Community

When I was in high school, I was a part of a very close and vibrant church family. My mum required me to go to church but she didn't specify which one, so I chose one where several of my high-school friends were members. I found a wonderful family there; I felt valued and included, rare commodities for a teen-aged girl. That church and its youth group formed a safety net for me and became the whole of my social life.

I moved away from that sleepy city after graduation from high school, moved away from Christianity a few years later, and more recently moved away from organized religion altogether. I have too many issues with specific theological points to swallow the pretty fairy-tales, not to mention the rampant hubris and blatant arrogance of religions when they invariably make the claim that they are the ONLY one way to God, and everyone else is wrong. Only frail, weak, stupid humans could make up a story like that.

I don't miss my faith. I am fine with the framework of beliefs I have created through the destructive process of testing every belief and tearing it down if it did not hold weight. I am left with a rather minimalist view of God, and He and I are okay with that.

What I do miss, though, is the sense of belonging that comes with attending a church. A community of people who all hold the same beliefs is a powerful force, and I have effectively painted myself out of that warm glow. I have a neighbor across the street who is quite active in the JW community, and every Saturday when nicely-dressed people pull up in their cars and come into his house for post-church coffee and fellowship, I am envious and lonely for that type of interaction.

My mum feels this, too. She, like me, is post-religion yet longing for community. We discussed going to church anyhow, but in order to be truly accepted into a church family, they need to get to know us... and our lack of belief would eventually betray us.

In an era where families are geographically peppered throughout the globe, organized religion has failed so many of us, and technology seems to isolate us even further, where does one turn to find a sense of community?

Crisis of Self

I met someone a few days ago who challenged my sense of satisfaction with my accomplishments. At roughly my age, this person has obtained a doctorate in a challenging field, published papers, taught at a university, and is an active and acknowledged contributor in a related field. When, I wonder, do they sleep?

Up until I read their bio, I felt pretty good about myself with my service to country, honours in college and shiny new career. For a short time after, though, I felt that it was a pretty pitiful pile of accomplishments. Their acts are writ large on the stage of the world, and mine are far more humble. I yearned for the kind of greatness I saw in the deeds of this person.

This little crisis of self lasted a whole day or two until I realized that although my doings were far less public and attributable, they were no less important; by participating in peacekeeping missions, I have in a small way contributed to the stability of the world in general. By serving my country, Queen and government, I have protected and defended Canada's interests in a rather direct way.

We have both made our contributions to the world, and neither is less valid than the other. Having realized this, though, I also came to the realization that academic success is still something I crave; college is by no means the end of my scholastic journey.

The Eternal "Why?"

A very dear friend of mine was seriously injured in a hockey game a little over a week ago. This brave, spirited, generous and kind man, who served his country unflinchingly, taught little kids to have respect for themselves and others on the hockey rink and soccer pitch, and who served in his community as a volunteer fire-fighter, has suffered a spinal cord injury and has no feeling from the neck down.

It's in the process of breaking my heart. Why him?

I know it's all random, this fun roller-coaster called life, but why does life seem to save up these awful experiences for the truly good people?

Hardest Thing To Do

I'm a worrier. I work through every single possibility that might happen in a given circumstance, and dread each wrong turn, each mis-step. I know by now that in the vast majority of cases, the things I imagine don't happen, and that real life isn't nearly as terrifying as the things I have cooked up in my head, but I still can't help trying to anticipate everything that happens.

I noticed this weekend that I try to do that on the dance floor, too. As the female, it's my job to remain expectant yet responsive. I never know which way the man will spin me or turn me on the floor, so I must be ready to move in any direction at any time. However, my thinking self, which pretty much always rules the roost, starts taking over and anticipating what will happen. This usually leaves me off-balance for what actually does happen; unprepared and ungraceful in transition. When I manage to clobber my racing mind into submission and just be in the moment, I am one with my partner, one with the dance, one with life.

Isn't this a precept of Zen Buddhism, too? To let go of expectations and flow from moment to moment. It sounds so easy; yet for me, it's the hardest thing to do.

On Embracing the Experience

The TV sets in our gym say it all.

There are maybe 10 or twelve of them, large LCD TV's mounted on the wall above the cardio machines. The sound is off, but you can jack in via a little box built in to the equipment. They are tuned to a variety of channels; this morning I looked up and saw MTV, some sports channel, and a news channel, among others. Invariably, Christine Cushing is cooking something up on the screen that's tuned into the Food Network.

I don't listen to the TVs, and I try not to watch. My best work-outs are maintained in a Zen-like state, fueled by the energy of my music and the exhilaration of feeling my body work and sweat. The TVs, when they catch my eye, take my mind off of working out, and I note my energy dropping to "just barely moving" when I am caught in the zombie ray.

I think a lot of people like that. I'm pretty sure that that's why the TVs are there in the first place... to lull the gym-goers into placidity. They can go to the gym, wiggle their arms and legs a little while watching TV, and then go home, content that they have "worked out", despite the fact that they barely broke a sweat and their heart rates rose only mildly.

