Category: confessions

Re: Clearance

Sometimes medical tests take a while to schedule in the province where I live so I felt like I had won the lottery recently, when I got my lab booking sooner than anticipated. It reminded me of the pleasure that can be felt when you approach some congestion on the roadway and an authoritative person is there to wave you through.

If you’ve had to wait for your plane to take off then you’ll know that getting clearance is a delight. In kindergarten we are all taught about lining up and waiting our turn. It comes easy for those with good manners to be patient yet when I get sped through a line I feel so very special. That day at the hospital diagnostic centre everything seemed so streamlined: I arrived on time, my credentials were acknowledged, my appointment was confirmed, I was ushered to the correct wing, my medical technician knew what she was doing, the machines were fully functional, all tests were performed without hiccup, and done. I was cleared to leave.

I’ve enjoyed the feeling of hiking through deep woods. After stepping over fallen trunks and thrashing through tangles of underbrush it is an awesome experience to reach a clearing. Your walking pace can become more even, your balance is more assured, your weight seems lighter, your way is unimpeded and your view is uncluttered. It must feel liberating like this when you have had to be in court, your case has been examined from both sides and the judgement is that you are cleared of all charges. Imagine the relief! You are truly out of the woods and can now go about your life.

When I was a kid, I could see my parents tighten up whenever we approached the border separating Canada from the United States. Guards peered from their tiny huts with serious looks. Questions were asked and answered. The moment our car was waved through the check point, everyone exhaled. I’m no different as an adult when approaching a port of entry. As I surrender my passport I tense, hoping my documentation will measure up. My bride and I have been on many adventures to other countries. In every case I have shown gratitude along with nervousness to those who are authorized to provide clearance.

The other day I saw a vehicle marked with red licence plates being led by a police escort. I wonder what it feels like to have that level of access to the roadway? Or to anything for that matter. I can’t imagine a diplomat or any high level decision maker being troubled if they needed something ASAP.  Fortune 500 folk send their people to get stuff and price is no obstacle. Heck, I don’t normally go shopping unless there is a clearance sale that removes my inhibitions. I need the enticement of ‘the lowest price of the season’ before I feel good to go.

Giving myself permission is the first gateway I must pass through before making my way in this world. It sure is nice to find helpful people at intersections.

Re: Self

I can’t believe this is the 300th word that I’ve examined as it pertains to me, quite selfishly. I think all art is a selfish pursuit. A friend, who has commented on my work, has called it cheap therapy. He’s right in a way, since I get a chance to talk to myself and review my thoughts before sharing them with the world. I have no illusions about being the major benefactor of these essays. When I reread my words the feelings of self reflection can sometimes be powerful enough that I laugh or cry at my own expense.

I’m telling my mom, at this moment (even though she is long dead) that my head is not swelling from false pride. I’m still trying to convince her that I can be self interested and still be caring toward others. A person can be humble and still delight in the things they have created. In my understanding, being selfish is not in the same vein as being self-centred or perpetually self-involved. I try to view myself with the same level of enjoyment as I would the person next to me. In fact I love moments of one to one creative sharing since in that moment of context or conversation we have a mutual connection. Our souls have no borders.

Of course there is a line that some people may cross as they search to exclude others rather than embrace the human community. Making others irrelevant makes you a narcissist. There are many examples of narcissists in the current political landscape. Choosing a candidate to represent your interests in government is tricky enough without someone purposefully trying to manipulate you. Check carefully before you make a Trumpian Bargain: Your self-preservation as a trade for the charlatan’s self-aggrandizement.

Self help books have been a section in most book stores for quite a while. The Do-it-Yourself type can find these guides useful when the way to fix a problem becomes elusive. Many stores are currently promoting self-help options seemingly to speed your shopping experience. The resulting lack of need for cashiers and staff in general pads the corporations bottom line and speaks to the shareholders’ self interest. Yet all that glitters is not gold eh?

One of the responsibilities of a parent is to help their children develop a positive sense of self. It’s a delightful and complicated task to guide a child to see themselves as worthy individuals. I tried to help my boys understand that they had the power to decide the kind of person they wanted to be without becoming self possessed. Equally important to me was that the goal was not to be so selfless that actions became like a cross to bear. We all have needs. Our journey is to become self actualized. To reach for our best selves, we must aspire. Our goal can be accomplished through skill development, thoughtful reflection, watching others, reading, and conversation. Being self absorbed, as an act of personal creation, can awaken vistas of understanding and healing light. We are mighty!

