threatening to overflow.  The ache of loss started to move into her chest with a tightness that was all too familiar. She quickly swallowed back the pain, forcing it down deep until, once again, it was only a throbbing beacon within her soul, occasionally blinking a reminder of it’s existence.  

Ralph, the waiter, was having a rough day.  This morning he had been late because some idiot delivery driver parked his delivery truck in front of Ralf's car, blocking his way out.  In addition to being tardy, he had forgotten his name tag and his boss, who was unusually agitated himself, flipped out about it.  But it didn’t stop there.  A couple of losers had ditched the restaurant before he could collect on the bill, so now he was down twenty-eight dollars in wages. Now, to top it off, some crazy woman holding a box was wanting to be seated at a specific table that was currently in use, and and was usually reserved for a minimum of four patrons.   “Selfish lunatic, thinking other people should have to wait for a table because she couldn’t sit at a smaller one.” he said to himself.  Then added with venom, he mumbled “as far I’m concerned, ‘Crazy Box Lady’ can wait all day before I give her table nine.”

She sat vigil on the hard wooden bench at the entrance, feeling slightly embarrassed at her request, but this was the way it had to be.  She had given herself one year to decide, and the decision was to be made here, today, at that table. 

The group of four laughing friends at table nine payed their bill, gathered their belongings and proceeded out of the restaurant. She collected the box in her arms then stood and waited for the surly waiter to escort her to the table. 

Ralph didn’t look at the ‘Box Lady’ as he cleaned and reset the table for six.  Nor did he look at her when he walked past to greet a group of five who had arrived ten minutes after her and escorted them to table nine.

The tears began to flow and she bit her lip in humiliation.  She sat down heavily on the bench with her head hanging in despair.  The box slipped out of her arms and landed with a thump on the tiled floor in front of her.

Elderly Mr. Collins was reading the paper and enjoying his meal at a nearby table when he heard the box hit the floor and looked up. The same woman, whom he had earlier overheard asked the sour waiter to be seated at the big table by the window, was still at the entrance, but now sat crying on the bench. He looked around to see if anyone was going to help her, but it seemed he was the only one to notice her distress. Sighing at the inconvenience, he stood up as quickly as his seventy year old body would allow, walked over, bent down, and picked up the box.

He coughed, “Uh hum.”  Her tear streaked face turned up at him with a slightly bewildered look. “You dropped this, Miss.”  The tears started to flow even heavier.

Unsure of what to do, he sat down on the bench beside her with the box. “Are you okay, Miss?” She shook her head side to side and reached towards the box. He handed it to her and asked earnestly, “is the something I can do to help?”

Again she shook her head side to side, stood, and proceeded towards the exit door.

With a tug at his heart, followed by a desperate need to help, he stood and went after her.

“Please, Miss, don’t go,” he said, though he was unsure of what he was going to do with her.  All he knew is that something told him not to let her leave.

She stopped with her hand on the door.  He reached out gently touched her shoulder with his hand and she turned to look at him.  He smile tentatively and motioned to take the box.  She handed it to him and then, after he had taken a few steps, followed him to his table.  

After setting the box on the table, he held a chair out for her and she sat down heavily. He motioned to the waiter to bring some more tea.  Ralph nodded to the old man that he understood the request while rolling his eyes to himself at the undignified display of the ‘Box Lady’.

Mr Collins watched the young woman as she stared at the box on the table. “What’s your name, Dear.”

“Laura, Laura Nelson.” She said with a quiet sob, still looking at the box.

He handed her a napkin from the table. “Can I inquire about what is in the box?”

She  looked up at him the most tragic eyes he had seen in his seventy three years and nodded yes.  With a fresh set of tears overflowing, she inhaled, and then with barely a whisper, she said,  “All that is left of my family.” He joined her in looking at the box and then reached across the table to touch her hand, which still clinched the napkin he had given her earlier. 

“They died one year ago today, just after we left here from celebrating my son’s second birthday.”  

Ralph, who had been standing behind her with a teapot in hand looking horrified, blurted out, “your whole family?” Laura and Mr. Collins turned to look at Ralph.

