Watching the world pass by

Every morning when I walk to work I cross the river and walk through The Island of Creativity, an oasis of lush grasses, towering trees and art works suspended from the air. Yesterday, as I walked towards the bridge at the far end of the island, I saw a woman dancing. In one hand she held a large red fan. It fluttered and flitted like a one-winged butterfly as she spun and swirled gracefully around. Dancer and fan. A vision in grace.

What a beautiful morning to be alive! Hot sunshine streamed down upon my back. The air was redolent with the perfume of summer's flowers in full bloom. Birds twittered from trees, the air too heavy for them to even bother to lift their wings and fly. The river danced lazily along its banks. Sunshine sparkled on its surface like fairy dancers spinning their stories of love and laughter in the morning.

I crossed the suspension bridge at the end of the island, my body bobbing in time to its gentle sway. As I took the path along the river, I passed "Mr. Obelisk", an old man of Oriental descent who performs Ti-Chi every morning in front of a marble obelisk in the park. He moved with grace and precision, each extension of an arm or leg a study in intent. A measured expression. A beautiful flow of energy in the morning light.

I kept walking and saw "T.", a client from the shelter where I work, walking towards me. He wore work gloves and carried a large plastic garbage bag in one hand. A black backpack hung suspended from his shoulders. It looked heavy.

"Hey T," I called out as we got closer. He smiled in his quiet way and nodded his head as he always does. We both stopped to wait for a bike to pass between us before I crossed over the pathway to chat.

He held up his garbage bag. "I just started fifteen minutes ago," he said giving the bag a shake. I could hear bottles and cans rattling. "It's great. People float down the river, get as close to the shore as they can and throw away their beer bottles and cans. It happens every day when it's this hot." He took the cap from his head and wiped his brow. "Man it's hot."

"No kidding," I said. I pointed to the river six feet below us. The riverbank was crowded with brambles and shrubs. 'Queen Anne's Lace' made a delicate white filigree net amidst the greens and pink of wild roses in bloom. "You scramble down there? Looks treacherous."

T laughed. "Not really. It's filled with the makings of my lunch. I'll take these to the depot." He held up his garbage bag. "And then I'll buy myself a hotdog and pop and relax in the sun. Might do a little reading." T doesn't smile often but when he does, it feels like the sun just came out. On a blazing hot morning, I could still feel the warmth of his smile.

"How wonderful," I replied. He spied an empty beer bottle in the grasses below, scrambled partway down the bank, picked it up and put it in his bag.

I waited. "If only people knew what a service you provide to the city," I told him as he carefully closed the top of the bag. "They throw out their garbage where ever they want and you come and clean it up for no charge. Not a bad deal for the city."

He shrugged and laughed. "I get to keep the empties. It's fair."

We parted and I continued on my way to work as T continued to work his way down the river.

I wondered about the fairness of it. How fair is it that a man who is often criticized by passers-by as a no-good bum, labelled a criminal by many, and a drain on society by others, spends his morning picking up other people's garbage? How fair is it that in helping keep our city clean, his only reward is the return on the deposit for the bottles and cans he picks up?

I walked toward the shelter and saw other individuals lounging on the grass of the park, reading on a park bench and walking the paths. Some were visibly homeless. Some were hard to tell -- were they housed or not? What difference does it make? The parks are there for everyone to use. For all to enjoy. Just because someone is homeless doesn't mean they do not deserve the right to spend a few moments, or the day, sitting on a bench watching the world pass them by.

For our clients, sometimes it is in the watching of the world pass them by that they connect to their desire to get back up and climb aboard. In seeing what they're missing, they find the courage to pick up the pieces and find their way back home. Sometimes, it is just the brief respite that gives them the strength to start again, to take steps in a new direction. To step away from where they're at to somewhere else, somewhere they might want to put down roots and stay awhile.

For others, like T, they don't feel they're missing anything. This life is good enough for them the way it is. And sometimes, that includes picking up other people's garbage in order to get by.

No 'I' in team

I typed in my blog address this morning and the computer immediately responded: Blog not found. The blog address you typed in does not exist.

A momentary flicker of panic flashed through my mind. What? And then I took a breath, looked at what I'd typed and realized I'd mispelt the word 'your'. It took but a moment to correct my error and I was back in business.

Made me stop and think though. How many times do I immediately jump to conclusions that I've made an irreversible mistake? That something is amiss and can never be fixed. That all is lost; cyberspace has robbed me of my site?

