Dear Damn 2013

Dear 2013, you were the hands down worst year of my life. You were the year that showed me the true definition of heartbreak. I was literally brought to my knees with it. I laid awake on countless sleepless nights for months on end, sobbing and unable to breathe with the heartbreak that will forever mark 2013. That sorrow completely overshadowed the year, consuming my entire being. My. Entire. Fucking. Being. I never imagined that I would be able to recover from that bitter ache that was relentless within me. In the end I was able to pick up my shattered pieces and move on, but admittedly, a slight twinge remains.

Dear 2013, you were the best year of my life. You showed me that even though I had been shattered  into a million miniscule pieces, broken beyond fucking recognition, I could survive. I was taught that even when it felt like I could not go on...when it felt as if  I could not exist in this life for one more second...the world would continue to live and move on without me. I learned that above all, time really is the great, true healer. This was the year that I discovered who I really am. I became authentic and comfortable with myself, and I learned to show that authenticity. This was the year I became true to myself.

2013 will mark the year that, after what felt like a lifetime, I began to write again. I wrote about what I loved and I wrote about what hurt me to the core, and that pouring out of my soul started to heal me.

This was the year that I decided, out of the blue, to pick up a paintbrush for the first time and paint a picture. I painted that picture, and I found that I loved it. The best part was that I discovered my fear of being no good was unfounded. Even if the painting had turned out to be terrible, it was a starting place and it can only get better from there.

This was the year I realized that my fear was simply all the made up shit in my head, consisting of my own limiting beliefs. This was the year I took a step back and got some perspective, and in those moments I discovered that I am limitless.

Dear Canada Post....

I was at work last week when a coworker mentioned to me that Canada Post was planning on implementing some major changes in the New Year. Of course just had to I read up on these changes, which will directly affect me, and I stewed about it all for a little while. The reasoning behind these changes is that they are losing so much money to the era of email and internet that they can't afford not to take these steps. I'm sure said coworker wishes she had never mentioned anything to me, as I was like a dog with a bone on this topic for our entire four shifts. That's four shifts in a row that we work together, side by side. Imagine it: forty-eight long hours of listening to me. (Sorry Michele!!)

For those not familiar with what's going on, Canada Post is planning on raising the price of the current 63 cent stamp to 85 cents if you buy them in a package of multiple stamps, or $1 if they are bought separately. That's one dollar to mail a card or a letter. They are also planning to phase out door to door deliveries in urban areas, opting instead to throw up a bunch of those nasty looking walls of mail boxes. One point that was made to me about the big mail box wall was that they have the possiblity of building community. The opportunity is there to meet your neighbours while getting the mail, or getting the mail for a neighbour who may not be able to get it for themselves. I'm still a bit skeptical about the big wall of boxes, but I can totally respect the idea of growing a community.

My original "rant" regarding the implementation of these ideas had been a simple status on Facebook. However, I got so many texts and messages supporting my idea that I thought I'd turn it into a blog and send it directly to Canada Post at the urging some good friends. (Thanks Christa and Mike!)

So here's my idea in a nutshell:

Dear Canada Post,

I understand that you have fallen on hard times. The world is moving so fast now, and everyone wants instant gratification that you can't deliver (forgive the pun). This is the generation of immediate responses and split second mail via text message, email, and Skype. I get it, and I feel for you. Even I have to admit, I will never go back to doing such tasks as paying my bills by mail when online banking is just so darn convenient. But maybe instead of jumping straight to your aforementioned plan of attack you could take a different approach?

How about making a whole campaign promoting a slowdown of society? Make an ad focusing on the smile on someone's face when they receive an actual letter in the mail. What about the feeling of receiving a tangible card in the mail instead of a post on Facebook? Don't get me wrong, I love and appreciate my Facebook messages and well wishes, I truly do, but I haven't had a letter written to me in years and I would be absolutely thrilled to receive one.

That being said, I have letters that I keep in a little box in my closet. They were sent to me from my first boyfriend when I was 16 years old and he was 19 years old. He was at university and I was still in high school, and it was the most cost effective way to communicate at that time. I can't even describe the anticipation I felt waiting for his letters to come, and the butterflies in my stomach on the day his letter would arrive. I know I wouldn't still have an email or a text message from 24 years ago. Let's promote the romanticism of the love letter, and the thoughtfulness of the handwritten word. Just a thought.

Would You Wear Your Words on Your Skin?

Hello friend! Come on over....make yourself comfortable. Sit back and close your eyes. Just totally relax. Now picture something for me. Imagine we lived in a world where every single word you ever spoke materialized on your skin for all to see. Really and truly take a few moments to picture it. Do you think you would you live your life differently? Would it make you more mindful of the way you treat others? Would you choose kindness over malice? Empathy over indifference? Acceptance over rejection?

If every word you said was etched on your skin, would you be more aware of your dialogue? Would you live in fear and censor yourself, or would you seek to bravely speak your truth? Would you care when you saw the hurt look on your friend's face as she saw how you gossiped behind her back? How would it feel to have everyone see the harmful things that are said in the heat of the moment? Those damaging words are ingrained in the heart of the person they were hurled at, regardless of whether we mean them or not. Envision that they are glaringly evident to each person you encounter. Would you take back that time when you were 15 years old and you told your mother you hated her, because in your teenage angst everything seemed so much more important than anything she had to teach you? Would you have found the words to tell your grandmother how much she meant to you, because it would become so apparent after she died that sometimes it really is too late?

Imagine we lived in a world where every single word you spoke appeared on your skin for all to see. Would you live your life covered head to toe in clothing to hide the ugliness of your comments and criticisms, or could you freely parade the beauty of your vernacular?

Now picture something else for me. Imagine that the words you spoke did not appear on your skin. Imagine your words appeared on the skin of those you spoke them about. And alternatively, you were also covered in the words others spoke of you. Imagine how it would feel to be perpetually reading put downs, insults and verbal abuse. What would your attitude toward life be? Now imagine how it would feel to be able to carry visible compliments and praise permanently with you. Your outlook would be incredibly different, wouldn't it?

Hold this with you in your heart, and remember that words can be delightful or malicious, peaceful or cruel. Words must be chosen carefully for our own peace of mind as well as for the feelings of others. Choose well, my friends <3

Forgive Me Humanity, For I Have Sinned

 

 

A couple of months ago I sat back and took a really close look at my life. I'm talking about a microscopic dissection of everything I thought I knew about myself. I was intensely aware that I had made a powerful transformation within the last two years. I recognized that I had helped people deal with their life issues, not from guessing but from the comments and emails I had received with expressions of love and gratitude. The truth is, I never set out to help anyone, I never set out to inspire anyone, and I sure as hell never wanted anyone to look to me for anything. I just wanted to save myself from myself. I just needed to stop myself from self destructing with my disparaging thoughts. Fortunately with some fantastic guidance and some crazy self awareness, I was able to do just that. However even with most of my disadventageous behaviours under control something still felt really unsettled within me, and one day everything got bad. It actually got worse than it ever had before, to the point where it was difficult for me to function. I had nothing to do but think because it was hard for me to do anything else in the state I was in. In the self evaluation that was constantly running through my head I came to the conclusion that although the past is the unchangeable  past, making amends for the wrongs I had committed and the hurts I had caused could neutralize a lot of the pain I was still carrying.