“My parents, my husband and my son. We were having such a good time. My Nick had Trevor on his shoulders, and my parents were on either side talking to him and laughing.  I was half a block away, you see.”  She began to cry again.  “I had to go back for Trevor’s Blanket....”  With a downcast head, she covered her face with her hands and her shoulders began to heave in sorrow.

Ralph set the tea pot down on the table and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Miss, I didn’t know.”

The old gentleman reached over and pulled out another chair and gestured for Ralph to sit. After motioning the waitress across the room that he was taking five minutes, he pulled up the chair and sat down between them and took her hand.  

“I was here that day,” Ralph said, as a tear fell from his eyes.  “I remember hearing the screech of the tires, and your scream.” 

Laura looked up at him.  “I saw it all, the truck, their bodies...”

Ralph reached across the table for her hand and squeezed it tightly.  She looked at the box and continued.  “I tried to kill myself that night. Later, in the hospital, I had a dream where Nick asked me to wait one year and then come back here; to this restaurant to decide whether to live or not.”

“That’s why you wanted the table by the window,”  said Mr. Collins in recognition.

“Yes,” she said quietly, looking at the table by the window and then at Ralph.

“I’m so so sorry, I didn’t know. If I had, I would have..”

“What’s done is done and we are all here now,”  declared Mr. Collins.

They sat quietly together for a moment.

“Maybe it wasn’t the table, maybe it was just being here, at this time, at this place, with us that matters,” stated Mr. Collins to both of them.  Then he looked at her again.  “Something made me stop you from leaving the restaurant.”  Ralph looked at the box on the table as Mr. Collins continued.  “Maybe you were meant to meet us here on this day.”

Laura was still looking at him and it gave him confidence.  “You came with hope in your heart and stayed with that same hope and will to live.”  

“I want you to live!” Ralph exclaimed.

She turned to look at him and smiled a tiny, sad smile. “It’s so hard, I miss them so much.”

“But if it was them who had survived instead you, wouldn’t you want them to continue to live without you?”  said Ralph urgently.

Mr. Collins looked at the young man with respect and then turned to Laura. “He’s right.” 

Laura looked up at him and then Ralph.  Fresh tears appeared and she nodded yes in agreement.

  

Ralph handed her a fresh napkin as Mr. Collins reached over to pour them all a cup of tea.  He knew they were going to be there awhile. 

This story is not original.  Though the themes are the same, the nuances have been changed, more because of my poor memory than from anything lacking in the original. I first happened upon it while watching TV decades ago, and found it stuck with me.  

In it I learned all we do has the potential of affecting others. Happiness, and unhappiness, are contagious; which for me with my background, at an impressionable age, was a very empowering thought.  In those early years I was fearless in my effort to spread hope and love to the people in my life.  

Somewhere in my own struggles of living in the past twenty years, l lost the courage feel and express joy or hope.  I began to ignore the ‘power’ of the decisions I made by becoming neglectful of the consequences of those choices; from the words I expressed or didn’t express, to the smallest gesture, and the largest of actions. 

Recent events of my life and the appearance of the UBBT, are having me rethink how I impact this existence.  I am learning to make choices wisely with empathy and compassion, knowing what I do and say matters, even if I can’t always see the results.  I will not always get it right, but I must keep stepping up and making an effort.

So for me, the real challenge in the UBBT are not the push ups and sit ups, that just requires discipline and hard work. Finding courage with discipline and hard work to open myself up and be vulnerable to all of you is the real challenge.

May all your journeys over the next thirteen months be full of many moments worthy of reflection.

Darnell McKinley 

Equality for Whom! 

For seven years I worked in a male-dominated profession as one of the few females doing my share of the grunt work and sometimes more in order to earn and keep the respect of my male co-worker.  For the most part women can do the same work as men; I know this.  Where I do have a problem with women working in a male-dominated work place is when they are not hired because they fit the job and are the best of the applicants, but purely to keep the number of minorities up. When this happens there is degradation in the morale of all the employees, which will eventually include the minority hire.  The lack of respect the current workers have for the female hire and for the employer leads to a break down in the quality of work and the health and wellness of all employees.