Re: Menu

I have an aversion to menus. My feeling is not pathological, but some people might want to declare that I’m nuts after reading this blog page entry. In the book of phobias (there probably is one) fear of menus comes closest to Decidophobia: The irrational fear of making a decision. Anyway, I resent being called irrational.

I don’t like Drive-Thru restaurants but the other day I had a craving for KFC. My wife encouraged me to have the bucket handed to me through the car window. I nervously complied. But first I had to contend with an eight foot tall menu printed with more types of fried chicken than I thought existed. The voice on the speaker asked what I wanted. I froze. The voice asked again and I blurted out that I wanted a ten piece bucket, original recipe. I breathed while my bride coached me to be calm. The voice said, “It’ll be mostly dark meat.” I mumbled something about ‘I hope it’s not all drumsticks’ as I considered the logistics of aborting this mission. “Drive to the window,” commanded the tinny speaker voice. I meekly obeyed.

Confusion over, I merged with the highway stream of traffic. My wife cradled the warm container of ready-to-eat chicken in her lap as I concentrated on the job of driving home safely. I tried to laugh at myself about being rattled but it wasn’t the first time I’ve expressed a reluctance to deal with the ordinary task of ordering from a menu. I’m nervous enough, while on a date, to ask my partner to order for me. The big overhead boards at fast food restaurants are the worst, especially when I don’t have my glasses on. The food choices are arranged in weird categories too; like Breakfast, Lunch or Dinner and then you have Combo Meals or even Vegetarian. At a table service restaurant I get stressed by the multi-folded plasticized menu maps, like those offered at the diner in the award winning Canadian television series ‘Schitts Creek’.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JvRACORcR_I

The origin of word Menu is French for ‘detailed list’ and the Latin for ‘very small’. I prefer simplicity when it comes to menu choices. If it is beef stew I don’t need to know the details of how the beef was raised/braised or that there were three kinds of potatoes hand peeled and marinated in organic vegetable stock. A dining out option is a time to treat my guests to the social aspect of breaking bread, not to go overboard about the type of flour that might have been used for the loaf.

A large amount of choice brings me stress. If someone asks me where I like to eat out, I say I don’t. My preference being to look in my own refrigerator and picking something with minimal preparation time. That way I can spend more of my leisure writing reflections like this one. My writing program has a drop down menu of only six headings; That’s not scary at all!

Re: Wish

When I was younger, personal agendas were important. I would call them dreams and most days I had a plan. I’m not for tilting at windmills. Objectives must to be met. My mother was a task master. She taught me discipline. In that kind of environment there wasn’t much room for wishing. That didn’t make me cynical or even unimaginative. If I wanted something, then I would resolutely put a plan in place to reach my goal.

Wishing starts the quest process towards achievement. I see the act of making a wish like some people might view praying. I don’t believe there is a god to answer prayers anymore than I count on others to make my dreams come true. Sometimes I’ve been the lucky recipient of a gift or advice that gets me closer to realizing a dream but generally the achievement has been mine. I like to believe in my own ability. It is important for me to consider possibilities, identify the probabilities then make a decision to act on the most likely scenario. A while back that strategy was called ‘getting to yes’, then it morphed into The Secret (a sort of mystical plan involving seeing your future). Now people are talking about the science behind using your mind to get to the heart of the matter. No matter what language you use the idea is the same: Wish fulfillment.

Everybody has wishes. It makes no difference who you are. And no request is too extreme. I love the Washington/Harline song When You Wish Upon a Star. Here is a beautiful version sung by Sara Bareilles that may help you towards a new understanding of how desires are met.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QhwT2jn9qHQ

This song articulates such a beautiful philosophy. It speaks of the mystery of life as well as suggest how things might be resolved. Some might toss a coin into a fountain or find a wishing well. Some might climb a mountain, write a letter to Santa, pull on a turkey wishbone or lie down on warm grass and gaze at clouds. We must never fear a little wishful thinking.

My wife and I love potato chips for a snack. Whoever finds a chip that is folded onto itself has discovered a wish chip. This special morsel must be shared with a kiss while both lovers are making a wish. When we went on an extensive trip to New Zealand, my bride made a manifestation journal of pictures cut from magazines while I created an agenda/itinerary/map. The forethought we put into this trip of a lifetime opened doors to famous places and roads less travelled.

