Unexpected

My daughter got married last month. I've always told my children that the most important decision they'll ever make is whom they choose to marry. She chose well. But marriage is a choice too. I didn't expect this. Any of it.

I didn't expect my daughter would wear her mother's wedding dress. I didn't expect my daughter would ask me to read Mary Oliver's "Wild Geese." I didn't expect those vows, with hints of tender history and romance and humour. I didn't expect my wife's uncle to whisper this to me just before I went to the podium to speak, "Don't. Fuck. This. Up." I didn't expect to laugh so much, and cry, and laugh again. Or that they would sing that song, carefree and full-throated at times because that's what musicians do I guess. I didn't expect them to swing each other around in a circle during the first dance. As my sister-in-law remarked through joyful tears and laughter, "Who does that except L & P?" I didn't expect people from all over Canada, even the world. I didn't expect people to tell me how much our daughter means to them. I didn't even expect the father-daughter dance. I didn't expect to be the last one to leave the dance hall. I didn't expect that even though I've been a Dad for a long time, it will always be new, again.

I didn't expect to feel this content. Isn't it a wonder that we are always surprised by love? Forgive me: even though I've been parenting for 25 years, I've never done this before. And I'm grateful.

The last Friday in May.

Who doesn't need to take a moment the last Friday in May? A moment to just enjoy the sky and the sun and apple-tree flowers and bees everywhere. A moment to look at a stump left behind by a tree almost 40 years old, a tree that was dying. A moment to marvel at its life and the space it left behind and how it is actually possible to miss a tree. A moment to contemplate change. A moment to push off whatever sits on your shoulders and push off into another space, a quiet, safe space where you can stop thinking for a moment. A moment to stretch your back and sigh and put your feet on solid ground and close your eyes and breathe and just inhabit the moment and so what when inevitable distractions occur, well that's just balloons floating away. A moment to remember someone no longer here, no longer laughing and eating ice cream or dancing in a parking lot or mulching the garden or planting gladiolas or baking bread or driving a tractor through a field dreaming much too much into a future instead of the only place we can find happiness: in the now.  A moment to ponder what the last Friday in May should be about: friends and gin and pumpkin break pudding and text messages about Austin Powers and letters mailed like silent promises. A moment to celebrate and say thanks for everything you have and everything you once had and everything that you might have someday but so what if you don't? Because, today.

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. 

Just so you know, the answer is no.

When you can't even can't even for one more minute, should you give up?

Okay. Maybe sometimes the answer is indeed yes. And yet...I have no idea what this toy is supposed to do. But when I noticed it stuck in the ice and gravel along the pavement the other day, it said one thing to me: determination.

Despite what it's endured since some child lost it, this plastic figure continues to do the victory pose.

Okay you little shit piece of plastic: if you can do it, so can I. (And so can you.)

Change

I remember thinking she was really thin. Pale too. Sickly? There was something else too. And then the cashier asked her for like, $36.74, and when she kindly joked that she wanted to pay with spare change, I suddenly realized who she was: my Mom.

Well, not really my Mom because my mother died last year. Yet this woman was the right age and the right build and the right look. Plus she wore a hat, definitely function over fashion, just like my Mom did. And she wasn’t joking. Despite the four other people in line, she was determined to use all her coins. And so she counted them out: toonies, loonies, quarters, dimes, nickels. Just like my Mom would do sometimes. And it was kind of funny. And also annoying. Especially when she realized she didn’t have enough change so she inquired if she could pay the difference with her debit card. Distracted by this little spectacle, this little gift of something like a memory that seemed to be somehow entirely made for me, my impatience faded and I smiled and positioned myself fully in the moment. I suspect everyone else in that cashier’s line seethed but I was tickled to see her again if only in the form of a stranger.

I know how memory works. Science says this experience is the type of memory triggered by recognition. In other words, something familiar unconsciously triggers recall and when this happens we live in the then and the now, sort of straddling two worlds, a sort of re-imagination rather than a remembering.

I like that. I like that there’s a diary inside us all, a journal we can never quite read the same way twice. And life, like a gust of wind, sometimes opens it quite unexpectedly. And when it opens, it loosens, it undoes, it unfurls, it unwinds, it airs. 

Just so you know, the answer is no.

Do pigs fly? Not so much.

