Live in the moment?

We all agree it's important to live in the moment, but some ask, how?  

How? 

We humans struggle with living life in the now. Why? Honestly, how could we not? Who has the luxury of living in the moment? People without responsibilities? People without goals? People whose needs are easily attained? Billionaires? There's always something making us busy now, often for good reasons such as, others. True living in the moment might be achievable for toddlers only. 

Maybe it's legitimately better to live for the future? Isn't this why we study? Isn't this why we raise children? Isn't this why we schedule holidays? Isn't this why we train for marathons? There's always something making us busy now, for then. 

I think living in the moment is the right intention, but perhaps the wrong idea: I can't surrender to consistently living in the moment, but I can surrender—and recommend—living in the moments. I read Alice Walker's book: I notice the color purple. It's a cliché but it's true: stop and smell the roses, or linger after the kiss, or go ahead and swim in the lake, or take the day off to be with a toddler (personal favourite) aka live in the moments. And how? 

When I'm mindful, it goes like this:

1. I decide
2. to stop,
3. and revel.

And then I forget. And then I'm mindful again. And then I get busy again. And then I forget. Rinse and repeat. But when I remember steps 1, 2, 3...wow...those moments...they lift me. 

I tell myself

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It's snowing here. More snow is forecast. I tell myself Spring will come.

I have never felt a more empty nest in our home. Sentimental, I remind myself we are fortunate, that everyone is currently separated in some form, all for the common good. But I continue to wonder about my grown children's safety, and our own. I continue to wonder about the elderly, the sick, medical staff, grocery-store employees, the babies not yet held by their grandparents. Others. I remind myself to be grateful. For my health. For my job. Many have lost theirs, including some of my colleagues, callously informed via Twitter/Facebook this weekend, promised the opposite only days ago. I wonder how parents are coping, and their children, their mental health. Then I notice through the window two neighbourhood kids wrapped in colourful snowsuits playing in their backyard, simultaneously climbing and sinking into a snow-hill, and I tell myself, they are strong.

I tell myself I can learn a lot from children—an educator, they have been my constant teachers. Buoyed by their inspiring ability to adapt, I tell myself to get focused, get creative, seize opportunities, persist, and learn everything I can from this. Meaning is more found in the bad times, right? I'm reading Sapiens: a Brief History of Mankind. Confident and wise, Yuval Noah Harari attempts to answer life's biggest questions. Couldn't we all use some answers right now? I wonder if Harari's answers still resonate with him, in this new season of history, weighty and charged with us all thinking the same questions. And it continues to snow.

Yet I know for sure that the writers—the storytellers, the philosophers, the filmmakers, the poets—they have all asked these questions before, and so I tell myself Rilke's words: "Let everything happen to you, beauty and terror, just keep going: no feeling is final."

Things one should never outgrow:

marveling at the Earth.

Full Cup

We've all had the is-the-cup-half-full conversation. I've been thinking a lot about this debate lately, and the people in my life whose perspectives have greatly influenced mine. Sadly, one man whose point of view always pointed me toward realism will now be missing from my life much, much too soon. Dear friends: I urge you not to surround yourself with people who agree with you all the time. Like the saying goes, if everyone in the room is thinking the same way, then no one is thinking. We only grow through challenges.

Despite the unfair loss of his voice, I seek to remain optimistic and hopeful, yet, thanks to him, realistic too. Because, let's be honest, the cup may only be half full of water but it's also half full of air. If you ask me, that's a full cup.

Past Imperfect

All summer, in a nod to Canada's 150th birthday, the Art Gallery of Alberta is featuring Canadian art, photography, and sculpture as well as Andy Warhol's Wayne Gretzky prints. Aptly titled Past Imperfect, visitors are invited to write postcards to mail or to add their voices to the exhibit for others to read. There's also a wall display of notes from Canadians describing what they love about Canada.

I was encouraged to read these postcards, these modern, inclusive, Canadian voices: a person offering support to LGBTQ Canadians, a writer questioning why some Canadian Indigenous communities don't have clean water, and an immigrant, who when questioned, described her Canadian boyfriend's ethnicity as "human."

Exactly: human aka humane aka benevolent.

Inside My Box

Inside my box.

I slept in a box this weekend. Along with several other people, I participated in a homeless simulation, and I got the message. 

I have seen bums sleeping on the streets in Edmonton, Montreal, Paris, Rome. Sometimes I would put a coin or two in their cups and move on. Before my experience, I hadn't thought about what it means to label someone a "bum." Sleeping on asphalt outside overnight has me thinking carefully about that word and its intent. When I call someone a bum, am I saying...You are a piece of crap? You are connected to a bodily function that I'd rather not dwell on? Hence I can ignore you?

