Sunrise, Sunset II

Do you remember the old riddle about how to eat an elephant? “One bite at a time.”

The big picture—a movie, for instance—is made up of a bunch of little pictures, run at speed in a sequence to create a larger whole. That’s kind of what life is: a series of little pictures, or one bite of an elephant at a time.

You have everything you need to manage a twenty-four hour period. Skills and resources are at hand to get you through every day. If you can restrain the urge to dwell on days past or worry too much about tomorrow, you can make the most of that day. And, yes, much of how the day is handled depends on where you’re at, but you must also remember that all you can do at any moment is your best, even if that best is not what it would be on another day. Forget about what may or may not be; it doesn’t matter. Just focus on the now.

It’s good to have a plan for the future, but not at the expense of the present moment. Besides, the future is made up of present moments, so you may want to consider this before you beam into an imagining that may never happen. As Master Yoda says in The Empire Strikes Back (my still-favourite Star Wars film), “The future is always in motion.” This makes it difficult to predict, so why waste now anticipating what isn’t assured tomorrow?

By the same token, looking back with guilt and/or regret only hinders your progress. It can even stop you from being better than your current best when it involves berating yourself for things said or unsaid, done or undone. It’s past; let it go. Forgive everyone—including yourself—involved in whatever incident still bugs you and free yourself from the video replay of what cannot be changed. If you can’t do that, and I know, it’s easier said than done, then use the past as a starting point: “From now on, I will (insert more positive perspective here).” Or, better yet, narrow it to the present moment: “Right now, I am (insert more positive perspective here).”

And if you can’t conjure a positive perspective on your own, a good default is simply “I am loved.” This is true in the past, present and future.

Some days will seem longer and others far too short. Some will go well and some will be disasters—through no fault of your own, I might add. You’re not the only one whose best is different from day to day; the kindest thing you can do is accept others as they are in any given instant, understanding that where they are may not be as obvious.

Sunrise signals a fresh start to something I hope will be wonderful. Sunset is my time to reflect on how it went before I put it (and myself) to bed. This is Ru 2018, dedicated to releasing the past, living the present moment as best I can, and trusting the future to unfold as a result.

Try it for a day. Just for today ... and watch the elephant disappear, one bite at a time.

With love,

Anywhere But Here

Rough week, last week. Anxieties to address, disruptions to endure, and a rock-your-world for Ter when she was “asked” to give up her office and move (again) to a cubicle at work. That day was the worst, not because she was particularly attached to her office, but because we are all human and change of any ilk is always upsetting—even when it turns out for the best which, in this case, it has.

Before it all turned out, however, and while she worked through her human, the world was a gloomy place. I struggle with my Zen in these moments, torn between believing that all will be well and feeling like the fool on the hill for believing that all will be well. You know, even when things are not okay, you are okay. I am no Pollyanna; I can get as dark and sarcastic as the most miserable cynic. I just choose to seek light in that dark.

Sometimes, though, it’s hard. Sometimes, I don’t even want to try. I just want to lie on the side of the road and let the world go by.

On the worst morning, ahead of a dental appointment I’d been dreading for months, I asked myself where I wanted to be.

Anywhere but here, I thought.

In the next beat, my little voice reminded me that I couldn’t be anywhere but here, so I’d better man up and deal with it. I can’t say it made me feel better. In truth, I wanted to cry because the truth hurts and the truth is that each of us is always Here. In this moment, with neither past nor future, we can only ever be in the present. Good or bad, peaceful or painful, all we have is the moment we’re in right now. Wishing to be elsewhere won’t change it. Nothing you can do will change it. Nope, we’re stuck with right here, right now, so you know what? Make the best of it. Choose how you will live it. If the best you can do is grit your teeth and endure it, do so, but while you’re enduring it, hold fast to another truth: this moment, like all the moments gone before and still to come, will pass. A new moment will replace it, and in that new moment awaits a chance for something better.

Ter is happy in her new space.

My dental appointment was uneventful.

The week is over and we both survived.

Hallelujah.

With love,

Happy Feet

Be it sugar, chemicals, fatigue, or a combination of all three, my frame of mind has hung a little crooked this weekend. I woke up well enough this morning, but it didn’t take long for my mind to seize those 17 seconds and drive me to the brink of tears over unfounded fear and imagined obstacles. It’s nothing if not thorough in its anticipation of the worst.

