The Art of an Effective Pack

PACK #1 - The 'yes' pack. The yes pack is composed of a group of people who give each other moral support no matter what.

Sounds like a great idea in theory as it's good for the ego, but it's downright ineffective idea as a tool for personal growth. That's the group when even if you're wrong about something you're complaining about, will agree with you because that's how they define loyalty.

Here's an example: If you're venting to your pack about your significant other and you're clearly the one at fault, the pack will still refer to your partner as 'the bastard' in your defense and call it honor.

In other words, you'll always be right when you incite your friends to support you - it's the 'common enemy' factor... and they love being incensed on your behalf whether you deserve it or not.

PACK #2 - The party pack. The party pack is composed of people who are always ready to support you in getting away from your problems.

They're awesome when it comes to good-ol' fashioned escapism. When you call them up to vent, share your pain, or ask for an opinion, they say:

"Dude that sucks. Why don't you come out with us tonite and fuggetaboutit"?

And you know there will always be a pack heading to the bar or someone's house to whoop it up, buy you a beer, lend you their couch when you're too drunk to go home and offer you a tylenol in the morning.

And then there's...

PACK #3 - The 'Tell-it-like-it-is' pack. These guys are the ones who don't let you get away with squat but support what's in your best interest at the time.

The thing is, you might not always like them because their function is to kick your ass when you need it, tell you things you don't want to hear (and sometimes it sucks to find out you're in the wrong).

Generally, when they see something out of whack, they keep at it until you see the way it really is, not the way you'd like it to be. And every tell-it-like-it-is pack has someone in it who, when they see something painfully wrong with you, will call one of the other pack members and say:

"Guys, I think we need an intervention."

This is the tough-love pack.

The ones who will sacrifice their friendship with you if they see you going down the wrong path and you stubbornly refuse to do anything about it.

The ones whose very conduct influences yours for the better and they don't even have to say anything... they're just on the path of bettering their lives and if you're not along for the ride, well...

sooner or later, you'll find yourself without a pack.

Now, the fact that my support systems have a higher standard to which they think I should aspire can be a royal pain in the ass, so it's not always pleasant or easy...

There are days when all I really want to do is throw in the towel, run away to some remote island and fish for my dinner,(all for the wrong reasons) and play solitaire for the rest of my life, but my pack knows it's not in my true nature to be a recluse for long so they don't let me.

Sure, I can have a few days to lick my wounds, sit on the pity pot and whine about how life has handed me the short end of the stick and pretend I'm working so hard so I can get the sympathy vote, but my days are numbered.

And nothing could make me happier than to know I can count on being told like it is, until I finally decide to get my act together and proceed with the business of life the way I am meant to.

So for what it's worth, thanks to my AP, to Jim, to my boys (who still think I should shoot for the stars after all these years) and to everyone else along the way who puts up with my ups and downs....

Thanks to my tell-it-like-it-is pack.

The Art of a Strong Support System - PART III

I feel stuck this morning.

Not in a really bad way. Just in a I-want-to-get-to-my-writing-but-not-motivated kind of way. The discipline is probably there, but the will is lacking.

Thank God for discipline because I'll do it anyway.

And thank God for my support systems because this is a day I will probably call upon them for a little distraction and pick-me-up.

And if they're all busy? I'll rent a movie or two, pull out those books I need to finish, and carry on.

Getting moral support from your friends is never set in stone. Nor is it a black and white proposition. It requires the malleability of understanding and a certain maturity. Just because they can't today, doesn't mean they wont tomorrow. Or the next day.

It also requires a knowing that you can go it alone today if you have to. Life is built on these sorts of waves and they always pass. Besides, it doesn't mean you are being abandoned by your pack.

I think that's a mistake many people make as they feel 'let down' by others for not being there every time they need them. But perhaps their tank was empty too. Or they needed their energy for other matters they didn't particularly wish to share at the time. It's this ability to be understanding and compassionate that makes this very important dynamic work.

I've been reading a book lately called "Younger Next Year - Living fit, Strong and Sexy Until You're 80 and Beyond". It's fabulous, well written and motivating.

The last section is all about the biology of emotion. It very clearly describes the function of our limbic system (before and now) and how being part of a 'pack' is not only natural, but necessary.

We don't have a choice.

Because of the limbic way we're made, we are not emotional islands. Simply put, we complete each other. In both good and bad ways to be sure, but we do complete each other and therefore we cannot make it alone... p 302.

He goes on to explain that our limbic brain is designed to make sense of the visual world by assessing its emotional effect on our lives. More so than it does for say, making standard detailed visual observations (colors, things, spatial placements of objects, etc).

We have these little things called mirror neurons (and there are millions of them) whose only job it is to pick up on emotions (which happens in our limbic brain) and that's the seat of our biological infrastructure for empathy.

So whether we like it or no, we are physically and biologically designed not only to connect with others, but to make millions of micro-assessments of our emotional world every day, all day long.

In other words, even if we don't think it's that important, our bodies seem to think so. It's how we spend most of our subconscious energy.

Hmmm.

It must be pretty damn important.

Now that there's proof that it's vital to your well being, you have to figure out what kind of pack is beneficial to you and what isn't. There's basically three kinds.

PACK #1 - The 'yes' pack. The yes pack is composed of a group of people who give each other moral support no matter what.

PACK #2 - The party pack. The party pack is composed of people who are always ready to support you in getting away from your problems.

PACK #3 - The 'Tell-it-like-it-is' pack. These guys are the ones who don't let you get away with squat but support what's in your best interest at the time.

Next time - The pros and cons of each pack and taking off your rose-colored glasses....

The Art of a Strong Support System - PART II

Person 1 and person 2 are dating... the topic of asking for help comes up...

person 1. You can never rely on anyone but yourself.

person 2. That's not true, I rely on lots of people.

person 1. Well I don't. Everyone I've ever known has let me down. They're never there when you really need them.

person 2. That's not true, the people I know are always there when I need them. I can think of at least 5 people I could call at the drop of a hat if I was in trouble or just needed my closet cleaned out and couldn't bring myself to throw out my last boyfriend's sweatshirt or something.

person 1. (sarcastically) Nice.

person 2. You know what I mean. That doesn't mean I take advantage of it. I don't call on them for the little things I can take care of myself both emotionally or otherwise, but when I need a hand or I'm really choked about something, I know I can pick up the phone.

person 1. Well, you're lucky then.

person 2. I am, but I don't think it's luck so much as learning how to ask for help.

person 1. I'll never do that. And I mean never. I could be dying and I wouldn't ask for help.

person 2. I used to be like you. It's a retarded way to live, going through life alone, playing the martyr... it's so Joan of Arc.

person 1. Thanks.

person 2. You know what I mean. Why do you think we're all here on this planet together? So we can suffer alone? NO! so we can commiserate and ease each other's burden!

person 1. (Getting choked. He fails to see the humor in most anything I say.)

person 2. Okay, so you don't know anyone you can call on for help. Fair enough. Your support systems suck and mine don't. But I'm here. You can always call me up and say, "hey, I've had a crappy day. Can I come over?" or "I really need some help cleaning out the garage".

person 1. I would never do that.

person 2. (in disbelief) Get outta here.

person 1. (silence)

person 2. Seriously?

person 1. Yeah. Seriously.

person 2. (getting pissed off) Then why are you in a relationship?

person 1 (now totally ticked off). Oh, so NOW you're questioning the RELATIONSHIP???

person 2. Oh geez. That's not what I'm saying...

In retrospect, that's probably just what I was saying.

You can see where this is going.

Person 1 was fixated on a false generalization: ALL PEOPLE ARE UNRELIABLE and the only person you can count on is yourself. NO EXCEPTIONS.

Gee thanks.

The entire trust issue was at stake at a fundamental level so deep it wasn't even about the relationship anymore. It was about humanity in general.

As you can probably predict, this relationship fell apart shortly thereafter (and for a myriad of reasons not directly related to this particular conversation), but this conversation was in itself a huge red flag.

Person 1 was convinced that he was a 'giver' in this life. That was his job. He wasn't particularly crazy about it as there was a constant exhaustion in his good deeds to help others but he labelled himself as a giver nevertheless.

Like he had no choice.

If I said to him, "You are such a good father to your kids. They're lucky to have you", the response was, "I don't know any other way to be".

Sniff sniff.

How about because you WANT to be, not because you're stuck in a role you think God meant for you.

(That's not a very nice God if that's the case).

And what about free will? Authenticity? Being true to yourself?

In all fairness, it's easier said than done when you've been 'responsible' all your life and think the obligations that come with that role are set in stone and life has sucked you dry because you "give, give give" and nothing comes back your way.

Or does it not come back your way because you give, give, give and never ASK for it in return?

