Chances Are

Stop trying to scare me! I am fed up with news stories and advertisements designed to freak me out. Everywhere I turn, monsters lurk in the shadows. Cybercrime. Extreme weather. Economic disaster. Road rage. Housing crises. Someone wants to rob me. Something wants to kill me. Someone wants to be me.

I have no idea when the rules changed, but in broadcasting school, the first one was to keep my tone optimistic. One day while on the air, the weather forecast predicted an 80% chance of rain and I reported that we had a 20% chance of sun. It rained that day, but not the entire day and I dunno about you, but I appreciate a break in the drizzle.

In my mid-thirties, after passing a particularly stubborn kidney stone, the doctor warned that I had a 30% chance of having a second one. At first I thought, crap. Then I thought, wait a minute. The odds actually favoured a happier prospect. I had a 70% chance of not having a second one (and so far, so good). But why didn’t he say so? Why did he emphasize the lesser chance? It couldn’t have been to give me hope. We can’t have people believing that all will be well. There’s more money and more power in keeping people fearful.

Cancer is everywhere and has been everywhere for seemingly ever. But since it executed a hit-and-run on my mother that still has me reeling, I am particularly sensitive about it. I haven’t been driven to donate money to the related charities, though they’ve certainly upped their fundraising game. October is awareness month, after all, and I am more acutely aware of it than usual.

When I hear that one in sixty-four women will develop breast cancer, it’s hard not to panic immediately that I will be the one. Or that Ter will. Or my wee sister. Or my poet laureate. Or my office roomie.

Wait a minute. One in sixty-four will means sixty-three in sixty-four won’t—and I’m not jamming my head into the sand on this. I’m just deciding to be positive. To protect myself from manifesting a fearful intention. Thoughts are energy, positive and negative. Like attracts like. I’m certainly not saying that someone who fears cancer is doomed to be the one in sixty-four, but isn’t it more hopeful to focus on being in the healthy majority? Isn’t it more hopeful to focus on the positive side of everything? Contrast is a fact; there is no light without dark. If you flip that somewhat negative thought, however, then there is no dark without light. Life happens according to plan. That is also a fact. But we choose how we live it, be it in love or in fear.

I choose love. I choose to be positive. I choose optimism. I choose to deflect the negativity wherever possible, whenever possible. Of course I have off days. Mood swings and massive occasions of WTF? Contrast, right? Human. Things I must live with because living with them is why I’m here. I will not, however, allow myself to be intimidated by a society bent on intimidating me.

Being positive takes effort. It takes conscious thought. It takes persistence and courage and a host of other things that escape me right this second – but it can be done! And because for most of the time I live in a friendly, generous and loving universe, it works. Try it sometime. When you think or hear something negative, flip it and see what you get.

I bet the odds end up in your favour.

With love,

Word O’ the Day

Once in a while, I come across a word – like “flânerie” or “cozen” – that is so good it becomes part of my vocabulary. My all-time favourite board game is Balderdash, where players try to guess the definition of a lesser known word. Everyone writes down what they think, and the options are read aloud along with the true meaning. The player who guesses the correct one gets a point. (The same game was known in ye olden days as “Dictionary” and played with, you guessed it, a dictionary and scrap paper.) Some meanings are obvious. Others, not so much. Therein lies the fun of the game.

People are extremely creative when it comes to supposing what a word might mean. One of my favourites was my brother-in-law’s attempt at “costard”: the villainous offspring of an aunt or uncle. Or words to that effect.

Another was my older older brother’s shot at “pyrope”: a rope for lassoing runaway pies.

And incorrect though it is, I still use the word “bagge” when referring to the ground crew who handle luggage at the airport.

Each morning, I open my email to discover Merriam-Webster’s word of the day. Many of them I already know. Others go straight to the delete folder (I am at work, after all). But there are occasions when the WOTD is so intriguing that I have to know what it means.

The best one last week was “crapulous”, an adjective that sounded so applicable to my life of late that I had to pursue it. But does it mean what it sounds to mean? In the tradition of Balderdash, choose one of these three definitions:

“sick from excessive indulgence in liquor”

“requiring skimming, as in a soup or stock”

“the opposite of fabulous”

On your marks, get set … Look it up!

Make It Count

Finally! Def Leppard is nominated for induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame! At last! How many anniversary editions of Hysteria did they have to release to make the list?