I’m not embarrassed to admit I’m planner. I’m very careful about what I wish for. I normally resist waiting to see what might happen. For me, what starts as a wish will progress through idea/research/consultation/blueprint/rethinking/commitment to execution. I’ve kissed many a wish goodbye. I’ve also revelled in the challenge of getting to that pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

Re: Feel

‘Feelings, Wo -o -o-, feelings’ This was a saccharine sweet song written by Morris Albert that was on regular radio rotation in the seventies. That decade promoted feelings as though they were a product meant to be experienced as one might sniff perfume: The Scent of Life.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-iW0FVLd-3M

A family friend once told me that she thought I was more female than my sister. I understood how she could make that observation because I was not averse to expressing the contents of my heart and yes, my sister had many characteristics often attributed to maleness. I shared this comment with my mom and she wanted no further discussion on the matter because she thought that meant her two offspring were Gay. The irony here is that Mom nicknamed this friend Bagel on account of the fact that she was Jewish and a Lesbian. We three treated her as part of the family. After the comment incident, Bagel was disowned by my mother. It wouldn’t be the first time that feelings bubbled over in her heart from things that were said or imagined.

I have an angel of a wife who takes emotion seriously. I would say she doesn’t just live life, she feels it, much like the alien Empath Deanna Troi on Star Trek: TNG played by actress Marina Sirtis. Whereas I don’t have a problem acknowledging my feelings, and I am not puzzled by their presence, my wife is often so surprised by her feelings that she wants to get to the root of their existence. I take them for granted and roll with them. The only feeling I consciously try to avoid is anger, all the other ones make my life wonderfully interesting.

Love is wonderful. Especially first love, new love, when you are astonished all the time. You tell everyone who will listen; ‘I never felt this way before!’ Your heart beats to a fresh rhythm. Hundreds of years ago we believed that emotion sprung from the heart because that’s where we feel those feelings most; at the heart of the matter. I recently felt surprised by my emotional reaction to leaving an apartment I rented to be closer to my loving partner while she attended to her dying father. My feelings about my temporary relocation started out with noble acceptance, moved to necessary confinement, then to peaceful resignation. On moving day I was sad to leave, grateful for the shelter: What had seemed a prison turned out to be a much needed sanctuary.

We can relate to another’s feelings. We can walk a bit in their shoes. We can empathize due to our past experiences. We can try to understand through mutual circumstances, but we can’t logically feel as another feels because we aren’t in their body. We may all have felt love, hate, disappointment or anxiety but feelings are uniquely situational. I alone, own my feelings. I can share them. People can say they get me, yet I’ll bristle if someone says. “I know how you feel.”

That’s simply impossible!

Re: Risk

When I was younger I took way more risks than I do now. The riskiest things I have done include: Diving headfirst off a cliff into a small pool of water, Driving a car after not sleeping the night before, Having unprotected sex, Saying no to my mother, Writing a review of a concert that I didn’t attend, Turning down a job offer, Rejoining the dating scene at age fifty, Seeking a life of no-fixed-address after retirement.

It is wise to at least look before you leap. Sensible folk will tell us that a little planning goes a long way. There are many phrases that can begin a cautionary tale, which we can share at a dinner party or submit to our children as a lesson on how to avoid daddy’s questionable behaviour. I find it fascinating how our languages have sayings that we can use to keep us safe from harm; if only we would take a moment to listen. Our inner voice may exclaim excitedly, ‘He who hesitates is lost.’ Then concurrently counsel, ‘Good things come to those who wait.’

Life can be scary, yet sometimes we make it scarier when we don’t do a risk analysis. We must not forget that fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Most perils can be avoided or at least ameliorated with a little thought before hand. And not all risks are physical. It took me a while to stop fearing imminent financial collapse even though I’ve been fortunate to have regular employment. I’ve felt the anxiety at the end of a monthly pay cycle but I’ve never known the riskiness of living on the street. I’ve weighed options of a benign sort when it comes to the emotional risk of relationships. The risk of a broken heart has been my Everest to conquer in life; something I have chosen with excitement, as a mountaineer might prepare for a risky climb. In this analogy, practice has brought the experience necessary to help me be safely awestruck by love.

Some may see risk taking as creating a fuller life, however, living on the edge is not in my comfort zone. I prefer to watch the thrill seekers, cheer them on even, rather than join in the mass revelry. There are some risks I will not take. I will not jump from an airplane, even with a parachute. I refrain from watching horror films. I am not a recreational drug user. I will not gamble with my money. I will not drink and drive. I will remain faithful to my lover. I will not let anger get the better of me. I will chew my food carefully.

There is reward in taking a risk. Staying in bed or not leaving your apartment will get you nowhere. Life is neither to be squandered nor played like a game of Risk. Situations are inevitable, occasionally dangerous, yet a moment or two of evaluation before proceeding with the next step is a valid price to pay. Steady on, take a breath, pause, be still and listen.