Fortunately, Ter was on an even keel when I got up. We had our tea and a little discuss of plans for the day, then I had a tiny meltdown. She got me through it with sympathy and a reminder to set aside those prevalent thoughts of the car blowing up or my teeth falling out. Neither thing is likely to happen, and certainly not right at this moment, so let it go for now and stay focused on what’s real.

I love her for that. I love her for many things, actually, but her ability to steady me when I falter may be the most valuable commodity not on the market.

So, after being shored up, I chose these socks despite (or perhaps because of?) the fact that their flaming neon colours clash madly with my jeans and Def Leppard hoodie. Ter happened on me in the living room, and laughed out loud when she saw my feet on the coffee table. “I’m glad to see you wearing such cheerful socks,” she said.

“Yeah,” I replied, wriggling my toes, “they make me happy.”

And so does she.

Ocean Therapy

Looking at the ocean through my living room window, I remain amazed at my good fortune to have landed in this plum spot. People come from all over to walk/drive along the water and here I am right across from it.

For me, Dallas Road has long been synonymous with the moments “in between”, particularly when my arthritis was new and the then-CARS (Canadian Arthritis and Rheumatism Society) was housed in the Cook Street village. Three times a week, my mother would pick me up from school and take me to physio. After my treatment, I’d sometimes ask if we could drive home along Dallas Road. It was the longer route, but Mum often obliged.

To this day (if I’m not driving), I stare out the car window and remember those drives—moments of limbo when I didn’t think or worry or fear. I just watched for whitecaps on the waves.

I still do that. Now I can do it on my sofa with a cup of tea and silly jazz playing, but I acutely remember riding in the big blue Merc, being more intent on the colour of the sea than the state of my bones and, in some way, being grateful for that moment.

How precious those moments were.

And are.

Last of the Summer Whine

Back to work tomorrow. I’m not ready. The pace, the paperwork, the people – I like my job and I like the people I work with, but during the past fortnight my life has settled into its own rhythm and it has been heavenly.

Though I’m trying to be reasonable about it, my inner two-year-old is stiff as a board and screaming. I took her on a long beach flânerie this morning, keeping as close to the water as possible to avoid the “pound pound pound, huff huff huff” of the ubiquitous joggers. Good that the tide was out; regrettable that the beach is rocky and tipped at an angle that makes walking more difficult. Every step required presence of mind, which I guess was a positive given that it kept me focused on the moment rather than dwelling on my resistance to the inevitable. When I got home, Ter reflected my feelings with her own, then suggested we enjoy our day rather than waste it fretting about tomorrow.

And tomorrow and tomorrow.

The Calista/Darius story got serious traction during the past couple of days. I’m at the two-thirds point where I finally foresee an ending though I’m yet unsure how it will look for Calista when I get there. I also took another look at the urban vampire series I’d started BL (before Lucius); the character sketch of Rob Browning was taken from it and now I’m contemplating how to rework the whole story because it won’t farkin’ let me go. Rob and Cassie are the star-crossed lovers and Darius is the bad guy. The universal plot portent, I know. I recently watched an interview with George RR Martin wherein he quoted Faulkner’s reminder that the human heart in all its conflict is what makes a story. Whether it is set in the wild west, outer space, 17^th century France or the Amazon jungle, the characters make it real … even if one is a vampire.

Alien Observation

My favourite time to walk along the water is before 8:00 a.m. Mornings are better than afternoons or evenings; if I’m enjoying a flânerie after 8:00, I become an obstacle for joggers on iPods, joggers pushing baby strollers, joggers with big dogs, joggers in pairs, joggers in groups—you get the idea.

Last Friday, the sky over the ocean was so dramatic that I chose to walk home along the cliffs and marvel at the majestic light piercing the clouds. You’d think the prevailing sound would be the surf rolling or the wind singing through my earrings, but more constant than the rhythm of Nature breathing was the staccato “pound pound pound” of rubber hitting asphalt and the accompanying “huff huff huff” of a cardio system under duress.

I wanted to scream at them: “Stop and look at this picture, you idiots; this light on those mountains will never come again!”