I am privy to information about a person in the process of being hired for a job purely because she is female and the company doing the hiring needed to bring up the “female” numbers.  She has met the qualifications for the job, which is important, but during her practicum with the company, it was realize quickly by her peers that she is not a team player, and, in fact, plays the female card to get out of doing work and to not following the same rules they must adhere to.  The lack of respect for this individual is already a problem, and the disgust with human resources and upper management by the employees for burdening them with her is quite evident. If she were a man, her peers would have already spoken up to their superiors about the issues they have with her quality of work, but because she is female, they are afraid of losing their jobs by being accused of discrimination.  The few who have spoken their thoughts have been ignored or told to "give her a chance."  Her preceptors and supervisors are now at a loss of what to do because any constructive criticism about her work ethic and job duties are met with tears, and then she doesn’t comply anyways. This initiates turmoil in the ranks as the big hearts take over her work duties because she is in "a fragile" state, while the rest of the guys are saying, "suck it up".

Equality in the work place is important, but this method I feel is doing a disservice to the cause, and in fact triggers an inequality to appear, because the best person for the job was not hired. Business should be able to hire the most qualified person to fill a position without recourse. Hiring the perfunctory employee to fill a quota has a good chance of causing the company to lose money with having to make due with a second-class employee and with the loss of moral with the current employees. What I can’t get my mind wrapped around is why any self-respecting woman would want to be the “token female”?  And when a woman is hired as such, why would she not do her best to earn the respect of her co-workers and supervisors like any conscientious employee would.  On this occasion I am pretty sure no one is reaching a place of equality.

I Was Haunted by Poop.

I did a terrible thing this week.  I let my dog poop on someone else’s snow bank and then I didn’t clean it up.  Now I am one of those people…you know the ones - they don’t take responsibility for the actions of their pets.   They are the pet owners who let their dogs roam the neighborhood, barking, digging, chasing cats and cars, biting children, and pooping on lawns.  I didn’t want to become like them, but my hands were so cold I couldn’t bare the thought of removing my mittens to do my duty.  I knew I was doing something wrong because as my pooch Milo was completing his business, I was busy scanning the windows and yards for witnesses to my indiscretion. I didn’t believe Milo and I had been seen, but I was suddenly sweating in -35 degree weather.

I slept fitfully that night.  I was haunted by dreams of people whispering in corners about the terrible inconsiderate person I am, and I awoke more exhausted then when I went to bed.  So I hauled out the winter attire for Milo and I then went back for the poop.  It was still there, a big dark frozen lump in the snow bank.  As I picked it up the solid pile, Milo was making another one, so I picked it up too and we wandered the long way home with a clear conscience. 

For two years Milo and I have walked the neighborhood a couple of times a day and have carried countless bags of doodoo home and put it in the garbage.  Last night, even though I left the excrement behind, I carried that poop home by way of my guilty conscience and was unable to put it down. So I slept a pile of feces for an entire night, and it wasn’t until I was able to do the right thing the next day that I was able to put it in the garbage and walk away.

Being a bad person really stinks!

Darnell McKinley

Diluted Juice

When my son was small I use to dilute his juice to keep down his sugar intake. One day we were visiting friends and I didn’t get to the juice before it was given to him and he got to experience the full flavour for the first time. His big blue eye grew even bigger as he thoroughly enjoyed the full effect of the concentrated flavour. From then on it was
“No Mummy’s juice” with a sweep of the hand to push his cup away, followed with an eager up-and-down nod of his head and a “Me want Auntie Karen’s juice”.

Because I live with a chronic illness, I choose to live a life of diluted juice, and most of the time it doesn’t bother me. (A diluted physical self does not necessitate a watered-down spiritual life; if anything it is the exact opposite, but that's for another post.) I am an adult with free will, so I can eat what ever I want, do what ever I want but then I must suffer the consequences of my actions if I “cheat”. Unlike children, adults have an understanding of where their actions lead and the free will to decide how diluted we want our juice or even if we want it watered down at all.

