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Be Creative

My boss inspired people. He genuinely thought the people around him could come up with good ideas. He expected us to step up. It was not an option.

I remember the day he told me to think of four ideas that could be made into Kokanee Beer radio commercials. He gave me the weekend to think. On Monday morning I gave him the list and was shocked that by the end of the week one of those little ideas was now a script and soon became a commercial and was heard on the radio.

When a creative genius has faith in you, well, you start to believe in yourself. My boss taught me not to be afraid of those little ideas in my head. I got to spend almost 20 years of him expecting me to be creative.

Last week I watched an old Kokanee television commercial. One of the little known spots from the year we traveled the province filming unusual people that drank Kokanee.

We spent one day in Victoria following a garbage man.

Me and the Labatt Beer client “on set”

Weeks later, back in the edit suite, we started to pull together shots to make some sense of what the commercial could be. It’s a lengthy process. Luckily I was the producer and was a part of every step of the production. I sat in the edit suite along with the creatives.

For some reason… and most likely because we were driven to “be creative”, I started to sing the old “Spiderman” cartoon song and replacing the word spiderman with garbageman. It was funny. It made us laugh. My boss liked the idea. Kokanee and Labatts liked the idea.

Very quickly the music rights were bought, recording studio booked, musicians and singers hired, and then finally the spot was finished and aired. (A little bit of a producer’s nightmare, but I was used to the process back then. It was my job and I loved it.)

Kokanee Commercial

My boss inspired people. He changed my life.

my boss

He taught me to never be afraid of that little voice inside your head.

You never know what it might become.

you never know

 

What’s next?

It was a year ago today. I sat at my desk and wondered what the hell I would do now. For two years I had chased after a dream and that had ended in failure. I lost out and wasn’t picked for a board position I’d coveted for a very long time.

Sitting at my desk and writing my goals for 2018 left me with only one thought….

What now? Or more to the point, what’s next?

Little did I know what 2018 would bring?

I’m not one into platitudes and the old “when one door closes…” doesn’t sit well with me. I take more of the stance that if something goes wrong you’re allowed to feel like crap. You are allowed to crumble. I’ve been there and was certainly feeling that way a year ago.

My trick is to sit with the loss and wait. You don’t have to be still. You don’t have to give up. But you might need to be very patient.

Wait and listen. Contemplate. Sometimes when you are still the best ideas appear.

And you all know what happened next…

It only took two months for the idea to be handed to me. It was a very big idea. Something I had never dreamed of. It was daunting, but I gave it all my heart, followed the best advice, worked my ass off with the help of a ton of people and won.

What a difference a year makes.

So how did your 2018 pan out? Hoping for something better in 2019? Trust me when I say you have no idea what the future will hold.

Whatever you do, stick with what makes you happy. If something inspires you; stretch out. But don’t ever compromise your best side. Make sure that you always carry your integrity with you. And don’t sell yourself short.

You never know what will happen. You never know what’s next.

And that leads me to my most impactful part of 2018.

I met some pretty incredible people during that eight month campaign. Smart, funny, powerful, humble and with hearts bigger than you could ever imagine. New friends that I would never had crossed paths with if not for that crushing defeat a year ago. New friends that have my back and helped push me forward. New friends that picked me.

These people have been the best reward.

What’s next? I can only imagine.

 

Blonde Again

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

On my last blog, I explained that I was going back to Scotland to celebrate turning 60 because I did the trip to mark my 50th birthday.

For months I’ve also been remembering what and who I was when I turned 40. Funny how big birthdays can get you reminiscing about the past. In 1998 I was just retired from my full time job at the ad agency and making my way with a new career. I was dealing with people and my surroundings in a different way. I was evolving into an adult.

Part of the shift was becoming a personal trainer that would opt to shave her head to support a client going through chemo. Why not? It was only hair and a perfect way to make a mark about how I wanted to support my clients and how I wanted to live my life.

Years later I wrote a story about the experience.

 

Bald

Today I am a forty year old bald woman.

Yesterday I had long black hair down to my shoulders.

Today I notice my ears are too big for my face.

Yesterday I looked like everyone else.

Today the wind on my bare scalp chills me to the bone.

Yesterday I still had all my hair to hide behind.

Today people stare at me.

Yesterday I walked into my hairdressers and had my head shaved.

