Tag Archives: thankful

Word Power

So I have been thinking about how I keep using the word crisis to describe my current state of life. It is nagging away at me because the word is just so extreme and not at all accurate for how I really feel. I feel so bratty and ungrateful every time I write it.

Because all over the world people are experiencing real crisis. The millions of Syrians fleeing violence and destruction. The wonderfully kind people of Istanbul who are under increasing threat from ISIS suicide bombers.   The guy I went to high school with who told us on my facebook that his wife died this morning. The little boy with terminal cancer that the community is fundraising for.

I imagine any one of them reading this blog…I cringe. Poor me. I hate my pores and I don’t want to wear a bra anymore. BOO FUCKING HOO. I am basically a monster.

I have learned in the past how powerful words can be. A little while ago my bank card was compromised. I had to reset my PIN number and I froze up at the pin pad and said to the teller “HELP”, I didn’t think about this! I don’t know what to make it that I will remember!” And then, I was inspired by the very words I had just said and I made my pin# 4357 which spells HELP. I use my bank card for everything. Several times a day. The more I used my bank card, the more pathetic I felt. It took my a while to clue in that my PIN # was seriously bringing me down. When I finally realized it was negatively impacting my life  I changed it again. To 4673 which spells HOPE, and all of a sudden I was being uplifted throughout the day. It made a remarkable difference for me.

(FYI my card got compromised AGAIN. So I changed it again. Don’t try to guess.)

Part of my job involves periodically proof reading the work of my team, normally proposals and final reports, sometimes emails.  One of my talents is wordsmithing other people’s writing.  (My own…Meh. Not so much.) I hunt out insecure words like I just, or I think, inserting confident words and partnership words. Replacing words like Challenge with Opportunity.  I absolutely love transforming the tone of business writing to better reflect the values and culture of our company. I want the reader to have a positive experience, feel inspired, know they made the right choice to work with us, and keep working with us.

In a million years I would not let a document out the door that contained the word crisis (Actually, in the context of climate change I do allow it, but that is another conversation) so why would I allow myself to throw it around so casually in relation to myself?

When I met my husband he was using positive affirmations every day and it totally worked out amazingly for him, after all, he found the woman of his dreams!

I know a few other people who have testified to the power of positive affirmations. I myself have never really gone there…I really suck at talking to myself. I can’t even thank myself for giving my body the gift of yoga at the end of class when the instructor suggests it. Maybe this is something I need to work on. Here, I’ll try right now:

 

 

Nope. And No. Not there yet. Maybe not there ever. Maybe it is the cheesy posters that I can’t get behind?

Here is my personal truth. My affirmation for today.

I am blessed. I have so much more than I need. My body mostly works great. I know all the best people (yup, me and the Donald). I have a loving husband and healthy children and a beautiful extended family and the best friends a girl could want or need.

To even suggest something is out of sorts feels profoundly selfish. But yet, something is out of sorts.

Bottom line is that even if technically I am having a midlife crisis, it is not sitting well with my to call it that. To repeatedly say that makes me feel desperate and sick and sad instead of just searching.

So if not a crisis what?  A midlife scavenger hunt? A midlife transition? An awakening? An adjustment? A conversion?  Renewal? Shift? Transformation?

When I figure it out I will let you know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

All That We Need

So when my sister asked me at dinner last night how I spent my birthday, I told her all of the truth.

Spectacular breakfast in bed. I mean really. The door burst open and a pile of balloons filled the room. There was a tray with a beautiful hydrangea, and this cupcake…it had candles, it had a sparkler, it had a giant swirly pile of icing, it was elaborate. The boys were singing.  I am so truly blessed.

Then we went to tour the Princess Margaret Home Lottery Grand Prize Showhome to decide if we wanted to buy a ticket.  The best part about having a ticket is daydreaming that you live in the house and knowing that you just might be able to. It is a spectacular house. I mean, any 3.7 million dollar home is going to be. This particular one was not for us. It had a mini hockey rink in the basement – come off it!! I might be the only Canadian, besides my kids, that don’t even know the rules of the game. Plus, the decor was not to my taste. There were these giant gold statues that looked like Oscar’s doing yoga poses. There were so many useless rooms. It totally grossed our younger son out. He is 9. He said “I think we should leave. This is making me SICK”. Sick because of the excess. Sick because this house was the smallest house in a subdivision. Row upon row of 8, 10, 12 thousand square foot homes. (How come there are so many super rich people? Where did they come from? What are they doing for a living?)

We were just in Mexico where we visited a 2 room school house that would have easily fit in master bathroom of this house. Where we met a family of 17 lovely happy people that live together in small apartment without hot water or an indoor toilet. Where our kids finally realized that all the times we have said “you don’t know how lucky you are!!” it was a real thing that we weren’t making up.

We all agreed that this was not the neighbourhood for us and that we are not the kind of family that wants to live in a mansion. We bought a ticket anyways, because, well, charity. We can just sell the house if we win.

Anyways, all if this is totally beside the point of what I am writing about. Because after telling her all that junk, I told her I started a blog and that I did it because I think I am having a midlife crisis, or maybe just a plain old garden variety crisis. Because I there are things I need (or maybe just want) to change and I need the accountability. Because maybe other people are going through it and this will help us all. Because I have things to say and why not say them to the entire world wide web?

Of course my sister demanded to see it right away and to my horror my mother read over her shoulder. Didn’t think that possibility through when I published the post. They both audibly gasped at the same time. I think it was during the part when I say I was doing drugs. My mother peaced out right then and walked away (So, that is a good sign right?) but my sister read on. At the end she said, it is relatable, but I really think you have much more to say. Then she pointed at my left boob and said “that is the bigger one right?”

Right. And also… I do have more to say. But I am going from the outside in with this. It is a bit safer and maybe easier for me to start on the surface and peel back the layers. Not to diminish the surface…there is a lot that starts there. Body image stuff. Self esteem stuff. How we present ourselves to the world. I, like most people, have a lot of insecurities tied to how I look and how I want to look.

Not 20 minutes ago I impulse bought a product that promises (I know it is a lie, but I can’t stop hoping) to diminish the look of my pores. I have ridiculous gaping craterish pores on my face, and have battled acne on and off since puberty. I always kinda worried about these pores of mine and secretly hoped I was the only one who noticed, but 20 years ago I met a tourist in Toronto (who was here from what country in Africa I can’t recall but one where they do not hold back what they are thinking and tell you what they observe in a really benign and non judgy way) and he studied my face for a while and kindly said “you have very large pores”.  So there you have it. I legit have crazy ass pores. What I wish, and what I hope for, is that I can come to a place where I don’t fucking care. Caring about my pores is not knowing how lucky I am. It is living in a beautiful house but wanting to win a sickening mansion, while 17 lovely people are perfectly happy to sleep three to a hammock and go outside to use the toilet.

Look. Do me a favour. Next time you see me please don’t stare at my pores –  or my boobs for that matter. Just gaze over my shoulder or something.