 

So I thought of the people I perceived that I had hurt the most, or had the most drama with, in the years gone by. I sent apologies to those people (the ones I could find anyway), even if I felt I had gotten more hurt in the relationship than they had, and I took responsibility for my actions. I made no excuses for any of my behaviours. I didn't want to cheapen my apology with an excuse. I simply said a very heartfelt sorry. I said I was sorry to those I had been friends with and those I had been lovers with. Some of the biggest apologies I wanted to make were to people who had already passed on from this life to the next, and so I said those ones silently, within my own heart. I received an overwhelmingly beautiful collection of responses from nearly all of the recipients. The majority of people welcomed my apology with open arms, some people said they had no idea what I was talking about and hadn't felt slighted by me in the least, and two people did not answer my apology at all. Those that had not felt an apology was necessary made me feel incredibly sad because I had spent, in some cases, 20 years carrying unnecessary burdens from what I perceived as huge evils that I had committed when in reality those were merely made up stories I had generated myself. Regardless of the reaction I received, my heart felt wildly emancipated to know I had reached out to another person and attempted to make amends for any suffering I had caused.

 

After that, I felt lighter somehow. Pardon the shitty cliche, but it really did feel as though a huge weight had been lifted from me. So many feelings that I had been carrying with me on my journey were shed and left by the roadside. Maybe even more importantly than asking for forgiveness from others, I forgave myself for my sins. I forgave myself for hating those who hurt me. I forgave myself for not knowing what I didn't know before I learned it, realizing I had beat myself up for years for thinking I should have "known better" in a situation I had never encountered before. I forgave myself for making poor choices at times when I was just doing the best I knew how. I forgave myself for feeling guilty for not living up to other people's expectations when I should have blocked out the opinions of others and concentrated on what I wanted for me. I forgave myself for putting expectations on others when my desires shouldn't play any part in the lives of others at all. I forgave myself for letting guilt and insecurity eat me up inside until I thought I wasn't worthy of love or life. My updated Facebook status a few days after I unpacked all of this baggage reflected my feelings:

 



"Two weeks ago I had the worst day. Ever. Nothing happened to make it the worst day ever, it just was. It felt like everything was completely and unbearably wrong.

A week and a half ago I decided to start unloading the baggage I had been carrying around. Some of the things I unloaded, I had been internalizing for 20 years. I asked for forgiveness from others and forgave myself.

A week ago I saw a picture that said, "No matter what....I will continue to live from the centre of my wide open heart". I decided to do that, to open my heart back up when I interacted with all others. To put myself out there and not hold myself back.

Half a week ago I read a crazy powerful poem entitled She Let Go. I read it over and over again. And then I simply let go.

Now everything is different, but it's not. The same day to day issues are still there, but I am different. I feel so much more at peace, and that makes all the difference."

 

I discovered it is not worth it to live with the guilt of my prior actions, especially if I am able to heal it in some way. I discovered it's ok not to have all the answers first in order to move on. Hell, sometimes I don't even know the questions. Putting my ego aside and putting myself out wholeheartedly to people was the best decision I could have possibly made for myself at that point in my life. Interestingly, a few weeks ago I received a message from an old friend who I hadn't had contact with for many years, and had reconnected with fairly recently on Facebook. She said she could relate to my blog posts and that she had her own sadness, insecurities and regrets....and that she was sorry for being a bad friend. And I honestly had no idea why she felt she needed to apologize to me, and I told her that all I had were good memories of her. I hope at that point she was able to release those guilt feelings she had been carrying around and feel a bit freer within her heart as well.

 

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The poem that changed the way I thought of letting go:

 

She Let Go

She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go. She let go of the fear. She let go of the judgements. She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head. She let go of the committee of indecision within her. She let go of all the "right" reasons. Wholly and completely, without hesitation or worry,
she just let go.

She didn't ask anyone for advice. She didn't read a book on how to let go. She didn't read the scriptures. She just let go. She let go of all the memories that held her back. She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward. She let go of the planning and all the calculations about how to do it just right.
She just let go.

She didn't promise to let go. She didn't journal about it. She didn't write the projected date in her Day-Timer. She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper. She didn't check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.
She just let go.

She didn't analyze whether she should let go. She didn't call her friends to discuss the matter. She just let go. She didn't do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment. She didn't call the prayer line. She didn't utter one word.
She just let go.

No one was around when it happened. There was no applause or congratulations. No one thanked her or praised her. No one noticed a thing. Like a leaf falling from a tree,
she just let go.

There was no effort. There was no struggle. It wasn't good and it wasn't bad. It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be. A small smile came over her face. A light breeze blew through her.
And the sun and the moon shone forever more.

~Safire Rose

Everything I've Ever Let Go of has Claw Marks on It

 

Yes, I knew the minute I read his words that David Foster Wallace understood me, because this phrase rang so true, everything I have ever let go of has claw marks on it. Everything. I hold on so tight that my knuckles are white and my hands go numb. When I find something I love I close my eyes and jump in, completely immersing myself in it, and when it's over it is the end of my world at that time. When it is over it feels as though nothing could ever be right again. At that moment nothing is visible but the ending, solid and unyielding as a wall, blocking out new hope. The fresh beginning  that my brain knows is there cannot be visualized. The ache in my heart becomes so big that it blocks it out, and I simply can't find that beginning. It's nowhere in sight. I've tried to figure out why this is, why I can't let go when it's obviously time for me to gracefully let something exit my life. Is it because I have low self esteem, or because I don't feel that anyone else will find me worthy again? This is a point I've pondered for a long time, examining my thoughts and intentions, but it did not feel true within me.

 

This is a world where I have been told over and over: Just let it go. How incredibly easy everyone makes it sound. Just let it go! Hey, why don't I just let it go?? So when someone exits my life, or when a chapter comes to an end and I'm not ready for it...when I was blindsided because I didn't even fucking see it coming...I should be able to smile, give a little wave and be on my way without another thought. Easy peasy! Why didn't I think of that? Except that it's not easy, it's fucking hard. And surprise, I am a human with actual emotions. I have been told by someone I love, someone that exited from my life without a thought, that I can choose my emotions. I can choose whether I love someone or not, whether I miss someone or not, whether I cling to someone or not. I can honestly understand and accept that theory to a point, but when emotions are fresh and raw they just come as they are in all their nakedness, unwilling to cover themselves.