Don't get me wrong, I think you still get some points for even just being in the gym. Even if you're hypnotized by the all-seeing eye, you are still getting more exercise than you would if you were on the couch, and that's always a good thing. But why not embrace the whole experience?

There is a glory found in the ability to move, a wonder in the unconscious grace your limbs possess, and a joy in the fierce act of work, exercise, effort and sweat that deserves to be felt and savoured. You won't be young and bendy and full of stamina forever, darlin'... enjoy it while you can.

It is my somewhat outspoken opinion that we have to live in our body (with all the respect, care and attention that that entails), not just use it to carry our eyes around from one helping of visual cotton candy to the next. How can we possibly revel in the wonders of life when we're so busy ignoring our bodies and sedating our minds?

Hymn to the Gym

There will never come a day when you will wake up at 05:30 in the morning and not regret getting out of bed. I'm afraid it will never get easier. It will never be more convenient. It will pretty much always suck and you will pretty much always wonder, just for a minute, if you shouldn't give the gym a miss this morning. Sleep, you will reason, is better than exercise, and it's what your body seems to cry out for.

If you listen to the siren song of sleep, you will wake up a little later and get ready for work. The extra sleep may or may not have been enough, the grit may or may not be in your eyes. Your body may or may not thank you for the extra rest.

Your mind won't thank you. Your mind will whisper things to you all day long, backbiting you and running you down. Telling you you're not dedicated enough. Telling you you're fat. Telling you you're a bad person. Guilt and lessened self-esteem is the pay-off from missing your work-out, and day after day, it adds up until it's crippling. It's a bitter miasma, a dense fog, and you can't see clearly through it, or even really know you're in it. But you are, and it's bad.

You are the only person who can decide that your mental and physical well-being is important enough to make a priority. Your partner may be fighting the same battle, they can't help you. In those first blurry moments of wakefulness, you need to decide if your health and happiness are worth fighting for, and get the hell out of bed whether you want to or not. Those extra 15 minutes of sleep? They're not worth spending the entire day feeling inadequate for.

I'll tell you what you need. You need to sweat.

Now get out there and do it.

Do You See What I See?

Zagreb, Croatia, June 2007. Mom, DH and I checked ourselves in to the Regent Esplanade for a couple of nights of pampering and swank before we bid farewell to the Balkans. We decked ourselves out in our finest, and went down to the in-hotel restaurant for a meal to remember.


Since we were kind of already living beyond our means, we decided to go big. Champagne cocktails before dinner served with a divine amuse-bouche, a soup course, throwing ourselves at the mercy of the sommelier for our fabulous dinner wine (that complimented our salt-crusted bream wonderfully), cognac with dessert. We each had something different for the sweets course and shared, as gauche as that may be for such a fancy restaurant. We laughed often and lived every moment of that meal to the fullest, knowing that such an event wouldn't happen often in our lives.

We were happily looped by the cognac stage, and waxing philosophical. The object of our attention was the candle that had nearly burned out its life during our meal. The dripping wax had sculpted it into amazing forms, and we all saw different things in the fabulous shapes.



It was a small lesson on how we all see things differently. The same object can be seen by five different people in five different ways- and all are accurate descriptions of the object. Perhaps each individual description doesn't encapsulate the wholeness of the object, but represents facets.

Today I said goodbye to a girlfriend who was leaving for a long trip. She hugged me and made me promise to write, saying as I left that she looked forward to my letters, as they'd no doubt be funny and entertaining.

It made me pause as I walked away. Me, funny? I totally don't see that about myself. I'm the over-analytical girl with OCD. I'm the shy, socially awkward wall-flower in any public situation. I'm the list-maker and the planner, but I simply don't see myself as funny.

I have another girlfriend with a cutting, evil wit. She's funny as hell and wicked (in the best possible sense) and just having her in the room make me feel better about everything. Her smile and personality is genuine and lovely. Unless you ask her. In her own eyes, to herself, she's broken and strange. She thinks she looks at people strangely and that she is mocked behind her back and stared at. She simply doesn't see herself, her essence, with any level of clarity.

This is the thing I have been working to understand about myself... about us all... for years. I see myself as shy- but I bet no-one else does. (Some people might see me as anything but!) My girlfriend sees me as funny, and she's not wrong... I suppose I do have a facet of me that can make people laugh, and she brings that side of me out. There are days when I feel like nothing but a huge pile of contradictions, all tied together and vying for dominance. And it's all true, to some extent.

Challenge how you see yourself. Try to look at yourself through someone else's eyes. When someone says you're compassionate, for example, but you don't see it in yourself, try looking harder. It's there. We are this crazy hodge-podge of our own perceptions and the perceptions of others, never the same from one minute to the next. Don't accept anyone's opinion of you as being all there is to the story. To that matter, don't accept your own opinion, either; we are far from unbiased and clear when we look inward. We are gloriously complex creatures.