Category: 2021 and New Beginnings

Lately I have been thinking about taking up running again. Key word is “thinking”. When I think more about it, I think it will likely hurt. In fact, if I took up running, some might confuse my pace with walking even though I could be pumping my arms very hard. If I think past the pain, I imagine myself running with joy and I sense of “I can”.

It makes me wonder what stops me from running. Well, I’d have to put on shoes. I would also need proper running shorts which would lead to finding a shirt that fit which would then cause me to wonder if I should bring water. How long would I run and what route would I take? Could I run somewhere where it was flat and I wouldn’t run into anyone I know?

So many questions. Likely I should just do what I always do and go for a walk. Clearly I am not equipped to once again try to run.

What raised the thought about running was watching the Tokyo Olympics. It was particularly exciting watching the women’s soccer gold medal final; Canada versus Sweden. This Olympics, the women in their Canadian red were using their past bronze accomplishment as the step to the top podium level in hopes of wearing gold. They were playing for the win.

The game was fraught with tension. Two talented teams battling in every play. No one let up and after two halves, the game was tied leading to 30 minutes of extra time. While pundits commented that the Swedes dominated the game in the first half, the Canadian women became warriors and raged forward to battle. They took chances to make shots and plays that kept them in the game. There were moments that could have been called as penalties but the refs said “play on”.

After 30 minutes of extra time the scoreboard didn’t move. Stalemate. Watching the players was exhilarating. Faces beat red from exertion, sweat dripped off their brows that were furrowed with deep determination. Feet clashed while fighting for the ball and the war for the win raged forcing a shoot out.

You could not help moving to the edge of your seat and watching the final moments. The goal tenders taking their place to defend the net. The players focused on the ball, looking to find the net. What must it have been like? The pressure; the knowing that “in the net” would rouse national roars of ecstatic pride while making a miss might result in defeat that would result in national loss. Mental fortitude replaced questions of “can I do it?” with “I’m giving it my best”. All deserve a standing ovation for being brave and courageous and standing in the arena.

The shoot out allowed for five shots by each team. At the end of the shootout, the game remain tied leading to sudden death. The sixth Swedish player took her turn and was denied. Canada stepped up. Time stood still, the silence was deafening with the only sound being that of beating hearts, thumping with anticipation. Deep breath. The world watched in slow motion, watching as that final shot saw the ball hit the back of the net. There was an eruption of joy! The scrappy Canadian team that fought with grit and determination won the gold!

And while Canada cheered, the Swedish team collapsed in defeat. To come so close and be denied despite valiant and magnificent effort. This was not winning versus losing; it was just the difference of one goal and I have to believe that world cheered for the chance to see two teams play with abandon and leave everything they had on the field. They gave it every effort and more.

The 2021 Olympics have given us plenty of moments in which we have witnessed humanity at its finest. Competitors that have bowed with grace and extended kindness and empathy. The arena is for those who are bold enough to take their place and give with great devotion, understanding that daring greatly comes with the risk of failing mightily.

When I sit on the couch and contemplate running, it is the equivalent of sitting in the cheap seats in the arena. I continue to mull over that what stops me is my long list of excuses and a dialogue that reams “I can’t because…..”. I lead my conversation with excuses. Poor ones at that.

Over this past year I have lamented loss and grieved at what no longer is. I saw things as “endings” and have worked to reframe that to expand to consider “endings are just beginnings in disguise” and I used a doorway to depict life as a my metaphor. Doorways have frames that lead from one room to another. I moved from a lifetime career and years of community dedication into a new room with a different door. In this room, I tried to reinvent myself which at first blush was rather charming but if you looked closely, I just changed my socks and wore the same mindset and accessorized with “can’t” on my t-shirt.

Since I didn’t feel I had much of a career left, I embraced my other role of wife and mother. I took June Cleavor as my role model as to what “mothers and wives do”. June was famous in the 1957 sitcom “Leave it to Beaver”. She wore high heel shoes and a pearl necklace when she faithfully cooked dinner night after night. She never raised her voice (only her eyebrows) and her house was a testament to tidy beyond reproach. She seemed happy as did her family. Despite the fact that this was a scripted show and likely written by men, I still took her on as my model. For months, I have been cooking, cleaning, shopping, organizing and trying to fit into my new room framed by the doorway built on 1950 values.

I put my endings and beginnings on a linear line. Lately, I have wondered if endings and beginnings could be more like a roller coaster where you ride up with anticipation and then around with excitement? I am feeling that my linear line could be changed to a circle. My linear line led me to the “end of the line” where I had the choice to fall off the cliff or make the jump. My new imagery and metaphor is no longer the door, I want to be on the roller coaster and enjoy the daring loops that come with the ride while waving my hands in the air.

I have searched all my drawers and the marriage / motherhood handbook is no where to be found. Where did I believe that being a “good wife and mother” meant being a martyr? Who said making lunch and dinner while shining the bathtub was a sign of love? I have a husband of almost 27 years, a 24 year old, a 22 year old and a 15 year old. I thought love was making them lunch. My new gift of love is now to let them make their own lunches and empower them to pick up the broom and give a mop.

When the kids were young, they needed me to look after them in a certain way and that ride is over. They don’t need that anymore and have actually been trying to tell me that. They need me to show them that a mother’s love is not bottled in cleaning detergents or mayonaise. My love is helping them live to get into their own arena and to do that, I need to be an example.

The light within shines when we turn it on. I have been secretly afraid that if I embraced the desires of the whispers of my heart that somehow I might fail my family and my perception of what I felt I “owed” them in my roles as wife and mother. My linear line served as a chain that was connected to perceptions that were bolted to the door.

A “wife” and a “mother” are nouns. Not verbs. I am only failing myself when I don’t listen to the whispers of my heart. If I voiced them out loud, I would bet that my family would become my biggest fans and eagerly jump on the roller coaster with me. I just have to ask.

I was afraid that endings might mean closing the door and I was afraid of what I might lose. I lost something anyway. I lost a sense of myself.

This is a new discovery that was awakened in me as I watched those young women play as warriors where their families and friends cheered them on.

In my efforts to move forward, I am so excited to change the shape of my dreams. “All or nothing” is about the effort I give to things I might want to try. It isn’t what has to happen with my relationships. I can start asking for help. We can plan as a collective unit in our family; “who is making dinner on what nights” is a good place to start. New conversations that include us all; not just me being the lone voice that reads from a 1950’s script. I’ll bet I might become someone more fun but I have to vocalize the whispers. Answering the calls of my heart’s desire doesn’t require me to abandon my family. It requires that I involve them.

I am so much more enthusiastic about my future. I know, there might be some out there who raise their eyebrows at someone like me who lived in the cheap seats because of antiquated thinking. It’s not that I always hid the light, it’s just I tended to shine it on those that I loved. What I see now is that a bright light shines wide and covers the whole stage when it is turned on. Suddenly, I realize that I have all that I need to start to run.

To you my beautiful people, I’m sorry I lived small and thought by doing so, that made you happy. I see now that you wanted me to join you on your adventures and live tall in my own dreams and ambitions. And like what happened when you would stumble and fall, I would kiss it better. I am comforted to know that you will do the same.

Here’s to changing shape, shining bright and getting into the arena and starting to run and more…..

With love,

Shelley

I’ve recently taken up mediation. My husband Wayne is a bit critical of my practice. He says that he doesn’t think people snore when they meditate. Whatever Wayne.

I’ve been looking for a way to ease some of the anxiety that I have been feeling lately. While Netflix and a glass of wine were lovely, it was more an escape route than the path to enlightenment. Shame.

Lately, I have been feeling agitated. My stomach is in knots and the sense of unease about everything just won’t go away. I have a million things “on the go” but nothing is feeling fluid. Life feels chaotic, like volts of electricity that won’t ground. According to Dr. Google, what I seem to be feeling is anxiety.