It’s kind of annoying to feel like I’m poking along the pedestrian highway and that I should get out of their way, but I get irked when they blow past me, too. The thought occurred that if I was an alien who’d just beamed down from the mothership, I would immediately assume that earthlings run everywhere … and I’d be sorry for the poor beasts.

It Is What It Is

I only think I'm a drone. This guy really is!

Hands up, everyone who is doing what they love!

Ah. Me, neither.

I suspect it’s been so for most people for millennia. Despite what self-help coaches say, circumstances are not so easily changed. Those who manage to improve their status or acquire their dream job/home/mate etc. more often discover a new set of args that differ but are no less, er, arguous than the args they were trying to escape. No one is happy all the time. And you know why?

Life is meant to be a challenge. Without adversity, there is no growth, no progress, and no awareness of the truly sublime. I refer not to society as a group, but to the individual, to each unique spirit in whatever role is being played this time out. The real challenge is to find peace whether or not you love what you’re doing. That’s not to say you must be content with what you have—by all means, reach for that dream. I hope you attain it. But happiness can happen any time, anywhere, in any condition.

Conversely, so can unhappiness.

The choice is yours.

I suppose I could dump my government job and step off the cliff in pursuit of a writing career, but I kinda like the regular paycheque and—given the amount of dental work I’ve had of late—the accompanying benefits. Decision made. I accept that the gov’t job ain’t my bliss, but it doesn’t have to be my life, either. Sometimes it is, or seems to be, and that’s when awareness kicks in. I can let it rule me, or I can rule it. Life itself is neutral. How I perceive it determines how I feel about it. I’m okay with hating it now and then; as I say, without contrast, boredom would kill me. But it is what it is, so it’s really up to me. Whenever possible, in whatever circumstance, wherever I find myself, my conscious choice is to find peace/happiness/contentment.

Why choose anything else?

The Flâneur Society’s Guide to Getting Lost

Wear comfortable shoes.

Remember your house keys.

Bring your limo pass in case you wander so far afield that you’d welcome a ride home.

Put a fiver in your pocket so you can buy a drink should you find yourself near a café.

Have no direction in mind.

Give yourself no time limit.

Start walking.

How easy is that?

Gone Writing

Viktor – the King’s Man

Andrei – the King

Stacia – Andrei’s queen

Nikolai – Andrei’s heir

? – Andrei’s younger brother

Tatiana, Susanna – Andrei’s daughters

Asian Mist – decaf lemon/ginger tea with gingerbread syrup and foamed milk. OMG! So good!

I intended on a decaf mocha when Ter dropped me in the village, this morning. Viktor is a dark, earthy character (unsure what that means yet—saturnine? Brooding? Serious? All of the above?) and the mocha seemed to fit, but ginger will always trump coffee, even coffee heavily laced with chocolate.

So. CR goes live this week as Ru pursues an exercise prompted by a generic instrumental entitled “Crystal Mist”. I liked the poetry of the words so much that I tried to imagine what a crystal mist looks like, and from there I got pictures, feelings, the sense of a story—one I’d like to write in the style of “Four Legs and a Tale”, i.e., by freestyling in the moment.

The idea struck a few weeks ago. I’ve been writing mentally while waiting, as Agatha Christie recommended, for a chair, a table, a typewriter and some peace. I’m on vacation this week with the house to myself. The planets are aligned to let me begin. All I have to do is stay out of the way … yet already I fear that putting words on the screen will dilute the strength of the vision, that my skill will reduce a potentially vibrant piece to something pale and—dare I say?—boring.

Geez, Ru. Viktor wouldn’t have chosen you if you weren’t up to the task. It’s just the usual artist’s fear of the blank canvas. All I need do is close my eyes and start transcribing. I’ve recently picked up a couple of new “be here now” tricks, so this story is a test of quantum physics as much as a creative endeavour. Not like the salvation of the world hangs in the balance; again, I’m just playin’.

I’ll keep the blog posted with my progress. Right now my job is to quit dawdling. Time to get on my horse and gallop through that crystal mist.

Chocolate Meditation

There are meditations for walking. There are meditations for driving. There are bedtime meditations, sunrise meditations, green tea meditations, cooking meditations, eating meditations, standing-in-line meditations, and even elevator meditations. There seems to be a meditation for every moment of every hour of every day, each designed to keep us focused on the present, to help us with intention and to further the quest for inner peace.