Last night, AJ and JD came to dinner. Thirty years ago, friends set them up on a blind date, and I was there. They've been married for 25+ years and going strong.

Dinner was an impromptu affair. Informal. Unscheduled. C.C. was cooking giant prawns and had way more than just the two of us could eat. I was talking to JD on the phone and C.C. said, invite them over. I did. They came. We spent an evening laughing and joking. Their son, C.J. came for awhile and then their daughter C joined us after her brother had left. Both my daughters turned up later, after the barbecue they were at ended. We were one big happy family. The 'kids' have known eachother all their lives. JD was one of the women who saved my life when I was in trouble with Conrad. AJ acts as my daughters surrogate father -- our friendship is based on longevity, shared experience and most importantly, love.

During dinner, Alexis asked each of us the question, "If you could be in one Winter and one Summer Olympic games, what sport would you be in?"

The answers were varied. When it came to my turn I said, "Slalom skiing and Dressage."

"Why not a team sport?" asked my daughter.

"I don't like team sports," I replied. "Never have. I don't like depending upon other people and in particular, I don't like other people depending upon me. What if I let the whole team down?"

My daughter quickly jumped in to tell me I should take up a team sport, just because. "It would be a good stretch for you, mum."

Andre Gide, French writer and Nobel Prize winner, wrote, "There are admirable potentialities in every human being. Believe in your strength and your truth. Learn to repeat endlessly to yourself. "It all depends on me."

It's the, 'it all depends on me' part that stresses me out!

I have a core tape that, whenever the chips are down and the world is falling apart, whispers its insidious message in my head -- "It's all my fault."

Being part of a team awakens my negative narcissistic traits -- when we win, I know it took the whole team's effort. But, when we lose, it is all because of me.

This tape has played itself out in many forums in my life. When with Conrad, it roared incessantly. "It's all your fault. You're to blame. You did it." In the end, I believed I had created the monster. I believed it was because of me that he was so evil.

I am not that powerful.

Unfortunately, when feeling powerless, making it all my fault makes me feel powerful.

I have worked on becoming aware of that tape. Worked on letting go of my need to take the blame just to feel powerful. I know that my life depends on me, on how I live it, how I 'work' it -- but in times of stress, my default position will automatically leap into the victim's mode of thinking -- to protect my ego at all costs by taking on all the blame. In 'working it', the lapse is usually momentary as I quickly assert my victor's voice into the conversation and remind myself of the truth -- I am not that powerful. It's not all about me!

Perhaps my daughter is right. Perhaps it's time to find a team sport where I can stretch myself into participating with a group -- as part of a team where there is no 'I'.

I wonder if there's team knitting?

The question is: Are you making yourself powerful by using the victim's voice of 'it's all my fault', or are you claiming your power by accepting you cannot change someone else, you can only be responsible for you.

Do It Now

Money is congealed energy, and releasing it releases life's possibilities. Joseph Campbell

In Maria Nemeth's book, The Energy of Money, she states that it is imperative we ground our goals in specific life intentions. It's not enough to just 'think positively' about your goal. Thoughts live in the metaphysical realm. Success comes as a result of actions in the physical domain.

It was around my thirty-fifth birthday that the truth of that statement became a reality for me. All my life I had said, "I want to be a writer." Great intention but at thirty-five I had to look at the harsh reality of my goal -- How could I be a writer if I wasn't writing? Duh.

I had to take action in the physical realm to make my writer's dream a reality. I took a course on writing for magazines. I phoned the editor of a major newspaper and pitched a story idea for Remembrance Day. Imagine my surprise when he said "Yes."

Suddenly, I had to find subjects to interview and get to work. I was terrified. But I had a goal. I wanted to be a published writer. I couldn't achieve my goal without specific actions to back up my intent.

That feature story was published and I went on to write many more. And then, I ran out of steam, lost sight of my dream, folded up my tent and put away my writing utensils.

Life's Intentions keep you energized and focused whenever you encounter challenges on the path to your goals. They keep you heading in the direction of what has heart and meaning for you. Maria Nemeth, The Energy of Money

To keep striving towards my goal of being a full time writer, I need to step back from this physical realm for a moment and take a look at what limiting beliefs I have in my metaphysical plane that are preventing me from taking action. One of them is -- I can't make a living as a writer.

Says who?