Likely I should cut myself some slack. Coming out of COVID was like being locked in the house for over a year and opening the door to suddenly find a million new fresh starts. The world was so bright that I had to shut the door. It was too soon. I needed to let my eyes adjust. For months my biggest accomplishment was getting dressed before bed. Having to get out and get engaged in living was more complicated than choosing what to wear (even if it was just choosing which pair of black yoga pants…..). This new world felt overwhelming and with so many sudden changes, I needed to close the door and catch my breath.

Once I had a second wind, I could open the door to face the changes that had occurred. In response, I applied to go back to school, took on new work positions to supplement the COVID loss of income and leaned in to new learning curves. While that felt manageable, albeit scary, the optimism of a post COVID world was quickly dulled with the arrival of wildfires that currently plague us. While our town is not in imminent danger, those around us are either on evacuation order or on evacuation alert. It’s hot, dry and so smoky that on some days, it’s hard to determine if it is dawn or dusk. Honestly, can’t we just get a break? Bloody hell. A world pandemic, social and economic upheaval, unequivocal losses and now I find myself in the middle of the world that is burning at a rapid pace. Hell has not frozen over, it’s just taking over.

When I feel stress and uncertainty, I clean. Somehow I drank the Koolaid that said if the house is clean house, life will be ok. I’ve totally tipped in my obsession. I’m sure that if I missed a day, the mop and broom would come find me. Since I don’t pay the stove much attention, I know I won’t be missed there. The bathroom might pipe up and wonder my whereabouts but my family? They would breathe a collective sigh of relief as I am driving them crazy with my nitpick nagging about insignificant dirt and dust.

I’m seeking a sense of calm to put my anxiousness at bay. To this end, I took a walk in the woods. I was in awe. The forest was a castle that shone in stillness and the silence. Nothing moved. The loudest sound was a lone mosquito. I saw what inner peace must feel like. I closed my eyes and inhaled, hoping I could internalize what nature seemed to find so effortless.

What I have come to recently recognize is that all these new things and changes in my life have caused me to feel flummoxed. I was on a set path and then the world changed leaving my new landscape to feel unfamiliar and uncertain. The changes are actually freedom in disguise but since I haven’t found the guidebook to learn how to navigate this new landscape, I have chosen to hide behind the door and deepen my friendship with my mop and broom. I see why I snore and watch Netflix. It’s easier and less messy. Denial is neat and tidy.

Small problem. I have unwittingly been “numbing” rather than living. I was jolted into this revelation on July 19th when my sister told me that one of her very dear friends lost her battle to cancer. In that moment, the sunset dimmed and the universe shone less brightly. I never knew Susan but many others I know did. Her death has left a gaping hole in lives, hearts and in the world at large. Watching the collective grief was heart wrenching and the question raised over and over again was “why?”. Why are the very best taken so soon? It feels so unjust and incredibly unfair.

Susan was described as “an effervescent light in the life of everyone she met“. She had been a world traveler, a lover of languages and a consummate adventurer. She loved those around her with full commitment and deep love. She was a devoted mother, wife and friend. She lived life with a unique sense of fullness that inspired many.

In 2011 she was diagnosed with breast cancer. As someone who was built “strong“, she didn’t miss a beat. She founded a running group and fundraised in the annual “Run for the Cure“. Her fellow runners named a particular steep hill “Susan’s Hill” in recognition of her grit and determination to overcome everything and live life fully. She was inspirational. People would follow her example and “storm the hill” hoping to capture her spirit of courage and commitment. When Susan ran, she ran like she lived; with everything she had and more.

With breast cancer behind her, she focused on all that was important to her. But cancer is insidious and refuses to lose. Less than a year ago, she was diagnosed with brain cancer. Once again, there was a hill to be taken by storm and by God, she did that with everything and then some. While her path to fight breast cancer was awful, brain cancer was cruel and relentless. Susan committed to fighting the good fight. She lived each and every day with fullness, passion and rigour. She knew what it was to savour moments, to give pause to sunsets and rainbows, to lean into hugs and kiss with kindness and compassion. She knew the value in everything and everyone. Even just a mere few weeks before her passing, she was still running. She never, ever quit living.

Whereas I have been hiding with my mop and my broom, Susan was living “despite of“. Her challenges would prove to be insurmountable but she never let that stop her from living her best life. She looked at life with passion and she faced her obstacles with an inner courage that would make the mightiest of titans stop in their tracks. Susan continued to be her best self and make everyday a beautiful day. At her celebration of life, she was described as “the joy and sparkle in every room. Her laugh was all-encompassing and her bubbling warm light suffused every interaction.“

Susan lived “despite of“. She took her hill by storm. She was relentless in her conviction that life mattered.

While Susan’s hill was steep, I think we each have a hill that takes different shapes. It’s not the distance or the steepness that matters, rather, the enthusiasm and courage that we bring when facing our hill. To “storm” is to live despite of and to be able to rise above that which chooses to stand as a challenge, a potential opponent. Susan proved that life is short and within our span, we all have choices on how we want to live and even how we die.

Susan died at the age of 51 and leaves behind two beautiful children, a loving husband an extended family along with countless numbers of friends that will always feel blessed to have been a part of her world. She shared her magic making sure that everyone was touched. She made people feel seen and heard. What a remarkable gift. Her passing feels incredibly unjust given her exceptional nature to make a difference in the lives around her. “WHY HER?” keeps murmuring through my mind. It was obvious that she was so effortlessly herself and in return, the world loved her for it.

While I never knew her, I know that I have been changed by her legacy of how she lived life. I realize that while I have acted on some of my ambitions, there are many others that I have wrapped in blankets and folded them into the closet in hopes that I would forget about them. What I have come to learn is that my sense of anxiety and unease is not about what is external. My unease is the knowing that the life that I have tried to keep in the closet is yelling to be let out. I have a hill that demands to be stormed. What I have been doing is practicing on flat ground. There is more that demands my attention.

I can choose to ignore this calling and find new ways to numb or I can live like Susan and live life more fully. I have been afraid that my secret yearnings will cause disruption but maybe that is exactly what I need. I can do better. It’s not my ambition and dreams that need to be packed away in the closet, it’s my excuses. My floors can endure a film of muck but my relationship with my husband could do with a spring cleaning. The same could be said for my relationships with my family, many of my friends and colleagues. I can also dust off those dreams that I tried to leave behind and bring them back to life.

The past year has brought so many changes and upheavals. I felt a bit beat. And while I have risen and faced obstacles, I see that there is more ahead. I want to rise higher, reach further and find my authenticity that resonates as real. I don’t want to hide any longer. Half measures are just that. It’s the bigger jump that I want to make. And, of all my ambitions, I hope the one I honour most is the one to live “despite of” . Life offers no promises or surety except that it will be unpredictable. What is constant is how I choose to meet the challenges and how I choose to live and love. In honour of Susan, I vow to storm the hill.

With love,

Shelley



I am not fabulous when it comes to being social. Put me on a stage with a podium and a speech…..no problem. Put me in a room with strangers and I will need months to prepare. I’m awkward and I tend to say things that make people think “did she just say that?”.

I have to look hard for social cues. Before I go out to events, I browse for safe social topics that I can draw upon if needed. Cue cards. I’m a little clunky, somewhat stiff and feel intimidated with crowds. Once I get going it’s ok, it’s the starting that brings out hives.

This is why I am grateful for my friendships. The people in my life that see me for all of me. My sister is one of my best friends and she often holds my hands through situations that she knows are difficult for me. She is someone who I consider to be “lucky”. She walks into a room and is sunshine. She brightens everyone’s day and effortlessly engages with people. She makes it look easy and fun! She has gently suggested that I might find things less difficult if I don’t start a conversation with “how do you think we can achieve world peace?” Good advice.

I love my people who love me despite of me and because of me. I feel safe and accepted. Friendship is a soft space when the world gets rough. It is a sacred gift that I treasure and hold onto with all my heart.

