Caution: Speed Bump

Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.
~ Jalal ud-Din Rumi

Every day for a few months, I would pass by a sign that said

The thing is, there was no speed bump there. It seems there used to be, but it must have been removed, and someone probably forgot to take down the sign.

This made me think of our own lives and how, when we are hurt - which we all are at some time - we begin to build speed bumps in our heart. These speed bumps remind us of what people have done to us, the ways in which we have been failed, the things that have gone wrong in our lives. These speed bumps tell us that we should be careful with love, that we should not trust easily, that we should be wary of the world.

But when these hurts pass and we learn to love and trust again, we keep that sign up.

Just in case.

We think it will help us to be more wary in the next situation. That we can learn from the mistakes of the past and tread more carefully throughout life so we don't get hurt again. But that's not the way it works.

Yes, getting hurt is not fun. But it is part of life. And it will happen again. Trust me, it will. There is no barrier against it. And if we want it to, it can make us stronger and better people. But what it shouldn't do is make us shut down. We should let love and friendship in, enjoy every part of it, and maybe even get hurt again.

Because we know we can heal.
If we choose to.

And I think that's the thing with love. We start building so many barriers in our heart against it, so many conditions that must be met, so many "rules of engagement" that we forget that love is something that is meant to be done freely, with an open heart, with no speed bumps and no signs to tell us to slow down.

So for those of us living every day with caution signs up, who slow down when we don't need to, remember:

The speed bump is gone.
Take down the sign.

The Old Man in the Box

Do not allow me to forget you.
~ Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

I have a picture of an old man whose name I never knew. He sits inside a cement opening covered by a tin sheet to stop the rain. Stuffed into a crease above him are a few rags. I pass by him and he looks at me and brings his hands together in Namaste. His eyes are so full, they are empty. They have seen too much. His folded hands look like a plea.

Remember.

The cement opening is his home. The tin sheet, his roof.
He wears white. The colour of mourning. Because he knows I will forget.

We all do.

Day in and day out of my life, I won't think of his face. I won't remember his poverty. Instead, I will get caught up in my own poverty. A poverty of my own making. I will count pennies and lament rising prices. I will think of all the things I do not have. And I will forget that he lives in a cement enclave that might already be bulldozed through because the government decided it was illegal for some people to have a place to call home. I will forget that he has to pay a fee to use the latrine so he goes by the train tracks instead. I will forget that some days, most days, he does not eat.

And I will forget that he folded his hands in prayer to me. In thanks. For taking his picture and giving him a story. For looking at him in the eyes and reminding him he is still a person.

He had forgotten.

And even though I forget him most of the time, sometimes, I remember. And when I remember, I want to fall to his feet. I want to beg him to stop looking at me. To unfold his hands. I am not worthy of his respect. I forget him. All the time.

I forget him when I look through my house and feel bored by the vastness of what I own. I forget him when I take too much food and throw away what I cannot eat. I forget him when I sleep in my warm bed. I forget him when I cry.

I forget.

But I have a picture of an old man whose name I never knew. Sitting inside a cement opening. His hands folded in thanks. So I fold my own. And I remember.

Even if only for a moment.
I remember.

And I am grateful.

The Dawn

Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.
~ Rabindranath Tagore

Today is the birthday of my uncle, who passed away suddenly this past September. A day that has always been celebrated with laughter is being brought in with tears today.

The shock of his passing may have been muted with time, but it is not forgotten. And yet, in some weird twist of logic and insanity, life goes on. We all think the world will stop turning. And yet, somewhere within us, we find the strength to keep moving. To keep turning.

And that's kind of how the world works. It just keeps turning. And we keep turning along with it.

Although his body is not here to be celebrated, the essence of his character - his joy, his love, his patience - remains in our heart, and we can still carry the memory of a beautiful person we had the privilege of loving (and being loved by).

No words can really do this grief justice. But for those of us who struggle, remember what Henry James once said:

Sorrow passes and we remain.

We know the dawn has come; we just wish the lamp didn't have to go out.
Your light will burn within us, always.

We miss you, Ramesh Uncle.

