I love politics. Even when I’m getting knocked down with the drama and challenge that comes with a political game, I still love to play. There is a little bit of politics in everything and for me it’s the ultimate show.

Human nature plays a big role in politics. At least it does from my perspective. Good or bad, right or wrong, yes or no; the decision will come down to a person’s integrity.  And my vote will always come down to how I perceive it.

The clincher is when I find “intent with integrity” and that is what I heard and felt listening to Humza Yousaf at SFU last week. I had attended a private event the night before and had the opportunity to speak with him one-on-one… my overlying thought was, I want to vote for this man. I want to follow his path. I like him. And how come we don’t have these types of politicians in Vancouver today?

Humza is a member of the Scottish Government. Google him, you will be amazed.

I’m in a lucky position to personally know some people that have made politics their life’s work.  They are good, decent humans wanting to do what’s right. The public throws politicians into the same garbage can, and that’s ridiculous and racist. I can guarantee you the people I have become close to are upstanding types (and you know I would be quick to call out the scum.)

But back to Humza. He’s young, and intense and clearly making the most of what he does best. His plate is full with the mission to make Scotland a better place. He was here in Vancouver to attract business to Scotland as well as preach the “yes” vote in the upcoming referendum.

I agreed when a friend said, “We are seeing the future of politics in Scotland.”

For me, it will always come down to how we relate as human beings…

That first meeting, Humza leaned in and listened as I shared my story of how his government helped locate my birth-family history in Scotland. I saw empathy and a touch of pride in his eyes. But most of all, I saw a man caring about another person’s life.

We need more people like that.

There has been lots of on-line chatter about Amtrak adding a Writers Residency program on their trains. Free trips to authors working on manuscripts. I jumped on the bandwagon and send out little notes to Via Rail and Rocky Mountaineer in hopes these two Canadian companies would follow suit.

Then I took a reality check. If any of these companies offered such a program what would be the chance of winning a ride? I’m not on the cusp of being well enough known to get any mileage out of such a program so why would they pick me?

Already losing the golden ticket, I thought about where I do my best writing. Then I knew a train had never produced anything worthwhile. So why waste any more brain power on the pursuit?

I already have a “location” muse. And guess what? All winter long and well into the spring they give as close as it gets to a writer’s residency. Long Beach Lodge offers rooms at a huge discount to solo travelers. And that makes for a writer’s paradise.

I’ve done some of my best writing siting in their “great room”.  The staff have become friends and indulge me with endless cups of coffee until noon then endless pints of beer until I leave at night. The respect they show for my writing space is endearing. Their encouraging words as they place another drink at my side are cherished.

Maybe all writers are looking for a magical place to help the words flow. Or maybe writers are just people and the thought of a free train ride seems like fun.

I could go on for a long time talking about the rooms at the Lodge, the view of the beach, massive waves, surfers, endless walks, comfy chairs and soaker tubs. Then it would all sound like a commercial for an upscale resort. So no more promoting the place. The last thing I want is for other people to be booked into my favourite room when I want to be there.

This is more a comment in never forgetting I already hold the answer. I know where I write well. Long Beach Lodge or my favourite Vancouver lounge listening to my favourite music, or at my desk at 3am when an idea has woken me up and the need to tell a tale has to be played upon or forever lost.

I think waiting to get a ticket for a train ride is only giving the power to someone else.

The phone rang, I recognized the name so even though it was late I picked up. This was a very good decision.

“What’s up?”

“I was just telling a friend how much you had helped me today and I thought the best thing to do was to stop talking to her and to tell you. And to say thank you.”

“Wow, thank you, you’ve made my day… seriously, thank you.”

And there you go, it is just that simple.

Her taking the time to share those thoughts with me changed everything. A day fraught with stresses faded away. A sense of purpose was reestablished. A lovely reminder of what counts. A reminder of what really matters.

Yes, we should all have a healthy sense of self-worth. We shouldn’t need to be praised and fawned over. This isn’t about a crazy need to have your ego stroked.

A sincere giving of thanks directed at you can feel really good.

You try to be kind and helpful. It’s just the basic living of a life. To get kudos for it is a lottery win.

All too often we are given critiques and boundaries. All the “should” and “should nots.” The people around us tend to take things for granted. We are all so busy. Who has time to say “thank you” when there are so many things to correct?