My 12-hour homeless experience was the tip of the tip of the poverty iceberg, yet the event clearly said gratitude. Usually blind to my privileges, I saw them everywhere at home today: blankets, pillows, lip balm, toothpaste, mosquito spray, deodorant, sunglasses, socks, shampoo, food. So much comfort. Doesn't everyone deserve this comfort? Yet the poor are blamed, dismissed, disrespected, ignored.  

How does that lack of compassion impact a person's daily mental health?

Science teaches that pain is subjective. Our brains use pain as a signal for action; the actual pain is not an accurate indicator of how much damage has occurred to our bodies (or minds). Thus pain responses are individual in nature. This is both fascinating to me, and, considering the homeless, tragic. Yet it explains a lot, because if my pain is not your pain, it takes effort to truly understand your pain. Thus the homeless, and what they're experiencing--so abstract to me--becomes invisible to me as it does for so many of us. 

I survived one night sleeping outside in a box, but if I had to do it again tonight and tomorrow and tomorrow and almost everyone ignored me everyday...who would my pain make of me? A thief? A drug addict? Dead? It's not so abstract anymore. 

The last Friday in May.

Who doesn't need to take a moment the last Friday in May? A moment to just enjoy the sky and the sun and apple-tree flowers and bees everywhere. A moment to look at a stump left behind by a tree almost 40 years old, a tree that was dying. A moment to marvel at its life and the space it left behind and how it is actually possible to miss a tree. A moment to contemplate change. A moment to push off whatever sits on your shoulders and push off into another space, a quiet, safe space where you can stop thinking for a moment. A moment to stretch your back and sigh and put your feet on solid ground and close your eyes and breathe and just inhabit the moment and so what when inevitable distractions occur, well that's just balloons floating away. A moment to remember someone no longer here, no longer laughing and eating ice cream or dancing in a parking lot or mulching the garden or planting gladiolas or baking bread or driving a tractor through a field dreaming much too much into a future instead of the only place we can find happiness: in the now.  A moment to ponder what the last Friday in May should be about: friends and gin and pumpkin break pudding and text messages about Austin Powers and letters mailed like silent promises. A moment to celebrate and say thanks for everything you have and everything you once had and everything that you might have someday but so what if you don't? Because, today.

Versions

A big crappy chunk of parenting is not not being yourself but accessing another version of yourself, a hard-ass management version. Inevitably, it's necessary. Because raising adults (as opposed to raising children) is sometimes grueling yet critical both for personal well-being and society. Raising adults is super annoying too. And frustrating. Inevitably, there will be hard conversations. There will be lines drawn in the sand. And crossed. And crossed again.

Yet there is also compromise and negotiation and forgiveness too, all of which may feel painful for everyone involved. And of course it's sunnier too: there are birthday parties and vacations and board-game arguments to laugh about (eventually) and a million other funny-tender-soft moments knitted into a fabric more valuable than its design.

But sometimes it was so hard.

Sometimes I would step out of myself and watch us all dysfunction. We were trying to say hear me and listen to me. So were they. And I knew it wasn't working for any of us. Sometimes because what they said or did was so shockingly stupid. And sometimes because we were so confused about what to do. I would hear myself lecturing my teens and bubbling just underneath my frustration was

1. my irrational fears.
2. a startling cynicism.
3. that muffled nonsense Charlie Brown adult noise.

But let's be honest. My main point was this: I love you. I love you enough and you are important enough that I won't give up and I won't give in even though I soooooooooo want to. Truth: I did give up a few times; no parent gets through this parenting gig without regrets. If only the big picture, the long term perspective, were available when you need a lifeline.

Back then I wondered sometimes if my teens would ever really know me as anything but the asshole who napalmed their hastily defined fun. Would they ever realize I didn't enjoy tearing down that rickety scaffolding they called teenaged life goals? Would they ever be able to acknowledge that my heart was in the right place? Damaged but still beating, not so defiant anymore.

And then it's YEARS later and I forgot many of these events and yet something still lingered for a long time, sort of a melancholy, an ache. I did not dwell on it because I know that shame kills, both the giver and the receiver. And then one morning, my daughter (who lived in a University dorm 48 hours away at the time) texted me because she heard bagpipes, and thought of me.

What?! Me? She remembered I love bagpipes? I don't know how to tell you what that felt like.