Amor Fati

Love Your Fate, which is, in fact, your life.
~ Friedrich Nietzsche

My husband and I travelled around the world for three months last year, and in the last week of our travels, I got into a severe bicycle accident. I damaged my knee so badly that I couldn't walk for months and still have the bruise - over 10 months later. I hit my wrist so hard in the fall that I still don't have full functionality of it to this day.

When I got into the accident, the first thought I had, after acknowledging the searing pain, was Thank God it wasn't worse. I was immediately reminded of a friend who passed away from just such a bicycle accident. It could have been much worse for me. But it wasn't. And I was thankful.

Things happen to all of us.

And as they are happening or after they happen, we label those things as "good" or "bad". But looking back on my life and at all those things, I have a hard time labelling anything as truly bad.

There is a Latin phrase: Amor Fati, which loosely translates to "love of one's fate" or "love of fate". It is the belief that everything that happens is good.

And when I sit down to think back on my life, I realize I subscribe to that philosophy. When I look back, I wouldn't change a thing. Not the challenges, not the obstacles, not the outcomes. Even if they didn't work in my favour at the time.

Because yes, things have happened to me, but all of those things, "good" or "bad", made me the person I am today. And I kinda like me. These things I have gone through have been blessings, even if I didn't feel that way as they were happening.

That fight, that failure, that disappointment - it was all good stuff, because here I am - still standing strong.

So when something happens that seems unfavourable, I've started to think:
Maybe the universe has something even better in store for me.

Since I started to "love my fate", I've also started to believe that the best awaits me. If it hurts now, it is because this experience is going to make me a better me. If I don't get something I desperately wanted, yes I may be disappointed in the short term, but that just means something bigger is out there trying to find me.

It has even changed the way I hope. Instead of praying and asking the universe for things, all I say now is, "Please let this happen if it's meant to." It's amazing how such a small change in thought can make such a big difference.

It's almost magical.

Try it.
Love your fate.
Love your life. 

To the Left...

To the left... to the left...
~ Beyoncé

Every morning, I go downstairs for breakfast. Sometimes, I carry it upstairs to eat it by the computer, scrolling mindlessly through some website or another. Other times, I stay downstairs and eat at the table facing the family room where, often, someone has the TV on and I end up mindlessly staring at it.

But the other day, I sat down at the table with my bowl of cereal and the TV blaring in front of me, and something made me turn to my left.

And there it was - a bay window looking out onto the backyard. It was always there, but I guess I just hadn't paid much attention to it before. And as I looked out at the trees, the flowers, the squirrels, the blue sky, it was so beautiful, so peaceful, so revitalizing. So I turned my chair towards the window, sat my cereal bowl on my lap, and just enjoyed the calm view of the world.

That is a morning that has stuck in my memory, unlike the mindless other mornings I have spent being entertained by the emptiness of an electronic device. 

That morning, I realized that sometimes, it's as simple as that - turning your head, looking a different way, seeing something new, changing where you look. 

We have a tendency toward routine. Toward what we know. We often get stuck in one way of thinking, one way of being. Almost as if we live our life with horse blinders on. Doing things as we always did. Seeing things as we always do.

But there is another way. Another viewpoint. If only we would only take off our blinders and see.

Sometimes, it's not about searching elsewhere for things. Sometimes, it's as simple as opening our eyes and seeing what's right in front of us.

Or what's to our left.

While I was away...

I know, I know, I've been missing for a while. But (this time), I wasn't being lazy about posting!

I was revitalizing my writing energy at a Spoken Word Residency at the Banff Centre for the Arts in Banff, Alberta, and subsequently at the Calgary Spoken Word Festival in Calgary, Alberta.

I hope this will work as my apology for not posting for so long.

I'll be back with more thoughts soon! 

The High-Way Perspective

He who saves one life saves the whole world.
~ Jewish Proverb

A few days ago, I ran out of gas.

I don’t mean figuratively, I mean literally. Two miles from home, right before my exit, my car buckled, slowed down, and gave up in the middle of two lanes on a two-lane highway. It was my fault. I forgot to get gas in the car and halfway home, when I realized I had forgotten, I thought I could make it. But my car had other plans. It was done.

So, in the middle of rush hour, there I was. Stuck in the middle of the highway. And since my cell phone was stolen a few weeks ago, I had no way out on my own.

So I tapped into my faith in people.