 

All of life is an act of letting go, but what hurts the most

is not taking a moment to say goodbye."

~Life of Pi

 

It comes down to this. For all of the well meaning advice from people to just let go, sometimes it is necessary to take a minute to say goodbye. My goodbyes consist of wallowing in my own misery and a large helping of self indulgent self pity. I listen to the songs that make the core of me ache fiercely, and cry into my pillow. I write letters pouring out my heart, soul, hurt and anger, and then don't send them. Thankfully this doesn't last forever, but since no one wants to see this it can only be done at certain times. The outpouring of raw sentiment makes people uncomfortable so I must do these things in private where no one can see or hear it. Since I almost never have private time, my healing takes a long time. It encumbers me for weeks or even months. I've often wondered if the dragging on of this is detrimental to me, and I can only be certain that the not being aware of and not managing my emotions at all is much, much worse. Not dealing with it makes it jump back out and bite me in the ass at the least opportune times, because those unresolved emotions don't disappear. Those agonizing feelings over things I was passionate about will come back over and over until I acknowledge them in the way that they feel honours them. Those emotions are a needy, greedy horde only tamed by time and intimate, thorough recognition like a long, slow French kiss.

 

"The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most,

are those that are absurd - The longing for impossible things,

precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never

was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being

someone else; dissatisfaction with the world's existence;

All these half-tones of the soul's consciousness create

in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset

of what we are."

~Fernando Pessoa

 

 

And so I grieve. I grieve for what could have been, and for the way I had envisioned the romanticized scenario of my life. I mourn for the love that I lost, and for the way I wished I had been loved but wasn't. I will continue to grieve until, instead of being a scream in my face, the throbbing pain evolves into a sweet, soothing ache that is nothing more than background noise. I will grieve because my feelings are valid and they have a reason and a place in my life. Sorrow takes as long as it takes to resolve, and I will not rush mine. I will savour it and taste it's bitterness until it is appeased and I can put it away forever. I was once told let the strong part of me protect the broken part of me until that broken part is healed. And so for now I will let the strong part of myself write my life until my brokenness heals. And that takes as long as it takes.

Back From the Brink: Heartbreak and Healing

 

 

"You can't make homes out of human beings

Someone should have already told you that."

~Warsan Shire

I had originally written this story for a contest. The rules of the contest were that the story had to be written by a female, had to be a real life experience, and had to do with nature. Of course, being as attentive as I was, I missed the deadline by a month. I kept this story private, as it is so emotionally raw, and so important to me. Today I took inventory and saw how far I really had come, and wanted to share this with other people. This is not only to show that it is possible to heal, but that sometimes we hurt more than other people think we should, and that sometimes we take longer to heal than they think we should. Everyone's feelings are valid, no matter what others think they should be, and the healing process takes as long as it takes. Sending much love and light to anyone on such a journey at this time <3

 

 

 

I woke up extra early to pack and prepare for the day I had planned. I got out my gym bag and stuck some granola bars and a couple of peanut butter and jam sandwiches in it, along with my wallet and a water bottle. As I headed toward the front door I stopped to grab my camelback off of a hook in the hallway. The camelback being a bladder of water that could be carried like a small backpack, had extra compartments for food and keys as well. I wanted to be totally equipped because I planned on being out hiking for a few hours. A recent article said that not only exercise, but also being outdoors in nature, had the power to elevate one's mood. Armed with this new information, I thought a hike at Scout Valley might be exactly what I needed. Scout Valley is a 230 acre piece of land on the outskirts of the city I live in, vastly forested and containing many hiking trails. I had been there often in the past, but had not visited it in recent months. Then again, I hadn’t visited much of any place in recent months. I had been feeling disillusioned and bitter lately, but I guess a broken heart will do that to you. It had been six months since I had initially felt that heartbreak, and was finding it agonizingly difficult to move on from it. A good friend suggested that I write emails to myself and put them away in a file, so that when I went back to them I could see how much I had healed, and how far I had come since the day I wrote them. In six months I hadn’t seen much improvement in myself. I still laid in bed for longer than necessary, finally forcing myself to get up for the day by the time most people had already accomplished most of their to-do list. It felt as though I no longer had any worth. Sometimes at night I wondered if I would have to go to the hospital due to my sorrow, because when I thought of him I cried with such force and grief, and the physical pain in my chest was so great, that I felt like I couldn’t breathe. At those lonely, quiet times in the night, I literally didn’t know how I was going to live. It wasn’t because I wanted to die, but because I did not comprehend how the sadness in my body could be bearable. I simply didn’t know how to go on. It was then I knew I had to make myself get up. Feeling that way wasn’t an option anymore, but making the change was a challenge.

It took a true effort to make sure the kids got ready for the day. I dropped them off at school a bit early, and then drove directly over to the hiking trail. As I pulled in to the small dirt parking lot, which was surrounded on three sides by forested areas, I instantly felt a calming sensation in the atmosphere. As I exited my vehicle and began walking toward the opening of my very favourite trail, I felt a slight chill in the morning air. It wasn't the harsh chill you feel when you can see your breath, but it was just cool enough that you wondered if you should have brought a sweater. The coolness that enveloped me made me more aware of the air on every inch of my skin, and made me feel more alive than I had in months. The ascent of the trail was densely treed, and if it had rained right then their branches would ensure I'd hardly get a drop on me. It was shady and fresh walking through there, and I felt safe and hidden amongst their branches.

My breath became ragged as I hiked to the top of the trail and continued on to where it led out of the grove of trees and into a large clearing. Once I was out in the open, I stopped and turned my face up toward the sunlight. It felt good and warm on my skin, and banished any earlier regrets there had been about not wearing extra layers of clothing for the hike. With my eyes closed I could see the light illuminating red behind my eyelids. I didn't move for a long time. I just stood there feeling the sun's amazing warmth radiate over my entire body, completely aware of how incredibly uninhibited I felt at that moment. It felt as if I were floating even though my feet were firmly planted on the ground. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, and when my eyes finally opened several minutes had passed.

I continued with a brisk walk along my chosen path, and soon after broke into a run. I ran as fast possible on the alternating rocky and sandy areas of the trail, twisting my ankle slightly or becoming off balance at times, but I felt wild and free. No other people were there, and the solitude was both overwhelming and therapeutic. I looked to my right as I came to a fork in the trail, and set far back saw a stream with a bridge that I had never noticed before. I suddenly felt compelled to take it. Whenever hiking in this area in the past, I would stay on my usual two kilometer loop. I might hike that loop anywhere from four to ten times before I've had enough, but today I felt like exploring - literally as well as figuratively. The further I went into the woods the more I discovered, not only about the terrain but about myself. As I explored, I had notably more curiosity about the narrower, less travelled paths than the trails that could be seen down clearly. I favoured those narrow pathways over the well travelled ones each time there came a point in my journey where a decision needed to be made to take one over the other. Often the narrow footpaths dead ended and I had to backtrack to take the passage that had originally been disregarded. Despite this, I never regretted my initial instinct to duck down and delve into the trees.

