Let my little light shine

I have tears in my eyes as I write. Lots of things are wrong and nothing is. I feel genuine sadness about two people I have known in my life, one of whom recently passed away; another of whom has been fighting cancer for a year. Feeling sadness, when there is a reason, is a sign of health, and the tears are healing.

I am also feeling sad because a place where, in the past, I have felt free and have regarded as a place of escape, now feels like a prison. I am not imagining a change in the vibe. The change is real and it is not in me but in someone who I regarded as a friend. I understand her unhappiness and her reactions to me but that does not mean that I can be treated as if I do not exist. In the past, I would have blamed myself and gone on a tirade inside my head about what I could have done differently.

There is nothing I could have done differently. I can not control my friend's thoughts. They are hers, not mine. What I can control ( or at least observe) are my own thoughts. The reason that I am writing today is that I am blaming myself a little. I am using the Byron Katie method of asking myself "what is true?" What is true is that I went to Switzerland. What is true is that I traveled to Calgary and enjoyed a training session. What is true is that I love being outdoors and hearing the sounds of children and the wind blowing. What is also true is that I like teaching skiing and teaching at the university. The list could go on...What is true is that I am not a slacker. I am not all about me. What is true is that I have learned to do what makes me happy and I am learning not to let others' thoughts interfere with that happiness.

Just writing this down makes me feel better. If the situation persists, and the place continues to feel like a prison, I know what to do. Shed the shackles and fly where I feel free. I may choose to shed my light in place that suddenly feels dark, or I may choose a brighter place. I have a choice and I know for sure that I am going to that I am going to "let that little light of mine shine".

Just when you think things are under control

I sat down on the couch last night, feeling very satisfied. I had mowed the lawns, weeded the garden, washed the floors, vacuumed, and even cleaned the second story windows inside and out. My to-do list was under control and my house was sparkling. I wanted to rest and enjoy the quiet of a late August evening when I heard a sudden and loud crack. I checked the laundry room to see if something had fallen off the dryer while spinning. No. I thought I heard water running so I checked the kitchen. Nothing out of the ordinary there. I looked over to the neighbors' to see if their above-ground pool had been over-filled. Nope.

The sound of water became louder. I ran to the upstairs bathroom and discovered inches of water pooling on to the floor and heading to the hallway carpet. I turned off the toilet tap, and the water still ran. I threw every towel that I could find onto the bathroom floor to sop up the water, still not knowing the source.

Once I was convinced that the towels were absorbing the water, I paused to look for the leak. The water was dripping from the toilet's tank. A crack ran the length of the tank and all of the water had emptied. I was grateful that I was home when the tank cracked and thought to myself, at least the water is confined to the upstairs bathroom.

I was wrong. When I went back into the kitchen, water was leaking into the lighting fixture and dripping onto the laminate floor. More towels and paper towels into action. I turned off the light and very carefully lifted the fixture off the ceiling and poured the accumulated water into the drain. Finally, I placed a bowl on the floor to catch the last drizzles of water coming from the ceiling.

Still grateful that I was home, I decided that there was nothing more to do but I wondered how a toilet tank cracks spontaneously, and especially cracks just when I was feeling that there was nothing left to fix or clean. I think the lesson is that there is always more and there is always less and what is more and less is out of our control.

I am not my job, my accomplishments, my labels...

Last week, I dipped my toe into corporate waters and nosed into the future. I had applied for a full time permanent position that built on my twenty years of business development. During a preliminary interview, the recruiter asked "Imagine you have accepted this position and are travelling on an airplane. I am sitting next to you and ask what you do. How would you answer?" My reply was that I would answer as I have for many years - that I would say that I do many things, one of which is working for organization X.

I did not get the job. As I reflect on the interview and the process, I realize that I have come a long way since I last worked corporately. My definition of success has changed. My definition of leadership has changed. I have changed.

I had applied for this same position a few years ago and was short-listed. When I did not receive the job offer, I blamed myself. I felt that I had not performed well enough in the interview, that I was not good enough. I believe in the mandate of the organization. I genuinely believe that I could lead it effectively, however, this time I am not disappointed. I answered honestly and am proud that I showed who I am.