Several years later now, our family functions again. There's more to learn, but the past is the past. My children made me a better man. I learned my lessons, so did they. Once again, we connect, we celebrate, we endeavor to become who we dream to be. It's a privilege many don't have. I'm not so naive anymore: I know there will be hard times again. Yet a tender core survived. I don't know where I read it: "thick skin like a rhinoceros, tender heart like a lamb."

Things one should never outgrow:

If a kid gives you a drawing, pay attention because that is an honour, a true gift. It's also a reminder of who you used to be.

Sadly, most of us outgrow picture-giving. But why? Is it because it's just too vulnerable? Is it because we fixate on so-called imperfections? Why do most people think they can't draw? Why do we become so self-conscious? When exactly did that inner critic suffocate the artist within?

Kids don't much care about that stuff. This drawing may look a little nightmarish, but it's definitely a delight. That gaping maw looks like some sort of invitation to another world, a world where carefree kids live, where imagination and creativity is still more important than banal conformity. Don't be afraid. Go ahead, hop in there. Explore.

Out of reach?

I'm taking some courses and one of the treats are all the new words. Yup: wordnerd. But sometimes, when I learn a new word, I think, where have you been all my life?

Recent example?

Liminality: the quality of ambiguity or disorientation that occurs in the middle stage of a ritual (a process?), when we occupy a position at, or on both sides of, a threshold.

Aka life? But what a smart way to describe it. Aren't we always between things? Firsts and lasts? Novice and expert? Illness and recovery? Winter and Spring? Darkness and light? The decision and the consequences? Starting over and starting over again? The me I was and the me I am becoming? What it meant then and what it means now?

The messy stage. Between the tyrant and the deliverer. All the while seeking meaning, seeking much-needed clarity. Waiting. Or moving forward, full speed, trusting our headlights in the snowstorm.

Hold on, my friends. This too shall pass.

Let's be honest...

I thoroughly enjoyed playing the International Oilman Game with my wife, my son, and his girlfriend recently, but its gleeful capitalism reminded me of an important idea I read somewhere: nobody gets rich on their own.

In other words, it's a good reminder to me (especially in Canada) that my access to health-care, education, and infrastructure all contributes to a quality of life that enhances my success. Yet another reason to keep one's greed in perspective.

Things one should never outgrow:

Thanks Mac & Shay.

a wiener roast, especially a Winter wiener roast.

It's weird when you get oldish and your kid invites you over for supper. But I like it.

?

Like millions of others I'm reading about, I am bewildered by what is happening in the United States. Sure, I was bewildered last year too. Shocked. Angered. Grossed out. Worried. But now it's worse. And it renders me unable to think clearly. This is not the US I grew up next to. I'm not American and I don't pretend to know what it's like to be an American. It's always a matter of worldviews and perceptions, but I'm so confused by this open bigotry and ignorant tyranny and "alternative facts."

I always seek to understand people because, despite differing ideologies, the great leveler is that we are all human and don't we want the best for our children, for all children? This situation is way beyond political parties. Yet not everyone (?!) feels some combination of appalled and outraged, so what now? And what next?

Often, I am guilty of leading with my feelings. As we all should know, feelings are not facts so perhaps that isn't the best way to think critically and calmly about 2017 in North America. Nevertheless, this FEELS like when I was a kid and I watched Roots or when Sting sang, "I hope the Russians love their children too." It FEELS like when I read Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank or Night by Elie Wiesel or 1984 or The Handmaid's Tale or when I met a man who lived through Hiroshima. It FEELS like my Great-Grandfather, who paid the ultimate sacrifice at Passchendaele in World War 1, would be sickened by these developments. I don't even know how to explain these feelings. It's a heavy feeling, a fog. Growing up privileged and safe and comfortable and free likely explains why I feel so confused at times. But right now, I'm awake. I'm alert. And I feel empowered by all those who DO feel appalled and outraged and MOTIVATED.

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

whatever it is my bathroom towels are looking at. They are clearly not amused.