There were several times I got lost in the forest that day, my saving grace being the GPS on my phone. I’m sure I'd still be there if I hadn’t had that with me. Even being lost and wandering I wasn't afraid, and knew I was on an adventure of self discovery and healing. The dirt under my feet was forever solid and never moving. It was rough and uneven at times but it was always there, and it was the most stable thing in my life in that moment. I felt a distinct connection with the wilderness around me and I became so overwhelmed with emotion that I laid down on the earth and let my tears flow down my cheek and into her. At that time, it felt as though we were one. I stayed that way for a long time, letting all of the hurt drain out of me. When I got back up I felt different. The grief of my heartbreak was still there, but there was also a heavy longing for the strong connection to the earth that my ancestors had. How did it change so that we now had to drive to the forest instead of being forever surrounded by it? How had we become so detached from the wildness of our earth that we were intrinsically attached to? How had we become dissociated from something that had the capacity to heal us emotionally? I was meditating on my own questions as I ran down the final stretch of the path to my van. As I looked back to where I had come from I saw the years of trees, older than myself, standing proud and firmly rooted. I saw the moss on the trees, the ferns amongst the grasses, and the pine needles that blanketed the trail. I heard the songs of the birds and the scurrying of small animals in the underbrush, too quick for me to spy. The dank and secret smell of the soil surrounded me, enveloping me like the earth’s child, and it was then that I knew I would be okay.

The Non Religious Guide to Prayer

I read something the other day that really resonated with me. A sentence within an article basically said that we should make healthy decisions not only for our body, but for our mind. That's kind of thought provoking, don't you think? We don't talk a lot about the taboo of mental health, but that's exactly what I perceived the author to be saying. We always think of our dietary intake and our exercise as being the healthy habits to concentrate on, but what about our mind? Yes, there are things like meditation (which I do) and affirmations (which I also do), but what about something a bit more mainstream? How about not making yourself feel like shit for not being over-the-rainbow-happy every day, and feeling there's something wrong with you because of that? How about not comparing your body, which is perfectly beautiful, to the supermodel in that magazine? How about just staying in bed because you feel you need to that day? How about just being kind to yourself a few times a day when those ugly thoughts pop into your head. Yeah, those thoughts. The ones that feel like they've always been with you, and they have been there so long that you aren't sure where or how they originated. Just give yourself the freedom to not berate yourself for feeling less than stellar every single day in this age of "if you're not happy, you're obviously not grateful". Some days I feel like shit, but that doesn't mean I don't love my family and it doesn't mean I am not grateful to have a home to shelter me and food to fill me.

Another thing that has been shown to be good for mental health is praying. The thing is you won't find me in any church pew pouring my heart out. That's just not me, and if I was to do that I would be so uncomfortable that it wouldn't do me any good anyway. I think that praying is really about giving yourself a break, unshouldering your burdens, and searching for answers, and if that is the case, there are other ways to pray. Always pray with an attitude of self love and self care. That does not mean getting plastered! Treat yourself with love, like you would treat the five-year-old you. Look at a five-year-old. They are innocent and curious, wanting nothing more than to laugh and be loved. Pray in ways that that still your mind. Take a nap. Have a bath when your body needs one. Go for a run. Write in your journal. Talk with a friend. Go hiking. For hours. Be in nature. Forgive yourself. Forgive others.

What ways do you pray?

The Secret of Sadness

I have a secret. It's kind of surprising to some people, as I often spout a lot of super positive and supportive messages to friends and strangers alike. In actuality, I have to put an effort into being "up", and when I am it is glorious. Once I get myself to that place where I am happy, I feel like I literally cannot contain it. I feel as if the joy is going to burst from my chest and I have to admit, it is truly, incredibly fantastic. But on the flip side, sometimes I get sad. I mean inconceivably, depressingly, debilitatingly melancholy. I'm not sure whether it's due to some kind of hormonal shift that rivals a nuclear fallout, or whether it's because I've had a couple of days in a row that just purely sucked, but I get that kind of "I don't feel that I can go on" grief deep within me. I just want to be alone, and to put my life on pause in order to deal with it. This big sad usually only lasts for two or three days before I feel on top of the world again, but it is a major pain in the ass while it is within me and I have to go out and be among others.

I found this circulating around on the internet the other day, and it was then that I discovered I'm not alone. I just can't possibly be alone because someone I don't know, have never met and will probably never meet, made this. And the person who made this put it out there to circulate for other people so that they would know they are not alone, and for that I am so grateful. I hope that others see it and get comfort from it as well.

 



The truth of the matter is situations always, ALWAYS get better if you give them a chance. The outcome might not be what you wanted, but that downbeat will turn around eventually. People sometimes berate themselves for having negative feelings, and when that happens the negativity just holds on for longer. Unfortunately that is the exact opposite of what we all hope for. When we try to push the negative away because we are told we are always supposed to think our positive thoughts, and are always supposed to be upbeat, that shitstorm of emotion comes back twice as strong. We can't get rid of the bad stuff until we give ourselves a chance to deal with it and to really experience it. I'm not talking about those people (and let's face it, we all know one or two of these people) who bitch and complain about everything and put everyone down because their outlook on life (and probably of themselves) is so crappy that they don't know of any other way of being. I also don't mean for everyone to sit around and mope for months on end. I'm talking about letting yourself feel your loneliness/melancholy/resentment/bitterness. Really allow yourself to feel the intensity of it, let yourself get right into it, maybe meditate on it for a while, and then release it. Yeah, I said release it. Let it the fuck go, because although those feelings are pretty normal to have crop up every once in a while, if you hold on to them they will eat you alive. Do it symbolically if you need to. Send a balloon up in the air, write it all down and then burn it, run hard and fast until you've sweated/breathed/puked it out. Just rid yourself of it and move on.

Don't look back, just close your eyes and fill that space where the negative was with love and light. Be consistently grateful for your life and everything in it, drop the judgment, view everyone with new and forgiving eyes, and I promise you the joy you experience will be incredible beyond your imagination.