Nine months ago, I lost a friend and I was left in pieces. I’m not over it. I don’t know if I will ever get “over” it. I still ache at the loss and the emptiness I feel. I walk through each day feeling as though a piece of me is missing. There are so many times when I go to pick up the phone to call and share something and then realize that they are not in my life anymore. They are gone. Except, I still see them across the room. They are not gone, they are just not wanting to be in my life. They have new friends. I have been replaced and each time I see them, what I thought had healed, breaks open.

I feel loss and I am grieving. I can’t imagine what people go through when a loved one dies. How do people muster the courage to even get up in the morning after losing someone that they love? My God. That is strength. To get up every day and face the world while missing a piece of themselves. Nothing is the same. Christmas, birthdays or just passing by a restaurant and thinking, “we used to be there together“. It’s those moments where there is a clenching of the stomach as the waves of pain start to rise and take hold. It must take every ounce of energy to stay standing and wait for the feeling to subside. Does it subside? I don’t think so. I think when our stomach starts to clench, we look for a place for our pain to hide and try and keep it out of sight. Pain can be messy. It’s why we invented cupboards; to tuck things out of sight.

My friend was very special to me. I felt we were kindred spirits in our awkwardness and we could expose our insecurities and be loved “despite”. I guess I was wrong. I will never forget the day that they called me and everything fell apart. I won’t bore you with the details except to say that I was called out for being several terrible things. A few of the highlights were being told I was “toxic” and a “bully” and I make a fool of myself and people roll their eyes at me behind my back. There were other things and it all brought me to my knees.

For the record, there were some things that were said that definitely need to be said. I wasn’t myself and hadn’t been for a few months. I was staggering under effects and impacts of COVID and didn’t realize that I had tilted out of balance. There was room to re-correct, I just wonder why I had to be hit so hard in the face and then punched so fiercely in the stomach? I thought we were friends. I thought we shared a safe space.

I cried all afternoon and into the week-end. I called friends and colleagues to get some additional feedback. In a single blow, I had been cut to the core, thrown to the ground and left. I needed to know how many others felt this way. Maya Angelou said “when someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time“. I had to ask, was my friend always this way or were they showing me who I have always been?

While checking in with people was hard, it was good. It was confirmed, I had tilted. No one else used the terrible names or was mean. In fact, I came face to face with kindness, even when something hard had to be said. It was one of my “best worst learning experiences.” I was given a doorway.

I dried my tears and tried to stand back up. It’s been a long nine months. I have gone to therapy, immersed myself in more books than one would think possible and have spent any additional waking moments listening to a million different podcasts. I was determined to learn to be better and learn from this loss.

And while I have learned and I think I have become a better version of me, I still don’t feel whole. I still grieve and I still ache. My friend and I still cross paths but it’s not the same. We pretend that “nothing” happened and therein lies the ache. It’s the drifting away…

Except from the song “Waves” by Mr. Probz

I know I am not easy. Just ask my husband. I think we all have quirks that make us endearing until we’re not. Perhaps character is like wine, too much of a good thing ultimately results in a hangover and a vow for moderation moving forward.

I wish I could be easy but I thought that my friend knew that about me. I thought they could accept that part of me. Yes, I challenge the status quo and love the vigour of debating ideas and ideals and push the envelope as we ask ourselves how we can do better as a society. I guess I didn’t recognize that the bottle was empty and they had had enough.

I wish I had the courage to face the rain and ask “can we start again?” or even “can we talk about what happened?. How can I let this just “slip away”? In my sadness, I feel like I am drowning.

I want to have the courage to ask hard questions but I don’t think I am strong enough. I don’t think I can bear any potential rejection. Not again. Not yet. My scars need to form and I need thick skin. In my fear, I choose the easier path. I hide my pain, scrub my questions and keep up the pretense that everything is “fine”. The path of least resistance; a mere illusion to keep the peace.

This is the “big lie”. Pretending that everything is ok when it’s not. A cut that bleeds and when anyone asks we wave it off and say “it’s nothing“. We ignore the signs until we slowly bleed out.

It’s not just friendships, it could be all relationships. What else is there in our life that we “pretend” is fine? Am I the only one that wants to avoid the big conversations for fear of what might happen? Why does it take so much courage to face the pain and ask what weighs heavy in our hearts? How do we cross the bridge of vulnerability and open ourselves up to potential rejection? The questions are hard. Sometimes it is hard to be brave.

Do you still love me? Is this job really what I want? Is my relationship over? Is my marriage over? Are my kids going to be ok? Could I leave? What has to change for it to work? When did it all slip away? Who am I and can I find myself again? How did we become friends when we used to be lovers?

And while those are some of the hard questions, what about the more difficult actions? Admitting error, apologizing despite a feeling of shame and being willing to sit in discomfort for the sake of creating meaningful change. Facing criticism and not flinching, despite the sting.

It is said that while exercising, normal muscle soreness is a sign that you are getting stronger. During exercise, you stress your muscles and the fibers begin to break down. As they fibers repair themselves, they become larger and stronger than they were before.

Ugh. Exercise. Everything hurts.

Winston Churchill said “when you’re going through hell, keep going“. I always associated that with the realities of WW2, not my life. I now see it as a strong and relevant metaphor. I was hurt but I kept going and my fibers are repairing themselves and becoming larger and stronger. I hate it when exercise proves itself to be beneficial.

Nine months ago, my heart was broken by someone I loved deeply as a friend and I blamed myself. I figured I was the problem, the “issue”, the “thing” that needed to be fixed. I tore myself apart in hopes of rebuilding a better me.

These past months have taught me a great deal. I feel “more”. I feel more at ease with who I am. I feel like I “fit”. I ripped down walls that I had built to protect myself and now love an open concept with bigger social spaces and comfy chairs and more honest conversation. The hurt was a gateway to a healing. Until it wasn’t.

The other day, my “friend” wrote me and the words stung. My eyes welled up and my heart started to feel that horrible, terrible ache. Didn’t they know that I had worked hard to be better? Couldn’t they see it?

After pain, comes the rising. I looked down to see if my stitches had split apart and to check for bleeding. Nothing. I was ok. I was better. Even if they couldn’t see it, I could see that I had become better.

I don’t know if this is a comma or a full stop. What I do know is that I am different because of what happened. I looked at what they wrote to me and hit delete. I closed the door and turned to open the window wide and looked out at a different version of the future that I hadn’t contemplated before and it felt awesome. I saw a new world of possibility. I am sorry that this person is no longer part of my life. I miss them everyday but I am also grateful to them. They pushed me and while it felt like falling, it forced me to spread my wings and and learn how to fly.

Growth often comes with pain and maybe even the need to let things go. Life is perpetual change, we are in constant motion and inherently we are called to bloom. We know this but sometimes we aren’t ready so we ignore the little voice that tries to get our attention. We “pretend” that everything is ok and numb ourselves with perceived sensibility and false comfort that being “fine” is the best we can expect. But what if there is more? What if walking through hell is just a way to burn the ropes that hold us back?

I promised to “jump” and sometimes my “jump” is nothing more than a hop but it is motion forward. It’s been a hard year for all of us. I have been afraid to let go. What I realize is that by holding on, I was also holding back. This week I jumped and let go. What’s interesting is how that vision of “letting go” changed. I used to think of “letting go” as holding onto a rope and dangling over the edge of a tall building. I thought by “letting go”, I would fall to my peril. This week, I let go but it was different. This time, I was standing on the roof letting go of the rope that was holding all of my “shoulds”. I watched it all fall away while I stood strong and felt free.

I raise my glass to all those who have walked with me. Thank you for your friendship, thank you for walking as far as you did. While some of us part ways, for those that are still walking with me, thank you for holding my hand.

Here’s to friendship, growth and letting go of what no longer fits or holds us back. Here’s to those that love us and those that push us. I wish you the time and space to live the life that whispers to you. You can do it, even if it first starts with a hop. It’s a call to courage. If I can do it, you can too.

With love,

Shelley

It’s Mother’s Day this week-end. I’ve always felt a bit strange about this day of “celebration”. It assumes that my children want to celebrate me. If the kids need a predetermined day to “celebrate” me, I suck worse than I thought.