I quit coming to Kung Fu a couple of years ago because my experience with it was diluted and, at that time, unfulfilling. The disease I have demands my practice be watered down in order to keep my health, so I am unable to participate in the sparing because of the potential for contact. Back then I often felt I had cheated my way into my new black belt; not actually earning it because I couldn’t do all the requirements. It was difficult to believe I was the real thing, or that my progress could go any further. Then I got really sick again, so I quit making excuses and just quit.

Years pass by and life goes on. I regained my health again and I play with my kicks a bit here and there; my practice is much diluted, but I am enjoying it none the less. Then one day I am confronted by a situation requiring the use of my dusty Kung Fu training in order to potentially save my son’s life. With no thought as to what to do, I move with a fluidity I didn’t know I owned and took down the guy who was holding a knifed to my son’s stomach and save the day. It sounds corny, but it’s easier to sum it up than to replay the event again.

I learned a few things at that moment of my life. Having a diluted practice is better than no practice at all. I really do have the skill required to legitimately call myself a black belt, and every choice we make in life has the potential to change the future. If Master Brinker hadn’t convinced me to try Kung Fu thirteen years ago I would probably be walking with a cane and my son might be….well, we don’t need to go there. So I am back to practicing, except now, with the help of the UBBT, I am full of purpose and progressing both physically and spiritually. Who knows where this decision to be a UBBT student member will bring me in the future!

Sifu McKinley

VERBIAGE!

Blog writing, like all forms of communication, seems to take on different forms with different authors. I sometimes wonder if my method is correct, and if I go to places that are seemingly inappropriate for whoever takes the time to read or hear my words. There are also times I doubt if I am important enough for anyone to speculate what thoughts run amuck through my head, and then wonder if it matters in the big picture what others think of my journey. Our thoughts, spoken or not, are expressions of our journey in this life. Second guessing the content of my communication comes because I find that people in general speak mostly fluff. Why do people collect and often distribute seemingly endless strings of useless verbiage that takes up space in their lives and the lives of others. Is this to keep themselves and others at bay from the true nature of who they are inside, or is this the extent of what is inside of them?

I attended a Christmas party this weekend. I have always disliked these events because I find them an exhausting, and sometimes humiliating, experience. I am admittedly socially inept. I don’t ‘get’ the small talk that gets smaller and smaller as the night progresses. It is not always because anyone is drunk, at least then people are some times funny; it is the lack of content in the mix of words that are pushed forth from the lips of the people around me.

Example #1 “...The color of her hair greatly emphasised the wrinkles of her face. Why anyone wouldn’t tell her it looked that bad is beyond me!” she exclaimed with disgust.
“Why don’t you be the ‘anyone’ and tell her then?” I answered her.

.....Not the right thing to say to the ring leader of a group of wives and girlfriends of my husband’s co-workers.

Example #2 …“We just bought a house over in Nottingham that has 3000 square feet. It has a kitchen to die for! The bad thing about the new house is we won’t be able to have another kid now because the master bedroom closet is smaller than our old house, so I will have to use the spare room closet to put the rest of my cloths in”

.....I learned from my past error and I don’t say anything. But God help me - supper hasn’t even been served yet and I already wish I was at home cleaning out the cat litter instead!

I know I am not supposed to judge any further than what part of the actions of others is healthy for my life. I think I understand that there is no right or wrong, only different points of view - like two people looking upon the same island from opposite sides. But I keep wondering if maybe I am looking at the wrong island because I seriously don’t get it! Is this really how they want to express their life journey? Is this really how they want to spend their limited supply of moments in time?

Sifu McKinley

Safety Awareness for Young Workers

On my journeys working in the Occupational Health and Safety industry, teaching safety education to youth, and as a component in the process of my teenager entering the work force, I have seen a lack of social preparedness, job safety training, and adult supervision for our children in the workplace. Are your teens ready to enter the work force?