It's a slippery slope.

And if you attach manifesting principles to this you're treading in dangerous waters.

If you become completely self-reliant (to the point of obsessiveness) do you then get exactly what you project? Nobody to help you because you've given the universe the message that you will NEVER need it?

And then you attract people and experiences that verify your belief system over and over again until you've created the world you believe exists around you?

Shiza!

All I know is in order for energy to flow, it has to go both ways. If it doesn't, it WILL get stuck somewhere along the circuit.

It has to FLOW.

And for it to flow, you need to surround yourself with a few (less than a handful - family, friends, or preferrably both) that you can count on as much as they can count on you.

If you've never asked for help, the hardest part is putting your ego aside to ask for it when you need it and not giving up when one person can't fulfill that need.

You're bound to be disappointed sometimes. It doesn't mean it's OVER. Or we're all self-absorbed and selfish.

Yes, people are busy with their own lives, but one of those handful of people will come to your aid when you really need it.

That's why you need more than one person in your corner.

Don't get me wrong - givers are terrific people with huge hearts. He was one of them. And so was I. I know, I was one of them in every relationship, but too much of anything is never a good thing.

Too much 'giving' builds resentment (sometimes subtly and insidiously so) and is draining.

For life to work, you have to be both a giver and a taker or better yet - to learn how to both give and to receive)....

To lean more heavily on one side or the other spells imbalance and disaster in any aspect of your life.

Next - the necessity of having friends in any relationship

The Art of the getting your funny back and the importance of an ESN - Emotional Support Network (Part I)

Getting your funny back is kinda like getting your body back after you've had one too many Big Macs during those four years you hit fast food joints while going through college 'cause you were too busy to bother with real food.

We all do it. And it's a forgiveable offense.

But at some point you have to break the habit. And for that, sometimes you need a personal trainer.

That also goes for getting your funny back.

Losing your funny is when you've been out of the loop for a while because you've been busy indulging in a new relationship that is about as good for you as 3 supersize meals a day.

It doesn't feel that bad at first, but by the end, a heart doctor comes along and tells you if you don't get out of the cycle, you're going to die. Not good.

(And if you've seen Supersize Me, you know what I'm talking about).

In this case, before you know it, 28 odds pounds of emotional baggage sneaks up on you, weighing you down with more self-doubt than a hooker who joins a nunnery.

Think of a personal trainer - most health books recommend one if you're serious about getting fit and are tired of giving yourself a way out of those 'extra hard' workouts. You know, the ones that actually propel you to a new level.

PT's won't let you get away with stuff that you let yourself get away with all the time. It's not that you don't know better.

You do. I do. We all do.

But nobody wants to feel the pain that goes with producing micro-tears that builds up more of what you need. So we don't do it. But we'll do it for the expert that bosses us around in the gym.

Go figure.

I find it interesting that most of us won't let ourselves feel pain in the gym but we have no trouble being in relationships that cause insidious micro-tears in our soul.

But never mind that.

The bottom line is, everyone needs support systems. I don't care how independent you claim to be or think you are.

No one can live without some type of emotional support network. At least not well.

And getting back to what makes you YOU after a relationship has hit the dirt, requires a good, unconditional support network.

All you have to do, is pick up the phone. Or text. Or facebook. Or tweet.

That's right. It's as easy as calling on the peeps you haven't seen in God-knows-how-long because you've been too busy confusing jabs with teasing, criticisms with friendly advice and control for love.

For some people that's harder than getting tickets for the Superbowl.

All that matters is once you recognize the obvious and give yourself a few V8 slaps in the head, you get back to your old self.

next - what a strong support system looks like

The Art of Knowing When to Refuel - PART IV - Chasing the eagle

So there I was, gingerly grabbing what looked like an old kayak out from under a pine tree, paranoid about accidentally treading on any poison ivy leaves hiding beneath dead brush or hiding amid a kayak full of spider webs and dust.

I hate poison ivy. What's more, it hates me.

When I get even the tiniest patch it spreads like wildfire on my skin, popping up anywhere it senses an achilles heel of weakness on my skin. And I have no self-control when it comes to scratching, scars be damned. I shouldn't complain though. My son gets it worse than I do.

When he was twelve, his teacher got a brainchild to take students outside to pick leaves in the bush behind the school and he got poison ivy so bad, it deformed his skin (temporarily). There was nowhere on his body it didn't spread to - except you know... there.

The only way to describe his condition to others was to refer to him as the Elephant Man after the disease by the same name, made famous by John Merrick and forever represented in a 1980 movie by David Lynch.

It was heartbreaking and lasted three full weeks. Thankfully it didn't leave any scars. At least not visibile ones...

Mine wasn't that bad. Nevertheless, I didn't want those little bastard leaves anywhere near me.

So, it took me the better part of an hour to determine which of the two overturned kayaks on the property held the least likelihood of harboring poison ivy and went after that one.

Once I dragged it to the dock and scared away all the spiders and bugs with a broom, I dropped it in the water, climbed in carefully in and headed out onto the lake without a life jacket.

Not too bright as I hadn't told a soul what I was doing or where I was going but then again, the lake was a manageable size and I figured if I tipped over, I could always kick my way back to shore, dragging the kayak behind me.

Now it was just me, the water, and GOD.

Time for a little spiritual test.

Have you ever wanted a sign that God was listening? That he was watching all of your struggles with interest and concern and that he was waiting until the timing was just right before he intervened with your greatest good in mind?

Okay. Maybe not.

How about that's he just around?

Somewhere.

Anywhere.

Doing... something.

Preferrably something for someone's greater good.

Anybody's.

Yeah, 'cause that's where I was when it came to God. It's not that I didn't think he was around. I just figured I hadn't warranted his attention yet. I simply thought He had better things to attend to besides me.

So I put it to Him...

As I glided along I said, "Okay, if you really are around, in this sacred place - supposedly - (no offence or anything, but you did make us creatures who want proof) - give me a real sign. I know I know. You sent me a hawk in the yard - that was cool, thanks for that - then that hummingbird - which was truly beautiful, then that annoying little butterfly trying to capture my attention by hanging around my nose but you know, God, what I really want is to see an E ----"

and suddenly, there it was...

An American Bald Eagle.

I glided beneath it, staring up at it, stunned at how incredibly majestic it was. To witness its presence in person, in the wild was unspeakably humbling... I blubbered the rest of my sentence ...see an Eagle... cuz then... I'll.... wow.... holy crap...

You're listening.

There he was sitting motionless atop a pine tree that was growing through the cracks of the Canadian Shield.

Holy shit. You're really listening.

For the first time in a long time, there was no doubt in my mind.

I must have circled beneath that eagle for an hour, trying to absorb the significance of my encounter, and the spiritual message it held for me.

I was eagle obsessed.

I only moved on when for a brief moment, it acknowledged my annoying presence by tilting its head down just enough to make eye contact. At that point, I only hoped I didn't look like dinner as I had no intention of getting close and personal with those talons or that beak, no matter how gorgeous he was.

The rest of my day was spent in contemplation of that eagle encounter. Later on in the afternoon, my AP and I each took a kayak and made our way down the lake. My Bald eagle was still there. Motionless.

For now, I felt he was mine in some sort of cosmic way.

Once again, I circled beneath - this time, I waved at him. He looked down at me, adjusted his wing and gave me the illusion that he had just. waved. back.

I KID YOU NOT.

The next day was even more holy.

I never saw my eagle again, but my time at Still Rock can only be described as transformational.

Sometimes, you need a sacred space in which to see the world as it really is, outside of this paradigm we know as our day to day life.

Sometimes, you need friends who are on the path, that can help you transform your world from one of limited possibilities to endless ones.

Sometimes, even just a couple of days - well spent with conscious awareness - can have the most profound effect on someone...if they are open and choose to embrace a new way of being.

I returned home to the chaos that was my life but I felt emotionally strong, capable of handling anything with the grace of someone who has been blessed and touched by spirit and offered a new perspective, even a new beginning...

Life would never be the same...

Tha Art of knowing when to refuel - PART III - chasing the eagle

Manny.

That had become my nickname. "Manny" was short for manic behaviour. I was hyper beyond in an environment that should have turned me into a lazy-boy chair but instead turned me into a human spinning top.

I was the Energizer Bunny times ten.

You see, Still Rock was not just any old cabin in the woods whose grounds were teeming with untold flowers and colorful mulch, swing chairs and hammocks.

Still Rock is a spiritual retreat.

For real.

(Given my energetic reaction, it should have been called "Rolling Stone" but then again, these things affect everyone differently).

And Still Rock carries within its parameters an energy vortex that is conducive to experiencing greater shifts in self-awareness than if you were say, at the corner of Portage and Main in downtown Winnipeg.