Let's Get Physical

Ever been in the best shape of your life? Ever worked seriously hard at it, found yourself at that seriously awesome fitness level, and then just abandoned the pursuit due to boredom, fatigue or loss of interest? If that's ever happened to you, then you've probably found yourself months later wishing you had stayed motivated because you could have been in even better shape by now, you could have reached your goals, and you know you totally could have kicked ass. Yeah that's me right now, but I'm not beating myself up over it, I'm learning from it. The break in my fitness routine actually happened due to a broken heart. It took a while, but I finally realized the old lay-around-and-do-nothing routine was a habit that was definitely not doing me any favours. It ultimately dawned on me that not going out for a run was only punishing myself and no one else. I was the only person suffering the consequences of my decisions. I wanted to get back into it, to have a goal to work toward, but I was afraid. Afraid of not being as good as I was before? Maybe. Afraid of trying and trying but never quite getting to where I want to be? Definitely. The reality is, fear is just some made up shit that we get from our imagination and past experiences and let's face it, if we think of it logically, future events don't have to be the reflection of past experiences. Just because you could not accomplish something yesterday, last month, or last year doesn't mean you won't crush it tomorrow, and doing something to work toward a goal is always better than doing nothing. Will the world end if I only get in 50 box jumps instead of 75? Nope. Will my family stop loving me and turn their backs on me if I don't get a PR on each consecutive run? Probably not. Will I still be able to look at myself in the mirror if I'm walking around five pounds over my goal weight? For sure.

After considering all the things that I knew definitely would not happen, I started working out again this week. Hard. Probably at almost the same intensity as what I left off at over six months ago. Just a few tips for everyone on this. First of all, jumping into an exercise routine with both feet after you have been sedentary for a while is probably never a great idea. Unless it's for me, of course. I decided I could handle it. Yes, I have had to kind of crawl up the stairs after my workout because my legs had literally turned into quivering masses of jello. Yes, I have had to ease myself down onto the toilet seat day after day because my muscles were so sore they couldn't be trusted to let me down on their own. (I'm actually thinking of installing those bars in my bathroom designed for elderly people, to help me with that sort of thing.) But in the end the reality of it is I feel great for it, even if it wasn't the exact right way to go about it.

Second, working out doing tabatas in front of a fully mirrored wall is the most humbling experience you will ever have. Ever. When I bought this house last year I thought that line of mirrors was the most glorious part of the place. It's actually a wall of mirrored doors that have a storage space behind them, and I decided the minute I saw it that it would be the perfect workout area. However, doing any sort of cardio-like move in front of those mirrors will show you jiggles and wiggles and rolls you never knew you had. Oh they were always there, but you weren't able to see them at any other time because you didn't have these super new angles with which to see them with. It's hurtful.....I mean, seriously cruel and upsetting to see....but I highly suggest you do your indoor workouts in front of a bank of mirrors just to get a realistic idea of where you are in your fitness quest. Think of it as a necessary rude awakening.

Lastly, when people ask you why you're walking all weird and you tell them it's because your ass hurts so much, they will always, ALWAYS want clarification and details. Make sure you are as clear as possible that you are doing absolutely amazing workouts, improving your fitness, and getting into legendary physical shape. Unless, of course, you like to keep things ambiguous. In that case, carry on, and good luck in your fitness endeavors!

 

Quit Playing the Victim

I had a friend recently belittle me for saying some positive things in the face of his negativity. Actually, it was almost like a long term, ongoing power struggle over whether negative or positive would triumph. To be honest, although I wanted to give this friend the help he was asking for, it was emotionally exhausting to communicate with him and be constantly rebuffed. The resistance was absolutely overwhelming, until I recognized that although he complained he did not actually want help. It was then that I became aware of a really important distinction: Some people ask and ask and ask for help, almost to the point of begging. They complain about their lives and all the things they want to change but "can't".
"I need more money."
"I want to get into shape."
"I'm not happy with my partner."
"Things never go my way."
Then when someone steps up to give those people options, they refuse them or make a plethera of excuses and revert back to the "poor me" victim role. Does that sound familiar? If so, which one are you? Are you the person who plays the victim, or are you the person who comes up with the options?

I'm certainly not judging because that damn victim role is really hard to let go of. A person can become totally entrenched in it. I know, I've been there. I have had lots of victim roles that were as comfortable to fall into as a big, comfy bed, and at the time felt impossible to pull out of. Why? Because the victim role is identifying. Who am I if I'm not the single mom....the daughter of an absent father.....the abused woman.....the former troubled and depressed teen....the survivor of several suicide attempts? Who am I? Look at those roles. They are all negative. Identifying yourself as a victim is never going to produce anything in your life but negativity. Talking about your negative roles and having people who claim to be your friends commiserate with you and pity you also isn't doing you any favours. As a very intelligent friend of mine said yesterday, "It takes less energy to placate people than it does to tell them the truth." And that is hitting the nail directly on the head. You don't have to play into that game. The roles you identify with are based on your various past experiences, and they are nothing but stories we continue to tell ourselves. Let that sink in....everything we identify with is just a story we tell ourselves. Guess what? You can start telling yourself a brand new story. Yes, just like that. All it takes is the decision to be someone different, or do something different and make that change.

I feel like all of my negative roles were a lifetime ago now, because I choose not to identify with them anymore. Now, it's as though they were never me at all. Just be strong and get out there. It's a simple concept, but it isn't always the easy thing to do. Quit making excuses. Do something different to get a different result. Empower yourself with positivity! And above all, don't listen to those stories of your past....go write yourself some new ones.

My Life as a Paeds Nurse

A short look into my work life, which I do love. Most parents are super appreciative (thank you for bringing coffee or food in for the nurses, we are so grateful!) but not all of them can understand the limitations of my role as a nurse.

First, let me say I am so sorry that your child is sick and in the hospital. No, you're right, I do not know what it's like to have a child that ill, but I do have children that I love dearly and I can absolutely empathize with what you are going through. I know you are exhausted and beside yourself with worry. You may have a strong support system of a spouse, family and friends, or you may be all alone in a new place with no one to lean on. I will do my best to support you in any way that I can, because although my top priority is your child, you are a direct extension of that child. I am sorry that I am not able to get your child fresh vegetables to eat in the middle of the night. I would like to, but my hands are tied as to what we actually carry on our floor, and the cafeteria is closed. Government cutbacks, you know. I am not able to change a doctor's order, or make an order myself. I cannot put the rate of your child's IV up to where you think it should be. I cannot give your child anything to make them go to sleep because you are tired, we aren't allowed to do that. I'm sorry that you feel you are not getting enough attention. I try to give my patients all of the attention I can, but I am looking after three other precious children in addition to yours. I am sorry I am not able to give you a private room or your own bed to sleep on. I know sharing a room with another family and sleeping on a pull-out cot is an inconvenience but believe it or not, that's actually good news. The big private rooms are our ICU rooms, so the smaller the room you get, the less sick your child is compared with the kids who have to go into those ICU rooms. That's good news, no? And in the grand scheme of things, it's only a few days and nights of that inconvenience out of the rest of your life with your child. I do my best for you, and sometimes you feel that it isn't enough. And sometimes it isn't, because I can only do what I am allowed to do, but yelling at me or belittling me doesn't change this. All in all, no matter what your background, where you live, or what your income is I will not judge you but do my best to advocate for your child. I understand your frustration with the medical system because, even though I am a part of it, I become frustrated with it as well. When you take your frustration out on me, I understand why you are doing it and I try not to take it personally, but in all honesty sometimes it hurts. I am a your nurse, but I am a person with feelings too. Let's work together for your child.