When traffic let up a bit, I got out of my car. Most people looked straight at me and kept driving around the obstacle I had created. Others honked. But one lady slowed down. She used her cell phone to call for help and then went on her way. Then, a young guy rolled down his window and asked if I needed help. He stopped on the side of the road, and came to push my car to the shoulder, out of harm’s way. Then, he searched online for the AAA number, which was nowhere to be found, so he let me call my husband to bring a can of gas for me.

Needless to say, it was an adventure. But not one I would like to replicate again.

The whole affair made me think of the nature of people. Most people on the road that day just flew on by me, when I was clearly in distress. Some even honked at me, as if I was choosing to block the highway. And if I wanted to, I could focus on those people and what the world has come to that they couldn’t even stop to help out a fellow human.

Or, I could think about those two people who did stop. I could focus on how wonderful people can be if given the opportunity. Neither of them had to stop. They could have passed right by me just like everyone else, but they did. They tapped into their humanity. They helped out a stranger in need.

And so it’s really about where you choose to look. You can change your life just by shifting your perspective. The truth is, if you look for negativity, you’ll find it in every corner. But if you instead make the choice to see good, you’ll find it everywhere too. And you’ll see that people can be good.

That people are good.

The guy who pushed my car out of the highway wasn’t a saint. He was just a regular guy. But he made the choice to be kind. And I am making the choice to remember his kindness.

So thank you, random highway guy. In a small way, you saved my life. And in saving me, you saved my perspective of the world.

Truth or Spare (Some Change?)

First it is necessary to stand on your own two feet. But the minute a man finds himself in that position, the next thing he should do is reach out his arms.
~ Kristin Hunter

The other evening, my husband and I were at a strip mall in the suburbs picking up some groceries when we stepped out of the store to a man sitting anxiously on a bench. He stood up and came towards us to ask us for help. Apparently, his car was parked in the lot with no gas, he had left his wallet at work, and his wife wasn't going to be able to come get him for a couple of hours. He said he was completely embarrassed by the situation, but asked us for a couple of dollars so he could get a small can of gas.

His story was pretty elaborate, and we were a bit skeptical, but deep down, I really wanted to believe him. After all, we were in the suburbs. So I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I only had a few dollars in my wallet, but I handed him what I had, and he was very thankful. He grabbed his jacket and started towards the gas station, and we parted ways.

As we walked into another store, his story stuck with me, and I wondered if it was really true. I am an eternal believer in the goodness and honesty of people. I want to believe that people are truthful, kind, and honest. I struggle with this, but somewhere deep down, I hope that, given the opportunity, people will choose the side of good. I figured I would never know the truth behind the story, but I still wondered.

When we stepped out of the store and walked to our car, there he was, back at the bench, head in his hands, looking just as dejected as before. I felt duped. But I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. I thought maybe the money I had given him wasn't enough. But then again, maybe he had lied. That's when it dawned on me:

It didn't matter.
I didn't care.

If he was lying, I thought of what a bad place he must be in to have to lie.

In the end, his story didn't matter. Because if we judge the story, we decide whose struggle is worthy of our help, when in fact, our opinion is inconsequential. So what if he got a couple of dollars off me. I am so lucky to have a couple of dollars to spare. So what if the homeless person grabs a beer over a meal with the money I give him. What he does with his money is his business.

We should provide help because we want to, and be thankful that we can. 

We didn't approach the man again. If he had come to this place with this story, he must be in a trying place. He must have really needed the money. And it didn't matter what for.

As we drove away, I felt thankful. For all that I have in my life. For having faith in people. For being able to help someone in a hard time. I know I had done the right thing. I had helped my fellow human.

I am thankful I'm on my two feet.

And the best thing I did that day was to reach out my arms.

Ticky Tacky Boxes

My sister is in the process of applying to preschools for her daughter in New York City. In a city where the average income is 30,337 and the average daycare rate is 32,344, how this actually adds up remains a mystery to me.

When I was young (which, relatively, wasn't that long ago), we didn't go to preschool. We didn't even go to pre-K. We either had a family member or a neighbour or a babysitter take care of us until we were 5 or 6, when we headed off to regular local schools to which we didn't have to apply because it just depended on which one was closest to your house.