In the past, I did define myself by my job and accomplishments. Now I don't. Sometimes, I miss the shortcut and ease that this provides but other times, I am amused when people try to place where I fit. Two weeks ago, I met a fellow who couldn't figure out my social status, even asking what the square footage of my house was. I enjoyed playing with my reply and told him the colours of my walls rather than the number he was looking for. (There was a slight guilt pang but it was fun.)

I am realizing yet again just how pervasive fear can be. While I was confident that I was being true to myself, job-wise, I felt uncomfortable and anxious in the days following. I yearned to drive my children to school again (an unrealistic yearning since they are adults and have been for a while). I worried about my retirement. I agonized about how the value of my home might drop if a proposed high voltage transmission line were built nearby. I was living in my head...in the past and in the future.

A passage from "The Power of Now" by Eckhart Tolle reminded me of what I know but do not always do. Be in the moment. Interestingly, now that I am paying more attention, I notice that I have a crick in my neck which I often take as a sign that my mind is disconnected from my body. The crick has not disappeared but is lessening. The integration of mind and body that sport provides to me so beautifully is becoming more available in each moment. I am grateful for this and all the lessons that life provides. I am not my job, my accomplishments, my labels. I am me, a human being.

Namaste,

Ginny

Superheroes

When I first started this blog, I described a quote that inspired me. "As you go the way of life, you will see a great chasm. Jump. It is not as wide as you think" . The phrase is attributed by Joseph Campbell to a bit of advice given to a young native at the time of his initiation. Jumping chasms is what it takes to live life fearlessly. The chasm, depending on what scares you, may be leaving a job, saying no to a friend, trying something new or even just being alone and still. I have found the advice to jump very true, and the chasms narrow to mere cracks after the fact.

I recently listened to a song written by Martin Simpson and Eric Bibb that further illuminated the idea of jumping. What does Superman do? He leaps tall buildings in a single bound. What does Spiderman do? Use his spidey sense and powers to move up, down, and sideways. What do kids playing often need? A cape...and that is what these song lyrics are about:

He’s one of those who knows that life

Is just a leap of faith

Spread your arms and hold your breath

Always trust your cape

The new idea that these lyrics convey is to "always trust your cape". When I first started jumping, I probably held my breath. I definitely did not spread my arms though I yearned for that freedom. I trusted something, though I did not know what. Since then I have learned a lot about trust. I began rock climbing, thinking that I would learn to trust others. Instead, I learned to trust myself. What I have just realized is that we are all superheroes and we all have capes. Our capes are invisible. Our capes have many names. They are our guardian angels, our inner compass, our faith in a greater power - whatever name (God, the source, the universe) we choose. So, I am trusting my (invisible) cape and spreading my arms and breathing as I make my leaps of faith.

Learning to fall better

Several years ago, a writer who I respect told me that it is hard to write about happiness, and that Anne Lamott is an author who writes well about happiness. I had never heard of Anne Lamott but noted her name. Some time later, I went to the bookstore looking for one of her titles. I checked the store's computer and found that they had five copies in-store. The computer indicated that they were in the Bargain pile , under Religion. I looked and looked and checked under the table but could find no copies. I left without buying a book.

This spring, I returned to the same bookstore and again checked the computer. Not surprisingly, the computer indicated there were five hard copies in the Bargain pile, but it also indicated some paperbacks were available. I was on a bit of book buying binge and had already selected several to take home so I headed to the library next. I checked out Anne Lamott's Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith as well as several books by Pema Chodron.

I have now finished reading my pile of books. The recipes from Moosewood Cooks at Home were tasty but my real nourishment has come from Anne Lamott. One story in particular resonated with me. The story was about skiing, and skiing with a friend with terminal cancer. The friend pointed out to Anne that "you're so afraid of falling that it's keeping you from skiing as well as you could. It's keeping you from having fun."

True in skiing. True in life. Now to apply the lesson fearlessly in both skiing and life.

Namaste.
Ginny

Light and dark trucks

I feel the menace behind. I look into my car's rear view mirror and there it is. A large Dodge Ram pickup truck, its grill bared like shark's teeth as it approaches me. This particular truck is black with silver trim but in the past, it has been white or, occasionally, blood red. The colour doesn't matter, or even the brand. It is the size that matters - over-sized, thirsty, and looking for dominance.