Sincerely,
Your Paeds Nurse

What the F**K is a Budget Anyway???

So I was at the job (or "in da hood" as we've started calling it), the other day and I expressed to one of my coworkers that I need to put myself on some sort of a budget. Since that day, I've become a bit of a project for her. I think she's worried about me. I think she thinks I'm irresponsible. I actually suspect it's because of a conversation that went something like this:

Heidi: "Okay, so your mortgage comes right out of your bank account. Does your insurance come out of there as well?"

Me: "I think so."

Heidi: "You think so?"

Me: "Yes. I definitely think so."

Heidi: "You don't know?"

Me: "Well it's gotta come out of somewhere. I'm almost sure it's there."

Heidi: "What's the rate on your mortgage?"

Me: "I'm not sure."

Heidi: "What do you mean you're not sure?"

Me: "I took the best one I could get; I just don't recall what that might have been right now."

Heidi: "Ok, so your gas bill comes out of your bank account. Which gas company do you use?"

Me: "I'd know it if I looked at the bill."

Heidi: "Do you have anything outstanding that is going to be coming out of your bank account?"

Me: "Yes. I wrote the plumber a cheque yesterday and took it to his house."

Heidi: "You took it to his house? Is he a friend of yours?"

Me: "No, I had just had the bill for a long time and forgot about it, and then I found it again and I thought I should pay it, but I didn't want him to think I was irresponsible so I took it right to his house and gave it to his wife instead of putting it in the mailbox because it was Friday and I didn't want it to be sitting in the mailbox all weekend without him knowing about it, and then I explained all this to his wife to tell him sorry I hadn't paid sooner and to please not think I'm irresponsible." That may look like a run on sentence, but that's actually how I talk sometimes.

Heidi: "Oh. My. God." **BIG SIGH and a BIG ROLL OF THE EYES**

So now you know why she sees me as a project. I wish I could say that I don't know much about my finances because I have a husband that does all that shit for me, but I don't. It's just me, and all I really care is that I get paid the right amount on the right day. And as an aside, automatic withdrawal is the best thing ever to happen to people like me.

The week after that conversation, I went to the bank. Because they called me to come in. The message on my message machine said they wanted to help me save money, because I obviously don't know what the fuck I'm doing. It may not have been said it in those exact words, but it was certainly implied. When I get called to come in to the bank, I always feel like I'm in the principal's office at school again, but this time I'm getting into trouble for mismanaging my money. When I went in, this "Financial Advisor" started to ask me the exact same questions that she asks me every single time I get hauled into her office. It was becoming incredibly tedious, so I finally said, "My answers are the same as before. They will always be the same because I don't care about this financial stuff. It literally bores me to tears." I got the pursed lip look of disapproval from Financial Advisor at that point and she continued filling out the questionnaire without actually asking me the questions. I thought I heard a big sigh from her too, but I'm not sure because my mind was already wandering at that point. I have always been in Financial Advisor's office for at least an hour at a time, where she tries to convince me to change this or get in to that, and I have no idea what she is talking about. I literally need a translator to walk through the door to talk to the woman. Financial Advisor has never had any patience for me. I think we have conflicting personalities or something. I tend to be a bit more....free spirited.....than she is. I think the same rule should apply to Financial Advisors as to parents: Positive reinforcement is always better than the negative stuff. Do not chastise me for not being interested in money matters, congratulate me that I'm gainfully employed! Praise me for not being unintentionally homeless! Give me a high five for having more than 36 cents in my bank account....hell, give me a pass to cut to the front of the teller line for not going into overdraft all month!

I was actually thinking recently that it might be nice to be more aware of what is going on in my day to day budgeting habits, but it's just one of those things I can't fit into the day. Technically I could, but I have way more cool things to do than count my pennies. Or, more technically nickles, since the penny has been done away with in Canada. Maybe I should just hire Heidi to do it for me.

The Back to School Non-Jitters

As I was going over my work schedule earlier this year, I was ecstatic to see I wasn't working the day shift on the first day back to school in September. This meant my day was free for doing the mommy things in the morning like making breakfast, helping with lunches, and instilling any last bit of my expert advice and reassurance. I have always liked to take the kids up to the school to see which classes they are in and help them make the transition back to the classroom. I remember being at a new school in grade two and being all by myself in the school yard. My mom wasn't as lucky as I am with her work schedule, and couldn't always be there for things like that. I stood at the side of the building and looked in the windows. I walked back and forth, sliding my hand along the window ledge on the outside of the building, hoping that I would become invisible. I knew absolutely no one, and felt conspicuous and totally alone. Even though my kids weren't going to a new school, I still wanted to cushion the experience for them by being there. Okay, that's a bit of a lie. Ty started his very first day of high school yesterday, all handsome in his school uniform, and he didn't want me hanging around either. Although in his defence, he may have been afraid that I'd bring a guinea pig with me. I do shit like that sometimes. Anyway, when I got home from tagging along with the other kids up to the school, I was feeling a little bit sorry for myself. It was the first day of school for the kids, but none of them really seemed to care if I took them or not. It appeared that I had blown my importance in their lives way out of proportion here. I had imagined they would beg me to stay with them, and as they were called into their lineups by their new teachers they would look sadly at me and squeeze my hand one last time before they stared down at the ground and slowly walked over to where their classmates were waiting for them. I'd give the teacher a half smile and a shrug of my shoulders as if to say, "What can I do? They are so attached to me. They just love me too much for words." What actually happened went something like this:

Me: "Hey Ty! Want me to take you up to the school?"

Ty: "Nah, I'm good."

Me: "Are you sure? On your very first day of high school??"

Ty: "Yeah."

Hmmmmm. Okay. That was not the conversation I was expecting. I then insisted on going up to the elementary school with Trent and Trista. They wanted to get up there early to see who their teachers would be, and I knew there would be no yard supervision at that time in the morning. You never knew what might happen at 8:15 am with a group of hyped up kids, so I figured I should be there just in case. Trent sauntered away from me right away and found his class list. Then he found his friends and walked away with them without so much as a goodbye. I may have gotten a slight smile, but I can't totally be sure. I found Trista's class list for her, and she was so happy to see she was with one of her besties who hadn't been in her class the year before. As said bestie walked up and they gave each other an excited little hug, I think I actually did become invisible for a minute.

Me: "Hey Tris, want me to stay until it's time to go inside?"

Trista: "Yeah. No....whatever. It doesn't matter."

Me: "Okay, I'm going to go then."

Trista: "Yeah okay." This was actually said over her shoulder as she was already walking away from me at that point.