And then the phone rings and you are reminded how good it feels to be appreciated.

Pretty basic.

Is your glass half-empty or half-full? The answer might be the most telling in regards to a well lived life… or not.

I find people with positive attitudes are happy no matter what is happening. Oh sure, they have bad days, sad days, and even mad days. But in the end, no matter what is going on, they seem to revert back to happy. Or content. Or just a fallback position that everything will be good in the end. Or maybe they just appreciate even the smallest bright light.

I’m lucky to be a half-full person. I don’t know how I would have survived without this glitch in my brain. It makes my life possible. It’s why I feel blessed.

This morning I watched an interview with Dr. Michio Kaku on the Daily Show. He’s written a book “The Future of the Mind” and I can’t wait to read it. As a practitioner of Tibetan Buddhism I am aware of the vast untapped miracles that happen in our heads… Dr. Kaku takes the premise a million steps farther. What I would give to hear a conversation between the Dalai Lama and Michio. And the thought that these new ideas and research can help people with Alzheimer’s and dementia gives the greatest hope to this growing tragedy so many face.

But back to the glass…

Life is not as straightforward as the simple joy of having a positive attitude. The best thoughts won’t get you far if you aren’t willing to walk-the-walk and do the work. An extra dose of compassion and kindness is essential. I also believe in karma playing a massive role in what this life hands us.

And don’t get me started on the contemplation of what that glass looks like.  A wine glass, coffee mug, sippy cup, water goblet or whisky tumbler. I may be taking this a little too far.

What about you? Empty or full?

I lost my favourite pair of shoes this week. This makes me sad. I loved those shoes.

They were only part of the reason I missed posting my blog this week. The other was a colonoscopy. Or to be more exact, what happened three hours after the procedure. You hear stories about how the prep for the exam is the tough part. Nowadays everyone has a funny story about that. I thought once I got back home it was over. It had only begun. The pain started and escalated quickly. I knew my only option was to head back to the hospital’s ER.

I also knew it would be wise to only take as much cash as I needed for bare essentials. I took off my watch and good earrings but grabbed my phone charger. I was afraid about what would happen to me. I made my bed. I didn’t think about which shoes to wear.

I was quickly admitted to the ER. The nurse said my vitals were all elevated and I was “credible.” I’m sure it was also noted I had left the hospital only hours before and now there was a problem. They started the morphine. It did nothing for the pain.

Then came the parade of doctors and interns and nurses. All with the same questions. All with the same concerns. Something must have gone very wrong.  I was sent for x-rays and a CT scan. Everyone was polite and concerned.

They kept upping the morphine. Hours slipped by. I sent out short emails cancelling work. I read the worried replies. At some point two dear friends showed up at my bedside. Even writing this now brings tears to my eyes. They marched in to take care of me. They showed up. They stepped up. I will never be able to thank them enough. They made me laugh. They put up with my morphine induced proclamations and took some incriminating photos.

The doctors figured out the problem. A fluke. And statistically speaking; a 3-in-100,000 chance of this happening. Very rare. The head doctor had only seen it once before. The nurse took great glee in googling it. I would survive. It may take a while but I would be fine.

The doctor that had performed the simple colonoscopy that started it all came by. She said, “I’m so sorry.” The concern on her face was more powerful than her words. I told her as a Buddhist I was meant to treat this as a time to learn empathy for all the people in pain and in an ER. But I also explained I could only think this way because the morphine had taken hold. She said she was sorry a few more times.

I spent 22 hours in the ER before they found a bed for me. I was beyond tired and only wanted to sleep. During the transfer to the ward they asked if I had all my possessions. I was lying on a stretcher beside a bag of my clothes and had my purse with the bare-bones wallet and phone. “Yes, I’ve got everything.”

The ward was hell and I wanted to get home. I couldn’t sleep and had no paper to write my blog. I had missed my Wednesday post. Within 12 hours I was talking to the doctor, asking to be released. I don’t like hospitals.

He said I was one of the lucky ones and would recover quickly. I still felt like shit but knew he was right. The last four days had been hell, but the worst was over.

At least I thought it was until I took off that dreaded hospital gown and got dressed. My shoes were not in the bag.

I loved those shoes.