Of course, you have to want it too.

But that is, fundamentally, the reason for its existence and the reason I went. This place helps people shift into a newer, better version of themselves on the path to greater meaning and self-awareness in their lives.

And it's perfect.

Not only is it divinely peaceful, but it holds a spiritual energy where people gather to process and transform their lives to the next level on a path of personal and spiritual evolution. With that kind of continual lingering energy, it's impossible not to transform.

Think about it for a minute...

There's a reason we are more comfortable in some environments than others. That's why we gravitate towards some places when we need a 'boost' and stay the hell away from others when we are feeling emotionally drained or weak.

Sometimes it's the energy of the people in that area and sometimes it's the place itself that holds a certain magnetic field, ley line, sacred energy, hallowed ground, or strong vibration that has a certain effect on those who visit.

It's like being in a church.

Even if you aren't religious, a place like Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris can have a profoundly pious effect on even the most sacriligious of characters. Sure, it might be the deliberate architecture designed to draw your eye upward that reminds you how small you really are in the cosmos, but it's more than that.

I think it's also a quality of energy based on the millions of people who have passed through it and silently uttered their heart-felt prayers. In my opinion, that intent lingers and we, who enter its sacred doors, feel the remnants of that powerful collective energy.

But whatever it is, in times of stress we are drawn to certain areas and tend to steer clear of others. Why? Because intuitively we KNOW. In that way we're pretty damn smart as human beings even if we don't admit it most of the time or call it hogwash to our friends (but secretly admit it when we're hovering between theta and delta as we slip into an unconscious sleep).

But we KNOW what's good for us. And WHERE. It's too bad most of us don't do anything about it. Or when we do, it's not frequent enough.

And although some people may argue that any cabin has a positive effect because it's away from the city and surrounded by nature, I beg to differ. I've been to some and thought, "I'd rather be home and back in my own space."

If you still don't get what I'm talking about, just google 'what is an energy vortex' and watch what happens. Probably the most famous area with a plenitude of vorteces would be in Sedona. People come from all over the world to experience its effects.

Sedona's vorteces are simply known as 'The world's most popular invisible tourist attraction'.

So given that I knew what I needed, and heard what Still Rock was all about, I made a decision...

I was going to Still Rock to transform.

What exactly, I didn't know. But I knew something was going to happen.

And what better way to start that journey than glide through still waters on a kayak... chasing eagles....

The Art of knowing when to refuel - PART II - chasing the eagle

Just to recap, a few days before my son moved to Toronto, I buggered off.

It was only for two days. But I had been functioning under pressure for so long that I knew if I didn't slow down I was going to pop a blood vessel somewhere vital to my well-being and the fluid that leaked out might put me to sleep forever.

So I went from survival mode to self-preservation mode.

They might sound the same, but they're radically different. Survival involves other people and a sort of whole group mentality. You learn to amalgamate, function, co-exist, and micro-manage in a utilitarian sort of way, ie; for the good of the whole.

That's one kind. (Sometimes, you learn to survive IN SPITE of the whole. That's not so fun).

Self-preservation on the other hand, is a nice way of saying, 'Screw everyone. The buck stops here. If I don't do what's best for me RIGHT NOW I'll be about as useful as a kitchen sponge that's seen better days.

Sure I appeared calm on the outside - an easy enough state to achieve having existed in survival mode for years - but the truth of the matter was, somewhere in my head there was an 'on' button that for the life of me, I couldn't turn off.

I mean, even when there was no longer any reason to worry or boss everyone around, I was still doing it. It was time to check out of the concrete jungle so I could be reminded there was a world outside of my apartment window and family dynamics.

So I went to a friend's friend's cabin on Grassy Lake. It's a spiritual retreat - only they were on vacation and my AP (accountability partner) was cabin-sitting so I could pretend it was ALL MINE.

That part was easy because relations between my AP and I are so easy that I can do whatever I want - disappear for hours or hang around - and she wouldn't care. Now that's my definition of a good relationship.

No pressure, no guilt, no obligation. Just be yourself.

Unfortunately, the hard part was learning how to 'just be' fast enough to make maximum use of the two days I had to completely unwind.

Just look at that ridiculous sentence. It even sounds like an oxymoron.

But with no neighbors across the lake, no visible neighbors to either side and a landscaped garden filled with an obscene number of flowers, swinging benches, loungers, hammocks and private niches for contemplation, I was good as gold.

I figured it would take me all of five minutes to unwind until I walked in the cabin door and saw the calm glow emanating from my AP and her friend from Florida. They had been there for only two days.

If I didn't know them, I would have thought they were actors being paid to be part of the ambience and my experience that's how beatific they were.

This was better than reality TV.

Between their genuinely warm and charming attitudes and those cotton and silk pyjamas they were both wearing, they were positively angelic.

And there I was, with camouflage shorts, a wife-beater T, and a headband.

"Nicole, this is Marnie"

She embraced me as only an angelic being could and asked me if I would like some fresh fruit salad she was about to make.

"Sure! That would be AWESOME. I'm STARVING!"

"Well let me make you breakfast then too" she said softly, tucking her wings in behind her back, "Do you want one egg or two?"

"Uh, one I guess. Doesn't matter really. Someone else is making me breakfast! And you don't even KNOW me! How cool is that? HOW LUCKY AM I?! So, how long you been out here?"

She smiled kindly and patiently at my manic behaviour and I swear I saw a twinkling light shine off her front teeth as she did.

"Two days".

"Jesus, I hope I look as good as you the day after tomorrow"

She smiled again and went about making ME breakfast.

I went outside to gather in the sights and sounds of paradise and find 'just the right spot' to force myself to enjoy nature and after going around in circles like a chicken with an equilibrium problem, I finally settled on a swinging chair that was in the garden but still had a view of the lake.

As I waited for breakfast to arrive I saw a hawk swoop through the yard just in front of me. It was so close I could feel the draft it left in its wake.

Then I saw a hummingbird hover with inconceivable talent near its flower of choice. It was so close, I could see its irridescent green feathers.

Not bad for the first five minutes of my retreat into the Divine.

That's when my fruit salad arrived, complete with shredded coconut, mango and blueberries.

It was the BEST FRUIT SALAD I HAVE EVER HAD IN MY LIFE.

For that entire day, I left my AP and Marnie to visit with one another elsewhere while I re-acquainted myself with... me.

I chose the book I would read over the next two days, found a hammock overlooking the lake, a few pillows and chilled. As I lay there swinging gently in the perfect breeze with the perfect combination of sunshine and clouds making the leaves in the trees above me dance on the page of my book, a butterfly decided to visit.

She was flapping her little wings and dancing in that erratic way they do as she went around and around my nose as if to say;

Why are you reading when nature is all around you? Can you see me NOW?

And if I didn't get it yet, I was about to.

Cuz it was time to take the kayak out! Oh yeah babi. That's what I'm talking about. Adventure city.

I'd never been on a kayak before. But as I told my AP later:

There's only one paddle, how hard could it be?

-----
Next: Part II of chasing the eagle

The Art of knowing when to refuel - PART I

And I'm not talking about a car.

According to my stepmom, my 85 year old father has taken to pushing those boundaries by driving his car as close to empty as possible before hitting the gas station.

He's missed the mark twice now, but I digress...

I'm talking about what every soul needs to function properly - nature.

Given the events of the last month (son #2's move to Toronto, son #3's move into my apartment - with all his stuff - then out again, and son #1 shooting his first film short), I've been oh... busier than Tim Horton's coffee shop during final exams.

Don't get me wrong. I love being there for them and not because I have to - I don't do guilt - but because I genuinely like them as human beings. They're so worth it.

BUT, even though I knew I was going to miss my kid like crazy when he left, somewhere near the end of his life-in-Winnipeg-as-he-knew-it, I HAD to take a break.

Given we were closing in on the final days however, I was hesitant.

I mean what kind of a mother ditches her kid for two days when he's only got 5 days left and is stressing (and rightly so) over the monumental changes he is about to incur?

Answer: The kind who knows she needs to refuel and if she doesn't, risks doing more harm than good because everyone will be running around like chickens with their heads cut off at which time her maternal cue to perform "damage control" will kick in.

And that had disaster written ALL OVER IT.

So I buggered off.

The way I had it figured, I would come back and the worst would be over, ( worst being a relative term).

That would leave me with 3 glorious days of hanging out with him post-trauma before his one way flight to his new life.

Back in June I had planned a short, 4 day trip to a friend's cabin after my son's projected date of departure. But when that date was pushed back, I was left with a difficult decision:

Do I stay and help him move? Hang around, providing moral support, soup and my incessant motherly advice?

Or do I pretend he's an adult and trust he'll be fine with the support he already has, knowing I'll come back emotionally rejuvenated and thus better prepared to absorb the magnitude of this change in my own existence?