I am not a natural when it comes to motherhood. Call me more of a reluctant follower of biological trends required to keep the planet populated. Children seemed chaotic and would need some attention. I can’t keep house plants alive.

Somehow, I became engaged in the theory of evolution and raised three children under adverse conditions; me being the adverse condition. Aiden is 24, Megan is 22 and Owen turns 15. Yes, all the same father. The large gap throws people off. It’s ok if you raised your eyebrows, you aren’t the first which is why I feel compelled to fill in the blank. What’s important is that none of them are in jail. They are all actually lovely people and I am in awe.

Before Aiden was born, I was doubtful that I would bond with a baby. We already had a puppy. What’s cuter than a puppy?

That all changed the second I held him. I get the phrase “a face only a mother could love“. Aiden was red, wrinkled and definitely the worse for the wear and yet, my heart expanded to the point of bursting. Everything felt so small in comparison to that moment.

I have had four moments that changed me. My marriage and the arrival of each of my children. They are what I call “before” and “after” moments where nothing was ever the same, including me.

From the moment they were born, I was committed to seeing them succeed. I became perfunctory as a mother only because I didn’t know what else to do. There was no way I was going to rely on instinct. I might seriously muck them up. I needed to “master” motherhood. I needed a plan. And plenty of books. I also needed a checklist and a measure of success.

Aiden was a typical young boy and I often wanted to sell him to the zoo. How he and his friend ever thought it was a good idea to fill up the car with water is beyond me. Things were always exploding or being dug up. While Aiden was playing the mad scientist, Megan found her own drum to dance to. She had her own ideas of how to rule the world. For many years, it was tough to get her dressed which made it awkward going to the grocery store. She was also the first one to run away. She packed her bags including her backpack for school. She was going to live in the ditch just down the road from our house. A neighbor came by and reminded her she had school the next day. “I know. I have my agenda and I packed a juice box“. She was six.

My perception of being “perfect” was going to be defined by ensuring that the kids became more than me. I have always carried a shadow that my lack of education somehow defined me and with that, I created my own limitations. I wanted more for the kids. My kids (our kids) would be armed with tools to become anything that they wanted; just as long as they became what I wanted in their formative years. I had their lives mapped out and if we all stuck to the plan, they could become whatever they wanted……as soon as they hit university. Until then, we would check off milestones in order of progression.

My goal was to see them grow to be whole humans who could competently maneuver through life; to become contributing members of society who lived life with joy. The flaw of all this is that I didn’t stop to ask them what they wanted. I wonder if they grew weary with the weight of my expectations? Did they hear ” be your best” or did it sound more like “be the best“?

I was so focused on getting them to the finish line that I forgot things along the way. Like, how did they feel in my presence? Did they feel loved and cherished or did they feel that they could never measure up? When they walked into a room did my eyes light up and make them feel seen and heard or did I refer to my check list and see what was next? Why was I so relentless when it would have been just as easy to stop time and lay in the grass while looking up at the clouds?

I think I loved my kids so hard and so tight that I broke them. I loved them to pieces and not always in a good way. All those times I thought I was lovingly “molding” them when in fact, I wonder if they looked at me wishing the criticism would end. I cringe at how they just stood there; stoic and unflinching. If I never understood their outbursts, I do now. In my efforts to create a masterpiece, the knife I wielded as the loving sculptor made cuts and left marks often unseen to the naked eye in the finished form. It’s only later, that the wounds spill open.

Unwittingly, I likely caused pain and probably some shame to. While I write about my relationship with my children, I wonder how many others out there are grappling with the hurts of their own childhood? Life has a way of picking at the scab, drawing blood and never allowing the wound to completely heal.

Some generations don’t have the skills to build bridges to heal the hurts. Perceptions create misunderstandings, silence holds anger and / or resentment while misinterpretation of intent creates distance. Families are complicated dynamics. We don’t always have a shared context for the same moments and in our own versions, we form what we see as “the truth“.

There were many tense times when my kids were young. My husband was away at school, I was juggling two kids, a full time job and never fail, something in the house always fell apart. One winter, our well went dry and in -40, I was down at the river hauling water back to the house to boil for baths and household use. Student loans were barely covering costs and my job was only just keeping us afloat. The kids were kids and had more energy than I could often rally to. Did I snap more than once? Likely a hundred plus times. Do they remember this? Likely. Did I sit them down and explain all the stress that I was feeling? No. Do we burden our children with the nitty gritty of our lives or just the consequences of them? In my case, I didn’t say what was happening or what I was feeling. My silence likely led to an unintended consequence. In hindsight, there is a good chance that they believed my bursts of anger and frustration were because of them. If only I could rewind the film and start again.

Maybe that’s what makes the relationship between parents and children so fraught with tension. Things left unsaid, moments misunderstood. How do you retrace all the steps to forge a new path?

This has been a year of loss. Many people holding the hand of a loved one for a last time. Standing at the bedside of a parent, reconciling emotions; saying all the things that need to be said before a final passing. This is bravery. Letting go is a final act of courage, a finality that shifts our core. In a fleeting moment, the world stands still and nothing will ever be the same and the heart begins to ache. To ease the pain, an empty heart turns to grief and looks to memories that will fill the void, all while whispering, “please come back“.

It is this time of grieving that we need our people. Weddings, births and funerals are the pillars that connect us and we come together as family and community to share in these moments. COVID has stolen these traditions and we are left mourning in isolation. Grief needs hands to hold and arms that embrace the hurt. Part of the grieving is the collective story telling; laughing at things that once made us cry; crying at the things that made us laugh. It’s the moments that matter and I overlooked this as I marched through my children’s childhood with my clipboard at my side.

My brother-in-law has just walked the path of loss. This morning I read his father’s obituary. “Our best loved dad, grandpa, husband, brother, friend and business partner…….” “He had a generous, kind nature and was greatly loved by everyone, especially the grandkids who each thought they were his favourite…”

How beautiful. How marvelous. To be so loved by so many and to have left an indelible print that changed people for the better. I fear I have been misguided. My definition of success, is now reshaped.

I loved my children fiercely which likely ignited many battles. Tempers would flare, heated words were exchanged and I was grateful we didn’t have neighbors. I realize now that my anger was just a disguise for my fear. I was afraid that I was not enough that that I was possibly failing them if I didn’t keep them focused. I was strict and I regret not giving more space to softness.

Before anyone calls for intervention, I should clarify that Aiden and Megan have now both finished university. Throughout high school, they both were strong academic students, high achieving athletes, were part of student council, keen volunteers and won several scholarships and bursaries for their post secondary ambitions. Aiden is an electrical engineer and Megan has just completed her degree in Public Health Social Policy with a major in Health and Community Services (that’s a mouthful!). By all accounts, they are terrific people and doing marvelous things. The pathway I paved has given them skills that allow them to aspire to their own ambitions. They have crossed the finish line despite me and because of me but I know that there was a cost.

But was it worth it? In the process of helping them “become adults”, I missed so many moments. Yes, I cheered but I didn’t stop to pause, to breathe and to just sit with them and hold their hand in silence. Why? Why didn’t I? I was afraid that they would turn out like me and I wanted more for them. So silly; maybe even a little tragic. Did I ever give them enough place and space to feel completely accepted in my presence or was there always an edge? The sculptor, the knife and the nicks.

I’m guessing for as many times I asked “how did it go?”, I could have asked, “how are you?”. I could have listened more but no, I likely let them tell me the problem and before they could say anything more, I leaped in with the answer and some perceived sense of good advice which was likely awful. Oh my God! Could I have not held back for just one more stretch of silence and let them finish and feel heard?

On Mother’s Day, it is me that feels compelled to celebrate my kids. They have been so gracious over the years. Rarely did they buckle under the nick of the knife. I don’t know how they can be so gracious perhaps it’s because our shared journey was learning what it was to become human. Their early years were harder than the later years. Likely, they saw through my effort to be “perfect” and learned to see that love can sometimes be flawed in implementation despite best efforts and honest intent.

