Mid-January and the fitness business is my type of juxtaposition.

The gyms are still full with people attempting to fulfil their pesky resolutions.

By this time next week the treadmills won’t have waiting lines and those Zumba classes will be thinning out. Many free-weights will be still. I bet the smoothie venders will also have time on their hands.

It only takes a few weeks for most people to decide that life is short and they should accept their vices.

Very few make it to the end of January with their promised health and fitness makeovers.

This coincides nicely with the return of the Cadbury Easter Eggs arriving at your local stores. Maybe you’ve lost a few of those pounds you put on at Christmas and want to give yourself a treat. And why not? You’ve been good for sooooo long…

People are always asking me if I get busy with newcomers in January. Luckily that has never been the case. The clients I work with are here for the long haul.

The work we do together concerns more of their on-going life rather than some knee jerk reaction to a holiday indulgence. A few waver a bit but it’s more of the ebb and flow of lives lived well rather than a reward and punishment regime.

Tomorrow, next week, next month, or mid-summer; only you will know when the time is right to change a habit or formulate a goal. January 1^st is just a date. It’s not the beginning or the end.

More often, I’ll have a meeting with someone that has been meaning to call me for ages. For some reason they haven’t made the connection. Then they do. And we start.

That‘s when the time is right. That’s when goals are made and plans put into place. That’s when promises are kept.

I see resolve and hard work and determination. I’m in awe as I watch barriers fall. I get to watch people win.

My clients and I laugh at the new people we see crowding into the gym. We know in a couple of weeks we will have the space to ourselves again.

And part of me is a little sad to know how many dreams of victory are being abandoned.

 

The phrase says it all, “Happy New Year.”

It dawned on me that it might be that simple.

Happy

There will be hopes and prayers, resolutions and goals, parties and fireworks.

But what if we just spent 2015 asking ourselves one question?

Does this make me happy or unhappy?

Then opt for the happy one.

The trick might be to know what makes you truly happy.

I’m pretty sure you will know the answer.

Then choose happy.

It will be more difficult than you think.

But happier.

There has been a flurry of conversations, emails and phone calls about the planned Robbie Burns Supper at the famous Terminal City Club here in Vancouver.

It’s the start of a new tradition for the St. Andrew’s & Caledonian Society.

I thought the lead up to this January 25th would be easy. With no Burns Reading Marathon to organize there would be no pressure or stress before the big day.

I thought wrong.

I should have seen this coming. As president of the St. Andrew’s & Caledonian Society I have been asked to recite one of Robbie’s poems as part of the evening’s program.

My reaction: well, that would ruin the evening.

Once again, dyslexia rears its hold over me.

My learning disability comes back to claim its place. No matter how far I’ve come with my workarounds and coping skills, the act of speaking complex words escapes me. I see the word, usually understand it’s meaning, and even hear others say it, but my brain doesn’t know how to get my voice to copy it. Simple everyday English words are fine but throw in some phrases written in the style from 1750 in Scotland and you have me crippled. My brain will misfire.

I’m contemplating the scope of this while shopping at the grocery store next door to the renowned Fraser Academy School. It’s lunch time and before I know it I’m surrounded by Hornets. That’s the school mascot and the emblem is on most of the student’s sweaters as they hover in the aisles, chatting away and looking for food to buy. I know the school well, my friend’s son went there and I’ve met many graduates.

I look at these young people with admiration and empathy, and hope they know how blessed they are. They’re safe at a place where they will learn how to get past their dyslexic burden and learn to cope much better than I ever did.

For me, school was a place of fear, never knowing when I would have to get up and read out loud. The panic of knowing I would not be able to voice many of the words floating before me on the page. The classroom was a place where I learned how to cheat to stay alive. A place where I knew I was going to fail.

If these students have those same fears, they are surrounded by teachers to take their hand and show them the way.

I bet each of these students would jump at the chance to recite the poem.

The secret is that I’m not that brave.

So why ruin a perfect meal.

 

 

For those who follow my twitter feed, @TriciaBarkerMEP, you will know I was in Seattle this past weekend helping a client complete the Seattle Half Marathon. We finished the race in fine form and had fun tweeting pics about our mascot @runspirrelrun1.

It was a joyful time with the added benefit of being in the USA on Black Friday. Yes, we planned to do some shopping.

Instead we ran smack into a Ferguson protest. I assume their plan was to disrupt the traditional tree lighting ceremony in the heart of downtown Seattle. It worked. We were on the street when the rabble took shape.

We wanted to watch the Christmas festivities, not witness an angry mob.

The police were everywhere and I noticed how calm they seemed and prepared for what might happen. As the slogan chanting started and the mass started to move it was apparent this was more about herding than stopping.

We were quickly surrounded. I wasn’t afraid or concerned but more curious. All of a sudden a huge black man was in front of me and yelled, “Stop shopping and stop shooting black people!” For once I was smart enough not to offer a glib reply to an insane comment and just turned away.

I would have taken more notice if he has yelled, “Stop shopping and do something about these people sleeping at our feet!” All around the streets of downtown Seattle were people huddled under sleeping bags and blankets and anything to block out the cold. The temperature was falling and I was shocked to see how many were still outside.

No homeless person I saw looked up at the protesters, and as far as I could see the protesters ignored the homeless. They seemed too busy with what had happened days and miles away to be concerned about the immediate tragedy.

My client and I went to dinner and put our minds to the business at hand: shopping and running a half-marathon.

That night it was easy to ignore the protestors. Today I am still thinking about those faceless, freezing souls all around us.

I will never be guilty of shooting a black man, but I am guilty of not doing anything for the people on the street that night.

 

 

I love politics. I love human nature. I love when someone exceeds my perception of who they are.

Last Friday I was in a meeting to learn how to be a scrutineer for the NPA Political Party. I was there to support their candidates in the Vancouver municipal election. I like to expose myself to different experiences and thought this would be interesting.

As we gathered for the training a presentable, older woman came into the room, sat at my table and started a rant…

“We must get rid of the mayor; he is the most vile man in history.”

She looked at me for confirmation. I gave her a smile, leaned forward, and with a soft drawl replied.

“Really? The most vile man in history? Really? I know we all want this mayor to be gone, but I can think of lots of people worse than him. So I will say you are wrong.”

She looked at me as if I had just become the second vilest person in history. I smiled back.

These types of group situations have never been my strong point.

In the end, the election in Vancouver didn’t go as I had hoped.

I was pleased that my favourite mayor, Richard Stewart, was re-elected in Coquitlam. I have dealt with Mayor Stewart many times and he is impressive. A man of integrity.

We first met while I was working at the BC Highland Games. After the dignitary introductions, speeches and obligatory chat, Mayor Stewart headed off to stroll through the Games area. I watched from afar as he bent to pick up some garbage someone had thrown on the ground. It struck me that he was a man quietly taking care his city. On every meeting since, I have had that same impression. He is a kind, smart and good man, taking care of his city.

Today Mayor Stewart made me cry. He gave an interview about the battle his daughter is waging with depression. He described how he spent the campaign, not out shaking hands and garnering votes, but in a hospital. “My role as Dad was way more important than my role as a politician.” And he still won.

Listen to the interview with Liza Yuzda of CKNW. Mayor Stewart’s voice will break your heart.

He did the right thing. And he still won. And now he is willing to tell the story. This gives me hope.

I love politics. I love human nature, and I especially love when someone exceeds my perception of who they are.