It was a no-brainer.

And whatever minor hesitation I had initially experienced was sated the moment I saw him upon my return:

Him: Be happy you weren't here. It was awful!

Me: I know. Why do you think I left?

Him: You should have seen the sketchy characters from the moving company take our stuff! They even made me sign a waiver that they weren't responsible for any damage, loss, fire, theft or ACT OF GOD that might occur between here and Toronto!

Me: (smiling calmly)

Him: I wouldn't be surprised if our stuff showed up on Ebay.

Me: (smiling calmly)

Him: By the way, you look great... I'm glad you went.

-----
Next: The art of knowing when to refuel PART II - ahhhh, Mother Nature

The Art of working through your s***

My place looks like a half-way house. (According to my daughter-in-law).

And I can't argue her to the contrary because I don't think I've ever been in a half-way house. I think it looks more like a storage facility packed by a dyslexic bunch with no concept of order.

But then again, it's not every day you see a table on its side, blocking two TV's, in front of a coffee table behind 3 couches, a queen size mattress, three desks, multiple plants with no access to sunlight, a hallway blocked by boxes and a few empty bookshelves randomly scattered throughout.

And that's just the living room.

The items of two and a half apartments have been stuffed into one - mine.

Until today.

Son #3 is moving into his new apartment as we speak and son #2 moved to Toronto this morning with his girlfriend.

It's been a helluva couple of months.

I have to admit, just yesterday, I couldn't take the dark curtains drawn anymore (it's been blistering hot) and I ripped everything open, heat be damned!

There was so much 'stuff' I was claustrophobic beyond.

But in a way I can hardly explain, it was loads of fun.

Maybe it's because I've never done the college dorm thing. Or maybe it's because when I was still a single parent I was scrambling to understand who I was and what had happened to me and missed out on 'just watching' the comaraderie between my boys.

Either way, I was privy to observing an unparalleled warmth between people - 3 boys and their 3 girlfriends - amid the mess, and it was a stellar experience.

I'm not saying they never fight. Or never swear for that matter. They can make an angry truck-driver sound like a good mennonite boy.

And trust me, when they're pissed at each other, everybody knows it.

All of a sudden, it's not "my brother this, my brother that", it's "your son is an asshole, you know that don't you?" to which I reply, "you mean your brother?" to which they reply, "not right now he's not!"

But they've learned an invaluable lesson that some people take a lifetime to figure out and others never do.

You can't be mad forever. It's EXHAUSTING.

It used to be when I heard the words, "Your son is a dick, I'm NEVER talking to him again, I MEAN IT!" I used to sweat bullets thinking my boys would split off from each other emotionally and it would leave a big gaping hole in my heart FOREVER.

But it always passes. It took me a long time to realize this because with some people, it never passes. Like my mom. That's what I was used to.

Every fight, every form of resentment was layered. My mom was like the bricklayer of personified hate.

But my kids have had so many fights over the years, and gotten to know each other so well, they just KNOW things always come right again. It's like an unwritten rule or something.

But it also requires work.

You have to want those relationships in your life. So you make it a priority to speak your mind and make it work. No matter what. The boys have learned to talk through all of their issues as they come up so there's very little build up.

So now, when they can have a wicked argument they can say (on the spot):

"I'll talk to you in a few days when I'm over it but right now I think you're a complete dick."

Meanwhile, I still have to work through my fear that they won't speak to each other EVER AGAIN. It's my first reaction. And I have to ask myself: Why?

And then it hit me. I think about my mom and how she handles conflict.

The difference between how she handles conflict (or anger) and how the boys do is like night and day.

They know they'll get over it and that anger is a temporary feeling.

She doesn't.

They know that love is where it's at and nothing in life is worth hating for an extended period of time because it sucks the life out of you. (And the joy out of your existence).

She feeds off it.

They forgive.

That word is not in her vocabulary.

They will take responsibility when they've done something wrong and actually admit it. Ie; each party apologizes for their part in the argument.

I have never heard my mom take responsibility for any of her actions.

Not once.

And she has never apologized. (Unless you count the time she called me from a psych ward in Germany after a ten year absence and in a creepy voice, said; I'm going to hell Nicole... for all the bad things I've done, I'm going to hell...) [her shaky voice trailing off]

And finally, before the boys let anything get out of hand in their minds (or let their imagination run wild), they clear the air.

Sure, some of those arguments aren't pretty, but they never last. It's all out in the open and whoever is wrong will listen to the reasoning of the other and if warranted, is prepared to admit their part in it.

And usually they discover, it takes two.

My mom has never done either; Not clear the air, nor has she ever admitted being wrong.

No sirree. Not her. She stews and sits in it (whatever it is) until it festers like a pussing wound and she's on the verge of exploding green crap or that yellow bile stuff.

And that's usually when she writes... A LETTER.

The last one came a week ago. Just a few weeks after I saw her. She didn't send it to me as she doesn't know where I live. (There's a reason I maintain address anonymity).

Unfortunately she sent it to son #3 to "pass along to your mother".

Fortunately, he had the good sense to read the first paragraph and realize it was another hate mail letter and threw it out without reading further.

And stuffed in the middle of this 'novella' (as my son referred to it) was a card I had sent her, torn in half. I can imagine the frenzied state she was in to do such a thing.

Then again, maybe I don't want to.

Part of me was mildly curious as to the contents of that letter. (I do somewhat possess a morbid curiosity as to why and for what reason she despises me so venomously).

The other part was grateful my son had the good sense to throw it out and by so doing, disengage in the drama.

The only reason he told me about the letter in the first place is because I had expressed to him that in spite of her 'digs' I thought my "visit with Grandma" had gone relatively well and I was contemplating when I should see her again.

He convinced me otherwise.

Smart kid.

So over the last month, when I looked around at the nuclear fallout of clothes and neverending 'stuff' around me, and witnessed 3 young men work through the emotions associated with being split up geographically (amid all the last minute stress) I thought to myself;

It's time I stop worrying about whether they are going to never talk to each other again after a big fight.

It's time I remind myself that my mother's approach to conflict is not theirs and NOT the norm.

It's time to remember that I am not my mother and that my life in no way, shape or form, either reflects her philosophies nor patterns itself on her way of being.

Not anymore...

The Art of Dealing with Mother Issues, Part II: getting over a pundit

It only took a few days to get over my visit with mom.

Not bad considering the collateral damage she tends to inflict in the course of a single conversation (and this was no exception).

She's like a wasp that leaves its stinger inside your skin. You swear you're okay after the attack because you can't find any blood, but it's still releasing poison into your system for days afterwards.

By the time you figure out where that stinger is embedded (and use Gestalt therapy to pull it out), it's already caused nerve damage.

And my nerves were shot.

Early in our conversation, she asked me what I would be teaching in the fall.

I said: Grade 3.

Her reply?

Why so low?

Gee thanks. But I get it.

The woman is a pundit and always has been. I should be used to it.

pundit def: a person who makes comments or judgments, esp. in an authoritative manner; critic or commentator.

Unfortunately, that was just the beginning.

She started asking me questions about my ex because she was "concerned for his well-being".

When I replied that I knew little about his current condition and did not know his whereabouts, she proceeded to berate me for not visiting him (as he is now bed-ridden due to MS). Then she pulled out a book of quotes from Mother Theresa, found a spot that was highlighted and read:

"Of all the illnesses and poverty I've seen, loneliness is still the worst thing of all".

You see, no one visits him anymore. And no one visits her.

Both are mentally twisted, both believe in revenge and holding grudges for all of eternity, both possess a superiority complex that makes the Nazi movement pale in comparison (no pun intended). As a result, both have successfully alienated everyone who loved them over the years with their words and actions.

And I mean everyone.

It's one thing to be mentally ill, but add insidious cruelty and you have a winning combination sure to discourage even the most resilient of visitors.

And both are equally capable of heinous violence. The only difference is that I experienced it first hand with my ex. And most of it was directed towards me. With my mother, it's all in her eyes. They're cold enough to send a shiver up the spine of the Abominable Snowman.

But my mom was adamant about how I should be more understanding. She raised an eyebrow and warned me that "God only accepts the merciful" and sealed my fate with authority as the personal pundit of Yahweh.

I smiled politely and patiently and said (only slightly sardonically I might add):

"I hear ya mom, and you know I don't wish him badly or anything, but I wasn't a big fan of taking those hits, so..."

To which she quickly replied,

"SO WHAT if he hit you?!"

...and proceeded to defend his honor.

That's right. My own biological mother chose my abusive ex over her own daughter.

Now at this point, I must make something clear. Some people have redeeming qualities but not my ex. There was absolutely nothing honorable about him. And to this day, there is nothing about him worth defending. It's that simple. And it's a fact.