I share this now because Aiden just took a job that takes him nine hours away. He’s been close to us during COVID and watching him pack for this new job tore me apart. Weddings and births are beginnings; so are adult jobs and starting a life of one’s own. Aiden now walks his own path. He is where I wanted him to be; I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to watch this next chapter unfold. I want to pack my bags and join him. Share the chapter and yet, it is not mine to share. These moments are his.

He has become a man and my job is done. We’re at that infamous finish line I imagined all those years ago. It doesn’t feel like sweet success, it feels like loss. Letting go takes place in so many stages of life. I miss him. I miss all of him. I wish I had more moments where we lay in the grass and looked up at the clouds. Like Robert Munch wrote, “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be”

• 

So one has flown the nest. Megan is still at home. She is joy. She came home to finish her degree online. COVID closed the school. While she’s been home, she has opened her heart to me. I have been able to provide more soft spots. We talk deeply and we have developed a new communication style. We call it the “loop back“. Anytime either of us says something that causes our emotions to spark, we loop back. I might say, “I just want to loop back to something you said and make sure I understood what you meant……” This has become a powerful tool that ensures we have more moments of acceptance. We have a stronger relationship and we are slaying the ghosts of the past. It’s been incredibly healing and genuine. If anything, we are taking time to look up at the clouds.

As much as I have hated COVID, I do need to say thanks. I am less busy which means that my family has found me more present and more available. Our conversations are rich, our relationships are honest. I feel like I see and hear them. I lost the clipboard, I stopped making lists and I have nothing to check off except to make sure that I make time for them, that they feel that they matter.

While much of this has been about Aiden and Megan, I want to acknowledge Owen. He has the advantage of a decade “in-between”. He is actually a blog topic of his own (stay tuned!). While he lives under the same expectations of “be your best“, he has had more freedom to evolve which has been a beautiful thing to watch. There’s no pressure. Maybe that’s a byproduct of my maturity or possibly because I am a decade older and a little fatigued. I learned that our environment shapes us, but I need to nurture, not mold. With Owen, I learned my lesson and I make more time to lay in the grass.

To you my beautiful children, thank you for your grace. Thank you for loving me despite…. I’m sorry for the times I wasn’t there. I was busy being busy for reasons that I thought mattered. I’m different now and I want to live the rest of my life living out loud with those that I love and adore. I’d rather lay in the grass and look up at the clouds.

Love is messy and complicated and yet, we lean in with those that we love. It makes me think of a story I heard about otters. They swim together and at night, to prevent themselves from floating away in the swirling sea while they sleep, sea otters often entangle themselves in forests of kelp or giant seaweed to provide anchorage. This is also the reason that they hold hands. They do so to prevent anyone from drifting away.

Here’s to being human and being a little bit better than we were yesterday. Here’s to holding hands and holding on.

With love,

Shelley

Recently, I seem to have found joy in watching design shows. This is surprising. I am perplexed at my joy. I have come up with a theory. I don’t love all design shows, I lean towards the shows where the hosts love the people and there is crying involved.

I could spend all day watching the sappy and sentimental shows. I like it when the hosts say things like “we’re going to make sure that they get their “forever” home” and then they give the backstory about how wonderful the family is and some of the hardships they have faced and how they want to do all they can to make sure that the family is happy in their new home….blah, blah, blah. Thirty minutes later, everyone is crying because the home transformation so much more than they ever imagined.

And there it is….I like happy endings. I like the dreams, the challenge and the tears that flow because they never believed it could be true and then it was. Call me corny but I love it when it all works out and I confess to shedding a tear or two myself.

Not all shows hit the mark but one that does is Home Town. This is a definite fave! A super fave in fact. If you haven’t seen it and need some feelings of “feel good“, check it out. www.hgtv.com/shows/home-town

Home Town is about bringing life back into small towns. The show is based in Laurel, Missippi and is about the community that you find within a small town. The magic comes from the hosts, Erin and Ben. In addition to being the most adorable married couple in the world, it’s evident that they live their purpose which is to welcome new people to their town and help these people choose and renovate historical homes to their original glory. It’s a real town with real people.

Ben is 33 and is a skilled woodworker and used to be a former youth minister with a degree in history. He’s also 6’6 and comes across as a teddy bear! Erin is the cutest little pixie of a thing. She’s 31, an artist and a former stationer with a degree in graphic design. They own a store called Laurel Mercantile with four of their close friends. Ben adores Erin and Erin adores Ben and together, they infuse love into the world as they welcome people to join their little town.

It’s delightful and so lovely that some cynics might think that it is all staged. I am an eternal optimist and am completely immersed in what I see to be genuine authenticity that reminds me of all that is good in the world. In my mind, they are the real deal and live from the heart.

“As far as our marriage goes, it’s me and Erin and God. We work everything out together, and everything has worked out so far” ~ Ben Napier, Home Town

Yes, I love this show and love their love of small town and of each other. It gives me hope and a sense of happiness and purpose. “Every town needs their people“. Yes we do Erin. Yes we do.

I moved to my small town over 25 years ago. I arrived and the population was around 2500 people. Today, it’s pretty much the same. There are no stop lights and rush hour consists of having to wait at the Highway 5 intersection behind 4 trucks or cars. People still don’t lock their doors, I know I have left my wallet a million times in the grocery store and they always call me to let me know. I figure if anyone needs to steal from me, well, they need it more than I do in which case, I am happy to give it to them.

People may have street addresses but it’s rare that this is given out. You are more likely to hear things like, “we’re the fourth house down on the right, just after the old McCracken House”. You could live in a house for ten years and it would still be called by another historic family name. “Where do you live?” “We live in the Smith House“. Far more effective than a number address.

When I moved here, I came from the big city. It took me a while to get used to the small town vibe. I came from “bigger is better”. There was a comfort in nobody knowing my name. When I first arrived, I was given a tour of the town and was relieved when my guide said, “let me show you the mall”. Thank goodness. A mall. I can understand a mall. A mall meant that I was still attached to civilization. I was not lost, I was found!

Small problem. A city mall and a small town mall are different. Very different. I had come from the BIG mall with 200 stores that offered everything and anything. The small town mall mall consisted of two banks, a pharmacy, grocery store and of course….the liquor store. And we’re done.

While the lack of diversity was frustrating, it was also kind of soothing. Going “shopping” was an outing. A social outing. Kind of nice. I remember one year, it was December 31st which is Megan’s birthday. We were having a party for her and I had to stock up on the party items. Owen was maybe 2 years old and dragged along. Halfway through my list, he just gave up. He was tired. He lay down in aisle 4 and was having a nap. I assessed the situation. A better parent would have picked him up and taken him home for a nap. I am not that parent. I turned to the Dairy Guy and said, “Owen needs a nap and I need to finish shopping for Megan’s birthday and run to the pharmacy, do you think I could leave him here for 20 minutes?“. No one called the RCMP. In fact, the Dairy Guy took a picture and presented it to Owen on his 10th birthday. He took pride in being one of his first babysitters. I know…..small towns. Go figure. I wonder if I could get away with that today? Probably not. It was good while it lasted. I get a kick out the imagery. People having to step over Owen while he napped to reach whatever they needed and no one thought twice. Dairy Guy just explained I needed to pick up a few more things and everyone just went along with it. I’m pretty sure that by today’s standards, I would be in jail or at least serious rehab.

Over time, there have been changes. A new developer came in and built a new mall with a new grocery store. On opening day, almost the entire town came out to the ribbon cutting ceremony. It was a big deal. Everyone walked through the store with wide eyes. It was so new. So bright. So modern. It was like discovering electricity or the phone or even sliced bread. A big deal.

There is a rhythm in a small town that beats a little softer than in the city. Things are slower. If you need to be somewhere in a hurry, DO NOT stop at the grocery store. It’s impossible to be “in and out” of the grocery store without a 15 minute conversation. Going to the store is a silent understanding that you are going to chat. Some people say that deals get done in the bar, that is true but things also get done in the produce section. I kid you not.