Um, I have no idea. The idea just rests in my head and whispers its insidious limitation in my psyche.

What if I took that thought and shifted its perspective? What if I weaken the negative belief by empowering it with action? What if I told myself, I will make my living as a full time writer a reality by starting today with action. I commit to pitching one story a week to a newspaper and/or magazine starting this week.

I have a dream. When I articulate it as a goal, I set myself up for success by keeping my promise with myself to BE committed to DO what it takes to HAVE the life of my dreams.

I'm committed. It's my responsibility to take action and DO IT NOW.

The question is: Are you relying on positive thinking to make your dreams a reality? If you are, when do you plan on bringing them alive through acting on your intentions?

I wanna hold your hand

I sat in my 6th floor office and watched an elderly man stumble down the street. He pushed his metal walker before him, a human barstool on the move. He came to the curb, attempted to navigate the bump, and fell. He struggled to get up but with each attempt, he fell back to the ground. Sitting up in my eerie, I had an eagle's eye view, and I was helpless. I phoned the security desk at our shelter to ask a staff to go out and help him but as I started to speak, two people came up and assisted the man.

Later I went downstairs to ensure the man had made it safely to his destination -- our shelter. He had.

Our greatest glory consists not in never failing but in rising every time we fall. Oliver Goldsmith

He fell down. He got up. A tiny success in a seemingly endless journey through the haze of alcohol that constantly fogs his mind. Once again, I am in awe of the spirit's need to live, of the drive for survival.

This man's life may have little sense to it. It may appear to be a futile attempt to wrest a few more moments or days from fate. But, in the end, this man's life is all he's got. He is a late stage alcoholic. A man for whom sobriety is a long lost relative to the despair that permeates his spirit like alcohol pouring through his veins. There is little we can do for him other than provide a safe landing when he falls. Provide him assistance with his daily libations, clean him up when he messes up, watch over him when he has a seizure and check to ensure he's still breathing when he falls.

The help we provide him is not based on 'cleaning him up' or even getting him into rehab. Too many brain cells have hit the dust, too many synapses have mis-fired. He is walking towards his destiny. A tragic story of one man's life gone grievously astray. A human being no long able to do anything other than what he's doing today -- drinking himself to death.

Is it tragic? Absolutely. Did he make choices? Absolutely. Do his choices make a difference to him today? They make a difference to his quality of life, what he might have done, or been or had. But for today, his choices are limited to a narrow corridor of insobriety, a singular path to keeping himself numbed under the influence.

Does this man need help today? Absolutely. Does he deserve to be helped? Yes.

Regardless of the circumstances that led him down his dark and drunken street, he is where he's at. He is helpless to help himself. All we can do is watch over him as best we can. Provide him the help he needs and gather his statistics and his belongings when he's gone.

We've had and have many clients like this man. Many clients drink themselves or drug themselves to death. We try to intervene whenever we can. We attempt to redirect their attention to some other path. Sometimes, it's not enough to divert them from their self-directed date with destiny. For whatever reason, their lives have gone wildly astray, their paths become a constant struggle to get up.

Regardless of the reason, we cannot deny their need. No one deserves the street. No one deserves to die there. If he were a dog who had been hit by a car and been left bleeding on the road, we would not hesitate to pick him up and rush him to a vet. And yet, with a human being, we often stop in judgement and say, "It's his own fault."

In the end, it doesn't make a difference who's fault it is. He is falling and needs help.

We cannot change someones destiny. All we can do is provide them the best care we can while they walk in the direction they're going. All we can do is walk beside them as long as we can, hold their hand when they need us, and let them know we care.

My olympic best

The road to happiness lies in two simple principles: find what it is that interests you and that you can do well, and when you find it put your whole soul into it - every bit of energy and ambition and natural ability you have. John D. Rockefeller

The studio lights were dimmed. The walls were painted aqua blue, the ceiling deep as midnight. Ceramic fish hung along the walls, swimming around our heads. Above our heads, a tiny disco bowl spun, sparkling the walls with tiny dots of light that ripped around us like waves underwater. I felt immersed in a sea of warm colour.

In front of us the lights on the giant sound board blinked red and green and yellow and blue. On the other side of the giant panel of glass, C.C.'s son, T. stood, earphones tightly pressed against his head, singing.

