Month: October 2017

Lately I have been reading works by people who are finding the courage and the space in their lives to follow their interests, passions and dreams.

The other day a piece popped into my inbox from Jon Chiang, a freelance film maker. In addition to his film work, Jon creates a weekly newsletter with links to interesting content and musings on his freelance journey. This week, Jon’s newsletter talked about chasing freedom.

What struck me is that Jon never talks about making money; instead he prioritizes spending time fully engaged in his life and relationships, then making work decisions based on those priorities. His work, the outcome of his work/life balance philosophy, is exceptional.  

I have spent time with Jon; he is a thoughtful and kind human. He is present and humble and sincere. His intentionality around his move into freelancing is part and parcel of who he is. 

What stuck with me as I finished the article was that Jon’s vision is where my head space is or at least where it is headed.  I too am deeply breathing in this moment, where I actively control the act of prioritizing. 

It is an unfamiliar state of being. 

I have turned my focus inward of late in hopes that it will help me be more effective when I am facing and acting ‘outward’ – in the volunteer and work roles that I am engaging in. I am re-evaluating long held values and beliefs, a process that began as my children were growing up and questioning our world. That process has now become second nature after my university adventure caused my brain to explode daily due to the fracturing and destruction of many past ways of thinking. 

I am fully cognizant of the gift of time I have been afforded to ‘work on myself’. This privilege was striking the other night. 

I was at an event with former co-workers, exceptional women working in special education. I spoke to people who have spent the fall being kicked and bitten, who have more students to support and educate than ever and who sometimes feel incapable of doing what is expected and needed from them daily in the way that they want to. 

There are no moments for themselves, self reflection or choosing daily priorities. 

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Yesterday on CBC I was listening to Out in the Open. The episode was called Double-Edged and was an exploration of why people find it difficult to feel happy in a sustained way: why it feels so bad to feel good. I thought about my exchanges with my former coworkers and the concept of owning my happiness; where does guilt fit in? 

The tight wire act of drinking in joy without drowning others. 

•••••••••••

Going to university taught me to be open to the world and ideas; drawing all the threads together is the purpose of this blog. 

Thanks for wandering through the process with me. 

One last note: Jon Chiang has an exceptional short film, Lion, which is a both a Short Film Festival Selection and Best Canadian Short Award nominee at the Vancouver Asian Film Festival for 2017. Check it out along with other films by Jon  (available on his blog). 

I have never dreaded the “big” birthdays ending in a zero. The “big” 5s were my demons. 

At 25, I had thought I’d have my first child, a marker that would make me a “grown up”. The fact that I had a mortgage apparently didn’t seem sufficient proof of adulthood. 

At 35, my children were 8 and 5. I was wracked with self doubt and questions – Am I a good mom? Am I smart enough, active enough, patient enough to launch these humans into the world? I didn’t even know who I was – how could I help them figure out who they were? 

At 45, one child was in university and the other was deep into her high school life. Although they were healthy and kind humans, I felt like they had raised themselves. At that birthday, the question on my mind – and seemingly everyone else’s – was what would I do when my children were fully launched?

Each of those birthdays left me bereft. 

What a difference a decade makes. Fifty-five is not even a blip on the “how can I be that old” radar. Age is a number that has little meaning these days (except perhaps to drugstores where, as of today, I qualify for a senior’s discount). 

Perhaps this mental shift is due to the lesson most deeply learned from university: I have nothing to worry (or complain) about. I have everything I need: food, shelter, health, safety and family. 

“You’re only as old as you feel.” Yup. I’m living that cliche every day. 

Today I feel – all me. 

Thirteen years ago today, I received news that my dad had died. His cancer, aggressive and painful, had been diagnosed the year before. I spent more time with him during his treatment phase and palliative care than in the 40 years prior. 

My dad shaped me in his lifetime, more by his absence than his presence. I did not really know him well before his diagnosis. Long phone conversations and visits during treatments helped me learn that he did his best. Does it matter in the end if it was enough? Their best is all anyone can give. 

He did leave me with something valuable; a secret weapon. “Whenever someone asks you about yourself, in an interview or any time, pretend I’m on your shoulder. What would I say about you?” It works every time. 

And when the wind whistles and the rain drops softly; when the leaves brush the ground and the snow softly blankets your world, listen. That is me. I am reminding you that, whatever lies ahead, you will be not just be okay; you will soar. 

I hear you.

I have this sweater. It’s not really that old, but it is well worn. I admit that, even when I bought it, brand new, it looked that way. I liked that it resembled something I could have inherited from my dad. Or more likely my father-in-law.

The thing about this sweater is that it brings me comfort, beyond the comfort of warmth I mean. It is familiar.

That sweater stands in contrast to another familiar thing I wear, my anxiety. Perhaps the recent ‘state of the world’, the constant onslaught of bad news, is a big part of my public acknowledgement of my anxiety. I don’t know. What I do know is that anxiety has always been a part of my makeup.

My first memory of an anxiety-induced behaviour was, at age seven, crawling into my mother’s bed, and placing my hand on her back to make sure she was still breathing. I did not do this just once but for weeks and weeks.

In between that first memory and today have been years of churning stomachs and over-reactions.

I need to clarify that I am not talking about debilitating anxiety, nor am I significantly impaired in my day to day life. On the spectrum of anxiety and panic, I have ‘symptoms that would indicate anxiety’ and a ‘well managed panic disorder’.

One thing I learned is that as an anxious person, your body is always in a heightened response mode so when some new event or thought occurs, you quickly move to ‘overload’. I have also learned that once you have an anxiety or panic episode, this in turn makes you more anxious, fearing the intense physical reaction will reoccur.

I keep returning to meditation. Within moments of the start of a session, I realize that, like my sweater, this is a form of comfort that I want to wear more often. A form of comfort to replace that ever present heightened response mode that triggers anxiety. The practice of meditation can, given time, move my churning stomach and racing heart to a peaceful place.

A monk who has practiced meditation for decades, and is a leader in the field of mindfulness, Thich Nhat Hanh, had a stroke last year along with other health complications. Doctors have been amazed at the peaceful response of his body to the traumas. The doctors feel it has helped his healing process, but more importantly it has helped Thich accept and work with the changes to his health.

Anxiety and fear are very familiar to me. And sometimes, one returns to the familiar simply due to that familiarity. Not because it makes you happy, or brings you peace. But because you recognize it. You know what to expect.

“People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of a fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar.” Thích Nhất Hạnh

I was struck a while back when someone called me brave.

I want to be brave. I want to be the strong one, someone people turn to when they need help. I want to continue to live my life from beyond the safety of my couch. I am motivated to make the calm feelings of meditation, like my sweater, the familiar. To see the world with joy and full of opportunity.

On this day of Mental Health Awareness, we need to recognize mental health as a key component to well being. If we can remove the stigma of mental health and openly speak about our experiences, we can support each other in our daily lives and in our journeys of health, both mental and physical.