Live in the moment?

We all agree it's important to live in the moment, but some ask, how?  

How? 

We humans struggle with living life in the now. Why? Honestly, how could we not? Who has the luxury of living in the moment? People without responsibilities? People without goals? People whose needs are easily attained? Billionaires? There's always something making us busy now, often for good reasons such as, others. True living in the moment might be achievable for toddlers only. 

Maybe it's legitimately better to live for the future? Isn't this why we study? Isn't this why we raise children? Isn't this why we schedule holidays? Isn't this why we train for marathons? There's always something making us busy now, for then. 

I think living in the moment is the right intention, but perhaps the wrong idea: I can't surrender to consistently living in the moment, but I can surrender—and recommend—living in the moments. I read Alice Walker's book: I notice the color purple. It's a cliché but it's true: stop and smell the roses, or linger after the kiss, or go ahead and swim in the lake, or take the day off to be with a toddler (personal favourite) aka live in the moments. And how? 

When I'm mindful, it goes like this:

1. I decide
2. to stop,
3. and revel.

And then I forget. And then I'm mindful again. And then I get busy again. And then I forget. Rinse and repeat. But when I remember steps 1, 2, 3...wow...those moments...they lift me. 

Peanut Butter & Jam

As this pandemic unfolds, I notice curiously random brain behaviour both in dreams—looking into a stranger's eyes, and then the sinking gravity in our locked eyes as we realize we are shaking hands—and awake. Most mental filing cabinets get accessed quickly, but navigating new (and often fraught) problem-solving at work and socially, some odd cabinets seem to pop open during daily tasks. What's in those? It surprises me every time: a memory of a word game we used to play with our kids on road trips (first letter, last letter); a staccato song lyric from the 1980s All for freedom and for pleasure, nothing ever lasts forever, everybody wants to rule the world...and my childhood cat Bigfoot, curled on the couch next to my Dad, and so on. Writing this, I detect a pattern I hadn't noticed earlier. Sigh.

But my most spine-tingly example involved toasting a bagel a few days ago. As an educator who works in multiple schools weekly, I take a bagged lunch, but much lunch fare is contraband. Some schools restrict peanut butter, some nuts in general, one used to restrict fish and eggs. It makes for few easy lunch choices. Thus, I hadn't eaten peanut butter for years. However, with students relegated to their homes, I realized I could take a peanut butter sandwich to work, a momentary woo-hoo. Soon I found some in the back of our pantry; we were together for lunch, once again! Then, to treat myself one evening, I decided I needed a peanut butter and jam bagel. But when I placed the peanut butter knife in the jam, a strong familiar voice popped into my head, "Never put the peanut butter knife in the jam!" My oldest brother LOVED jam but HATED peanut butter so this was a rule growing up. He's been dead since 2013; I hadn't heard his voice for so long. I laughed and then it nearly broke me. But I ate that damn PB&J bagel, determined. Friends, use those voices inside you now, the ones that summon courage.

Sound

What’s your favourite sound?

I love sound: honest music, belly laughs, kittens purring, faraway skidoos, loved-one’s voices, rivers flowing, birds singing, ukulele strums, stomach gurgles and soft heartbeats. And more. It’s all great. But my favourite sound? Silence.

Around us everywhere is sound. And we are constantly processing it. We may filter some, but sound is hard to ignore. Worse yet is the chatter. It distracts us, it demands, it chastises, it confuses, it weakens: the radio, the TV, the texts, the constant updates and news flashes, the global cycle of doom, gloom, renewal, and resume. All these sound-waves impact us. They reverberate. We absorb them. Once they’re inside us, we process that discord and it churns. We’re distracted, we’re frustrated, we’re confused, we’re anxious, we’re worried, and we may not even know why. Whatever or whoever the din, we must continually swim in this steady stream of noise.

Therefore I wish you silence. In other words, I wish you peace. What’s more valuable than peace? Think about it. Don’t we all deserve a little peace? Peace of mind? To be peaceful. It soothes. It balms. It bolsters. What’s better than that?