He's talented. The music he's recording is all original. Stunning in its complexity. It's gritty scenes of life a surprising note of confidence from one so young. He's cutting a CD. His first. It's a big step for a twenty-year-old. A big opportunity. He won it at a band competition earlier this year. It's another leap forward in his dream to live his life as a musician.

One of the sound technicians is a woman. Early twenties. Dark hair with a streak of blond shot through. While we're waiting for T. during a break, I ask her how she came to work in the studio. Where once her face was dark and brooding, her demeanour bored, she suddenly lit up like the lights on the sound board in front of her. "I was enrolled at college to take PR," she told me. "It just didn't feel right and then I saw an ad for this nineteen week course to become a sound tech." She wraps her arms around her shoulders as if to give herself a giant pinch. "I can't believe I get to live this life everyday doing this." And her hand sweeps away from her body to include the room and studio on the other side of the glass. "I love it."

Amidst the dour commentary on the lack of Canada's Olympic medals, athletes from across the country are living their dream today in Beijing. Doing what they love, giving it their best, they are competing against other world class athletes for their chance to win a tiny gold and silver and bronze medal. It's a harsh competition. A place where one slip of attention, one tiny miss of one one hundreth of a second can mean the difference between glory or despair.

But the real competition is in their work to get to where they are. Against what appears at times to be insurmountable odds, these athletes have spent countless hours in gyms and in or on the water, training and training, doing what they love. We, their public, do not see the hours upon hours, days and nights of rigorous training. We don't see or feel the aching muscles, the spasming joints, the strained tendons. We see only the missed opportunities. The falling behind in the standings. The lack of glitter around their necks.

Ultimately, as a nation, we want the medals. We want to ride on the shirttails of these athletes, to stand in their glory so that we can enjoy the reflected glow of their achievement.

And when they don't get the medal, we chastise them for not being good enough.

Go figure.

To be part of Olympic gold all I have to do is pick up the clicker and turn on the tube. And when my team doesn't stand on the podium, I get to dis them or praise them.

The choice is mind. Me, I choose to congratulate them on doing their best. I don't need them to stand on the podium to be inspired by their actions. I am in awe of their commitment, their drive and their passion. I am humbled by their ability to BE committed to DO what it takes to HAVE what they want. And, I am inspired to keep living my dream and walk, leap, run along the path of my personal excellence. Because, in their commitment to keep going, to keep striving, to keep stepping beyond their boundaries, I am reminded that I too can live my personal best in everything I do.

Medal or not, here I come!

The question is: Are you giving life your Olympic best or are you lagging behind, listening to those who sit on the sidelines grumbling, telling you that you're just not good enough? Are you living your dream or awakening each morning forgetting what your dream was?

Shall We Dance?

"Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance. Great dancers are not great because of their technique, they are great because of their passion." Martha Graham

I love to dance. Always have. Both my daughters dance. We dance together at home. We dance together at parties. We dance alone. We dance.

There are no set footsteps. No predetermined place to be. Destination to get to. Ending to achieve. It is only the dance. The dance makes the journey interesting. It enlivens each step. Colours each moment.

At the shelter where I work, I witness people falling. People who have forgotten how to dance. Forgotten that they can dance. Their steps are heavy. Their breathing laboured. The journey is not in the dance. It is in the survival of getting from this moment to the next.

Yesterday, I gave a talk to a group of EMS workers. At the end of my presentation, one of the organizers came up and told me he had a story to tell me. "I didn't want to interrupt your presentation, but I thought you'd find value in this story," he said.

"There were four of us in high school. Best buds. We played together. Got into trouble together. We were tight. When high school ended, we each went our separate ways. Dave* was one of those guys you figured would 'do good'. I saw him for the first time six years after we left high school. I was at the airport picking up a patient from a flight, and Dave walked off the plane. Big guy. Big muscle. An MP in the Armed Forces."

"Life's great, he told me. I'm travelling the world. Living it up."

"Next time I saw Dave it was about five years later. I was on an emergency call in a building where people were lying all over the floor. It was pretty seedy. I stepped over a sleeping man and couldn't believe my eyes. It was Dave. Stoned. I stopped to talk for a moment. He tried to pretend he didn't see me but I wouldn't let him not talk to me. Seems that he got out of the service after a tour of duty in some place like Cyprus and what he witnessed was overwhelming. The Service didn't do much for him and he couldn't cope so there he was. I told him to keep fighting and had to leave. I had a patient, a child, to see to."