He never worked, he never saw a doctor for his psychosis and to this day, he still feels justified and thinks his behaviour was normal, considers himself superior to the plebians in his midst and thinks everyone else missed the mark.

But there is beauty in all of this.

Now I finally understand why I got involved with him in the first place.

He's the male counterpart of my mother.

I could never fix my own mother so she could be a real mom because I was just a kid. But as an 18 year old girl, I figured I could fix someone who showed all the early signs of what she must have been like at his age - energetic, smart, full of big ideas and attractive, but arrogant and lazy.

You know, fixable potential.

There are still things I admire about my mom. The same as there always were. She's sharp (even if illogical), she reads with a vengeance and she's tough as nails. She won't let go of old stuff even if it kills her. Which is really too bad, because if she could she might stop hating everyone so much and that would improve the overall quality of her life.

But then again, it's probably what's kept her alive through three suicide attempts, years of alcohol abuse, pill popping, and that plastic surgery she had at the age of 72.

She's one helluva character.

When I finally looked at her with eyes wide open and realized that she was only defending my ex because she was sticking up for herself, I finally let something go...

I forgave myself for getting involved with a man who was beyond horrible and decided that I didn't need to beat myself up for that choice anymore.

It was over.

Another layer shed. Another shadow faced. Another riddle solved.

So when she kept at it, insisting that she needed his address so she could visit him, I finally said:

"Do you want me to take you to see him? Would that would make you happy?"

And when she nodded yes, I said, "I'll see what I can do" and smiled the genuine smile of someone who was finally released of the heavy burden associated with fixing the impossible.

Then I hugged her, told her I loved her and that it was time for me to go.

She gave me a necklace of black pearls from Tahiti as a parting gift, and walked me out, smugly thinking that she had just convinced me to be a better person and then rewarded me for it.

Little did she know, the gift she gave me was far greater than that...

Thanks mom...

The Art of dealing with Mother Issues - Part I - what's the big deal anyway?

I want to create a lengthy, detailed, no-holds-barred bucket list, spend my life checking off as many items as humanly possible then when I'm 95, turn to my partner (whoever that may be) and say:

"Goddamnit that was fun! Wanna do it again?" with a wink and a wicked smile.

Then I'll keep my fingers crossed at the prospect of another life so I can finish up what I started in this one.

But first, I have to deal with...

mother issues

Ah yes, those lovely, debilitating, mom issues.

Because if I don't remove the old emotional blocks that hamper my progress (in all areas of my life from career to relationships) then I have to factor in the extra time I will require for therapy with friends (over beer n' nachos) when I'd rather be spending that time talking about boys (and ordering good wine and fresh oysters).

It's as simple as that.

Because those darn childhood/parent issues have a habit of impeding the energetic flow you need to make your dreams come true. ie; They get in the way.

I'm not saying you need a cohesive nuclear family to make it work. But it sure makes it a lot easier if your mom (or any primary caregiver) loved and wanted you.

But mothers are people too. And not all of them are white-picket-fence/Martha-Stewart/stay-at-home-moms-or-career-women who fiercely love their children. I for one, have many faults, (not the least of which were my motherhood techniques), but mess with my offspring and I'll kill ya. And my kids know it. (At least they've got that).

Some people just never wanted to be mothers. It's not that they hate you (not really), it's just that without you around, they would have liked their life way better and they don't do much to hide that fact from you.

Sometimes, they even tell you.

Ouch.

So to make up for it you spend your life trying to be worthy enough for someone to love you but there's no end to it because you've only got one mom and if you miss the boat on that one... well... that can get you into a whole whack o' trouble because if you're starting at the bottom (ie; your mom doesn't want you) then you don't exactly have to reach very high to raise the bar now do you?

Get my drift?

But the good news is, there is an end to it.

At some point you have to accept, you have to forgive, and you have to find ways to love yourself the way your mother never could.

And the tricky part is, that validation can't come from anybody else but you. In a way, you have to be your own mother.

You have to do for you, what she couldn't.

It's a good thing I like beer n' nachos...

The Art of the Bucket List

We've been doing the Bucket List project at school this week. 100 things to do before you die.

Nice way to wrap things up. Or so I thought. You know, get my walking hormone pack to think about something besides bikinis, six-packs and beaches.

I thought I was making progress with them until someone asked me if "Sleep with Drake" was an appropriate goal.

I looked up quizically and squinted my eyes at her as if that would improve my hearing or change what she said and finally realized with some dismay that she was dead serious.

"Take a wild guess" I said dryly.

"Uh, no"?

"Good guess".

Wait a minute, I thought, Who's Drake?

So I asked her.

"Who's Drake"?

"A rapper", She replied casually.

That figures, I thought as I shrugged my shoulders and she crossed him off her list.

But apart from those kinds of responses and the predictable "win the lottery", (ie; I'm too lazy to think this through) as time went by, most kids began to take the list more seriously. And watching that happen was very cool.

100 things to do before you die.

It can be pretty daunting.

Once you hit about 30 things, it gets tougher unless your goal is to visit every city in the world and then all you have to do is get an Atlas and you're golden.

But that's cheating. (There's honor in writing the list).

Making a list however, becomes more manageable if you break it up into the seven categories I've mentioned before based on Canfield's Principles of Success;

personal relationships, finances, career, health and fitness, self-improvement, relationships, and contribution to society.

And the idea is not to overwhelm yourself with so many damn goals at once that suddenly you feel like you won't do any of them.

That would be like a writer giving themselves a deadline of 2000 words a day (ahem) knowing the pressure to do so would probably force them to clean their bathroon instead so they could avoid it entirely.

And we've all been there.

A good bucket list takes a long time to make. Not just one afternoon, or even one day. You have to stew on it. It has to simmer in the slow-cooker of your mind until all the flavors come together and the gravy starts to look like gravy instead of a cornucopia of veggies, meat and stock.

And what feels like individual pieces of an incomplete puzzle begins to come together and resemble a docket of your life.

And the things that excite you are the very things that begin to define who you are.

As you write the list, you get to know yourself. That's one of the subtler benefits.

You get to know what your priorities are, whether you're a risk-taker or more conservative, whether you choose security over freedom, whether you embrace a white picket fence or the gypsy within.

You start to feel the extent of your comfort zone or even the self-imposed boundaries of your existence.

And the list becomes an entity that grows into more specifics as your vision expands. And you expand with it because self-understanding is one of the keys to experiencing the richness of life and somewhere along the way, you figure that out.

Somewhere along the way, you become more specific about what you want.

You go from writing "I want to go to Europe" to:

"I want to say 10 'Hail Mary's' while kneeling in the first pew of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris after first sipping an espresso in a neighborhood cafe".

But these things take time.

That's why these lists must be reviewed periodically. As you change so do the things on your list. Some things are crossed off because either you've done them, or they no longer serve you, or they just don't make sense anymore.

It's all about self-discovery.

But everybody's gotta start somewhere - even if that somewhere is, "Sleep with Drake".

In the words of Margaret Young:

You must first be who you really are, then do what you need to do, in order to have what you want.

The Art of the Mini-deadline

I was rereading my headline and realized that I haven't done much shenaniganing or even manifesting lately as I've been preoccupied with my fair share of those little things called 'obligations'.

And without shenanigans (or manifesting), I dare say there isn't much to discuss unless I want to blog about my daily schedule which goes something like this;

I get up around 6:30 am every day for school. Do the usual morning routine (minus the coffee as I'm basically a tea and carrot juice drinker) and head to school.

I now spend my days with the same Junior Highs because I took a year-end term position. And they've been great (who knew?) but lo and behold, I'm still drained when I get home.

And it's interfering with my other life.

(My guess is that I need some sort of hormone-proof vest or shield to dissipate the energy they exude because it acts like Kryptonite on my whole body).

In any case, as a result I always need a nap at the end of the day but choose instead to open the fridge door and 'tilt' while simultaneously tuning into Cesar Millan, Dog Whisperer for more sage advice.

Not good, (but highly satisfying in a shallow, momentary-satisfaction kind of way).

In any case, once I have settled down into my more balanced self, (around 6ish) I catch up with friends and family, go for a walk, maybe do a little art, read, and then head to bed early for no other good reason except that I tell myself it's necessary in order to be awake and alert the following day.

(Which I've discovered is not true because when I'm engaged in activity that propels my soul forward, I'm not tired at all).

What has become incredibly clear since this life experiment began almost one year ago is that I need a revision.

It’s one thing to write up a list of goals and quite another to see them through.

I can write “I want to climb the Inca trail to Macchu Piccu” until I’m blue in the face but if I don’t set a date to do so, set money aside for the trip and make sure I’m healthy enough to handle the altitude, then it might as well be a pipe dream.