I have yet to happen on a meditation for chocolate, but I may have discovered why. Chocolate doesn’t need one. By its very nature, chocolate can stall time in its tracks.

Pop a piece of your favourite flavour and feel your cares melt away with the cocoa butter in your mouth. Inhale the sweet perfume as it rises from the back of your tongue. Lose yourself in the pure, unadulterated pleasure of becoming one with the gods who created this bliss. The real world fades into the wallpaper if the chocolate is properly enjoyed, and you emerge from the moment calmer and more serene than you were before it began.

(Breathe in) I smell heaven.

(Breathe out) I taste heaven.

(Breathe in) I feel heaven.

(Breathe out) I know heaven.

Once the clock resumes ticking, I guarantee you’ll be less stressed about it. So perhaps there’s a chocolate meditation after all.

Special Event

When the special event is undefined, you invent your own. Mine is a day off – a glorious, sunny, free day to myself. This post is the only writing I plan to do, today. I have no one tugging on my sleeve or whispering in my ear, so it seems that Cristal and Tess and Reijo and all my other little voices are taking the day off as well.

I asked Ter to drop me in the village on her way to work so I could get in my walk early. I’m glad I packed the Canon, else I’d have missed the photo op of a local peahen taking her morning constitutional. In a weird kind of role reversal, I was on the cedar path by the park and she was on the street, but we nodded politely to each other and continued along our respective routes. 

Then I strolled along the cliff at Dallas Road to home. The ocean was no more than a big puddle, the tide being out with no wave action in progress, and the mountains were so shrouded in mist that they might have been erased overnight. No matter. I truly appreciated the peace of the moment.

The pace is picking up outside my window: more traffic is revving past at higher RPMs and the young bucks down the street are hammering away at the outrageously overpriced condo they’re building. I feel slightly removed from it all, though; this is a nice place from which to watch the world go by. Tea is calling—some form of peach, methinks—and I should do something about breakfast. A half-cup of butter sits on the kitchen counter and will find its way into some form of baking later on, between my movie at 10:00 and Bill Maher at 3:00. And maybe, just maybe, today my book and I will make it to the back yard for some early summer reading.

Or not. That’s what makes today’s event so special.

Accepting Impermanence

One of my molars lost its crown last week. Diagnosis: advanced decay in the tooth under the porcelain, I think due to a buggered root canal but no one at the dentist’s office was saying. Prognosis: not good. Resolution: yank the tooth and build a bridge between the flanking teeth. Since I’m all for keeping as many teeth for as long as I can, I’ve committed to the plan and the first step happened yesterday: the tooth was extracted.

No one likes dental work—if they do, they need more help than a dentist can give them. I have spent years getting over my childhood, but the last tooth I had pulled was wildly painful (and also the result of a root canal gone bad). It’s hard to get past it until you get past it, right? Fortunately, my recent adoption of the “be here now” and “worry is a waste of time” policies helped immensely in getting me through the wait time over the weekend. I hardly thought at all about what awaited on Monday, and when I did, I acknowledged the anxiety, then boxed it up and set it aside.

On Monday morning, however, Ter read my mind and handed me Your True Home—the Everyday Wisdom of Thich Nhat Hanh. I sat with the book in my hands and asked myself: “What wisdom will help me today?” I then performed my thumbing ritual, eventually opening the book to page 361:

“Offering Flowers to the Buddah”

When I began this little ritual a few weeks back, I would often look at a heading and think, Seriously? I have learned to restrain judgement (and dismissal) until I’ve read the piece—as I did yesterday morning.

It was all about the importance of accepting impermanence. Nothing lasts forever. Everything changes. Accepting impermanence enables us to suffer less and enjoy life more. I’m paraphrasing, of course, but the nugget in this piece really helped me. I was upset at losing the tooth because I was afraid of how much it would hurt to have it pulled. Soooo … accept that the tooth has to go. Accept that it will be painful (pain is inevitable; suffering is optional), but this too shall pass. Breathe. And know that all will be well.

