There are those rare times every so often when something happens and you feel like it is speaking to you. Like it was meant for your ears, or your eyes and the greatest part about it, is that you actually realized it! It’s like a fleeting tease, a moment that dares you to believe that that very thing was meant for you. I'm not really talking about sunsets or rainbows, but less grandiose things. Smaller, simpler things.
It’s not very often that it happens, and I doubt that I ever took the time to slow down and see it before. Often, getting too caught up in the busyness of the day and trying to rush from point A to point B. I made a decision a few months ago that I was not going to be a slave to my schedule anymore. Sure, I’m still going to get to work on time and to the daycare before it closes, but I decided that I could not live my life in the perpetual rush state that had become my reality. I put my foot down (I guess with myself) and said no more rushing.
It’s been nearly two months since I made this commitment to myself and I am feeling like life is a little bit kinder to me. Less demanding in some respects, though I didn’t change much. All I did was decide that I wasn’t going to race all over the place anymore because it was stressing me out! A little piece of me is reluctant to make New Years Resolutions or Lists of What I Should be Doing as these things usually fade by mid-February and can feel slightly hollow given that we all expect to fail at them before the ink is even dry. But here we are mid February and I am reaping the small rewards of a less rushed life. A small victory.
Which brings me to Dave, the “Dave and Morley Dave” of The Vinyl Café. The kids and I usually catch bits and pieces of it in the car on the weekends and I always love to hear the kids giggle when they listen. (A true sign my kids are growing up!) The story today was “Dave’s Letter.” As I listened to the story and the musical guests I felt like it was meant for me in some small sort of way. The people, the places, the music, the sentiment expressed by Dave at the end. All of these things seemed to represent something significant to me, something that I could identify with. It made me smile quietly to myself as I sat at the bar and drank my coffee listening to the familiar delivery of Stuart McLean.
This in itself was not a luxury I ever made time for before. My weekends up till recently were filled with driving to and from activities and generally playing catch up on laundry and meal preparations for the week. I felt pleased with myself for having made the time to sit and listen to a 45-minute favourite show of mine.
As the story unfolded and Dave pondered his list I thought about my own. How different would it be? What else would I add to my “do not rush list” to open myself up to all the possibilities of connection that await us? I like Dave’s list so I will share it below. And if you have 45 minutes to spare, give the podcast a listen, it’s a good one. I’m probably not the only one who feels like the Vinyl Café speaks to them personally.
Dave’s List
(as heard on the Vinyl Café by Stuart McLean Feb 20th, 2011)
Tell the truth
Ask for help
Don’t speak of others behind their back
Strive to forgive
Be generous
Be quiet
Read books
Eat your greens
Thank you Stuart...and to Dave.
I'm glad I made the time to listen. Your list already came in handy today, I will keep it close by as the rest of the year unfolds before me.
http://www.cbc.ca/podcasting/pastpodcasts.html?44#ref44
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
handbook, watch out
I wish you had written me a handbook. I could have really used it today, and numerous other times over the last week alone. Ideally, it would have been written in the “Book of Rules” style format. Lots of headings, labeled with the page number attached for quick reference. I’d keep it in my purse to use at a moments notice, or I’d throw it at people when they’re being insensitive. Like today.
I would have looked up, “what to do when a group of women you’re eating lunch with keep discussing the tragic circumstances of Mr. 36 yr old young guy who’s been diagnosed with cancer and it happens to be the week your husband died.” The conversations rarely end there either. How sad, and he has this kind and that kind, but they can’t operate because of this reason and that reason. (How could they possibly know this much?!) And so and so, knows this person who had the same type, and this person’s ex had a similar kind of cancer…How can people presume to think it’s okay to talk about others like this?? Don’t people know that cancer gossip is the most hurtful kind? All the while, the only thing I can do is sit there silently while the tears brim to the surface and I look for the nearest exit so I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. I wonder what your one line response would have been to shut them down. You would have been brave enough to say something.
I could also use some guidance on how to not feel so guilty when I can’t attend every school activity for our kids. Especially the ones mid-day, mid-week with ultra short notice, like tomorrow. And it would be great to have a child-approved answer for why I NEVER volunteer for field trips. Or why do we have to stay at daycare for so long?? I just have this feeling that your answers to these pleas would be more accepted, simply because they were yours.
I know the big ones will come in time, like the lessons of life, and how to tell our son about man-like things. These are not the ones that seem so big and scary to me. It’s the little things. Like trying to remember the happy times we had together as a family rather than focusing on what’s been lost simply because of a date on the calendar. I could really use a whole section on this because if you look hard enough there’s probably a dozen of them a year.
So, yes, I wish you had written me a handbook, or better yet, a survival guide to getting through the week. Seeing that this is impossible, I suppose I could keep “The Rules of Life" handy even if just to throw at people when they make me cry.