And the difference between a pipe dream and an intention is the emotional charge. There is a negative charge with the pipe dream – it's always perceived as a joke, something that will never be - while an intention carries with it, a positive, pro-active charge.

And I don't want to be a joke.

But intending is only the beginning.

First there's intending, then writing things down, then taking baby steps to see whatever it is you want manifested through to fruition.

And although on many levels I'm quite pleased with my own progress both internally and externally, there is still much to do and it's high time I did a re-evaluation of PROCESS - not so much of the actual goals as they largely remain the same - but of the manner in which I accomplish them.

And manageable, broken up into segments, I-can-handle-this-mini-goal-without-falling-into-a-deep-depression-at-the-magnitude-of-it-all, is the key to succeeding.

Here's an example...

A friend of mine just today, called for some moral support regarding his writing. He wants to get a novel done he started a couple of years ago. It shows much promise IF ONLY HE COULD FINISH IT.

Sound familiar?

In his case, it's a matter of re-editing to death before he can bring himself to move on. And since we all know that perfection is an illusion, seeking after it is like chasing those water-like mirage puddles you see on a highway in the intense heat when you're driving your car on a freshly paved highway.

By the time you get to where you thought each puddle was, it's just road again. And your eyes look to the next one hoping you'll get to see it up close this time and prove it's not a mirage, but to no avail. And you have to start all over again because what you thought you would see doesn't actually exist.

There's no bloody end to it.

So we came to an agreement.

I told him I would check in on him tonight at a certain time to see how much work he got done. Eight o'clock to be specific. He wanted a word count goal for motivation

(I don't believe in word counts any more than I do using scale when I go on a diet but whatever, it's his goal).

He was thinking 2000 words. I was thinking he was out of his mind. I'm all about mini-deadlines.

"How about 500"?

(That's roughly 2 pages).

I could almost smell the relief at his end - I always imagined relief would smell like lavender flowers if it had a scent...

"Think about it. If you produced one page a day, (not even two) at the end of a year - IF YOU WERE CONSISTENT - you'd have a 365 page novel".

Busted.

That's when I realized I needed to take my own advice. If I want to write this other book, I must set smaller goals and be held accountable for achieving them.

So I told him what I thought I could do between 4 pm and 8, which was our re-evaluation time. All I have to do is flush out one sectionof my new in-progress book proposal.

It's now 7:37.

This might be more like a micro-deadline...

The Art and Beauty of World Cup Soccer

Another gorgeous day...

... especially if you're Brazilian.

Or if you're a Kiwi. I know it was a tie but seriously... The no. 1 team (Italy) against no. 78 (New Zealand) TIED?

My condolences to the descendants of the Roman Empire.

And my heartfelt congratulations to the new kids on the block who haven't participated in world cup soccer for the last 27 years, until now. What feels like a loss to Italy, felt like a win to New Zealand.

Like everything else, it's all relative.

Or paraphrasing the commentators "A team who basically only gets to practice against a bunch of guys from the Solomon Islands, just tied the no. 1 soccer team in the world... WOW..."

Wow indeed. Kudos to the underdog.

Ya gotta love world cup soccer. While numbers vary, it is believe that somewhere between 800 million and 1.1. billion watch the Fifa World Cup Soccer games. My boys swear it's 3 billion but actual numbers are impossible to verify. But I bet my soccer shoes they're right. (If I had any that is).

And I'm certain that like any good fishing story, those numbers will grow before it's actually over and somewhere, there will be proof that every man, woman, child, infant and fetus will have witnessed (or heard) a goal-induced scream celebrating either some team's victory or another's crushing defeat.

I know people who snub the winter olympics, but embrace world cup soccer as a religious holiday.

In fact, some countries - like Brazil - shut down so nobody has to miss a Brazilian game. That never happens with the Olympics. Here's part of an article from the online Brazil Global that describes just that:

Understanding why Brazil “stops” during the World Cup is understanding how Brazilians relate to pride and joy.

It might sound like a contradiction. A country that is a star among emerging economies, just about to leave the reductionist image of being the country of “samba and carnival” suddenly becomes exactly that.

Everything will stop.

Most (probably all) companies will allow staff to go home early today, when Brazil faces North Korea. Banks have permission from the central bank to close early on the days Brazil is playing, the currency market will operate on shortened hours, and most government agencies will shut down.

The economy will not be the same during these days. Televisions and beer have an extra boost while other segments will halt.

Okay, so we know that soccer is BIG. And that it's disproportionately popular in Brazil (and they have, arguable the most beloved team), but it's huge EVERYWHERE. So my question still remains...

Why soccer?

Why is it bigger than the Olympics? I know they both take place every four years, but with soccer there's less sports variety. So what gives?

The answer came from my own boys... and when I heard it, it was plain as day...

"Because anybody can play soccer. Even poor kids. But you have to be rich to play some of those other sports. I hate to say it, but some sports are elitist and we don't think that's fair. But not soccer, and not running. So those are the two we watch."

I get it now.

Soccer is an everyman sport. It's an every kid sport too. And with soccer, the possibility of super-star success crosses all socio-economic boundaries. You might play with a crappier ball and holes in your shoes (or barefeet for that matter) but if you have talent and you practice there's always the possibility...

HOPE. (noun, verb) def: the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best

So it's more than pride. Soccer is the embodiment of an even playing field. Like running. If you're fast, you're fast. And you don't need money to prove it.

That's what makes soccer special.

And everybody needs hope. Why? Because in the face of adversity, that's all anybody has.

And we need people that can prove to us that we didn't hope in vain so that maybe someday we too, will rise above our own circumstances.

And if that proof comes from an underdog?

Even better...

The Art of Being Part of a Unit

It's been a busy couple of weeks.

Contrary to what I had promised myself about 'subbing only' this year, an opportunity came along to do a 6 week stint in Junior High and I took it.

Nice kids. Nice school. That made my decision easier. Any place else would have prompted a resounding 'no'.

But I am now faced with the daunting task of learning 75 new names and writing 150 report cards in two subject areas. I'm doing okay on the names but the report cards?

Oy vay!

But it's all good. It's been a real eye opener for me as I experienced something I had not felt in a while, while making my decision whether to take this job or not...

Sheer terror and panic interspersed with migraines that felt like some clown named Chucky was shooting cannons from inside my head and laughing hysterically at my pain.

Migraines that were debilitating in the worse sense. Migraines that caused a vomitous reaction.

I kid you not. I was puking my guts out.

This finally ended when I made my decision to proceed with the job but since taking it on, I have experienced shortness of breath - like a constant mini-panic attack. Manageable, but irritating as all get-out.

Frankly, it's pissing me off.

And I don't know what the deal is there because everything's been great.

Furthermore, you'd NEVER know it if you met me.

So what gives? It was perplexing me to no end.

And then it hit me.

I made a contract with the universe that I would stay the course, sub for a while and not commit myself to anything that might take me away from my goals and dreams - even if that meant sacrificing a better paycheck. After all, I've been there before.

Hell, I've been there for 30 years.

Only this time, I was going to make good on this contract and do what was important to me - write - because the time was ripe and I was determined to pull it off.

And then I took this job.

I felt like I cheated on the universe. I broke my promise.

I broke my contract.

SHIZA!

It didn't matter that it was only six weeks, it was the principle behind it that was killing me.

But I did it anyway.

On top of it, I accepted another job offer to teach grade 3 next year at a different school.

Both jobs came within a week of each other, (effortlessly I might add - more on that later). But neither fit in with my life plan (or so I thought). And yet here I was, saying 'yes' because on some level, it felt like the right thing to do.

And it was.

But still, I felt like an infidel. A heathen who had lost faith in the process of life and the process of manifesting. Someone who turned away from the Big Guy...

Someone who NO LONGER BELIEVED. Oh ye of little faith.

The guilt was killing me.

To make matters worse, I knew I would have a hard time getting any writing done. It's not like I was thinking I could pull both things off at the same time. (Been there, done that and burning the candle at both ends gets real old and so do you).

But like I said, I did it anyway.

Because the bottom line is, I'm still a single parent. Sure, the boys are older. They do their own thing and they've been independent all through school with loans up the wazoo, but the fact remains... we're a unit.

When one person makes it, the rest follow suit. We're all in it together and trying to reach critical mass. The tipping point. I was hoping this book I wrote might do that - if not financially, then at least on some psychological level.

Because reaching the tipping point takes precedence over everything else. Why? Because it has a domino effect on everyone and everything in its vicinity. Everybody benefits.

And that, was the deciding factor.

One of the boys is entering a professional faculty and will need all the stability he can get. Finances will already be tight in spite of a student line of credit that was in all honesty a bitch to secure, (triggering all sorts of conversation about how post-secondary studies is slowly becoming an option for the elite only but I digress).