It took 45 minutes and four, count ʼem four, needles to numb me sufficiently for him to do the job. When I was finally frozen solid, I closed my eyes, felt a little pressure, heard a little scraping, thought, Good bye tooth, I’m letting you go—and it was done. No pain, no noise … and a lot of bloody gauze. Yikes, recovery is the brutal part.

It too shall pass.

Present Moment, Wonderful Moment

Finally! I’ve wanted a morning picture of the Olympic Mountains for weeks, but the weather has only cooperated on workdays when I’m dashing to the car. The sun sharpens the snowy peaks and shadowy hollows in a way unmatched by any other time of day, and this morning—my day off—I seized the moment.

I am not a morning person. Being forced to rise before my preferred time, however, has taught me to appreciate the glory of a sunrise and the quiet moments before the rest of the world awakens. Now that spring/summer is here, my treasured morning meanderings are about to resume. Sometimes I sit by the water, other times I stroll through the neighbourhood with all senses attuned. I smell the salty tang of the sea, watch the sun pull colour from the gardens, listen to the music of birdsong and the whispering breeze in the leaves. I lose myself in the moment, walking and marvelling until my big joints start to whine. Then it’s time for home and tea in the Ocean Room, where I can sit and watch the world cruise by outside my window.

Or, as in today’s case, do some blogging, listen to some smooth jazz, and decide where the day will take me from here. Writing figures prominently, of course. As I expected, Cristal’s angel story is coming to the surface—I’ve already written a ton of stuff for her, so right now I’m pondering what I can use and what I must dump. I’d rather not dump any of it, since every word represents a flash of inspiration and a bucket of sweat. That said, what I don’t use with her may be useful in another story. It happens, sometimes. Because I write without a definite plan, sometimes two tales begin as one and eventually I have to determine what piece belongs where. It’s as much a puzzle as it is a conjuring and if I relax and go with it, I have more fun. It’s magical when the pieces fall into place and a story emerges. The ending often comes halfway through the project; until then, I am quietly freaking out as I wonder where I’m going. Again, relax and go with it, Ru. Geez. It’s not like I’m defusing a bomb or anything.

I’m just playin’.

Present Moment

I watched a guy on a street corner the other day. He got there as the “don’t walk” signal kicked in and while I thought he’d go for it anyway, he hesitated. In that brief pause, he missed his opportunity. The light turned red and north/south traffic began to flow. He stood for a sec, visibly twitching, then pivoted on his heel to cross in front of my car. Again, he waited too long and the light changed. Spinning, he was away like a thoroughbred at the races, but having observed his agitated behaviour, I thought, Are you kidding? You can’t wait for two minutes at a traffic light? What-is-the-big-rush?

Same goes for the driver of the big a** truck who changed lanes three times to reach the intersection no further ahead of me because the traffic was literally bumper-to-bumper—and this on a Saturday afternoon when you have to know that it’s gonna be nuts out there. But really, the pedestrian seeking the quickest way across the street puzzled me more. Admittedly, I get miffed if my rhythm is stalled by a mistimed crossing signal, but you know what? It’s fun to stand still for a minute and watch the world zoom by. It pulls me from mindless chaos to mindful presence. At least, with practice, I hope it will.

I learned a wonderful meditation last week, courtesy of Ter’s current philosophical mentor, the marvelously tranquil Thich Nhat Hanh. It’s short and simple, so I’ve remembered and am applying it when required:

(breathe in) Calm

(breathe out) Smile

(breathe in) Present Moment

(breathe out) Wonderful Moment

I can’t meditate in front of a candle—I fall asleep—but I can do it on a street corner. Whenever I feel myself taking off into orbit, I can slow myself down and proceed more peacefully.

Sometimes. Not always. But I’m getting there.

"Under the Porch"

A quiet space. A private place. Soothing shadows and solitary silence. They’ll never think to look for me here, once they realize I’m not there.

I love them. I do. I am there for them, always. When they need a cuddle. A companion. A neutral ear. An excuse to play. They think my life is empty without them ... and it would be, if not for these stolen moments under the porch.

I can hear my heartbeat.

I can smooth my fur.

I can rest undisturbed.

I can be.

My name is called above the floorboards. My corner of the sofa is empty. I am not in anyone’s room. I am not in the yard. I am nowhere they can see. When rising panic trills in someone’s voice, I will emerge to a flurry of attention aimed at soothing themselves rather than welcoming me.