"I didn't see Dave for a couple more years until one night while doing a rotation in an Emergency Ward I walked behind the curtain of a patient who had attempted suicide and there was Dave. Lying on the bed. He started crying. Telling me he simply couldn't take it anymore. We talked and talked and then I had to move on. I hoped Dave would make it."

"Three years later, while driving my ambulance, a green pick-up truck pulled up beside me at a red light. I looked across at the driver and it was Dave. He rolled down his window. Waved and said. "I made it. I'm doing okay. I'm working as a welder. I'm doing okay." The light turned green and we both went our separate ways. But I'm sure glad to know he made it."

It happens. People fall down. Sometimes, they dance with the devil. And then, one day, something clicks, ruby shoes appear on their feet, the stars align, or simply someone took the time to listen. Whatever the reason, they get up again and slowly learn to dance.

I see it every day at the shelter where I work. People who have forgotten how to dance. We hold their hands. bandage their weary feet and keep hope alive until one day, hopefully, they will remember how to stand up straight and begin to dance again.

Once upon a time, my daughters and I forgot how to dance together. We've retraced our steps, reclaimed our right to dance joyously and freely through each moment. We are blessed.
The question is: Are you dancing?

Start small and do it now.

The shelter where I work is situated in the east end of the downtown core, an area that is currently undergoing massive reconstruction and renewal. Yesterday, the bridge leading across the river was shut down to vehicular traffic for a month. All access to the centre was re-directed via a main route to the south. Suddenly, there's one way in and one way out of the shelter. Suddenly, we're isolated.

It's a funny feeling. Where once traffic flowed constantly in and around us, we are now an island of serenity -- except for the massive earth moving equipment digging and moving dirt.

In some ways, the isolation is symbolic. Being homeless is isolating. Your life is in a constant state of chaos. The dirt is thick and oppressive. There's destruction everywhere.

And that's the thing about the redevelopment of the area in which our centre is located. It's taken years for the city and planners to get to this point where reconstruction can begin, just as it took years to get to the level of decay that was evident for so long in the neighbourhood.

Homelessness, while it may happen in one night, is not an over-night occurrence. It takes time for someone's life to devolve into such chaos. Sometimes it takes years. But once it sets in, it takes massive planning, upheaval, and reconstruction to change.

Homelessness is not an incident in someone's life. It's a symptom of something massively wrong.

Like an area of the city that is under reconstruction, homelessness requires patience, understanding and commitment to change.

For years, city planners, architects, engineers, environmentalists have worked to create a vision for the east end of the city that reflects the diverse needs of the current residents, while also providing for the needs of the newcomers. Land was acquired, buildings removed and ground torn up to prepare for the 'new growth'. While many believe this development has taken too long, the reality is, its taken as long as its taken and now its begun.

In life, the changes we're experiencing sometimes seem to be more about 'going to the dogs' than 'going places' we want to be. Our lives seem to be upheaving some mighty big chunks of dirt that block our vision from seeing we're getting to a place where renewal can happen. Yet, somewhere within us, our psyches are busily planning, and scheming, looking for ways to create new growth out of the dirt of the past. We need patience, love and compassion for ourselves to allow it to happen -- yet, if we give ourselves the opportunity to create anew, we have the chance to change our lives from where we're at to where we want to go.

Growth is not an overnight occurrence. We gotta Start Small. Start Now.

When I was released from the nightmare of my relationship with Conrad, my life was in utter disarray. The problems looked (and felt) HUGE. I knew I couldn't fix them all over-night. I knew I couldn't change one iota of the past. So, I worked with the moment, the very moment I was in. "What can I do right now," I asked myself, "that will make a difference to my life today?"

In that question I gave myself permission to Start Small. Start Now.

I left the burden of 'the problem' up to God, to the Universe, to the Divine to carry so that I could focus on what steps I could take, right now, to make change happen.

To sit back hoping that someday, some way, someone will make things right is to go on feeding the crocodile, hoping he will eat you last -- but eat you he will.” Ronald Reagan

There is no better time to change your life than the moment you're in. It's easy to look at tomorrow and say, "I'll get to it. Let me just enjoy where I'm at today." Getting to it starts now. Not tomorrow. Not a week from now. It starts right now.

The question is: Are you waiting for tomorrow to make a change? Are you expecting happiness to arrive at some future date when you will be ready to accept it? Where are you letting someday possibilities hold you back from accepting today's limitless possibility?