I also love the rural essence of small towns. One of my favourite images is the iconic blue cooler on the side of the road. We have one. It’s our version of a store front to sell eggs. Owen fills the cooler once a week with eggs. He puts a jar in the cooler with “change”. People come by. They pick up their eggs and leave their money. Egg coolers run on the honour system and so far, it works. Inherently, I believe that people take homage in being trustworthy. It is part of the small town code of conduct. “Thou shall not steal from an egg cooler”. I love that.

In a small town, you know your people. I remember being in the bank several years ago. I was standing behind this tiny elderly woman. She couldn’t have been more than 4’10. My eldest son was just a baby and she turned to me and said, “oh how I miss babies“. We started to chat (as you do) and I almost fell over when she told me her story. She was a mother of triplets and regaled me with tales of cloth diapers and homesteading. Remarkable. When it was her turn to go to the teller, the teller asked “can I see your client card?” The woman just couldn’t understand this. “Why do you need to see my client card? You know me. You’ve known me all your life“. True. Small towns don’t need client cards. It kind of kills the vibe.

Despite my homages to the small town, I have to confess that I had always wanted to live in a big city. I took pleasure in the vision of being anonymous yet “important” to whatever “firm” I was going to be working with. When I moved to Clearwater, BC, it became clear that I was never going to be anonymous and never be a part of a “firm”. I was destined to be a part of something more.

When my husband I bought our first house, we lived in a little village called Birch Island which was about 10 km north of Clearwater with a population of barely 200. We had a cute little house on the river. My neigbour was Pauline Gregory. Pauline had served on just about every volunteer organization in the valley. You couldn’t meet Pauline without her selling you a raffle ticket for whatever charity she was representing that month. Even when she broke her leg (in her 60’s!), she still fired up the phone and made everyone she knew come to her to buy raffle tickets that month. Pauline was a force. Her husband was Greg. Greg Gregory. He was a retired railway worker and equally devoted to the community and Pauline. They taught me humility. They taught me that “greatness” often shows up in coveralls. They taught me that a community is only as strong as its people. In a small town, you aren’t judged by the amount of money you make, the car you drive or the “firm” you might work for, you are judged by what kind of a neighbor you are. What do you give back? Humbling.

In January 2005, our family was evacuated from our little Birch Island home after an ice jam caused the North Thompson River to spill over its banks and run right through our living room. The night before, the community was on alert and the local store had organized a phone tree. At 4am, the phone rang. The jam had burst and the pent up fury of the river was on its way towards us. I had put Aiden (8) and Megan (6) to bed in their snowsuits. Once we got the call, Wayne drove up river to figure out how long we had. It was faster than we thought. I will never forget the WHOOSH that took hold of the whole house as water poured over the bank and started to rise. I had to call Greg and Pauline but the water was coming in so fast and I also knew that I had to get Megan and Aiden out of the path of disaster. It was dark and cold and I looked at the kids bundled in their snowsuits and said, “head to the road and take the first car out. You have to go. You will be fine and I will find you.” They held hands and ran down the driveway to get to the road. Our small town invoked this sense of trust. I can hardly breathe as I write this. Our two small children had such faith and their faith and trust was rightly felt. I finally reached Greg and Pauline and got them out. Alas, their house was so damaged, they were never able to return. The river took more that night than I ever could have imagined.

We waited 48 hours before we could get back to the house and see the damage. When we go there, it was like everything was floating. For a flat piece of property, wading into the house in waist deep water will always be imbedded in my memories.

I don’t recall reading “how to survive a flood” when I was in my big city apartment. Thankfully, my neighbors were more savvy than us. It was 9am and I was sitting on a milk crate trying to figure out what was next. Our neighbor from “down the way” came around the corner of the house and saw me sitting on my milk crate. He looked me in the eye and dropped off a 24 pack of beer and an industrial pump. He knew that things were bad, that’s why he brought beer. He knew it was going to be ok, that’s why he brought the pump. We didn’t have to say anything more than that. That moment was enough. I saw his care for our family and I hope he saw my gratitude. It’s what you give that makes you part of a community.

That was a long time ago and yet, that moment was one of many that helped me define a new “me”. I had arrived in this little town with little understanding of how rich life could be. The goodness was had in the giving, the sharing, the commitment to caring. It wasn’t the “stuff” that I had imagined.

This town that I call home is not wealthy. People wear their “best jeans” to ceremonies. Graduation from the high school often takes place in the curling rink. The community lines the streets as the grads drive through en route to prom and we all cheer. We cheer because we were a part of their upbringing. We were part of the community that committed to helping each of them rise to their best ability. This prom, this doorway is where we we hug them and wish them well in their journey. In small towns, our children our raised to leave and it’s hard to watch them go. They need to leave. They need to see bigger horizons and all we can hope is that they remember that they were loved, they were cherished and they come from a place where people showed up when it mattered.

We do show up and our favourite times are when we get to cheer. Small towns love to cheer. We fill our hockey arenas and you would think that we were watching the gold medal round of mens hockey in the Olympics and not just our U18 team playing for first place in the Provincials. I kid you not. Finals for U18 is a BIG deal and everyone comes out. The stands are packed. When we host a tournament, it’s not just the club, it’s the whole community and all hands are on deck. We serve with pride.

While celebrating together is magical, we also come together to grieve. I remember reading a quote that says “everyone is a celebrity in a small town“. I know that to be true. Many a time has the school gym been filled to collectively mourn. Notices of those who have passed are posted outside the grocery store; it’s the truest form of social media. Often a hat is passed if there are financial needs and there is always a flurry of casseroles to be shared. Grief is collective, grief impacts us all. Things stop and the passing is felt not as a murmur but as a whole loss. Someone is missing and it’s not the same.

I love that about my town. The deep sense of “feeling”. It makes up for things that we don’t have. When you come from rural, it’s just normal to accept that you don’t have access to the same amenities found in larger city centres. Our kids learn to swim in the lake, there aren’t any “try outs” for teams because our numbers are so small that “everyone gets to play“. Our high school is grade 8-12. There are less than 200 students. A senior sports team is normally made up of grade 11 and 12 students. In our case, a senior team is anyone who makes practice regardless of age. We’re just excited that there is a team! We’re even more excited when there is a coach too!

What bonds me to this community is the depth of generosity. If there is just cause that needs to be financed, this is a community that gives from heart. This is true in so many cases but especially when it comes to our kids. We know that they are the underdogs but by gosh, any kid that plays, doesn’t play alone.

This was proven a couple of years back. We had a rag tag senior girls soccer team. Many of them hadn’t played before but they were keen. The coach was a volunteer from the community. He saw their spirit which was definitely a little higher than their ability and yet, he was enthusiastic. He was constantly quoted saying, “They can be out-skilled by another team, but they will not be out-hustled by another team.”

The girls hit the pitch every single game with determination. Their uniforms didn’t match (often they didn’t even fit), they didn’t always know the rules but they played with abandon and their goal was to put more balls in the other net than any team could put in their net. Simple. And it worked.

Game after game, they won. Their grit brought them to the final game. If they won, they would make it to Provincials. No girls soccer team had ever made it this far. It came down to a single penalty kick. Here’s the thing. The player that was going to make the kick was in grade 9. She was a beautiful young player and as shy as they could come. The anxiety was overwhelming. The coach called a time out. The team circled the player. She was afraid. The team huddled closer. They told her they believed in her. They said “do your best” and she found the courage to take to the field. We all held our breath. The tension was enormous. We all wanted this so badly. Silence. Total silence and then the kick. Slow motion. We watched the trajectory of the ball find the back of the net and we erupted with enthusiasm! THE WIN!! THE WIN!! THEY WON!!!

While all of this was beyond exciting. There were some financial realities that came with the win. Because no one had expected the girls to win, there was no budget for them to travel to provincials. They had one week to raise over $7500. Many of the girls held down part time jobs just to pay for family groceries. This wasn’t a team where everyone could just write a cheque. This “win” required more.