DID YOU KNOW?
- Workers with less than 6 months experience are 3 times more likely to be injured than those with a year or more of experience?
- Workers under the age of 25 are 33% more likely to be injured on the job than older workers?
- In 2007:
- 6,646 young workers were injured enough to miss more than one day of work
- 14,162 young workers received disabling injuries while on the job.
- 8 young workers lost their life to a workplace incident
- Young workers represent 17.2% of the work force but account for 19.5% of lost time claims and 22.7% of disabling injury claims.
- 75% of young males were injured compared to the 25% young women
- Injuries to young workers in the Food/Convenience Stores Services and Restaurant/Take-out Food Services were significantly higher than and other industry.
- Back/Spinal injuries represent the highest number of claims followed by fingers, wrists/hands and ankles/feet.
(Alberta Workplace Health and Safety Statistical Information – Alberta Employment and Immigration)

A majority of teenagers have chronic “It can’t happen to me syndrome” (I also see a lot of adults with the same disorder...). Teenagers often lack life experience that would cause them to stop and think before doing, and that adds up to them being five times more likely to be hurt on the job. They are often eager to please and afraid of looking like they can’t do the job or getting their hours cut back if they speak up. Remember, no job is worth getting hurt or dying for and if it feels wrong, it probably is. Make sure your child is prepared by making sure they are informed.

DID YOU KNOW?
All workers including our youth have the right to:
- Know about hazards they may be expose to at work
- To participate in making their work safer
- Refuse unsafe work it they believe the work is dangerous

As a parent, you have a responsibility to check up on the safety your teenager’s workplace. A casual visit when you are picking them up can give you a quick overview of the working conditions without stepping in anyone’s personal space. Or tell your teen that he is much too valuable and loved far too much to entrust just anyone with his wellbeing, and openly check out his place of employment. Listen in unobtrusively when they are speaking to their friends about work. Be interested in their job and create safe respectful opportunities to talk to them about it. Treat your teens like they are the adults they are becoming instead of the child they are leaving behind and you will find they will be more responsive to your conversation and even seek you out if they require assistance in making a decision.

DID YOU KNOW?

- Sherwood Park Teen (Youth can not be named)
Earls Restaurant Sherwood Park Ltd. is facing two charges following a 17 year old line cook who suffered serious injuries from boiling water after he was told to climb over a hot kitchen equipment to clean a wall. The court date is set for Jan. 14th, 2009.

- Timothy Hamilton19 years old was killed at work less than two months after he was hired. Tim was electrocuted because he was asked to do something dangerous. The company was fined $100,000. But that didn't give Tim his life back. (*Used with the permission of Tim's family.)

- Vaughn WebEarly twenties badly shocked while working around a high voltage power line. Vaughn lost an arm and a leg, and received third degree burns to 70% of his body. After his incident, his life changed forever.

Instead of teaching our children to "not talk back" and to be "respectful of all adults", we should be educating them to respectfully speak up when something is amiss and their safety is at risk. Encourage your teen to ask safety questions of their employers like "what are the dangers of my job and what training will I receive or who do I ask if I have a safety question". Let them know they have the right to say “no” when they feel the job they are being ask to do is unsafe and to ask questions when they don’t understand the directions given. Create an awareness of correct behaviour not just by them but by their employers, too. Make yourself available if they need help, and assist them to make sound decisions or if feasible decide together what action should be done to improve the situation. If they are being bullied into doing something unsafe, there are avenues of help and recourse - check with Alberta Workplace Health and Safety.

DID YOU KNOW?

Alberta Workplace Health and Safety offer many resources designed specifically for our new and young workers, including employment standards and general health and safety information. This site is also beneficial for employers, supervisor, parents or educators of new and young workers. Check it out!

http://www.employment.alberta.ca/

Sifu McKinley

Big Mac and a Coffee

As we sat in the McDonald’s in Fernie, B.C. waiting for our meals, I came to realize that fast food in small towns like this does not mean your food arrives quickly, everything moves at a slower pace. My son Ty sat watching an elderly gentleman at the table across from us, reading the paper and eating. Ty noiselessly pointed out the gentlemen to the rest of us. Nothing seemed amiss except for what he was eating - little tiny containers of ketchup which he had filled at the dispenser. We sat as a family unobtrusively studying this unassuming grey-haired gentleman quietly reading a newspaper, lifting the tiny receptacles to his lips and squeezing out its contents from the bottom until they were flat. Watching him I could almost taste the flavour and feel the texture and found myself gagging. He didn’t seem to have any discomfort in swallowing his meal and he did it with such grace that it seemed almost a perfectly natural thing to be doing.