It's a miracle he is going at all...

During the up and down yo-yo of not knowing whether he could secure the finances he needed, there was an impending doom hovering in our midst.

And everybody felt it. When the banks (or a co-signer) said 'no', it felt like a death. When it was 'yes', it felt like a rebirth - until they changed their minds at which time our collective legs and arms went weak.

When it was 'maybe', everyone held their breath like a scuba diver in deep waters who knows his tank is almost empty. It was burning everybody out.

This went back and forth for a number of weeks, until it finally resolved itself favorably just a few days ago.

The weird part? Everyone felt it. Everyone described their emotions throughout this loan-seeking madness in exactly the same manner.

It was the strangest feeling. The energy shifts we thought we were experiencing vicariously through one person - the one trying to get the loan - was actually happening collectively.

Because there is no one else, no separate person.

This experience was felt as one unit, feeling the same feelings of alternating joy and despair with every glimmer of hope followed by every rejection or uncertainty.

All it took was a look, a shake of the head, and we knew what the others were feeling for we were feeling the same.

Quite frankly, this time, it almost broke me.

We've had one too many "almosts" in this family... one too many "we were SO close"... one too many "oh so near" the tipping point but never over. And it's not from lack of trying, (or smarts, or talent, or lack of a positive attitude).

For whatever reason - call it destiny - that's just the way it has played out.

We've been like a roller coaster car that reaches the top of its apex but just doesn't have enough juice to get over the hump and slides back down to its starting point...

until now...

But being part of a unit has to do with recognizing those critical moments that have to do with that tipping point and then acting on them.

Call me crazy, but I actually felt a real shift when everything fell into place. And so did everybody else.

As for my panic-attacks? I think it's going to take a while for my body to catch up to what my soul already knows: that we finally reached critical mass.

Our tipping point is finally here...

The Art of being in Kindergarten - PART II - is that a heart I see on your sleeve?

They're all over it.

When they get mad, they're mad and you know it.

When they're upset, they cry and you know it.

But when they love, they LOVE and you know it.

I want to be back in kindergarten.

When a boy likes a girl, he tells her straight up. And the teacher too. And anybody else who cares to hear all about it. And it's all very matter-of-fact.

No big deal.

No ego.

No games.

No b.s.

Case in point

Ben: Ms. A, Ms. A!

Me: What is it honey?

Ben: I love Suzie!

Me: Really?

I turn to Suzie (a.k.a. "Princess") who's standing right beside him looking pleased as punch.

Me: Did you know about this?

Suzie: Uh huh.

Me: And you're... okay with it?

Suzie: Yep!

Another little boy - we'll call him Duncan - runs up to Suzie and Ben, standing beside them both with a big smile on his face.

Duncan: I'm going to MARRY Suzie!

Me: Really?

Duncan: Yep!

I turn to Suzie...

Me: So, which one is your boyfriend? Which one do you want?

Suzie (throwing both hands up in the air and jumping): BOTH!

Me (turning to the boys): And that's cool with you guys?

They both nod emphatically.

Me: So you mean to tell me, you both love Suzie, (to Ben) you're going to be her boyfriend, but (to Duncan) you're going to marry her?

They both nod over and over again with these big-ass unapologetic smiles on their faces. Meanwhile Suzie, looks just like the cat that swallowed the canary.

Me (smiling at all three and nodding): Awesome.

There really is enough love to go around.

A couple of hours later...

I'm reading the story of "The Little Mermaid" to the class. Suzie is of course, flanked by both Ben and Duncan who have no issue sharing her attention.

Based on a heartfelt anguish felt earlier by one of the boys (because he couldn't sit beside Suzie during snack time), these would-be rivals actually seem to 'get' each other.

Love is painful. That's a fact. Especially when one doesn't have an opportunity to dote upon the object of one's affection (or share cookies) if that`s the case.

But this was a problem soon solved by the other boy who, unable to bear the pain of his competitor, brought over a chair so his little friend could sit beside her.

The tears stopped immediately for poor Duncan who was after all, Suzie's junior. She was in kindergarten, he was in nursery. (The allure of an older gal was already making its way into his psyche - one can only imagine the drama that might ensue during the teen years a few years hence).

But the fact remained, that for now each boy seemed to understand how the other couldn't possibly live without her so why bother fighting over it? This would only lead to more anguish and tears.

Besides, there is so much love to go around!

That's when I realized that jealousies only emerge when a 'limited' view of life surfaces. For now, the world is their oyster.

And so is Suzie.

I'm guessing as early as grade one, their attitudes will begin to change very quickly and a 'grown-up' view of the world will begin to surface.

But right now, all Ben knows is that he loves Suzie more than anyone in the whole world. And so does Duncan. And he has no ego about it, no qualms, no embarassments, no reservations, and he doesn't care who knows it.

Love has no ego. He doesn't even care if she likes him back. All he knows is that he loves her and is bursting with it to the point where it has to come out! He has to share it!

As for me... I just wanted to hear it one more time...

So when I got to the part in the story when the little mermaid sees the prince and 'falls hopelessly in love with him', I paused, held the book to my heart, looked down at Ben and said:

"You know what that's like, dontcha Ben?"

He looked at me with those big brown eyes, pursed his lips together and nodded slowly to show that he meant everything he'd said that day and more.

And in that moment, I was reminded that True Love, does indeed exist.

We just forget how easy it is to express it.

Thanks Ben...

The Art of Being in Kindergarten - Part I

I want to be in kindergarten.

'Cause as far as I'm concerned, they've got it goin' on.

Saying how they feel at any given time, crying when they feel like crying and bursting into giggling fits when the moment strikes them.

Of course I'm not the best kindergarten sub. When they say something funny, I just about fall off my mini-chair and that's when all hell breaks loose because they take it as a license to run rampant.

As far as they're concerned it's the ultimate in positive feedback.

Suddenly, half of them are running around in circles bumping into each other. I swear they look like animated bowling balls while the quiet ones who take the hits mimic stationary pins.

Invariably somebody winds up with a goose egg on their face and now I'm running to the staff room to get an empty film container full of ice they keep in the freezer for just such occasions, then drying tears and scolding the perpetrator for not being more careful.

But really it was my fault for enjoying the moment too long while my class unravelled due (in no small part) to lack of leadership. They embraced the growing frenzy amid peels of laughter, tickled pink at their own sense of humour.

Frankly I can't blame them. I might as well have egged them on.

I can't say I have the best classroom control, but that's probably because I can't get mad at them. Besides, I think they're right to want to live in a 'state of nature' for as long as possible before realizing that breaking the rules is beginning to cause them more problems (and time outs) than abiding by them.

I once subbed in a grade 2 class that was most of the time, out of control. When I finally settled half of them down (over threat of "no recess!"), I cried out to the Gods in a desperate, exasperated, rhetorical tone:

"Can somebody please tell me, why we have rules"?

A little girl walked up to me and replied:

"Because without rules, there's chaos."

I looked at her standing there in all sincerity while everyone else grew more insane and suddenly I feel lucid and enlightened.

"That's right! Without rules, there's chaos! Look around you! This is a perfect example! And where did you learn such wisdom?"

"I heard it in a movie."

Nice.

Note to self:

Not only do these kids follow their instincts, they're not pretentious.

------
Next time - Kindergarten: the art of expressing your feelings.

The Art of Relationships, Part VIII - feeling your way in... or out

Sometimes I think God is playing with a giant yo-yo (up there somewhere) and the string is attached to my life and just when I think I've developped enough momentum to break free once and for all (so I can hit the ground running), I hear a voice inside my head...

"There you go Nic - enough rope to hang yourself."

Hang myself? What the ---

"Happy now?"

Happy? What do you - HEY!!!

As I get snapped back into that dark whirling mass to start from scratch again.

(For my own good of course).

That's God/The Universe/The Great Mother watching and stepping in as required when I repeatedly ignore my own intuition for an extended period of time.

Gee, thanks Big Guy.

Don't get me wrong, I have free will. Trust me. I do.

The thing is, I've developped enough of a relationship with the divine that I've 'made a deal' with Him/Her because at least I'm smart enough to know my own weakness.

Yes, amid all this broo-hoo-hoo, push n' pull and wondering who's in charge here - the Universe or me - I've been steadfastedly re-organizing my life in such a way that I can get back to manifesting my uber positive vision of what is to become.

But I know myself well enough to also know that I can't do it alone - you know, stay the course - my intuition simply isn't strongly developped enough yet.

And that's when I get pulled into other people's lives. Which is cool. Unless of course, we're not on the same page. Then I'm in trouble. Because it's like a vortex of the wrong kind of energy sucking me in.