Here’s the other thing. The team said that they wanted to go to Provincials. The community said “you betcha”. I love my town. When the girls held a car wash to raise funds, I watched cars and trucks stretch for blocks. They waited their turn to be a part of the financial equation and contribution to something “more”. And it wasn’t just cars and trucks, it was logging trucks that lined up too. Everyone came to give their share. Our “girls” needed their “people” and their call was answered. Donations came all up and down the valley. In less than a week, the team raised more than double what they needed. They had what they needed to travel. The extra was put in a fund to help future students cover costs. Why was this incredible? They never said that they could win, they didn’t even know if they could place but they knew they wanted the chance to compete and the town said “Yes, you can“. There was no expectation other than best effort and in turn, the girls gave their very best and more. They didn’t win. I don’t even think that they placed but in our hearts and minds, they won it all.

My town is a giving town. A kind town. A town that tries to give everyone a sense of place and space. My town has endured tidal waves of job losses in the forestry sector. We’ve been ravaged by wildfires, flooding and now a pandemic. And yet, we’re still standing side by side. No one is left behind.

I share these stories because each of us lives in a small town. Maybe our physical address is that of a big city with stop lights and sushi bars but on a granular level, we have our circles of community that work like a small town. We have places where we are seen and heard.

This month marks one year of a world pandemic. One year of change, upheaval and often heart ache. In this year, many of us have had time to re-evaluate what matters, what is important and who is important. For me, I reflect on those early days where a fog of disbelief took over my life. Anna Quindlen refers to moments of losses as “before and after”. I feel that. “Before” the pandemic and “after“. I know I am not the same.

I remember things as a blur but what remains starkly clear is the clamoring to connect. Family. Friends. While family connects in a more natural pattern, it was the connection of friends that I will never forget. I felt like I was floating away and yet, the circling of the wagons brought me back to earth. It was friendship that grounded me, that gave me a centre and reminded me that no matter what I lost in the pandemic, I could not be robbed of my friendships and their power to hold tight in the storm.

I am not the same. I am different and I am richer because of the year. I have loved the unspoken code of conduct of a small town for decades and yet, in this past year, I have lived it more passionately than ever before and in many different circles. I am better because of those that held my hand and held me close while the storm raged. Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you. I needed you. If I had been left alone, I would have become undone. Being a part of community ensured that I was a part of a whole. Thank you.

If anything, what I have learned is that the deep contribution to life is love. It’s not the “stuff”, it’s the people. It’s the glue that holds the messiness together and allows for new steps. I am the sum parts of those that choose to believe in me, care for me and love me. I hope that maybe I have been able to return the gift. All the stories I have told have been of moments that mattered, gifts that build bridges of connection. This is not a story of monetary wealth, rather that of sharing what we have to give to make the world a better place in spite of what happens.

We don’t need “client cards” to show who we are. We need each other. We need our stories, our support, our care, our love and our generosity that gives purpose to being and creates connections that make us strong. “Every town needs its people”. So true. We all need our people, wherever we are.

May we all take time to stretch out, to connect and to ensure that we extend care to all those who make up our community regardless of size or address. For me, I know I used to live to check the boxes and there I wasn’t particularly successful possibly because it wasn’t “real”. What is real is the feelings that connect us and make us better.

To all of you, thank you for being a part of this community. I hope you feel a part of things and feel that it is safe to be brave, courageous and also ok to be afraid before you jump. We can all be part of a small town, community and share with big hearted living.

Here’s to community. To happy endings where we all find our “forever home” where we find place and space with the people we love.

Shelley

I’ve never been one for New Year resolutions; it’s been more of a gateway to “loose promises” and a gentle review of possible lifestyle modifications all which are generally forgotten by January 2nd or 3rd. “Lose five pounds” has been on the list for a few years now demonstrating that I’m not a beacon of hope or a standard of resolution excellence. I’m great for anyone who is looking for a low bar to step over.

January 1, 2021 was different. I was eager to slam the door on 2020. Enough of the COVID chaos, enough with the physical distancing, the travel restrictions, the job loss, stress, worry, financial impacts, social impacts and fight for a balance in mental wellness. Does anyone watch movies and stare in amazement when characters “shake hands“? How bizarre that in less than a year, that this traditional form of social engagement now seems so foreign?

Pandemic changes have been swift and have choked so many connections leaving many feeling alone, isolated and depressed. Hugs were always healing and an elbow bump is not a suitable replacement; rather a place holder for when we can once again be free to embrace all who we love. So much change and so many casualties with various degrees of burns and wounds that have been left in the wake of this pandemic. Yes, I am DONE with 2020.

I wanted to embrace 2021 with enthusiasm, optimism and faith that we were turning the corner. I double locked the door to 2020 and flung open the window to welcome 2021 only to find that little had changed. Delays in vaccines, extended travel restrictions, growing cases, mounting deaths, no gatherings and the proverbial “bubble” concept that hadn’t yet popped. The tide wasn’t changing. The “tide” was merely the building of a “second wave” which I believe is a description for a tsunami. Great. Now I have to buy an umbrella.

All new beginnings need a new notebook. Blank pages begging new story lines. I liked the symbolism and on January 1st, with the sun shining, I headed out early to find a beautiful vista where I could write out new goals and lay out new ambitions. I wrote down phrases that would trigger different actions. On one page, I boldly wrote “make week-ends fun”. The fact that I even had to write that makes me cringe. I often spend week-ends cleaning. Mopping is not a characteristic of a week-end warrior. I have serious work ahead of me.

On my vista, with my notebook, I spent time writing about the usual life topics….health, finances, family, fun, personal goals, professional goals and otherwise. I challenged myself to let go of habits that don’t support goals, redesigning my daily routines to become more productive and motivating myself to say “yes” more than “no”. I also took on a personal challenge and wrote down three words that would describe my best self and contemplated five skills I would like to develop along with five actions that would support all of the above.

By 10am I felt like a new person and was feeling rather invigorated. I headed home.

My 14 year old son, Owen, met me at the door and said “Come hike the ski hill with Dad and me”. This was a hard no. Yes, I know what you are thinking. Didn’t an above paragraph cite a commitment to saying “yes more than no”. It did but hiking the ski hill on New Years Day was only going to make me feel bad. The ski hill is steep. I would be gasping for air. I would likely berate myself and say negative things like “how did you get so out of shape?” or “what the hell have you been doing all pandemic that you can’t walk up a hill?”.

Hiking the ski hill would be a rerun of my 2020 life experience. I had just spent two invigorating hours purging myself of 2020 and planning a new way forward. Sorry Owen. It’s a no. Feeling the suck of the ski hill was not a good way to start 2021. I retreated to the comforts of the couch and wrapped myself up with cozy words that inspired positive vibes. End of story.

Until it wasn’t.

“Mom, you need to come”. I explained my state of not wanting to feel the suck. Owen persevered. “Did you hear about the guy who did 150 pushups?”. I shook my head. Owen continued. “There was a guy who went to a fitness trainer. The trainer told him to do 150 push ups.”

Guy: “I can’t do 150 push-ups”

Trainer: “Can you do 1 push up?”

Guy: “Yea, I can do one push up.”

Trainer: “Good. Just do 1 push up, 150 times”

“Mom, it took the guy an hour and a half but he did 150 push ups. If he can do 150 push ups, you can do the ski hill. You just have to do it one step at a time.”

Seriously? When I wrote about starting fresh, I really meant January 2nd. I saw January 1st focused more on “concept planning” not immediate action and I was sure that motivation was going to be found on a fridge magnet, not in the form of my fourteen year old son.

I put on my boots. I was positive I wasn’t going to love this.

We arrived at the ski hill and I looked up. It was still steep. This was going to suck. Big time suck.

We started up. My husband Wayne is part mountain goat and just powered forward. Owen followed him but being part rabbit, he scampered up and then back to make sure I hadn’t quit or died.