The first step was to cut the bulk of my long hair with scissors.  I was spellbound sitting there watching my reflection as my cherished locks fell away.  The next step came as he used the electric razor for a close crop.  You could now see the shape of my head.  Thank God I had no strange lumps and bumps.  That would have been too much!  Then finally the razor blade to finish the job. There were no tears, just the reflection of a forty year old bald woman looking back at me.

Today I visited my bald client with breast cancer.  She is bald from the chemo and was excited about my gesture to shave my own head to support her journey.  Today she quietly tells me she can’t stand to look at me because it reminds her how sick she is.  She doesn’t want to look at the face of another bald woman.  I am banished.  She tells me to leave and not come back.

Yesterday I was a person embarking on a symbolic gift for a friend.

Today I am a forty year old bald woman.

This piece not only told the story, but helped me find a way to share my life and experiences.

I became a writer. I found my voice.

If I wanted to say something, I would tell you a little tale.

So there was no better way to explain to you the reason why I look like this today.

It really shouldn’t come as a big surprise to the people that know me best.

And face it, there’s something cathartic to reflect about what it means to turn 60. What I’ve learned, what I care about, and what doesn’t matter at all.

Doing this while being blonde just makes me laugh.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

 

 

Change Sucks

Why is change so difficult? Even if it’s something we want it can throw your life into chaos. If it’s something we don’t want, well then there’s a mountain of negative frenzy to plow through.

I don’t like change. Negative or positive. But I also know that deciding not to change may be the worst decision to make. In a way, change is easier when it’s forced on you. Deciding to leap is tough.

With all these ideas floating around my head, I resigned my position as Fundraising Coordinator at the Surrey International Writers’ Conference.

Yes, shocking news if you recently read my last blog about SiWC. (read it here)

I’m well known for telling people that it’s all about intent. If you ever have a question about what to do, just remember your original intent and the answer will be clear.

My intent all along has been to get a book written and published. It’s that intent that led me to my first Surrey Writers’ Conference. It’s been a long journey and I feel that time is running out. I need to get this done.

Heading into 2018 was my kick in the butt.

And let’s face it; I’m not the fundraising sort of person. The position was a great way to procrastinate and not write my book.

So I stepped aside.

As much as I hate change it can make me nostalgic. It made me remember all the people I’ve met at SiWC… some of the highest points were not the most public moments.

-That first year, a writer named Ace Baker gave me the courage to sit down with Jack Whyte so he could critique my stories.

-Chats with Anne Perry are always a lesson in living well and getting on with the work.

-Paula, Joe, Helga, Karalee and Silk…. 5 writers on the same journey. We always talk about it in the bar.

-Terry Fallis gave me more inspiration than I thought was possible and it still resonates today.

-One year, Maryam Tajilrou, one of the staff at The Sheraton Guildford, saved my whole conference by stepping up with an act of kindness.

-Sean Cranbury and Jane Porter and DinoPorn

-Thanks to kc dyer for pointing out that I’m a personal trainer and that’s where my story lives.

-Regan Ross showed me what real courage is.

-Jasper Fforde is a very kind man and gave me faith in my words.

-Tyner Gillies has your back during any emergency.

-And most important of all…being friends with Jen Browne is a blessing and privilege.

Yes, there have been lots of other moments… the joy of being around SiWC and attending the conference is that it could change your life.

It changed mine.

Sometimes change is good.

 

For Dad

Again, this weekend will be for Dad.

My blog from last year, and I do believe I will be re-posting this every year!

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There was never any doubt I would be running the Salvation Army Santa Shuffle again this year. I also knew it would be the topic of my blog this week. As I sat down to write the piece I realized there was no way I could top what happened with my story last year. The Salvation Army people posted it on the homepage of their website…

Sal Dad

I’ve never been so proud of anything I’ve ever written and I’m pretty confidant Dad would have been thrilled.

So it is worth repeating…

Blog from December 3, 2014

My twitter feed asked a question that gave me the answer to what I would blog about this week…

santa shuffle blog

Why do I run the Salvation Army’s Santa Shuffle every year?

On December 4th, 2008 I went to visit Dad. He was not well and the dementia was looming large. We somehow managed to chat about my running in the Santa Shuffle to raise money for the Salvation Army. Because of the run and the time I needed to spend with the triplets, I would not see Dad for two days. Unheard of in the midst of our usual daily visits. But Dad thought the run was important and I think he knew I was also doing it for him. The Salvation Army was his favourite charity.