We finished our meals as he finished his and as we got up to leave, so did he. We packed up our belongings and I made a quick pit stop at the ladies room. My son and his friend waited by the exit door for me, still watching the elderly man as he filled new tiny buckets with ketchup and proceeded to a new table with his paper under his arm. “Why is he only eating ketchup?” my son asked now that the man was no longer close enough to over hear. “Maybe he really likes it or maybe he doesn’t have enough money to buy himself a meal”, I responded. “Can we practice our Acts of Kindness and buy him something?” he asked.

I waited in line again wondering how to approach this man without insulting him. The sole occupied register was being attended by a teenager with the brown name tag stating “MIKE”. He hadn’t noticed the man and didn’t remember him ordering anything “but it had been a busy couple of hours, so I may not remember him”. Still worrying about insulting the man, I asked if they sold gift certificates. I figured I could say someone had left them at the table and then could ask if he wanted them. The boy with the name plate called “MIKE” called over his manager, as she would need to retrieve the certificates from the safe. He told her my idea. She looked over at graceful elderly man and said “we’ll get him a coffee and something to eat”. I told her I don’t mind paying. “No, let us.” she replied. “We throw out food on a daily basis; today we will waste less and have the opportunity to help more.”

We loitered by the door waiting to see if the response to the coffee and burger was a positive one. As she handed him the tray a look of confusion crossed his face. She patted his back and told him to enjoy his meal and walked away. He looked down at his meal for a moment and then slowly a smile appeared on his face and he pulled back the tab on his coffee. A lump of emotion formed in my chest and as I turned to leave and saw smiles on the faces of my family and friend and knew they felt it too.

My son has joined me in my journey of recording acts of kindness. Ty has added another dimension to his…he is also recording acts of kindness other do for him. As of November 1, 2008 he has recorded 38 acts of kindness he has completed, and 37 acts of kindness done to him by others. I can feel another lump of emotion forming in my chest as I think of what an honour it is to be his mother.

Sifu McKinley

Want to Feel Alive; Have the Courage to Feel!

When was the last time you said to yourself, "I feel so vibrant and alive"? Do your ever find yourself saying, "Why do I feel so stifled and numb, like an android? Does it seem as though all of the "highs" have been deleted from life?" Wouldn’t it be wonderful to wake up every morning feeling like a child on Christmas morning?

"I live a day at a time. Each day I look for a kernel of excitement. In the morning I say: "What is my exciting thing for today?" Then, I do the day. Don't ask me about tomorrow."
Barbara Jordan

For most of us, the diminished brightness of excitement in our daily lives is subtle and happens over time. Yet, when we arrive at the ‘dead zone’, we often recognize the boredom and trepidation and wonder how we got there. For the rest, there is an intentional voyage to the false safety of the ‘dead zone’. Seemingly, there are many reasons we end up emotionally sedated but at the root of it all is the lack or avoidance of feeling.

The effect of feeling alive comes from letting yourself be affected by emotions, good and bad. This takes courage. Courage is not the lack of fear but the ability to take action in spite of it. There can be no courage without being scared and vulnerable first. Having the initiative and nerve to feel, to let our emotions take hold without shame and without trying to quash them, requires a courage that is monumental in our society.

"Of all forms of caution, caution in love is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness."
Bertrand Russell

From early childhood we are taught sentiment is a sign of weakness and that we need to bottle up what we feel in order to gain acceptance from others. Most people are uncomfortable with expressing emotions, and with others conveying theirs. We become fixers, avoiders, defenders, comedians and even bullies in order to deal with our discomfort with feelings. Why can we not just acknowledge the emotion and allow ourselves to feel? What do you do when you are feeling the need to be joyous, exuberant, loving or sad and angry? Do you let yourself giggle or cry? Do you stop, acknowledge and feel, or do you stifle it within or throw it upon someone else?