That’s the thing: we can make peace. We can find it. We can choose it. In small ways and big ways. For most of us, it’s not that far away. And for those whose peace is distant, we can make peace for others. There are a million ways. Go offline. Go outside. Be pure of heart. Have good intentions. Apologize. Walk. Pull your sheets out the dryer and crawl inside them. Seek ways to be on good terms with others. Stop comparing yourself to others. Compromise. Forgive. Empower someone else and bask in their happiness. Surrender something. Learn something. Be honest and open and real and vulnerable. Stop trying to solve everything, at least for a while. Accept that determining blame is unproductive. Be humble. Sneak away for a while. Stay in bed an extra hour. Spend time with someone you trust and tell them what’s troubling you. Like cats do, sit in the sun. Give away cookies. Think about what you’ve accomplished instead of what you haven’t. Wander for a while. Slow down. Recharge. Breathe. Make peace with someone and it might hardly make a sound and yet it will be heard in the most important places in the heart. 

Rear or Year?

“You need to have an iron rear to sit upon a cactus, or otherwise, at least a year of very painful practice.” Jack Prelutsky

Agreed, wise poet, agreed. Inevitably, during our lives, we will face many “cactuses” (or “cacti” if you prefer). Some big some small. It might be developing a new skill. Maybe it’s our first year with a new job. Or a complicated relationship. Maybe it’s a matter of health or wealth or something we need to change. Whatever the prickly situation, as a comedian once observed, “cactuses are always sort of flipping us off.” But we must remember this: no one gets stronger and wiser without outsmarting cactuses.

Prelutsky’s poem reveals important perspectives on how to face life’s difficulties. Which is better: the “iron rear” or “the year?” And that, my friend, is the crux. When faced with obstacles and challenges, we must all answer this ourselves. Based on my experience, some tips (pun intended).

1. Determine if it’s really a cactus. Maybe it’s not as thorny as first imagined? 
2. Prioritize your cactuses. Which one first and why?
3. There’s no such thing as an iron rear. Sure, there may be an easy way, maybe cutting corners is possible, but these are often temporary solutions. Remember “no pain, no gain.”
4. Admit defeat and withdraw. Like a fortune cookie once advised me: “Stop procrastinating starting tomorrow.” This is an understandably popular option because there’s no conflict but there are still consequences plus, by giving up, there’s zero personal growth.
5. Suck it up and go for the year. It may be the only way. But remember the key word in Prelutsky’s clever poem: practice. Practice is not just repetition. Don’t practice on autopilot, or like a broken record. Instead, make minor changes each time. Problem solve. It’s all about trial-error-adjust-try again and repeat. Strengthen your assets. Trim the problem down into manageable sections. Expect some pain and increase your tolerance. Invest in Band-Aids if necessary but get comfortable with tearing them off. Persevere. Prove the pricks wrong. Grow. And don’t face cactuses alone. Get encouragement and feedback on your process and progress. Finally, no matter the outcome, share your cactus stories; even the unsuccessful attempts may harbor the words someone else needs to hear. And most importantly, help others navigate through their battles. 

108% Sure

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We’ve all had our wars with insects. Whether spiders, mosquitoes, flying ants, and especially spruce beetles, the struggle is real. But honey bees? No problem. Sure they sting. Not pleasant. But more typically, they are busy saving the world, literally. Essential to human survival, not only do our precious bees make honey for our glazed doughnuts, they also make protective wax for those round little cheeses we all like. Oh and they pollinate crops and flowers and trees which is basically everything we rely on for nourishment. Yes, the little bee, like a tiny hairy farmer in black and yellow overalls, is essential to our food production and our food economy. Food’s pretty cool to have, isn’t it? So yup, bees = good.

But what about those other bees? Yes, I’m referring to the bee’s aggressive relative, the ones I’m 108% sure are never invited over to any bee family reunion: wasps and hornets. AKA flying arses. 

Sure, they resemble some sort of super-cool prototype for futuristic flying machines but they have one mode: hair trigger. And one emotional response to everything: WHAT? OH REALLY? MAKE ME! WANNA GO? WANNA GO? We all know at least one wasp or hornet who’s bragged on social media about

• ruining a BBQ.
• ruining some kid’s birthday party.
• ruining an outdoor wedding.
• ruining the outdoors.
• flying around the bar set up on the deck trying to steal drinks like, well, bar-flies (on steroids).
• constructing the only deceptively delicate paper mache art-pieces that (when suddenly encountered) induce terror.
• snorting bear-spray.
• killing a lady-bug.
• kidnapping caterpillars and feeding them to their young, live! (Not even kidding.)
• generally stealing happiness by causing everything in their path to wither.