So I've asked for signs. Demanded is more like it.

And part of that process has been giving in to those signs as they appear and accepting the fact that although I might not like what I see/hear/feel... I will honor it just the same.

After all, I made the deal.

Because although I'm still having a tough time figuring out if something is right for me, if it's wrong, I want to know. At all cost. Even a broken heart.

And so far, it's worked wonders. All I have to do is wait long enough and sooner or later, I just know.

That's what happened last time. That's why I'm flying solo again.

I have this invisible relationship with Something Else, something bigger, that doesn't have the same veil of self-deception I possess when I want what I want and in order to have it, ignore the stuff that makes me feel awful in exchange for a morsel of bliss.

So when I know I can't do it alone, when I know my intuition is marred by my desire for an authentic connection, (or by desire period), with white knuckles gripping the doorknob as I head out to dig myself deeper and deeper in more emotional bondage, I look up and cry:

"Just give me a bloody sign. A BIG ONE. If he's not right for me, make it so abundantly clear that denial is not an option. Otherwise, I'm in it for the long haul 'cuz I've decided that much. So don't screw around! THIS IS MY HEART WE'RE TALKING ABOUT."

And I walk out the door trusting that circumstances will manifest that will send me a pang. And that pang won't be one of doubt, but rather one of knowing.

It doesn't make it any easier mind you. But there is a certain calm that accompanies the right decision. (You know, after all the crying n' chocolates n' junk food n' stuff).

And of course, there's all those things you genuinely miss for the right reasons too. Just because it wasn't 'long-term right', doesn't mean there wasn't a whole lot of magic.

Sigh.

In retrospect, the signs were there. It was a mismatch. I simply didn't trust my intuition. I pushed whatever bothered me, completely aside. Like they say, love is blind.

Thank God your intuition isn't.

Next time, I think I'll let my intuition be my seeing-eye dog right from the start.

But right now, I still have to train that puppy.

------

The Art of Relationships - Part VII - Do opposites attract? and Love in the cosmos

Do opposites really attract?

Do people with opposing views inherently possess something we are magnetically drawn to because they 'complete' us?

Do we need them? On a practical level? Personality level? Soul level? At all? Are we incomplete without them? Relegated to wandering this lonely universe solo from one relationship to another until we accept this necessity as part of our human development?

Is that how we balance who we are?

God help me if that's the case.

And what exactly do we mean by opposite? Should a kind, gentle person get involved with a someone who tortures small animals for kicks?

Should a shyster date an honest Joe?

Should a person who sees the world in black and white date a person who sees it in shades of gray?

Maybe. But I for one, can't see oh... an Atheist and a devotee of some religious sect making it work for instance.

Call me crazy.

'Opposites' implies diverging views.

This can be a good thing as it has the potential of invoking some pretty heated debates which can lead to even more 'fun'. But not necessarily.

Someone might end up sleeping on the couch.

It depends on whether you're arguing which is better? 'coke' or 'pepsi'? or whether the thing upon which you differ completely is something you hold dear to your heart and any significant differences reveals a fundamental rift in your mindsets.

That, can be problematic.

So I don't think opposing views are the source of balance as much as someone who can tip the emotional scales in such a way that when you're heavy on the 'heavy' stuff, they lighten you up.

When you're tapped out, they can tap in to fill you up.

When you're stressed, their very presence eases your burden.

And when your cage is rattled, they open the door and let you out to express yourself - wild mane n' all - without judgement, but with an eye of stoic amusement, knowing all the while who you really are underneath the mayhem.

And it must be reciprocated.

Now that's balance.

Do opposites attract?

They most certainly do.

Can they sustain it? Well, I'll get back to that in a moment...

A few weeks ago, I asked my eldest whether he thought true love existed.

Knowing he's been in a wonderful relationship for the last six years, I was expecting a stellar response that would mirror mine - "but of course"! (Then we'd share a beer and I could go about my day pleased with myself that I had done such a good job raising him).

Instead, he gave me some sort of mumbo jumbo biological response that didn't sit well with me as I never intended to raise a doubting Thomas, yet here he was, making an argument for logic, and (I thought), leaving love behind in the dust.

(So much for all those fairytales I used to read him).

Anyway, it went something like this:

You can relegate everything in the universe to energies and we tap into those energies via the collective unconscious.

This is in effect, our ability to tap into what we all recognize in each other as universal commonalities (and principles).

We all started as amoebas, we all contain the same building blocks. That's why we all get each other on some level. We really are all connected. Carl Jung.

Therefore, everything we do or choose to do, (or HAVE) including love, is a conscious decision. We just love those that are more like us. The higher the recognition, the greater the chance we will choose to love them. It's a choice.

Pretty logical.

Then I said; we not only recognize people like us, but we recognize nuances in energy differences. We instinctively get those of us like ourselves yes, but I think it goes further - it has to do with a source, the origin or the foundation...

(This came as a result of my talking about love at first sight, does it exist, but I will leave that digression for another time)

This discussion eventually went on to the nature of love...

To him, love is a decision... it comes after lust wears off (which is of course, our biological instinct for reproduction kicking in), blah blah blah... Then he claimed to be an atheist and more blah blah blah, thus assuring me that his view is objectively based, because none of that hokey, romantic, society-induced bullshit works on him.

He knows the deal. (True grit n' all that jazz). And I loved him to bits for it.

But I told him that for me true love does exist and my certainty was based on one significant underlying belief.

And that this belief (or lack of it) placed people in two different camps for which there was no possible reconciliation. (Regardless of biology, hormones, ovulation, procreative drive or what-have-you).

It was significant - a deal breaker - because incorporating it or dismissing it would affect the foundation through which someone viewed his very existence.

And if two people were at variance regarding this one thing, that no matter how significant the attraction, no matter what else might be right, it could never work.

And here's that one thing (at least for me)...

Some people believe the fundamental building block of the universe is matter...ie; it's an objective crapshoot of evolution.

I think the fundamental buidling block of the universe... is LOVE.

And I'm talking about the actual building block.

To put it more succintly, I don't believe the creative force of the universe is neutral. I think it holds a positive, loving energy.

For lack of a better explanation, I think that's how it creates... how we create. I believe feelings and thoughts are just as real as visible matter and they are part n' parcel of the creative process, while destructive forces, hold a negative charge (or perhaps a non-positive one).

If you look at an atom, it is comprised mostly of empty space.

I found the best description of it in a book called The Tao of Physics. Simply put, if an atom were the size of St. Peter's Basilica, the nucleus would be the size of a grain of sand floating in the middle of it while the electrons spinnning around would each be the size of a dust particle.

And everything in the universe is made of atoms. EVERYTHING. Think about them apples for a mintue or two.

So if 99.99% of an atom is empty space and we are all made up of atoms, then we are mostly empty space. Or perhaps, pure thought. Or emotions. Which if true, suddenly makes thoughts and feelings just as real (probably more) than anything else you can touch, see, or feel (since solid matter comprises less than a paltry .1% of everything).

And supposing that these emotions/thoughts literally exist on a universal level, as human beings, we could not, not also possess them. For we are a microcosm of our external, cosmic world. A mirror reflection of all that is.

So I believe these things exist at a subatomic level. And they are real, and they are unbelievably powerful.

Therefore love exists independently of whatever goes on in our biological brain because it existed BEFORE we had a brain, and will exist AFTER it disappears.

Love simply is.

It exists in the brain, but it also exists outside of it.

There is no separation.

Therefore, love exists. PERIOD.

It is a part of us - and not a decision to have or not to have (at least not entirely).

Whether you like it or not, are ready for it or not, love is always there, always at your doorstep, in every person you meet. Though it may be dormant, like a chrysalis, it is waiting to be cracked open for release.

Some people create vast scenarios and call those love, thinking they are in such a way, bringing it to existence, but you cannot bring something to existence that was, is and always will be.

Sometimes it is a hidden part and the brain helps us to reactivate it, but it exists even when it is dormant. In all beings.

It is wrapped up in everything we do as an invisible force. (Even though a lot of people do their damndest to keep it under wraps).

And that's why we can't really put a finger on it.

Love is intangible and yet it's more real and more powerful than anything else.

And that's why Fisher's analysis is incomplete.

Now, do opposites attract? Yes.

Can they sustain it?

Not if part of that opposition is the whereabouts of love.

If one believes it exists as an extension of our biological function and the other believes it is responsible for the creation of everything and we are inseparable from it, then fugghetaboutit.

(And next time, I might even postulate as to why).

In any case, an hour later the question still hung in the air, having woven its way through a few black holes and milky ways, for I knew he loved this girl.

"So, what do you think? Is what you have true love?"

He paused... looked at me, pursed his lips, nodded knowingly and smiled...

"Yup."