I love them. I do.

My life would be empty, but it would be mine. 

Being an introvert, even one with extrovert tendencies, can be difficult in our demanding world. At the end of a particularly exhausting day, I will “go under the porch” to recharge my batteries undisturbed. I am a people person, thus a people pleaser, so while this piece was written from a pet’s point of view, it easily applies to the way I sometimes feel about being “Dr. Ruth”.

Today is my most precious day off—one with no plans except to write write write. Reijo’s romance is once again moving along smoothly, so I’m treating myself to a pot of peach momotaro as I follow my hero's path to wedded bliss. He’s a lovely boy, exactly the sort of character to work with on a sublimely sunny day. Gratitude abounds.

With love,

The Importance of Tea (Part VII)

“Serenitea”

A treasured day off. After two weeks of recalibrating to the office routine, I have a day to myself … and I’ve given myself permission to indulge. The Ocean Room is warmed up, I have Nicole’s new story to read, and yesterday I bought nine handrolled balls of peach momotaro—a blooming tea that tastes of fresh peach and cost a king’s ransom. Never let it be said that I don’t know how to care for myself; I don’t always do it, but when I’m drained and need Ru time, I make it count. As Cal Leandros has said, “Desperate times call for criminally overpriced tea.” A fortnight of work following vacation probably doesn’t classify as “desperate times” (not by Cal’s estimation, anyway); however, my batteries need charging in a big way. That’s close enough for me.

I have brewed a pot of China gold, Nic’s story awaits, and I have the rest of the morning in which to enjoy both. Perhaps this afternoon, I’ll take the Canon on a photographic flânerie, then flake on the couch and listen to a vintage Alan Parsons album from start to finish. Tales of Mystery and Imagination seems to fit the mood. Now that I’m done with Shade, my mind is turning toward another project, but there’s no pressure. Not today. Today is all about the moment and being in it … one drop at a time.

Acceptance

This moment sucks. So how do I find joy in it? How do I drum up enthusiasm for the relentless pounding behind my left eye?

I don’t. I take Tylenol and a nap, and hope that it’s better when I wake.

It isn’t. In fact, it might be worse. It’s one of those hormonally-based migraines that last thirty-six hours and peak at 5 on the Richter scale. Not enough to make me barf, but enough to make being awake unpleasant. It also gets me to thinking about the downside of being present. There are some moments where I’d rather be anywhere else but where I am, when hearing a cheerful “be here now” is less likely to make me grateful than it is to make me a murder suspect.

One of the principles admonished by spiritual guru/philosopher/consciously-aware smart guy Eckhart Tolle is a threefold number that can be applied to every crappy moment/event/situation in life:

If you can change it, do so.

If you can remove yourself from it, do so.

If you can do neither of the first two things, accept it. Accept that the moment sucks and accept that it will pass. Good, bad or indifferent, no moment lasts forever. Perhaps the most helpful thing you can do in a so-called helpless situation is allow yourself to feel ripped off – denying fear of a root canal or anger with an executive decision will only make it worse. Don’t dwell on it, but don’t deny it, either. Accept how you feel and move on. You may feel better for it – I certainly do. I cannot change when the Flyers are losing a game. I can quit watching, or I can accept it and be happy that I’m watching them at all. That’s the other thing Professor Ekkles has done. He’s broken acceptance into further opportunities for presence. Once you accept the moment. you can:

Be enthusiastic; and/or

Find joy; and/or

If you can do neither of these things, then acceptance will have to do. Ironically, it takes more strength to stop resisting than it does to resist, but accepting what you cannot change can actually empower you. Letting go is liberating.

Back to the thirty-six hour migraine. When the Tylenol/nap attack fails, I do what I can to live with it. My ridiculously-priced green tea is always comforting, so I brew a tumbler and cradle it in my hands, sipping slowly and savouring the sweet grassy flavour. I compose this post, squinting at the computer screen as I collect my thoughts. I talk at Ter, who is having a day herself; we don’t complain, but we bolster each other through our respective sucky moments, finally admitting out loud that “it is what it is” and moving on despite the lure of continuing to whine.

And then, as it always does, the thirty-seventh hour arrives.