But you know what else wasps and hornets do? They make a really sweet sound when you hit them with a badminton racket. There: now you have something I don’t recommend you try at least once this weekend. Wink. 

Groceries

Skulks into the grocery store late on a Friday night.

Grabs a basket.

Scans the area.

Avoids eye contact.

Bags a few oranges.

Maybe some coleslaw.

Travels quickly.

Continues to scan.

And then, there it is: the ice cream freezer-case display.

Hones in.

Scans.

Begins to sweat.

Rapid heartbeat.

Eye-twitching.

Scanning, scanning, scanning…

Attempting to lock…

WHAT? There is no heavenly hash ice cream with its dreamy chocolate and creamy swirls of marshmallow?

WHAT?

Bummer. But this tub of chocolate chip fudge cookie-dough will fill the emptiness too.

Rushes to the cashier check-out.

And. Then. It. Happens.

Someone you know is in the line-up ahead.

Briefly consider other aisle (but that would be rude because eye contact has been established).

Place your groceries on the turnstile.

Attempt to conceal the ice cream with the bag of coleslaw specifically chosen for this purpose.

Fail.

That someone-you-know stares at your ice-cream and then looks at you with a sad little weak smile.   

Sheepish feelings.

Chit-chat.

And. Then. It. Happens. Again.

Someone you know joins the line right behind.

The food shame becomes too intense.

Your head explodes.

You want to say friends are coming over or I’m buying this for my spouse/dog/budgie/the food bank but then guilt rises up and finally you just confess to EVERYONE WITHIN HEARING DISTANCE what exactly you are buying and that you do indeed know that there is no possible excuse for purchasing this luscious tub of sugared lard-butter but it is what it is.

The person behind you pulls something out of the grocery cart.

It’s an 8000 gram bag of chips and a front-end loader of dip.

You have NEVER felt more love and kinship for another human being in your entire life. 

Am I right? 

Chicken, out.

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Why did the chicken cross the road? Good question, because I hit it with my car on my way to work.

The whole thing took seconds but I recall everything in slow motion. I saw that prairie chicken emerge from the grass at the side of the road. Like all those Roadrunner cartoons I watched on repeat as a kid, its back legs spun like wheels, its neck extended as forward as possible, so fixated, so intent on reaching its destination, like any moment it might catapult like a missile.

Despite some part of me cheering it on, I knew what was imminent because that chicken was simply too far from that elusive other-side-of-the-road. Why the rush chicken? Why did you need to cross the road at that precise time? Were you being chased by Wile E. Coyote? Was an anvil about to drop from somewhere? What’s on the other side? An important meeting? A manicure? The pub? A KFC protest? Who knows, because even though that prairie chicken reached the center line (narrowly avoiding an oncoming truck)...boom: feathers. Chicken, out.

Sorry chicken.

Later at work, I pulled it out of my grill and threw it in a dumpster. Now that’s a bummer of a Friday.

I must say there are things we can all learn from that chicken. We all recognize the meaning behind “running around like a chicken with your head cut off,” and yet, based on this incident, I can tell you that even with his head attached that chicken looked super frazzled. Peeps, getting from point A to point B shouldn’t be so stressful. Just what is SO IMPORTANT on the other side of the road?

Not much. Most of what we worry about never happens. But stress (the result of an overloaded nervous system repeating "imminent threat imminent threat") compels us to believe the best time to cross the road and get to the other side (whatever that may mean to each of us) is yesterday. Some would argue against this vehemently, but let’s be honest: we all have the same amount of time every day. Until suddenly, we don’t. So if you get my meaning, slow down chickens. Slow down.

Let's talk turkeys, shall we?

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Even though I’m terrified of turkeys, I once read a storybook about a turkey living on a farm. It’s almost Thanksgiving and so naturally, the turkey is a tad worried. While being chased by an axe-wielding farmer, the turkey disguises himself as various other farm animals to avoid the axe. For example, he rolls around in the mud pretending to be a pig. The farmer sees through this and every other one of his ruses but just before the axe can fall, turkey’s farm friends yell, “Run turkey RUN!” Spoiler alert: the turkey manages to dodge the farmer and the family has grilled cheese sandwiches for Thanksgiving.