I would have looked up, “what to do when a group of women you’re eating lunch with keep discussing the tragic circumstances of Mr. 36 yr old young guy who’s been diagnosed with cancer and it happens to be the week your husband died.” The conversations rarely end there either. How sad, and he has this kind and that kind, but they can’t operate because of this reason and that reason. (How could they possibly know this much?!) And so and so, knows this person who had the same type, and this person’s ex had a similar kind of cancer…How can people presume to think it’s okay to talk about others like this?? Don’t people know that cancer gossip is the most hurtful kind? All the while, the only thing I can do is sit there silently while the tears brim to the surface and I look for the nearest exit so I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. I wonder what your one line response would have been to shut them down. You would have been brave enough to say something.
I could also use some guidance on how to not feel so guilty when I can’t attend every school activity for our kids. Especially the ones mid-day, mid-week with ultra short notice, like tomorrow. And it would be great to have a child-approved answer for why I NEVER volunteer for field trips. Or why do we have to stay at daycare for so long?? I just have this feeling that your answers to these pleas would be more accepted, simply because they were yours.
I know the big ones will come in time, like the lessons of life, and how to tell our son about man-like things. These are not the ones that seem so big and scary to me. It’s the little things. Like trying to remember the happy times we had together as a family rather than focusing on what’s been lost simply because of a date on the calendar. I could really use a whole section on this because if you look hard enough there’s probably a dozen of them a year.
So, yes, I wish you had written me a handbook, or better yet, a survival guide to getting through the week. Seeing that this is impossible, I suppose I could keep “The Rules of Life" handy even if just to throw at people when they make me cry.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
smile
I saw it in your face tonight, and again last night. You smiled, and I saw your Dad. It wasn’t just a glimpse, it was a familiarity that emerged like it was always there, I just couldn’t see it till now.
A protective barrier maybe? A safety mechanism perhaps, put in place until I could welcome the day when you smiled and I see him in your eyes. I thought I would cry, but I didn’t. I looked at you again tonight as we played lego. I couldn’t help but stare as though I was noticing for the first time how your brown eyes squint when you smile, just like your Dad’s used to. I think you’ve always done it but I wasn’t quite ready…till now.
A protective barrier maybe? A safety mechanism perhaps, put in place until I could welcome the day when you smiled and I see him in your eyes. I thought I would cry, but I didn’t. I looked at you again tonight as we played lego. I couldn’t help but stare as though I was noticing for the first time how your brown eyes squint when you smile, just like your Dad’s used to. I think you’ve always done it but I wasn’t quite ready…till now.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
almost
It felt almost easy. We laughed on the way there, drank our coffees and talked about nothing and everything. The kinds of conversation that evolve after an hour on the road are the ones that feel so honest and real. I often remember them the longest and with more detail than other daily conversations.
We had a nice leisurely morning in spite of the deadline hanging over us. Eggs, coffee, and a quick stop at the local Starbucks for another coffee for the long drive ahead. At first glance, we could have been on our way for a weekend escape only minus the uniform. The kind girl at Starbucks tried to give you the drinks without paying when she realized where we were headed.
I sat in the car and pondered our circumstances as we drove along. The usual bad Ontario drivers in the left lane (and 401 stop and go traffic) begged us to agree enthusiastically with one another about how pathetic ALL the other drivers are on the road. We make a great pair that way; complaining about bad drivers is great fun!
I thought about you leaving to go to a place that is so foreign to me. A region that is full of conflict and still in dire need of guidance and aid from other countries. Essentially, a place that in my mind represents the unknown. As we drove along I realized how normal our day seemed, you making me laugh as you commented on how useful desert camo is because you can spill coffee and no one would ever know. We chatted as usual about our favourite artists, our plans for the spring, the kids. Then we pulled into the base.
A place you have been to a dozen times in the last 3 months and probably a dozen or two more throughout your career. I got the quick drive by tour of the barracks and hangars and then the reality of the day sunk quickly into my knees. As the mid day sun made it’s appearance I wanted to quickly rewind the day to last night’s relaxing evening in front of the fire.
I met a few of the crew which put me a little bit more at ease in what felt to me to be a strange place. It felt as though we were all standing in limbo waiting in this “in between two worlds” sort of a place. Most everyone I met was light hearted yet there seemed to be a shared desire to just get things moving already. So much lead up to any departure almost always creates a buzz to just get on with things.
We stood and we chatted and then you walked me to my car. You kissed me but it didn’t feel like a sad goodbye like I thought it might. It felt, hopeful. I was thankful in that moment for your practical, realistic ways. As you said, it’s not really goodbye. I know I’ll be seeing you in a matter of weeks. I watched you walk back into the building and I got in my car, proud of myself for keeping it together for you.
I sat at the lights waiting to exit glancing up at the clear skies. I thought about your long night of traveling and the 3-hour drive ahead of me.
It felt…almost easy.
And then the tears came.