So when I got home I updated my Facebook status to say:

"I'm torn right now. I'm not sure if I should be sad that my kids don't really care whether or not I take them to school the first day, or proud that they have grown up confident enough to know that they can absolutely go up there and figure it all out on their own. I walked them up there anyway (but tried to interfere the least I could!)"

I got a lot of great support, telling me that it was normal to be a bit sad and it was also good to be proud, and that independence is a sign of good parenting. But one comment stopped me dead, and really put it in perspective. My friend Troy said,

"Not being a parent I would think that the goal is to raise children to be independent and not dependent...."

I was so wrapped up in feeling like I wasn't needed that I made the whole thing about me. I mean, I have been grooming my kids for independence since....well, always. I myself was a painfully shy child. I had no siblings and didn't really understand other kids, which made situations like the first day of school super stressful, even when I did have friends there. Because of this, I decided long before I had kids that I wanted my children to be sure of themselves and confident. One thing I always despised when I was young was making phone calls, and I felt seriously apprehensive whenever I had to. So I've gotten Ty, Trent and Trista to make their own phone calls to friends and family since they were able to talk. The point being that the more they did it, the more comfortable they would become with it. Now they have no issues calling a store and talking to a stranger to ask a question. Earlier this summer, a friend of mine from work that Trista had never met found herself with an extra ticket to see the Wizard of Oz in Toronto. She asked me if I thought Trista would like to go with her....driving down with an entire bus full of other people she also didn't know. Trista, my brave eight-year-old, said "YES!!" without hesitation. She went to a place she had never been with a person she only knew by my stories from work and had a great time (thanks Heidi!!). My kids have no problem talking with adults, and no difficulties making friends. They are pretty darn comfortable with themselves and, dare I say it, exceptionally independent. I am just so proud of each of them! I've since realized the only reason I was allowed to come to the elementary school yesterday was for a bit of an ulterior motive. Trent's reasoning was that Trista wouldn't be able to see the class lists over the scads of parents and kids that are always crowding around on that first day. So I was essentially critiqued and given the go ahead due to my height advantage. And after a bit of reflection, I'm okay with that.

The First Meeting of Many

Tonight I went to my very first writer-y type meeting through the Canadian Authors Association with my good friend, Christa Davidson. It wasn't a workshop, but one of those monthly meetings where all of the members and wannabe members show up. It was held in a side room of Brewery Bay, and I honestly had no idea what to expect when we walked in the door. I brought my ever present stainless steel water bottle, and noticed immediately that all the tables had jugs of water with floating lemon slices, and glasses set beside them. Right away I wondered if anyone noticed I had brought my own water bottle, and thought I had brought in the booze with me. And, as my ever reasonable friend Christa pointed out, you would have thought that being held at a restaurant, I might have deduced there would already be water there. We found a table and got comfy in  our new surroundings. Actually we happened upon the wobbliest table in the room, the water in the jug actually spilled out onto said table when it wobbled, and got cautiously comfortable. As we were waiting for the meeting to start, a lady introduced herself as Karleen Bradford, and she sat down at our table with us. Once again, my ever trusty friend had the woman googled and the information to me before the introductions were even over. Karlene is quite an accomplished writer of children's books, and she's really kind of a big deal. I thought it was pretty cool that she came to sit with the newbies!

The presenting author was Farzana Doctor, who has written two books and is currently working on her third. The nice thing was, I liked the author as a person. She spoke well and was really warm and down to earth. Plus, she smiled a lot, which I always love. I was totally mesmerized as she read excerpts from her book Six Meters of Pavement, and I put a hold on it at the library as soon as I got home. I'm not generally very adventurous with my reading, and I tend to get into a lot of Eckhart Tolle, Dan Millman, and Wayne Dyer. In other words, it's a lot of self help reading and not a lot of reading for pleasure, so I'm really looking forward to this book.  Faranza answered a ton of writing type questions as well, anything from, "How does an author find an agent?" to  "How often do you write?"

Farzana and Christa

All in all it was a great first meeting with a lot of useful information, and I'll definitely be doing it again! 

 

Who's Sicker, the Nurse or the Patient?

 

I recently went for an ambulance ride. I was accompanying a paediatric patient to Sick Kids hospital in Toronto from Orillia Soldiers Memorial hospital in Orillia, which is approximately 90 minutes away, depending on how fast you want to drive. Now, I hadn’t been on such a trip in five years, the reason being that I get sick in the ambulances. I can usually convince other nurses to take my patient transfers for me, but this day I had no such luck. I had avoided it for five long years, so I figured I really couldn’t be too upset about it, but I really wasn’t looking forward to it either. When I’m in an ambulance I can’t sit facing backward and I can’t sit facing sideways, I have to face straight ahead. The first time I went on an ambulance run I was just finishing up my consolidation, which is the last semester of nursing school where you have a preceptor and actually work their shifts with them. I had never been on an ambulance run before so it was a great opportunity for me to see how this process worked. The patient was a baby who was being transported down to Sick Kids hospital for an appointment with a specialist and then was being brought back to the Orillia hospital again. I was fine while we were on the highway, but once we got into the city I started feeling queasy. Also, I must have gone a terrible colour because that was when the paramedic told me I didn’t look well and tried to put the oxygen mask on me. I had never experienced anything like that before, had never been carsick before, and I was incredibly embarrassed of all the fuss being made over me by the (really, REALLY cute) paramedic.

 

Fast forward to the next year and I have another patient that needs to go to Sick Kids. But first, I have to explain a bit about the whole transfer thing. If the child is so sick that it is beyond our scope of practice at our hospital, they go to the city. If they are REALLY sick the paediatric transport team comes to get them. If they are marginally sick a nurse from our hospital hops into the ambulance with the child and takes them down. The part that bothers most nurses is that you could take a patient to Toronto, but that doesn’t guarantee you a ride back home again. Ambulances are for urgent and emergent issues, and taking a nurse back to her home hospital just doesn’t qualify. You could get left at the hospital you dropped the patient off at, or you could get dropped off at the Tim Horton’s on the side of the highway with all of your equipment. My biggest peeve isn’t getting ditched, it’s the possibility of barfing because really, who likes barfing? So this time I came slightly prepared with a vomit bag, although the situation itself was probably made worse because I was so dreading the experience. Yaay! I actually got down there without the paramedics trying to put oxygen on me! I took the patient into the hospital and to her floor where a nurse was waiting to admit her. As the nurse took the patient’s paperwork out of my hands I snatched the (unused) vomit bag back from the top of the pile of papers and scolded, “That’s mine!!” She just gave me a really weird look and walked away with my patient. You’d think a nurse would be more understanding.