Three things about this little Thanksgiving yarn:

1. Grilled cheese sandwiches are pretty great.
2. Turkeys are idiots.
3. All turkeys must die.

Okay that last point might be a tad harsh but it’s borne from my hatred for turkeys (at least those not basted with butter, stuffed with bread, and about to be served on a platter with potatoes and carrots). Anyway, here’s something else I think we can all learn from this story:

1. Thanksgiving is not a turkey. In other words, not every year goes as planned. Be together anyway. Be thankful anyway. Celebrate having enough instead of having more.
2. If your friends have helped you out, tell them. Go back and tell them. You may never get another chance.
3. Sometimes the turkey can’t be killed. (Stay with me here.) In other words, chasing those elusive whatevers in our lives may be counterproductive, even futile. Is it really what you want? Maybe it’s time to re-evaluate goals. There’s a time to persist and there’s a time to reinvent. And if I’m wrong about this one, if you choose to persist, then go ahead and blow that turkey’s head off.

(If you're a Canuck like me, a happy Thanksgiving to you this weekend!)

Blink

I've been struggling to write. And to read. Begin my July projects. Master something. Create something new. Relax. It's the starting. The struggle is to start. I keep dismissing the start. I'm doing it again right now.

I have no more and no less hours each day than every other person on Earth. So what's the deal? Starting. Starting is the problem.

Above my desk is a sticky note, a reminder: after a devastating stroke, Jean-Dominique Bauby wrote his memoirs using only his left eye. Blink after blink. Wow. Considering this, how could I possibly whine for one more second?

And yet, I still can't start. I think it's doubt. Honestly. Self-doubt. Does everyone forget sometimes how to start? I was surprised when I found myself in the kitchen today to cook. There was a time when I cooked every night but I can't recall, before today, the last thing I cooked.

I made rice. I chopped onions. I toasted peanuts. I made a salad dressing. Added together, they made a meal. I guess that's something at least.

Recently my wife gave me a leather-bound journal. It's a beautiful thing to someone like me. The paper is hand-made, the binding hand-stitched. A note inside from the artist suggests using the book as "my personal book of wisdom." I like that idea. I'd like to draw in it too. And yet, I can't start. And I'm worried I will somehow ruin it.

There's that self-doubt again.

Like Bauby, I must figure out how to begin again. What other choice is there? And I will choose. I know I will. One blink at a time. I just did. I guess that's something.

Wordfuse (Problem Solving Edition)

Sometimes lemonade is more complicated than it should be. Make it anyway.

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

Um, a both impressive and disturbing display, I encountered this performance art-piece (?) outside a grocery store so let's hope it's less urine and more someone's "leaky" orange juice.

(Get it? Leaky. Sorry.)

Just so you know, the answer is no.

source

Should anyone go shopping this Friday?

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

authentic, greasy-awesome poutine in Montreal, Quebec.

(But I am in Alberta and can only dream about this and other stuff my daughter eats every day.)

Grr.

Wordfuse

Like morning breath, but my face. Just staring at me. Looking like I just smelled the worst fart ever. But no one farted. It's just the way my face wakes up in the morning now. All scrunched. The opposite of fresh. AKA get-off-my-lawn face. A total bummer. And it lasts all day. All. Day.

Sheesh.

Things that are most likely the devil:

Dear Trail Mix,

How I love you. Plus I want to punch you in the face.

Sure sure. You are a convenient, healthy snack to take while hiking blah blah blah BUT there's this too:

1. I don't hike. And I'm 99% sure that 93% of the people who buy or make trail mix do not hike.
2. Bears like trail mix too. See #1.
3. Whoa. I just had a moment: when bears eat trail mix am I the not-so-secret added ingredient?
4. You are not healthy. In all your deliciousness and apparent abundance of good cholesterol or whatever Dr. Oz is bullshitting about this week, why oh WHY are you like 6,349 calories per handful? WHY? (4.1 The real reason you are unhealthy: I can eat 17 handfuls before I even realize it.)
5. I always eat the M&Ms / Smarties first. You KNOW this yet those pesky geriatric raisins you insist on including get in the way and I accidentally ingest one or two so why oh WHY aren't you easier to eat?
6. Raisins are crap.
7. You need more chocolate. (I have heard some describe you as "M&M's with obstacles.")
8. You're so hipster. What's next: quinoa?
9. I just googled you and "surprise," quinoa trail mix balls are a thing now. My reaction: NO. And by no I mean I would probably try them.
10. Trail mix balls? Ha. Seriously? Let's leave Bear Grylls out of this. Anyway, new versions of trail mix are unnecessary: just omit raisins.