The run was on Saturday, December 6th. After we finished I spent the day with the kids. As I headed home I picked up the phone message. Get to the hospital as fast as I could.

I was too late. When I arrived Dad was gone.

The next year I did the run and cried for the entire 5k. But I did it for Dad. He would have wanted and expected me to carry on.

I have run the race every year since then. I make a donation and know it’s how Dad would want me to remember him.

The last time Dad and I talked he wished me good luck for the race. And then his last words were, “You are a good daughter.”

I will never know if he was referring to my helping the Salvation Army, or if he meant something more.

I choose to think it was more.

This is why I will run the Santa Shuffle this year.

For Dad.

The Depression Dance

I battle depression but it’s not always a fight…

Sometimes it’s a negotiation.

Sometimes even a partnership.

Lately there has been some give and take.

Life changes, the disease changes and I’ve certainly changed.

I believe the trick is to live a life where you can learn what can help.

Luckily it’s 2017 and the concept of depression is becoming widely known. The Bell Let’s Talk campaign is brilliant for getting the word out and rallying the troops. I give credit to each person that suffers and is brave enough to come forward and confront the stigma.

You see, depression is not prejudiced. It doesn’t care what colour you are or what religion you follow. It doesn’t care where you were born or who you like to have sex with. Rich, poor, famous or a no-name; depression can climb inside anyone. It can strike at any time.

I’ve been inspired by a local writer, Owen Laukkanen, and the way he’s transparent about his struggles. I’m guessing Owen has been a beacon of hope for many in his huge fan base.

Owen is one of the reasons I started to put more effort into my photography.

As more people share their stories I embrace the fact that I’m part of a huge community.  Even better? Some of these people are pretty cool. It’s like an elite club with a harsh entry fee. But once you’re in and look around you wonder at the incredible people who share your journey.

Lately, to ease my mind and give the semblance of moving forward, I’ve been walking at least 10k a day. It wasn’t a plan and I wasn’t in distress but the concept seemed right. Having a fitbit has helped to keep me honest. To make the hours I spend out there a little more interesting, I started taking pictures. It’s odd how your mind can be consumed with looking for a perfect shot to post on social media. There’s nothing like that type of one-pointed concentration to positively focus the mind.

And the extra added bonus… When reaction to the picture is positive the endeavour comes full circle. Motivation, meditation, magic. It’s rewarding to share the moment.

So this blog is to thank each and every one that has liked or loved or commented on one of my “walking” pictures.

As for my long standing dance with depression…

There’s no guarantee who will be the ultimate winner. A fighting chance is all I can ask for.

 

 

 

Goodbye Bob

There was an old world charm about him. Decent, respectful and kind.  He spoke and thought in measured tones. You don’t see this type of man around much anymore. Old school, pragmatic and honourable to the core.

And his best quality? Bob Calder loved his family.

And hockey, Bob loved hockey.

He wore a plaid shirt many Tuesdays and Fridays. I know this because those were the days we trained together and waged a war against the Parkinson’s that tried to control Bob’s life. When I’d comment on the tartan, Bob would give a little nod. It touched my heart to think he wore something Scottish for me.

I followed the Canucks so we could chat about the team during our workouts. Bob knew I wasn’t really a fan. I couldn’t wait to discuss the latest Olympic Russian doping scam with him! We had plans to compete at the 2018 Winter Games (that crazy story is covered in this previous blog Olympic Gold Medal). No doubt Bob would have had something profound to say about the Olympic committee. I bought an Olympic Bobsled t-shirt from the Whistler Slide Centre as a Christmas gift for Bob. He would have called me an idiot but I think he would have loved it.

Bob passed away on Thursday. When his wife, Florence, called with the news, I cried.

This was not supposed to happen.  Bob was winning.

I will miss him. Our time was precious and I wanted more.

A couple months ago I thought of taking a selfie of us. Then quickly realized no picture could ever capture the joyful glint in Bob’s eyes. I’ve never seen someone laugh so much with their eyes. I promised myself to always remember that magical little sparkle.

I wish you’d had the chance to meet Bob. I bet you would have liked him as much as I did.

A true gentleman.

Later that evening, after getting the devastating news and trying to come to terms that I would never see Bob again, I made a trek through the snow to Canuck Place. I thought he would approve. It was a long, cold walk and gave me time to think. I found solace in the magical sparkle.