(But sometimes, every once-in-a-while, they absolutely do.)

Wordfuse (World Events Edition)

(noun) The opposite of mob mentality.

Undoubtedly, when there's enough broken glass, when the looting is over, when the threats go silent, when the same mistakes have been made again again, there is always a peaceful majority, a moral mob who will clean up the debris and they will also work one hundred ways to help their communities heal. Ways that are unselfish. Ways not motivated by greed. Or revenge. Ways that ripple.

Sure, it's fair to ask whose morality? But don't we all know what's truly right? Peace, love, respect for each other, for all. With that in mind, and despite all the complexities that could probably punch holes in my idealism here, it seems simple to me that whether we like it or not, there are really only two ways to be in life: you can help or you can hinder.

Some Give.

Door's wide open.

“Giving in is not the same as giving up.”

Think about that. Like me, it may help you sort something out.

I interpret these phrases several ways.

      1.Giving in is to compromise or surrender.

      2.Giving up is to abandon or to release.

I know, I know. Some might say we should never give up. But is giving up always negative?

Giving in is a way to continue momentum in another direction. Giving up is a way to discontinue momentum. And yet sometimes giving up might also lead to a new solution, a new outlook, a new path. Depending on the situation, I see value in both reactions.

For example, one lesson I learned early was to give up my need to be right. Marriage teaches this to us all doesn't it? However, as the youngest in my family I developed this essential skill fairly early, just to manage conflict during my youth. Yet beyond family, it taught me well in life that giving in, compromising, is a way to forge relationships and build bridges. And I am proud to say that I try to seek to learn something from everyone regardless of gender, education, age, religion, culture, past or present, whatever. This learning inspires me; the listening does too. So do great leaders. I feel this has helped me determine what I agree with and what I don’t. In this sense, giving in and giving up has given me so much more.

But there’s another lesson I still haven’t mastered yet: give up focusing on what’s wrong instead of what’s right. This lesson can make all the difference in moving forward and achieving happiness. Why? Give in or give up; either way, something will give. 

This is my hood:

"Don't hate."

classic Canadian graffiti.

Next?

Happy birthday USA.

As a Canadian I feel like I know you the same way I would know a step-brother who was already an adult when I was born plus you lived with your mother and became famous and now I just see you on TV.

I hope that doesn't sound negative. That is not my intention. There's a nearness and a farness about us. A nearness because I am fascinated with you and yet a farness because you scare me a little bit too.

I have been to Los Angeles, to Detroit, to Miami, a diverse triangle of climate and culture and all were great experiences. And I have so many favourite Americans, their influence immeasurable: ee cummings, Martin Luther King, Jr, Keith Haring, Ray Charles, Cormac McCarthy, Alfred Hitchcock, Maya Angelou, and so on. Be proud America.

But growing up next to you, it was Evel Knievel who really had my attention. During those formative years, I felt he personified the USA. And even now, with all due respect, I feel that if our countries were a game, we Canadians might be truth and you might be dare. And that makes me wonder, what will you do next?

Ladders

Last summer I borrowed my brother's ladder. And his gloves. What I used them to do wasn't really important. But he would have liked that I completed the task, a task I truly wish he was still here to do. If he were here he may have nodded and then he would have directed me to another task. My brother was a doer. He was always getting things done without any hesitation, or so it seemed to me.

I'm a thinker but I need to remind myself to be a little more like my brother and get things done. Don't get me wrong: I'm not lazy. I don't often need a push. I just get lost in my head occasionally. As the saying goes, it's impossible to climb a ladder with your hands in your pockets.

Folks, think about this: maybe the memory of someone is like a ladder. Borrow your courage wherever you can. And keep climbing.

Just in case you needed a reminder...

Indeed.

#thankskids

Tightropes

“If you look at it the right way you can see the whole world is a garden.” Frances Hodgson Burnett

I can see that. Maybe it’s naive. Even irresponsible in some ways. Yet I really can. But I don’t expect everyone to see it that way.

It’s like skydiving. I don’t want to do that. Some may think this assertion is just sensible but others may consider it cowardice. Sure sure it’s apparently safe. And exhilarating and a bucket list experience and inspirational. And so on and so forth. It probably is. But I’m not doing that. I’m just not.