Oh Trail mix, I just realized something else. Maybe I'm projecting my dislike of raisins onto you?

Wow. Thanks for the eating disorder too trail mix.

Things that are most likely the devil?

Need a yeti? Source

In 2011, Time magazine did a comprehensive study on customer service satisfaction: it revealed that at least 1 in 2 people have a story to tell about their own personal customer service HELL. I have a new one but instead of leading me to hell it led me somewhere "colder."

Which of the following occurred when I recently called customer service after I discovered debit card fraud? (Spoiler: it’s all of them!)

a. Choose from among these six options.

b. Choose from among these four sub-options.

c. Remain on hold for 15 minutes. 

d. Informed that this office cannot help because they process only lost or stolen cards, not card fraud. Huh? 

e. Redirected to another office.

f.  Repeat.

g. New office can’t help either. Redirected back to the original office.

h. Repeat.

i. Original office wants to know: who gave me this number?

j. No words. Asked for supervisor. Similar "can't help" message. Told that only credit cards are processed through their service. Debit card can only be cancelled by bank. Bank closed. No emergency number. (Already knew that but still incredulous: not acceptable.) Respectfully asked the representative if HE would be ok with leaving  HIS bank account vulnerable to a criminal with a bogus version of HIS debit card accessing ATMs in New York all weekend. New flash: Nope. He wouldn't. But he still couldn't help. 

k. Cry out to the sky.

l. Phone random office numbers at bank branches like I’m playing Ding-Dong-Ditch.

m. Office closed, directed to voice mail.

n. Next. Repeat. Office closed, directed to voice mail.

o. Next. Repeat. Office closed, directed to voice mail. 

p. ALL OFFICES ON EARTH ARE NOW CLOSED. HELP ME, HELP ME, PLEASE.

q. Scotch.

r. Next. Repeat.

s. “Hello.”

t. Confused, momentarily forget why and whom I called.

u. Person revealed she is not officially at work but she will take care of the problem.

WHAT? YES! And that, my friends, is how I found the YETI of customer service! People: never give up. If you search hard enough, true customer service people really do exist.  

Watermelon Optional

Famous saying: “when one door closes, open the fridge.”

Oh I get it folks. I get it. It’s all about delayed gratification: one of the hallmarks of maturity, perseverance, and personal growth. And I admit it: I need some. But sometimes delayed gratification and its first cousin rational thinking get hip-checked in front of a bus when there are food-truck deep-fried fish and chips on the menu.

Why must food taste so darn delicious? Why should salt be unhealthy? Who exactly was the genius fat-guy who invented nachos just to simultaneously bring joy and ruin to my life? Why can’t one amazing thing, like chocolate for example, be completely without calories? Or better yet why doesn't a ten-minute strenuous session of sitting or shampooing one’s hair burn like 1000 calories? And what if sleeping for seven or eight hours burned enough calories that we humans could just start eating again the next day? 

Oops. That is what happens isn’t it?

Well then, why isn’t that enough? Like many, I’ve been asking myself that question my entire life and I still have very few answers. On the Internet apparently Abraham Lincoln clearly states that if I just simply act happy about eating an entire pail of ice cream then my body will better metabolize those calories and I will still lose weight so if this was good enough for Lincoln, who am I to argue with that?

All I DO know about my never-ending war/dance-off with food is this: stress is evil. And the only way I have learned to cope with stress is to eat an entire watermelon and go for a walk and have a good talk with myself where mostly I try to muster some gratitude about every grand and astounding thing about my life, my ONE and only life. And sometimes I don’t even eat the watermelon.

And that folks, is all the wisdom I have on this subject.

Things one should never outgrow:

To move, to breathe, to fly, to float,
To gain all while you give,
To roam the roads of lands remote,
To travel is to live.

~Hans Christian Andersen

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

(Awesome) Things that deserve the stink-eye:

a beardo. I want one of these, and I want a Scottish ginger beardo. Is that weird? Anyone else? Anyone?

#thingsonlyaCanadianwouldwant