Check

Checklist for an amazing January:

1. Furnace
2. Fuzzy blankets
3. Wi-Fi
4. Booster cables
5. Alcohol
6. Throat lozenges
7. Mittens
8. Electricity
9. Fireplaces (or perhaps the Fireplace channel)
10. Firewood
11. Repeat quietly as needed: "A little more daylight every day. A little more...."   
12. Chips (because buying fruit might require a second mortgage)
13. Books
14. YouTube
15. Hot chocolate
16. Command start
17. Skidoo
18. Reminder: mosquitos are deader than disco
19. Friends who bring the funny
20. Potluck parties
21. Skating (no skates required, some days)
22. Snow forts
23. Snowshoes
24. Mukluks
25. Hoarfrost
26. An awareness of upcoming Sweet Short February
27. Hoodies (bunny-hugs, kangaroo jackets)
28. People who clear and sand the roads
29. To heck with shaving
30. Mettle (noun): a Canadian’s ability to cope well with difficulties or to face any demanding situation in a spirited and resilient way. Synonyms: fortitude, strength of character, moral fiber, determination, backbone, grit, courage, fearlessness, daring, disposition, nature, temperament, personality, guts, spunk, balls. [See Alberta man who punched a cougar at Tim Horton’s in Whitecourt, nuff said, drops mic.]

Things one should never outgrow:

celebration.

A friend taught me that celebrations need not be elaborate nor fancy nor do they even need to be public. (Very soothing words for guilt-ridden public celebration-anxious introverts like me.) He explained that celebrations simply acknowledge gratitude and they mark joyful moments. Together or alone, whatever, whenever.

Whether like today, it's Hanukkah or Christmas (or simply a Saturday) I'm a big fan of seeking joyful moments. And today's joyful moment came thanks to a combination of writing inspiration and Baileys. What am I celebrating? Smart friends. Letters to old friends. Memories. Peacefulness. What's more important to celebrate than that? (And I hope the same for you.)

Look both ways?

My son is grown now but I remember prepping him for Kindergarten. Because he seemed like a risk-taker, there was one important question I needed the answer to: “How do you properly cross the street?” He quickly replied, “Run!”

I laughed. I expected “look both ways.”

It’s one of the foremost things we’re all taught in life, isn’t it? Look both ways. Hmm. Is this expression more than pedestrian behaviour? Could it be a life strategy?

Look both ways has obvious safety benefits, but maybe it also correlates to looking back and looking forward. Looking back seems easy: life was simpler then. Less pressure? Fewer responsibilities? More carefree? Yet I don’t long to return to that time; it would mean giving up so much. My life is rounded now, fuller. Looking forward seems easy too: I envision a bright future for my children, for my wife, for myself. I hope to be wiser and more satisfied, for more comfort, for health, for travel, for time. Even more, I hope to see my children achieve success. Yet looking forward, I can’t help but wonder too: how much time is left?

Probably not enough. And that’s why I realize now look both ways wasn't the right answer: what's important is now. I realize my son said it best because there’s something better than looking both ways.

I need to run. Thanks son. 

Things one should never outgrow:

searching for Sasquatch.

Things one should outgrow? Snowpants. Unless, like me, you live way, way, way up North.

Things one should never outgrow:

the view.

If one looks closely, it changes every day. And it leads somewhere new every time.

Go with it, and grow with it.

Wrong.

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Hands up if you hate being wrong. Go ahead and admit it. We are raised to be right. Trained in fact. And that makes us very productive. Yet it also weakens us, and sometimes it ruins our relationships.

It’s okay to be wrong. It really is. We all know this. We can assure others and we can even assure ourselves, but let’s be honest: we still don’t like it. We all remember those times when our faces burned with embarrassment. We remember feeling too vulnerable, to unsafe, too unstable, too powerless. We remember that sting.

Yet fear of being wrong is a huge problem. It’s why people sometimes double down on stupid ideas. Remember the Titanic? There were not enough lifeboats because it was “unsinkable.” Um, sure it was. Constantly being right is a narrow journey. What’s left to discover? To wonder about? To find?

And be careful because being wrong feels exactly like being right. Think about it: when we don’t know we are wrong; we think we’re right. It’s only when we realize we’re wrong that we feel awkward or ashamed. Couldn’t we avoid some of that if we simply developed a healthy habit called self-examination?  I know, I know. Easier said than done. True. So start right now. Make a list of all the things you’ve been wrong about. Here’s mine:

1. Bigfoot. (Still waiting.)
2. Parenting.
3. Election outcomes.
4. How to peel a banana. (Start at the bottom, not the top.)
5. Almost everything I’ve tried to do right.
6. Decisions.
7. People.
8. Life.
9. Mullets.
10. I’ve even been wrong about being wrong sometimes.

A friend of mine has this philosophy: today is the last day I’ll be the worst I’ll ever be. I love that. We don’t have to like being wrong nor do we have to question everything. But if we ever want to create the right conditions to get life truly right, we have to admit when we’re wrong, to ourselves and especially to each other.

(I'm 98% sure I'm right about this.)