There are many avenues available to let ourselves feel emotions without investment and courage. Movies, books, television, watching sports, and our pets all have the potential to invoke emotions within us without the fear of negative repercussions. When was the last time your dog laughed at you for expressing affection towards him? But with the unpredictability of humans, even a smile can gain a negative reaction and that awareness creates fear of sharing and expressing what is within.

"It takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else."
Erma Bombeck

I frequently stop and stare at my son. Even though it has been thirteen years since I have given birth to him, his being here still amazes me. He calls these moments in time “creepy mom moments” because they often make me cry with joy and love. He is uncomfortable with this display of affection as are most teenagers. Why is this? Why is it when I kiss my husband in public do people ask you to 'get a room'? Can not a kiss just be a sign of affection and why is it something to make others uncomfortable? Why do we try to bury the feelings of remorse, shame, fear, anger, and injustice? Why do we attach ourselves to them?

Hanging onto an emotion creates problems. It prevents you moving onto the next moment and leaves you living in the past. Whether it is love or misery; be vulnerable, experience it and then let it go so you can move into the next moment - the next now. Stop, focus, feel and then take a breath and surrender. Every second is the first moment of the rest of your life. Being vulnerable creates vitality and the feeling of being alive. Relinquish the negative like fear and anger and know, like the rise of the sun, we will experience alternative emotions. Know there will be new feelings of joy and feelings of pain. None of them are meant to last forever and they only linger or multiply if you keep attaching yourself to the same ones that arise.

"We're so engaged in doing things to achieve purposes of outer value that we forget the inner value, the rapture that si associated with being alive, is what it is all about."
Joseph Campbell

Running away with your emotions, especially the painful ones, is a heavy load to carry because of the weight of your pain. Eventually you will have to stop in exhaustion. Living with fear, shame, resentment and other difficult thoughts is grueling and humans often seek refuge via other methods. We have created many pseudo escapes from feeling: work, alcohol, drugs, exercise, television, video games, eating, self mutilations, and avoidance of people or surrounding ourselves with people we don’t have to connect with. But emotions are fleeting and are forever-changing like our vibrant Alberta weather. And like the ying and the yang, we have the good and the bad. To appreciate the sunny we have to have the cloudy to compare it to. How wonderful is the sun glistening on Mr. Jack Frost’s work after a winter storm?

“When God loves a creature he wants the creature to know the highest happiness and the deepest misery. He wants him to know all that being alive can bring. That is his best gift. There is no happiness save in understanding the whole.”
Thornton Walton

So have courage - every time you meet with your loved ones the love will be fresh and new, and all moments of pain will sloughed off and disappear forever. Remind yourself to stop often, breathe, and let yourself feel. Experience gratitude and love or feel the wind in your hair, and the pain of a muscle burn from a zillion low back stances. Use all emotions to remind yourself that today, by the grace of God, you have the gift of life…so let yourself feel alive. Every moment you spend away from the present is a moment you lose, and the only time you can ever really be alive is now.

Sifu McKinley

Trust or Fear

There are two opposing views of the world. In one we desire everything to be secure and predictable; in the other we accept uncertainty as part of our daily lives and we know that to seek complete safety and predictability is madness. One world we pull closer to those around us forming trusting healthy relationships and are active participants in life. In the other “safe” world, we withdraw away from others in suspicion and merely exist in loneliness, fear, and disillusionment.