However, I AM going to watch everyone else skydive. I will be a little angry about their foolishness and maybe even a little confused too. I will wonder, my face furrowed: why do you want to die this way? But I will cheer for them. And maybe shed a tear of relief when they land safely. I will cheer because I like to see other people experience moments like these. There’s something I find so exhilarating about witnessing dream-achievements. Is anyone else like that? Any other extreme risk-taker-fans who are totally good with that being enough, without jealousy, without regret? I know you’re out there too. But I get it. For fear of being judged too tame, we don’t much advertise.

I guess there was that one time I rode an insane roller-coaster. And once I...(despite some prolonged brainstorming, I couldn’t think of anything else crazy to list here.) But this doesn’t mean I haven’t taken serious risks. It depends on how one defines risk. Twice I’ve pressed restart on my career. Like a lot of people who live in Alberta, long ago I risked moving far far from home to come way way up here near the top of the world and Santa Claus and that truly was the risk in my life that made all the difference. Even now I risk sending these words out to you. Are these risks so minor in comparison to climbing Mt. Everest?

Maybe. Maybe not. It depends. I have learned that we can never really know how far another person pushes himself even when we can’t perceive exertion. In other words, what we perceive as victories for ourselves and for those who might be more plainly daring is debateable. Some tightropes are virtually invisible. 

Wordfuse (making-it-up-as-you-go Edition)

[adj, best used to describe flow]




Sylvia Plath said the worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. I agree. Being prepared helps too. But sometimes, sometimes, it all comes naturally. As artist Edward Hopper said, "more of me comes out when I improvise."

Some People

#makemelaugh
#makemyday
#idiotgenius
#goodfriends
#couldntlivewithoutthem

Things one should never outgrow:

Try not to smile.

#lisahannigan

Backpack

I used to think that I wasn't qualified to use the word "disabled." What could I possibly know about being disabled?

Then a man with cerebral palsy taught me that each of us carries a backpack, some heavier than others. For a few people, the backpack is obvious. For others only hinted at. And some may not even be aware of carrying one. 

But we all do. 

He taught me that we disable ourselves when we do drugs or abuse alcohol. Or when we don’t participate or when we condemn others. Or when we lack gratitude. He argued that lying and fighting and criticizing and blaming disables us. He suggested that trying to be perfect or trying to control or manipulate others disables us too.

He helped me see how disabled so many people are. Especially me. He helped me see my backpack. He helped me figure out how to loosen the straps.

Things one should never outgrow:

kids' books.

#notjustforkids

In the Parentheses

This will be quick. I don't want to stay here for very long....

My Dad died nine years ago today.

So much has changed since then. Isn't it odd? One day's hardship years later is a memory with a bridge built backwards. A bridge I don't cross so often anymore. Once, I crossed it frequently. I would run back there along those clackety foot-boards over the curve and linger close to the edge and feel the weight behind my eyes.

I'm only 20 years younger than you now Dad. How strange. But this means I understand you so much more. I know your struggles. I know your anger. I know your bitterness. As e.e. cummings said so well "Old age sticks up keep off signs) & youth yanks them down (old age cries No Tres) & (pas) youth laughs." Believe me; I feel I'm in the parentheses now and if it would help I would have a big-ass sign on my lawn if I could.

If I'm older now, am I still your youngest? Not really. I'm not your black sheep anymore, I'm not the one you seemed to be working so hard to change. I'm more like you now and I even see you in the mirror some mornings. And I wonder...how many heartbreaks did you endure while, oblivious, I chattered on and skipped about in my clueless exuberant youth? That's what I understand so well now.

We were so different and yet now, you are the only person I want to talk to.

But I also know what all your worry and anxiety did to you. So I'm trying not to be angry, I'm trying not to struggle so much with the sheer muchness of the world. I'm trying to let go. And since I can't talk to you I have started letting my worries drop like handwritten notes off the side of that bridge. And most days, it's helping.

Wordfuse (Mirror-Gazing Edition)

I just saw the movie Young Adult with Charlize Theron. She skillfully portrays a career Narcy, aka a young female narcissist. The fact that her character enjoys watching the Kardashians was not lost on me. What does one call a young male narcissist? Narcus. Aka Kanye West.

#whateverhappendtoParisHilton?
#peopleusuallyoutgrowthis
#DonaldTrumpshouldprobablytalktosomeone