I plugged in my headphones and instead of listening to my usual playlist of “loser” or “can’t”, I listened to Dax Shepard talk about overcoming addiction and moving forward. He told his story of living free of addiction for 16 years only to stumble for 3 months. Whereas many might have focused on the falling, he focused on the success of 16 years and started again. Three months wasn’t going to rob him of 16 years of success; it was just a stumble. Good point Dax. I kept going.

When I reached the top, I felt great. I did something I didn’t think I could do and I happily proved myself wrong. Owen gave me a nod of approval.

Since COVID shut the world down, I have felt bad about myself. Really bad. I’ve written a great deal about my self lamenting and loathing. In March, I watched twenty years plus of hard work die due to the pandemic. To stay afloat, we raided our savings and I wondered if there was any hope for the future. What was a 52 year old middle age woman going to do next? This business had helped raise our family, support our kids in their ambitions and it was financially necessary. Without this stream, what was next? Who would want to hire me? Could I shift the business? How were we going to manage? I imagined a new retirement plan that didn’t come with a cheque, rather a plain wooden box. Wayne would likely have to bury me in the backyard and throw together a homemade tombstone with some cheesy tagline like “and then it was over”. Middle of the night story lines were scary.

Going forward, I needed a new narrative. My thoughts had to shift and my belief system needed a shake up. COVID wasn’t holding me back, I was. My notebook held my goals, hopes, dreams and ambitions but how do I make it happen?

I needed a team so I filled my bedside table with books written by some of the best experts in the world. I needed insight into what others had done and what I could learn from them. It’s a tall stack of books. Jim Collins, Brendon Burchard, Erin Falconer, Mel Robbins and the legendary Zig Ziglar and Dale Carnegie, just to name a few. I have them all; it makes for one heck of an A Team.

Have you ever read these types of books and then said to yourself “well, that’s great for you but how is that going to work for me?” I’ll put up my hand. Sure, they did it and so did all the thousands of people that they reference but how is that going to work for me?

Cue the music, dim the lights…… here it is, the big thing that I have been avoiding…… I AM AFRAID. I am scared that if I actually committed to my goals, I am going to fail again. There it was. Fear. Said out loud.

What if I put everything I have into a new concept and it doesn’t work? What if I apply and get rejected? What if I work my ass off and I screw it up? What if I open my heart, face what scares me and I fail…..again? Ugh.

I wear “Failure” around my neck all the time. It’s so heavy that sometimes I can’t move. Fear and failure; like uninvited guests who come into your house, eat all the food, make a mess and then steal the china. They are not good friends. They are mean.

It was time for a shake down. I needed to get into the ring and face them down once and for all.

“Once we begin to transform, it ceases to be that [failure] any longer…..once we are ready to talk about it, we often call the event something else – a learning experience, a trial, a reinvention – no longer the static concept of failure” Dr. Sarah Lewis

I got in the ring to face Failure and Fear stood right beside me. My eyes were squeezed shut, my knees were knocking and I trembled. I tried to shake off Fear and opened one eye. I gave another shrug and opened the other eye. Standing right in front of me was Failure. Failure was big and menacing. Ugly too. I recalled a line from the book, “We’re Going On A Bear Hunt”: “we can’t go over it, we can’t go under it, we’ve got to go through it”. Although the book then says “tip toe, tip toe“, I threw a punch.

I punched hard and my eyes flew open wide. I had what Oprah would call an “AHA” moment. Failure isn’t real. It’s not a person. Failure is a descriptive of something that happened. Don’t get me wrong. Failure feels real and it’s a terrible place to be but this is what my A Team has been trying to get me to understand. Everyone who faces the humiliation and shame of something not working out, they work through it and “failure” transforms. “Failure” takes shape to become a lesson or a catalyst. People who have faced the “crash and burn” don’t speak of failures as “the end”, they speak of new beginnings and what they learned. They describe what they gained and how the experience moved them in a better direction. Crushing experiences propelled them to become better versions of themselves. We don’t always learn from winning. We learn from the losses. Aha.

When the business tanked last March, I got scared and allowed my worst fears to take hold deep in my heart. It has been a painful place and I have wallowed wondering how to move forward. Do I have it in me to rise? Am I good enough? Smart enough? Brave enough?

Thunderbolt. Here is my awakening. The business failed in the face of COVID, not me. I am not a failure. For months, I have felt so burdened by humiliation and shame that I could barely breathe. I am not a failure. Once and for all, I can lay that burden down. It’s time to move on.

2021 is my commitment to turning to a fresh page where I get to write a new chapter. It’s a beginning. I can’t promise that it’s going to be easy. Likely there will be times when it sucks. Admitting what wasn’t working is the first step. In truth, I realized that I had allowed myself to become a bit complacent. I chose Easy Street and the trade off was watching joy fade from my life. I lost my sense of purpose. To be really honest, I think part of me had already died before COVID 19 finished the job.

Slowly, I am beginning to see that failures are generous gifts if only we are brave enough to accept them.

I don’t think of myself as a failure anymore but I do think I failed myself when I stopped on Easy Street. I traded in for a sense of comfort and by doing so, lost the creativity that was exciting and invigorating. I played safe and it sucked the life out of me.

There is no creativity without risking failure. I got into the ring and knocked out Failure. Now I have to get back in there and practice courage. That’s my commitment for 2021.

Already, with a changed mindset, I feel a new surge of energy that feels authentic and pretty fabulous. I know what has to be done to make my life changes. Now I just need to do it. It’s kind of like my “loose 5 pounds” goal. Eating cookies doesn’t help me reach my goal. Procrastinating and find excuses isn’t going to help me reposition. Full disclosure, sometimes I pretend that “one cookie” won’t hurt. Same with “organizing my paperwork”. It doesn’t hurt but it sure doesn’t help. What is helping is spending time each day envisioning my future self. It’s a fun exercise but without cardio and having to wear tights.

Will I miss 2020? Not a hope in hell. It was chaos. Every corner of the planet seemed to be fraught with unrest, upheaval, pain, disease, death, social disruptions, angst and divide but some gifts have already arrived which was proven on January 20th, when we watched a brilliant young woman of just 22 years of age take the stage to speak of truth, healing and the possibility of a brighter tomorrow. Gifts after the storm.

Our people diverse and beautiful
Will emerged, battered and beautiful,
When day comes, we step out of the shade of flame, unafraid,
The new dawn blooms, if we free it,
For there was always light
If only we’re brave enough to see it
If only we’re brave enough to be it.

The Hill We Climb –
Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman at the Biden/Harris Inauguration Day

Change is possible for all of us – “If only we are brave enough to be it“. My father is a red Republican and I lean with the blue of the Democrats and yet, the first woman to become Vice President chose purple as a promise to unity. Exhale. Breathe. Feel the promise of fresh starts.

I felt palatable relief watching Joe Biden make his promise and my skin tingled when he said “My whole soul is in….” Here is a man who lost his wife, his daughter and his son. He admits to being broken, of not wanting to stand and yet, he rose to stand and at age 78, he committed to giving his whole self. Gifts to heal the madness.

I am so grateful that he rose and I feel inspired. I hope that I am not wrong. I hope that he is the man he says he is. I hope that his life experience and his pain give him strength to lead with courage, compassion and move the country forward on the many issues that have caused deep divide. I choose to see his humility and I believe him when he says “with my whole soul….”. This is how I want to live again. With my whole soul, even the broken bits.

Now. Don’t think that my rising is that of Presidential stature. It’s far more mild. My challenges are how to build a business plan, learn how to use a flat iron without burning my hair and figuring out how Instagram works and why Twitter is all the rage. I might even tackle the workings of this Blog and learn what a widget is. Yes, there is more. I’ll keep you posted on my aspirations. I have thoughts on non-profits, leaning into the hurt of my community that exists because of COVID and yes, I will even exercise when it sucks.

Owen, I don’t know how you became so magnificent but you are right. It truly is one step at a time.

Here’s to taking the jump, to new beginnings, new narratives and to making 2021 the year of opportunities that see us rise and heal our hurts.

With love,

Shelley