There is a time when trusting in others is the very substance of our lives. As infants, there are years we are completely dependent on our caregivers to feed, clothe, teach and inspire. If all goes well, we arrive into adulthood with an ability to trust in ourselves and in others. Hundreds of years ago trust was a requirement for survival, today it is a by-product of living with others. Trust is a perception of belief of three elements: honesty, competence, and compassion. The loss of any of these creates a loss of trust which creates distance between those involved.
The ability to trust and be trusted has a huge impact in our daily lives. Trust is linked with fear which can dominate us like no other enemy. What happens to trust in others if we become victims who have been violated? How many millions of dollars did Maple Leaf Foods lose during their recent recall because of loss of trust and fear in their products? What if a husband or wife is caught cheating, or an employee is caught stealing from their employers, or a brown belt says “I did do 50 push ups” to a black belt when they obviously didn’t? How does this affect those relationships? Is trust a moral attribute or just an issue of reliability? Do they both inspire fear?
One of the components to being a black belt is to teach only those we trust and as a student, to learn from those we trust. Teachers and students are both affected by social influence. The art of persuasion is more likely to succeed by those who are considered trustworthy. A failure of trust is more easily forgiven if it is interpreted as a failure of competence rather than a lack of integrity or benevolence. For both, once trust is lost, by a violation of any one of these three fundamental elements, it is very hard to regain. Being and acting trustworthy is the only sure way to maintain any degree of trust.
What about the relationships we have with ourselves. How is pride and self worth affected when we deceive ourselves and lie to others? Is there any discomfort in the process itself or in the aftermath? How has the lack of trust in your life affected its quality?

For me, trust is something I am working on. I grew up in an environment of fearful people who lack trust in themselves and in others. Living with a chronic disease has made me come to terms with the fear of physical pain and of death. Becoming a black belt and a parent has alleviated a lot of the inner struggles I used to have with trust and fear. I overcame enormous obstacles to achieve a black belt creating a trust in myself and my strengths because I gave a 100% of what I had to earn it. Becoming a parent has given me trust in my character because of my efforts to be a good example to my son…not that I always get it right but the effort is 100%. I feel participating in the UBBT over the next year will help to amplify the trust in myself and in the goodness of my fellow inhabitants of this earth, and I look forward to the challenge.

I will speak of things....

I feel as though my struggle not to drown is over. I have resurfaced to a place of buoyancy in my life and with a clarity that is new and wholesome. After a three year sabbatical I am healthy and in a better place.

I have kept a journal for as long as my memories take me back. Exchanging my thoughts for words during the dark times has been like a life preserver keeping me afloat in the dark murky waters. When I release the raw emotions on paper and then reread them, it usually puts the reality of the sentiment back into perspective. Expressing thoughts privately satisfies my hunger in a way being heard does not, mostly because the sharing of thoughts and ideas often gives me indigestion.

Why? Exploring and expressing thoughts is in itself a satisfying meal, with sharing, being heard and responded to the dessert. Most banquets of self articulation allow me the comfortable warmth of gratification that results in little room for the rich pudding of sharing. But when resistance is low and I chose to partake in the sweet splendor of being exposed, I am often left sluggish, with a belly ache, heart burn and hot flashes. However, as I am learning, when all the plates and bowls align, the perfect dessert at the end of a lovely meal leaves an unequalled feeling of deep of contentment. This is the feeling I will keep foremost in my head as I surrender to the dreaded blog…..

So…I have been thinking about what to write in my first blog post…my first sharing and exposing exercise. When I decided to take on this challenge, I promised myself that I would do more then not quit, but I would surrender 100% to the process. I am extremely protective of my time as once spent it can never be replaced, so if I am exchanging my time for something I want to ensure it is well used. That means an authentic blog with real thoughts and ugh…emotions.

I will pull out the fluff so only the meat is left. I will be raw and authentic. I want to exchange my time trying to do what I know is the right thing according to my soul, not because I will earn the admiration of someone else or because my views may bother someone else. I will speak of things that touch my heart, not things that are easy for me to write or someone else to read. I need to ‘want’ to be my own hero more then anyone else’s. When I close my eyes at night I no longer want to worry if “so and so is mad at me”, or if I did enough to earn the admiration and affections of someone or how to be valued by another human being. I want to close my eyes at night feel proud of who I am because I am making choices I feel good about, regardless of what everyone else thinks. I want to respond to the voice of another so as to let them know I am listening and help us both feel connected, appreciated and loved. I will do my best not only with the push-ups and sit-ups, but with exposing my soul so it too has a chance to grow.

One of my favorite books is “The Invitation” by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. This is an excerpt from the book that I feel expresses where I wish my blogs to go and how I wish to connect with the people around me.

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it’s not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver moon, “Yes!”
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied, I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
Oriah Mountain Dreamer