Re: Theft

Everyone has a tale of theft. Either someone has taken something from you or you have stolen from someone else. We rarely feel comfortable admitting the latter but my oh my, don’t we all like to target the other when we have felt robbed.

I’ve never been a train or bank burglar but as a kid I enjoyed the exploits of bandits like Butch Cassidy, the James Brothers, and Bonnie & Clyde. I was so emotionally kidnapped by tales of that Prince of Thieves, Robin Hood, that I visited Sherwood Forest in England when I was an adult. I could never excuse violent acts but I think there are times when theft can be forgiven, if not justified. Looting is a form of theft that can take place after a natural disaster. Studies in the wake of break-ins after Hurricane Katrina suggested that desperate people were seeking food, medicine or shelter. These were acts of survival not of anarchy. I believe that rioting can be a response to societal theft: When one person or group abdicates their part of the social contract (providing government oversight, a living wage, adequate health care, access to education), then that agreement is henceforth non-binding.

As a child I was tempted many times to lift something in the manner of the Artful Dodger. Once I spied a set of magnets in a clear cellophane pack on a display rack at a local five and dime store. I had learned that year in grade three that a magnet has a mysterious ability to attract. In an impulsive moment I pocketed the package. I couldn’t believe I made it street side without sirens or flashing lights. I rushed home and hid my shoplifted booty in the very back of one of my dresser drawers. There it remained for months, unopened. As an adult who should know better, I took a stapler from a teachers’ workroom at the school I worked at, ostensibly to organize some student marking while at home. I soon rationalized that it was mine. While not a moral dilemma equivalent to that fictional loaf of bread stolen by Jean Valjean in the novel Les Misérables, it’s a source of personal regret notwithstanding.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kP9fFngHgkQ

We could use some modern ‘rob from the rich/give to the poor’ stories. I keep struggling with the whole concept of ownership. Our life is so short, so why not share. An equitable tax system would help. Wages based on the common wealth of a nation would benefit everyone. The societal balance sheet is tilted in favour of the wealthy. I feel profit is a form of theft. Intellectual property is a scam. I wonder how Banksy feels about copyright laws. Passive income from tax sheltered corporate shares is also theft. We’re being robbed!

I was once mugged while delivering pizzas but I kept my dignity. Never let anyone steal your sense of who you are, your time, your identity, your future or your opportunities. Keep your true and precious self inviolate.

Re: God

When I was a child my parents did not lead me in ways to suggest a reverence for the word or meaning of God. They even spelled it differently: Gawd! Pronouncing it with exasperation, as if someone had let them down again. At the time my friends and I thought the Catholic kids who were educated in the scary looking building down the street belonged to the Others so we teased them. As I grew I ditched my ridicule but maintained my curiosity regarding God-fearing personalities. I was curious enough to marry one. My first wife was a gentle soul, raised in the ways of a Christian. She practised her spirituality rather than spouted it. She was subtle in her evangelism; leaving a newish version of the Gospel out on a side table for example, knowing I liked to read almost any text. It was that gentle persuasion that got me accompanying her to services on Sunday. I came to understand the Bible not as the Word of God but for its intent.

This became my God Period: going to church on a regular basis with my growing family. During those years I included myself through reading, leading, singing and otherwise participating in finding out more about my spirit. It was fun and rewarding. I learned a lot about people. I think it helped me be a good father to my children and a husband to my wife.

A survey from Angus Reid Polling landed in my email inbox last week asking me to identify my faith status from a long list of choices. I chose ‘none of the above’ for several reasons: I don’t practise the tenets of any one faith, I don’t attend any religious functions, I don’t pray. I believe that religion no longer has a place in my life. The idea of God still fascinates me as it did when I was using it to understand community but I am not a godly person. Calling myself a humanist sounds banal. Being an atheist just sounds argumentative.

Yet here I capitalize the word God. I still feel as godless as when I was a child. I don’t believe that a god created all things. As an artist I have sometimes entertained the notion that I am the maker of my existence, yet I resist using The Creator’s name as an expletive out of respect. I feel I can appreciate the many deities that are worshipped throughout the world while never feeling the urge to kneel. I have witnessed some amazing things but do not believe that these happenings were the result of a divine hand. I refuse to give credit to a supreme power, nor will I accuse such an entity of meddling negatively in my personal affairs.

Many philosophers, I have read, describe themselves as anti-theist. I find much in common with that willful declaration. My spiritual side comes out when I’m being silly, when I’m feeling carefree holding hands with my wife, when I’m awestruck by the vastness of the universe and all it contains.