So back to this last ambulance run. Again I went prepared, with two vomit bags and an emergency Gravol pill. I say an emergency pill because I couldn’t very well take it when I had a patient, as it puts me right to sleep. And I couldn’t take it when I didn’t have a patient because if I ended up getting dropped off somewhere I would, once again, be asleep. It was more like a little security blanket. (I’ve since found out that there are non drowsy Gravol tablets made with ginger!) Of course, we had to go to Toronto on a holiday Monday. For anyone not familiar with this, Toronto is south of Orillia and with a holiday Monday all of the cottagers from up north are travelling back south at this point, trying to get back to their homes in the city. The highway is usually bumper to bumper traffic for a great many kilometers. So here I am prepared with my emergency sickness kit, and I tell the paramedics I have to sit facing forward or there will be a problem. The captain’s chair in the back of the ambulance only has the capacity to face front in some ambulances, and this wasn’t one of them. Fortunately I had a really wonderful crew who somehow made the chair swing around to face front because they felt pity upon me and my story of woe. So as we are driving  down the highway all lights and sirens….the bumper to bumper highway that is, where the ambulance is speeding up and slowing down rapidly, continuously shaking up my insides……I have to assess my patient. To do this requires me to stand up and take a few shuffling steps. Inside the jerkily moving ambulance. Facing backward. As I was standing up, facing toward the back of the ambulance, leaning over the head of the stretcher to listen to my patient's chest, I felt nausea overcome me. My first thought: “Oh fuck, I’m gonna barf!!” My second thought: “Oh fuck, I wonder if this kid will wake up from his really peaceful looking sleep if I barf on him??” My third thought: “Oh fuck, I wonder if I’ll get fired for barfing on a patient??” I quickly assessed that my patient was just fine and quickly got back to my seat so that I could stick my face in the trusty vomit bag. I held my lunch of pizza and Diet Dr. Pepper down….barely. I wasn’t sure if I was nauseated from the motion of the ambulance itself, or from the fact that my body was revolting from the terrible lunch I had consumed before embarking on the trip. I was able to get the child to their destination without any medical intervention, however the child’s mother did ask me (several times) if I was okay. I was very lucky that the crew didn’t have to ditch me at the destination hospital, however we did have a slight hiccup in our plans. When we were about one kilometer away from the Orillia hospital, they were diverted to a call. It turned out to be very minor and I eventually got back to my hospital without mishap.

Next time I’m sent out, I plan to be fully prepared. My sickness kit, or perhaps it should be coined as an anti-sickness kit, will be equipped with vomit bags, and ginger Gravol. Hopefully I won’t have to put my plan into effect for another five years!

Are You Busy Living or Busy Trying Not to Die?

The death of a friend this week had me receiving several messages and texts from well meaning friends wondering what happened to him. I reflected on this and noticed that when someone dies, one of the first things people always ask is, “What happened? How did they die?” It’s like this mandatory question we have to ask to define our own mortality, as if simply knowing how another person died somehow protects us from succumbing to that same fate. We need reassurance that that won’t happen to us. Until it does. And by then, we won’t know it actually happened to us anyway. It seems more people are consumed with not dying than they are with actually living and building the life they've dreamed of.

 

 

A year or so ago a good friend introduced me to a tool that made me incredibly more aware of how I spend my time. It’s called a Memento Mori, which translated means "remember your mortality" or "remember that you will die". It's basically a chart of small boxes, 52 across and 80 or so down. Each block on the chart represents a week of life. The 52 boxes across are the weeks in one year, and the 80 or so down are the years. I think I put 95 years on mine! I have it hanging on my bedroom wall, staring at me. Sometimes I am able to ignore it for periods of time but I always come back to it. When I was first introduced to this concept I absolutely balked. I think my exact words were, "Are you kidding me, Johnny?? That is absolutely fucking morbid!" But it stayed on my mind, and the more I thought about it throughout the day, the more I became enamored with the idea. I realized it's not supposed to be a solemn gloom and doom look at what little time you have left, but a celebration and awareness of what you've done, and continue to do, in the time you've lived. Of course, by the end of that day I had made my own Memento Mori.

As the weeks pass I look at the little blocks that I've coloured in black and think to myself, "Was this week a good representation of how I want to live my life? Did I do things that made me happy? Was I kind? Did I love? Did the people I care about know I cared? Was that time spent in front of the TV doing nothing worth that box of my life? Were the feelings of fear and self doubt worth wasting one single iota of that precious time on? Was worrying about whether I would be judged for my decisions or actions concerning my own life worth one second of my thoughts?" Sometimes the answers to these questions are not what I had hoped. Some weeks I have spent time in a heap of self pity, some weeks I have spent time feeling bitter and lonely instead of grateful for all of the wonder in my life. Each week I learn something about myself and I become more aware of the direction I'd like to steer myself in to make my best life possible. Looking at that chart makes the sometimes all-consuming fixations seem really trivial, and completely puts things back in perspective. I look at those little blocks and think of all the time I spent fretting about my hair, my weight, my clothes. I look to where I was 14 years old and I felt like my world was ending, and I truly wanted it to end, and now I can't remember why I felt so hopeless. I can guarantee it was about things that weren't going my way, people that didn't act/react the way I wanted them to, and things I didn't have in my life. Some of those things I could control and some I couldn't. Back then it was everything but 26 years later I see that it wasn't all I made it out to be. It’s so obvious now that my mind was stuck on what I wanted and not on the wonderful things I already had.

Not long after being introduced to the memento mori, I watched the movie Finding Joe, about The Hero's Journey as explained by Joseph Campbell. One line in the movie really caught my attention: "One day we will all be dust and the janitor will be buried beside the CEO." That was the most truth I had ever heard about death in my life. It wasn't sugar coated. We are all going to die, not one of us will be spared, and isn't death a great equalizer among us? In death we're all the same, but what are you doing in your life that sets you apart? Are you following your bliss, or do you come home from a job you hate and watch TV until it's time to go to sleep, get up, and go back to that same job again? Are you concentrating on everything that's right in your life or everything that's wrong? What actions/thoughts/vibrations are you putting out into the Universe right now? Are they positive or negative? If they are negative, think about a little black box on the chart of your life and ask yourself, is this the way I want to spend this moment? Is this what I feel my life is worth?

Here's the link to make your own Memento Mori:

http://www.thenategreenexperience.com/downloads/memento-mori.pdf

If you choose to make one, take a good hard look at your life as you do it. Are you creating the life you really want? Is there something you've always wanted to do that you’ve been putting off because you’re afraid? Don't waste another minute on the trivial shit, wishing to do things instead of taking action. The old adage is true, there's no time like the present. The present is all you really have; we're not guaranteed the rest of those little boxes, so go out now my friends, and do everything you've dreamed. This isn’t idealism; this is your life in motion.

P.S. My friend Johnny Waite introduced me to the Memento Mori. Here is his blog post with his perspective of it. Truly inspiring!

http://livingmyselftodeath.blogspot.ca/2012/02/memento-mori-latin-phrase-meaning.html