The truck looms behind me, moving ever closer until I feel its cold breath on my tailgate. I hold my steering wheel and speed steady. With a sharp jerk, the truck finally accelerates into the passing lane and I exhale with relief.

I never see the driver. It is as if the driver is an armoured knight atop a warrior steed. The anonymity helps with intimidation. There is a fraternity of these trucks on the highway and I feel their raw unformed anger regularly. I picture these trucks and their drivers as forces of evil, much like the dark forces in Tolkien or Star Wars.

This realization makes me sad for, historically, the signs of a dark age are family disputes, war, famine, and travellers wandering highways (or, in our times, mall alleyways). Yet,despite 911, despite military involvement in Afghanistan and Iraq, despite poverty, gang violence and familial abuse, we in North America feel that the battle between light and dark is being fought elsewhere. Thinkers, writers and even scientists are warning that earth is at the cusp of a big change but most of us do not realize that we are choosing sides through our daily actions.

The side of light is well represented, but like light itself, is sometimes hard to see. Light is most present in simple everyday acts. Just yesterday, I drove past the corner where a young man dances regularly. This is a very busy corner, intersecting an east-west highway with a north-south artery. Traffic invariably backs up and drivers fume as they sit still in their cars.

In about 2000 or 2001, I first noticed a boy about 14 or 15 years, bundled up against the cold in winter, with headphones on, grooving to the music. When light signals changed, that would be his stimulus to move to the next corner, still bopping as he crossed the street. I worried why he wasn't in school, but I worried more if he wasn't there. Seasons and years went by and still, "The Dancing Boy" was out in all weather dressed appropriately and dancing. Drivers stopped fuming and watched and traffic seemed to move all the better itself when "The Dancing Boy" traversed the corners.

Yesterday when I saw "The Dancing Boy", he was astride his bicycle adjusting his music player. A dozen multi-coloured balloons were tied to the handlebars and danced in the wind. I wondered what the occasion was but realized there was no occasion needed. It was May 14 and snowing. What other reason is needed for balloons to brighten a dark day?

Today, I saw a force of light leaving a dark truck. I had gone to the garden centre needing green after yesterday's snow. The truck was typical. Large and looming, it impeded me as I tried to park. As I got out of my car, I was surprised that two little girls were lifted out of the truck by their father. A few minutes later, I was walking down the aisle of the garden centre and heard a shopping cart directly behind me. I stepped out of the way. The metal cart was being pushed by the truck owner, with one daughter sitting in the cart and the other one walking beside. As the older daughter passed, she looked up at me and said "thank you". I replied "you're welcome".

The little girl's words and actions are illuminating. And by her actions, she is setting an example to me and to her father, who deep inside is likely still a vulnerable and scared little boy. Without our armour, without our big trucks and houses, without our brand names, we can see one another as we truly are.

And time passes by

It's nearly four months since I last posted, which almost exactly matches ski season. I have not felt the need to write, nor do I particularly feel the need now. I do know that I love writing and will come back to it, and so this entry is like dipping my toe back into the ocean. I don't know if I will dive all the way in, but at least I am testing the writing waters again.

I haven't felt as pressed for time as I have in other winters, yet I have been busy. I have been at the local ski hill most weekdays. I have taught business two mornings a week at the local University, and I have driven to the mountains most weekends to ski. In other years, I have counted my mountain days. This year, I really do not have a clue. The measure is not how many days, but how I feel. I feel like I have gotten skiing in the mountains enough. Some years the craving to ski in the mountains aches in me. This year, I have logged between 15 and 25 days (see what I mean about losing track) and I know that I have skied good terrain and that I have made the most of the season. It is not a good snow year and my skis show the results. Every trip back from the mountains carried a new edge burr or base ding.

This weekend I took my skis to be tuned and all the burrs and dings were removed. My skis are like new, but with less base and fewer options for more tuning. It's a good thing that people are not like skis. When we get "tuned up", hopefully... generally, it means that we have even more options, and that we don't wear out. When I took my skis out on the cold corduroy snow, they felt balanced and precise. I felt relief. I really do love to ski. It was fun. No wonder the time from November to March passed so quickly.