We had a nice leisurely morning in spite of the deadline hanging over us. Eggs, coffee, and a quick stop at the local Starbucks for another coffee for the long drive ahead. At first glance, we could have been on our way for a weekend escape only minus the uniform. The kind girl at Starbucks tried to give you the drinks without paying when she realized where we were headed.
I sat in the car and pondered our circumstances as we drove along. The usual bad Ontario drivers in the left lane (and 401 stop and go traffic) begged us to agree enthusiastically with one another about how pathetic ALL the other drivers are on the road. We make a great pair that way; complaining about bad drivers is great fun!
I thought about you leaving to go to a place that is so foreign to me. A region that is full of conflict and still in dire need of guidance and aid from other countries. Essentially, a place that in my mind represents the unknown. As we drove along I realized how normal our day seemed, you making me laugh as you commented on how useful desert camo is because you can spill coffee and no one would ever know. We chatted as usual about our favourite artists, our plans for the spring, the kids. Then we pulled into the base.
A place you have been to a dozen times in the last 3 months and probably a dozen or two more throughout your career. I got the quick drive by tour of the barracks and hangars and then the reality of the day sunk quickly into my knees. As the mid day sun made it’s appearance I wanted to quickly rewind the day to last night’s relaxing evening in front of the fire.
I met a few of the crew which put me a little bit more at ease in what felt to me to be a strange place. It felt as though we were all standing in limbo waiting in this “in between two worlds” sort of a place. Most everyone I met was light hearted yet there seemed to be a shared desire to just get things moving already. So much lead up to any departure almost always creates a buzz to just get on with things.
We stood and we chatted and then you walked me to my car. You kissed me but it didn’t feel like a sad goodbye like I thought it might. It felt, hopeful. I was thankful in that moment for your practical, realistic ways. As you said, it’s not really goodbye. I know I’ll be seeing you in a matter of weeks. I watched you walk back into the building and I got in my car, proud of myself for keeping it together for you.
I sat at the lights waiting to exit glancing up at the clear skies. I thought about your long night of traveling and the 3-hour drive ahead of me.
It felt…almost easy.
And then the tears came.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
happy, content, un-rushed, not perfect but joyful New Year to you
Christmas and New Years seemed to have slipped by quickly this year. The holidays seemed too short as I drove home from work this evening. The traffic crawling along March road felt dull and familiar only two days fresh into the workweek. It’s odd to think we were lounging around in holiday mode only three days ago. Now here I am with heavy eyes all before 10pm after a day of putting out small fires in the bank world.
Time is funny that way. A relaxing Sunday afternoon can feel like weeks ago when you’ve barely made it to lunchtime on your first day back after the weekend. Traffic has a way of sucking the holiday right out of you too. This year’s Christmas break was definitely too short and over too quickly for my liking. I could have used an extra couple of days to soak in the last of 2010.
I often feel the desire to write at years end. I think it’s a natural thing to want to toss a year into the good or bad pile. Was it a year full of challenges or pleasant surprises? Was it one of struggle, or joy? I don’t know anyone who can resist the urge to judge a year and classify it in order to move onto the next one. I know I do it. You read a book and tell others if it was good or bad. We watch movies and critique as though we are all experts…a year gone by is begging for a score.
I wonder if doing so offers any value or benefit to us? Does it make us cranky and self-absorbed if it was a year full of struggle? Do we tend to focus on the bad and forget the good? Woe is me? When it’s been a good one, do we carry that optimism with us and welcome a challenge? Can the good overcome the bad and fuel us with smiles and goodwill for the year ahead??
I suppose it depends a little bit on your disposition. It depends on what lies ahead and what has just unfolded. It depends on how you see yourself in this big wide world of ours. Ultimately it depends on…you.
For the record…2010 was a keeper.
Happy New Year!
Time is funny that way. A relaxing Sunday afternoon can feel like weeks ago when you’ve barely made it to lunchtime on your first day back after the weekend. Traffic has a way of sucking the holiday right out of you too. This year’s Christmas break was definitely too short and over too quickly for my liking. I could have used an extra couple of days to soak in the last of 2010.
I often feel the desire to write at years end. I think it’s a natural thing to want to toss a year into the good or bad pile. Was it a year full of challenges or pleasant surprises? Was it one of struggle, or joy? I don’t know anyone who can resist the urge to judge a year and classify it in order to move onto the next one. I know I do it. You read a book and tell others if it was good or bad. We watch movies and critique as though we are all experts…a year gone by is begging for a score.
I wonder if doing so offers any value or benefit to us? Does it make us cranky and self-absorbed if it was a year full of struggle? Do we tend to focus on the bad and forget the good? Woe is me? When it’s been a good one, do we carry that optimism with us and welcome a challenge? Can the good overcome the bad and fuel us with smiles and goodwill for the year ahead??
I suppose it depends a little bit on your disposition. It depends on what lies ahead and what has just unfolded. It depends on how you see yourself in this big wide world of ours. Ultimately it depends on…you.
For the record…2010 was a keeper.
Happy New Year!
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