At the end of each training session, Florence and Bob would walk me to the door. She would say “bye bye” and Bob would give me a wave.

Just like my Dad.

 

Leo and the Hole

The US election has made me long for the good old days of the “West Wing.” It’s still my favourite show and once a year I binge watch the first four seasons. Those are the episodes written by Aaron Sorkin.

This week a post on my Facebook feed had the famous Leo quote.

Link to the video

I’ve kept a copy of those words in my wallet for years. They’re with me all the time. Aaron Sorkin is probably the only writer that could make you believe the White House Chief of Staff could be this type of man. Substance, integrity, and honour.

This guy’s walking down the street when he falls in a hole.  The walls are so steep he can’t get out.  A doctor passes by and the guy yells up, “Hey, can you help me out?”  The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down the hole and moves on.  Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts out, “Father, I’m down in this hole, can you help me out?”  The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on.  Then a friend walks by.  “Hey Joe, it’s me, can you help me out?” and the friend jumps in the hole.  Our guy says, “Are you stupid, now we’re both down here.”  The friend says, “Yeah, but I’ve been down here before and I know the way out.”

Reading this again got me thinking. But first I’ll give you a little background. Leo is a recovering alcoholic and Josh, the guy he’s talking to, has just discovered he’s suffering. Leo vows to be there for Josh, to help him out. Leo has his back.

You see, I’ve been fat, homeless, sexually abused, fired. My heart has been crushed and now I’ve battled cancer. Bla bla bla… none of that matters.

Honestly.   NONE.  OF.  THAT.  MATTERS.

Well, not unless I gained some empathy and maybe a bit of motivation.

Even better, if you come out the other side of crap, get a hold of yourself, make sure you’re OK, then jump back into that hole to see if you can show someone else the way out.

Don’t be righteous, don’t preach, don’t preen and for god’s sake don’t answer an unasked question.

And if the only way you can help is to support the people that are helping others, that’s a good thing.

Most people have a story that will break your heart.

Don’t we all want to know someone who knows the way out of the hole?

blog-ww

 

 

Seaforth Highlanders

I wanted blog about how the Seaforth Highlanders held a huge celebration this past Saturday to mark their return to the Seaforth Armoury.

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Instead, I spent most of the day mulling over the juxtaposition this held for me. The world is crazy right now.  So many places where guns are causing havoc. And here I am, a Tibetan Buddhist practitioner, celebrating the military.

Life is strange.

But for me, life is all about the people you cross paths with and their intent. What’s in their heart?

The Highlanders have been at the Jericho base for four years waiting for the massive reconstruction of the 80 year old Armoury to be completed.

Saturday was the Homecoming.

I got to attend the event as President of the St. Andrew’s and Caledonian Society. Being part of the Society has made me keenly aware of Vancouver’s history, and to be more precise, Vancouver’s Scottish history. Add in my love of pipe bands and it’s easy to see why I have a special place in my heart for the Seaforth Highlanders.  They were established on November 24, 1910 by a group of Vancouverites of Scottish decent. The Armoury was opened on August 26, 1936.

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For years I lived two blocks away and passed it on my way to work. The building and it’s inhabitants have always been a part of the Kitsilano neighbourhood. I remember hearing the pipes being played there decades before I knew I had Scottish blood in me.

Saturday was a day to marvel at this historical place.

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I loved seeing all the military personnel with their uniforms and rows of medals on their chests. The comradery was everywhere.

Saturday was a day to hear the Chor Leoni Men’s Choir sing with the 15th Field Brass and Reed Band and watch the Shot of Scotch dance! It was a day to see old and new friends.

Saturday was a day to hear some of Vancouver’s best pipe bands play their hearts out. I have a special love for the Vancouver Police Pipe Band!

Before the singing and dancing there was a formal ceremony when the Regiment officially marched past the dignitaries and invited guests.. The command of “face right” had been given. From my seat up front I could look right into these people’s eyes. Each so poised and dignified. I was overwhelmed to think of what some might have seen over their years of service. I feared what might be in store for others. I was filled with respect and admiration.

I hoped as they marched past they could see my tears of gratitude.

As the ceremony continued I slipped away to have a view from a high staircase.

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Many people took brilliant pictures of the day. I highly recommend you check out the Seaforth Highlanders Twitter feed if you want to see some of them.

I’ll leave you with the final march past.

Please take a few moments to look at all these amazing people.