Re: Real

My thoughts seemed like a Netflix fantasy series. I started a conversation with my wife one morning saying I was losing my grasp on reality while having trouble making sense of time and space. Pinch me please. Bless her heart, she looked shocked and worried for my mental health. A reset to realism was needed, and quick.

According to much of what I’ve read in the media lately, I’m not alone in feeling abstract. Faulting things, events or individuals for my discombobulation won’t help. My doubts about what is real aren’t about the stuff out there.  It’s more to do with how I’m processing the maddening array of conflicting information. To discover the truth these days I have to reevaluate almost everything I have learned so far in life. I’ve lost my trust in institutions, in the political process, in the weather even. Finding realness and holding on to it is so exhausting!

I watched with incredulity the length of the London queue to view Queen Elizabeth’s coffin. This line up couldn’t be real. What did those half million people need? Grief is real, I think. But standing in the rain, overnight, for twelve hours, surely challenges anyone’s sense of reality. The aged Children Royal stood vigil wearing military regalia similar to a toy soldier set my grandfather once bought for me from Harrods. I imagined costumes for Halloween. Is this an authentic representation of life in 2022? Such disrespectful thoughts! Death is real, I imagine.

Covid19 continues to read like an incomprehensible nonfiction novel. Illness is real, I thought. It seemed that in 2020 many governments were working in the interests of the people yet now we are sternly encouraged to get back to the business at hand; making money. This virus isn’t over and there are more variants expected. So the new normal is really the new reality.

People interviewed after a disaster sometimes say they felt like they were in a movie. They are sharing the shock of an unreal experience while the results of the flood/fire/tornado or other such climate induced mayhem is clear to see, strewn about them. If I’m deciding what’s real based on my past experience, that’s probably a mistake since cryptocurrency doesn’t seem real, Donald Trump wasn’t real, real estate prices aren’t real, reality television isn’t real and global warming is supposedly a hoax.

We are creatures of habit. We like things to be predictable. People who say, ‘embrace the change’ are likely the ones in charge. And the ones in charge don’t appear to know what they’re doing so I resist accepting their version of reality. I’m sounding unrealistic and I realize it. I’m looking for a focal point and I’m coming up lacking. Moments are real, aren’t they?

To summarize: Things aren’t the way they used to be. They never were. The unbelievable can still be real even if it seems crazy. I know I’m not imagining things when my grandchild climbs onto my lap with a big picture book. Love is real, I know that at least.

Re: Accessible

I’ve wondered what it means to be personally accessible. Throughout my varied relationships with others I have striven to provide access even though I have a reticent personality. I resist the pronouncement, “My door is always open.” Because in truth it isn’t. Just because I consider myself a good listener doesn’t mean I’ll always hear what you say. My spirit has access points. I’ve discovered I’m more open to someone who poses thoughtful questions. The way to my heart is not through my stomach but by accessing my sensitivity to truth, justice and inclusivity.

When my wife and I were looking for a place to live after retirement I thought up an ABC list for a potential location. The A stood for Access, the B for Beauty and the C for Cost (an obvious bottom line in any list). At the time, our accessibility needs were few since we were both retired and healthy. So there was no need to be near work, a hospital or a school since our family days were well behind us. We desired to be near to city services, cultural amenities and community gathering spots all preferably accessed by foot. Victoria B.C. provided on the first two so we had to adjust our budget and expectations to fulfill our dream. I stuffed my desire to curse the cost.

Like other white middle class males I have felt the urge to get huffy when my access is denied. As a teen, at a beach resort I once fumed for several minutes after I showed up bare chested to a ‘No Shirt/No Service’ restaurant and was turned away. “How dare they!” I railed against the authorities. My friends covered me, literally, by finding me a Tee to wear. When you get used to doors opening for you, it’s easier to be shocked when access is denied. We all get a little testy when internet service goes down or water gets shut off in our apartment. I can make myself feel outrage when something appears unjust. I’ll go to lengths to advocate for myself and those I love. The squeaky wheel does get greased.

Some folk strive for access: to the executive washroom, to the halls of power, to the information highway, to the happening concert, to the next big thing. I’ve never been ambitious enough to barge in front of people, yet I have coveted what others have excluded from me. The child in me wants to point and shout, “But how come she has one and I don’t?” In my perfect world no one needs to fight an urge to bud in line, because there is no line. In this world we shape laws that focus on inclusivity. Technology is used to further the goals of accessibility rather than being commodified for the rich. Here, we are taught that our resources are plentiful and not restricted to a pie shape. As a matter of justice, we all have equal access to food, shelter, education, healthcare, employment and recreation. Here, truth opens all doors.