Bee Here Now

One summer day, I watched a honey bee collect pollen from a flowering bush in the garden. I initially paused to inspect the bee itself – accustomed to fat fuzzy bumblebees, I saw something resembling a wasp wearing a furry jacket and wanted a closer look. How diligent the bee was, given the size of the bush and the territory he had to cover. I studied his technique for a minute, vastly impressed. Then I noticed something else. He wasn’t the only bee in the bush. There were lots of honey bees harvesting pollen from the flowers; I just hadn’t seen them at first. They certainly hadn’t arrived after me – I would definitely have noticed an approaching swarm (and likely not stuck around to welcome them). They simply came into consciousness as I stood still.

The Honeybee Observation occurred a few years ago, but the lesson has stayed with me. I’m always jumping around from thought to thought, bouncing back and forth between the past and the future. No wonder I remember less and less; I’m rarely present enough to retain anything from a given moment!

How much more will I see if I stop and look? How much more will I hear if I take more than a second to listen?

Slow down. Stand still. Pay attention. Be amazed.

New Year’s Day

It seems counter-intuitive to begin a new year with a hangover, but that’s inevitably what I do. And when I say “hangover”, I mean of the gluttonous variety. I’m a cheap drunk, so despite the seasonal increase in consumption, I limit myself to one boozy libation per day. Treats, however, know no bounds and can do as much mischief as alcohol once the line is crossed.

Thatʼs why I try to view January 1 as just another day; a day to recover from the holiday overload and regain some perspective. A hangover of any ilk will skew the latter, thus adding to the fervour of making those pesky New Yearʼs resolutions. Is that when the tradition started, I wonder? Folk feeling like crap and resolving to be better about feeling better? A man will agree to do anything if heʼs miserable enough and wants the misery to end.

I may be aware of the perils in NY resolutions, but I am not immune. I was reflecting in the bathroom mirror this morning on what I might resolve to do better in 2014. One thing came immediately to mind:

Write daily.

Just as promptly, the panicked mental chatter ensued.

What, write something every day for a whole year and beyond? I canʼt commit to that. I have a job, a social life. What if I fail (which I am likely to do, given the scope of the resolution)?

Inner sigh.

“Write dailyˮ means write today. It does not mean write tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

The same principle applies to anything and everything else. Do it TODAY. And if youʼre unsure you can uphold that resolve for a full 24 hours (as I am about rebuffing those treats), hold true to the moment.

Just for today. For New Yearʼs Day and Valentineʼs Day, for Tuesday, for your birthday, for Arbour Day and Nirvana Day and All Saintsʼ Day—what day doesnʼt matter as long as itʼs this one.

This day. This hour. This moment. Itʼs the one youʼve got. Make it count.

Little Dickens

On Christmas Eve, after the socializing is done, after the prezzies are wrapped and under the tree, after the pre-show viewing of “Merry Christmas Mr, Bean”, we pop “Scrooge” into the player and settle down to await our favourite moments. When you’ve seen a film that many times, there’s nothing new to be discovered … right?

Maybe. Maybe not. This year, I came away with a finer understanding of a story I’ve know my whole life. I enjoyed the movie as always (my favourite segment is Christmas Present), but my recent chanting of “let the past go” tripped me up a bit during the telling. If the past can’t be changed, I thought, why bother to revisit it?

Duh. It can’t be changed, but you can still learn from it. We are each a product of our past. History shows how we came to be – Ebenezer Scrooge was quite plainly fashioned in his youth to become the miserable old coot so brilliantly played by Alastair Sim. Ironically, he learned to fear loneliness and poverty so well that he became lonely and lived like a pauper despite the wealth he obtained in pursuit of … not happiness, exactly, but security and comfort. Christmas Past demonstrated that quite clearly, especially when Alice said to him, “You fear the world too much.” She had it right, though he argued intellectually that living defensively is the best protection against insecurity and discomfort.

I guess you could say that fear of the future changed his mind and thus changed his ways; again, maybe so, and maybe not. I saw his heart softening through the course of his night, he just thought himself too old for any change to make a difference. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

I learned to articulate three things from “Scrooge” this year:

We are shaped by our past but not bound by it.

No one is ever too old to affect his future.

All we have is now.

So …

Release the past.

Embrace the present.

Change the future.

And God bless us, every one.