And I have to say: I didn't turn out so bad. I still managed to get through high school and college quite successfully, and ended up with a pretty decent career. I have thus far lived a fantastic life. I’ve travelled around the world. I’ve volunteered in another country. I’ve established myself as a poet. I’ve started my own businesses. I’ve reached out to my fellow human. I’ve been a good person.

So what is it about the competitive culture we have created that makes us think our children will turn out better than us if we spend more money on them? And what, exactly, does "better" entail? Does it involve just dishing out cash for things? Tons of toys, anti-social electronics, an education that doesn't even show up on your resume (imagine all the job-seekers out there name-dropping what preschool they went to)? What is it that makes us so vulnerable to the perceived academic achievement of our 2-year olds? Why do we feel the need to spend like the Joneses?

I think it comes back to the notion of perfection.

We want our kids to have "the best". But what is the best? And what does it mean to be the best? To have the best?

I’m reminded of a song/poem that was taught to me in elementary school called Little Boxes by Malvina Reynolds (I went to a mediocre, non-ivy league school in the burbs of the south shore of Montreal, so that might explain my exposure to said poetry). The chorus of the song goes like this: And they're all made out of ticky tacky / And they all look just the same. (I’ve included the poem below for anyone interested in reading it before you continue.)

And that's how I feel a lot of the time. Like the ones who believe in ivy league and money-buys-happiness end up essentially buying a box of a life. We’ve all heard the saying "think outside the box". Well, it might just be because we've been convinced to be confined to live inside a box our whole life. Not only do we live in a box (apartment, house), we stare at a box (TV, computer), and we mainly communicate through a box (computer, cell phone). Maybe it’s those with "unconventional" upbringings - the home-schooled, the not-ivy-league-pre-schooled, the local-college-educated kids - that make something greater of themselves. That don't rely on money and status to achieve greatness. Do we really want kids that are just like all the other kids? Do we really believe so strongly in homogeneity? Is fitting in all that matters anymore? Is the packaging greater than the gift?

But if most of us don't believe in conformity, why do we insist on perpetuating the status quo? What if we all stopped competing towards someone else's idea of what constitutes "the best", and instead started striving toward our own? How would life change? How would your life change?

A friend once reminded me that in 150 years, no one alive today will exist.

So who are you competing against? And will it even matter? 

Today, try to step away from preconceived notions, from the things that make you uncomfortable, from the things that stress you out just so you can keep up with the Joneses. Step outside the ticky tacky box. There’s a whole world out there living on their own terms.

Live on your own terms.

------------

Little boxes, by Malvina Reynolds

Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky,
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same.

There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses
All went to the university,
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same,

And there's doctors and lawyers,
And business executives,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry,
And they all have pretty children
And the children go to school,

And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university,
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same.

And the boys go into business
And marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one,
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

The Obstacle in the Fast Lane

This morning, I was driving in to work when I got caught behind a slowpoke in the fast lane. Since I was already late, I found this frustrating, so I gently tried to "encourage" him to move over to the slow lane.

Ok, I tailed him.

This went on for a bit, but he didn't move. Maybe he didn't notice. Maybe he didn't care. Either way, I started simmering in my frustration and getting caught up in the story of how wrong he was. And so I refused to budge on my stance, staying stuck behind him to make a point.

It was a standoff and I was holding my ground.

But when I looked into my rear view mirror, I saw the cars behind me getting over into the slow lane, passing by me and the slowpoke, and moving on. And that's when I realized that in my attempt to stick to a principle, I was the one losing out. If this was a game, I was the only player. The only character in this story was me.

The slowpoke was going at his own speed, and the cars behind me were moving around this obstacle, but I was holding myself hostage to a principle. All I could see was the problem, and my stubbornness wouldn't let me get around it.

This made me think about how our anger slows us down.
And how we let it.

And I wondered how different things would be if, instead of forcing others to conform to our ideals, we just let them be and moved around them. If, like a river flowing around the rocks on its path, we just flowed on by our own obstacles, instead of being held up by them.

So I decided to slow down.

Nothing much changed with that decision. The slow guy kept going slow. The faster cars kept going fast. But something essential shifted inside of me. The tension in my body dissipated, my frustration subsided, and when I looked around, there was no storyline, no principle to uphold, no game. And that's when I realized that the obstacle was never the slowpoke in front of me.

The obstacle was me.