“We have to get online and vote,” Ter said, and I agree. But wait. We can vote as often as we like—daily, if we choose. What the ...?

The same thing is happening on PBS with The Great American Read. People are encouraged to go online and vote for their favourite novel—or novels (yes, more than one can be a favourite)—from a shortlist of 100, as many times as they want before the deadline. The most votes wins, so vote now and vote often.

Huh?? Imagine if the same rule applied to political elections. And why doesn’t it? If I can tip the scales in the Leppard King’s favour by clicking OK a dozen times a day, why do I only get one crack at the House of Parliament?

Give me a mittful of ballots. The most votes would still win, right? And I can say I participated in the democratic process. Never mind if I vote for three separate candidates eight times apiece. Okay, maybe one will get nine votes and the other two will get, say, three and six, respectively. Do the math and my first choice will clearly be the one who got nine votes. Meanwhile, my crazy neighbour votes twenty times for one candidate and guess what? Nutbar’s guy gets in by two votes. How is that fair?

I doubt fairness to the candidate/nominee (or at all) is the point. It seems these online polls are geared toward empowering the voter, specifically the chronically indecisive voter with a nervous tic in his index finger. I understand the challenge of naming a favourite anything—my favourite Leppard song depends on the day—but come on. If you want the Leps in the RnR Hall of Fame, by all means, say so; however ...

Once is enough!

Thanks for Nothing

This Thanksgiving weekend, I am grateful for the impermanent nature of reality.

Didn’t see that coming, did you? Neither did I. Looking back through the blog log, I haven’t always posted about Thanksgiving on the second Monday in October, and I was disinclined to write about it this year, too. After all 2018 has put me through, gratitude, despite being the fundamental concept of my path to happiness, has been hard to come by.

Which doesn’t explain why I felt compelled to write about it anyway. I resisted at first, stubbornly loyal to my sentiment that life has sucked since last spring. True, I have seen glimmers of light in the overarching darkness—I can’t not see them, given my equally stubborn loyalty to understanding contrast—but how blatantly cock-eyed does this optimist want to be? As a cherished colleague recently observed, “ ‘Committed’ has two meanings.”

My gratitude list always starts with Ter. She’s the rock in my life. Batman to my Robin. The yin to my yang. My cool inspector, armchair therapist, sounding board, heavy lifter and nutrition coach. From her, one thing leads to another and my list gets longer almost by itself. Family, friends, co-workers, abundance, prosperity, health, creativity, yaddayaddayadda ...

Though I remain deeply grateful for everything on it, today that list feels more like a rote recitation than a genuine expression of thanks. So when my little voice urged me to write something specifically for Thanksgiving, my first response was, Forget it; I’ve got nothing new to say.

Nothing new? Really? Maybe you should ponder that more closely, Ru.

So I did. I gave it some serious consideration, and this is what I came up with:

I am grateful for the impermanent nature of reality. To be clear, of this reality.

Everything in this 3-D world is temporary. Everything. Our homes, our jobs, our money, our families, even our compostable containers—everything we think we own can be gone in a heartbeat. Be it by fire, flood, divorce, disease, crooked accountants, you name it, there are no guarantees. None. Zero, zip, zilch. And you know what? There aren’t meant to be. It’s strangely liberating to realize that no matter what happens, you can overcome it. You may not think you can (alas, too many people don’t), but humans are resilient, resourceful, and more adaptable than they’re taught to believe.

Coincidentally, even as our possessions are temporary, so are the less tangible things. Like heartache. Like grief. Like sorrow. Even happiness is fleeting, so best to embrace it while it’s here. This very moment is already over, never to return, and don’t look back at it else you’ll miss the one you’re in and the next one will be in your face before you’re ready. It might be the most joyous moment in living memory, or it might bring physical pain like you’ve never imagined. Whatever it brings, the moment and everything in it will surely pass. It has to. While time is relative, it’s also perpetually in motion. We’re always moving forward, back to where we came from, where the only thing that does matter, the only thing that does last forever, is love.

We are spiritual beings having a human experience. I admit, Spirit Ru has not liked the human part of this gig one whit of late, but everything I have endured, everything I have lost (or thought I’ve lost), has brought me to the point where I can honestly say how grateful I am that nothing here is permanent. Live the moment. Good, bad or indifferent, it will not last forever—and in the end, the one thing we take with us is the one thing we brought when we were born:

Ourselves.

With love (and gratitude),