Crap. I’m late. I haven’t packed everything. I have a lot of loose ends that have not been taken care of. I thought as I raced out the door for a week-long getaway missions trip to Squamish. Oh, and I didn’t get my dad a birthday present.
Sometimes life just does not go the way we envision and we have to deal. It’s how we deal with the situation that I suppose is the measure of where we are at and what we need to reflect on and look to improve upon.
I felt like this entire two weeks was a test in pushing me to my limits. A lot has happened and I have pulled through, but I somehow feel like I’ve been tumble dried, starched and ironed.
Then it happened, a slurpee spilled. It really wasn’t a big deal. Granted the entire slurpee spilled and all over a vehicle that wasn’t mine.
Kids hopped out of my vehicle left right and centre as I sat stunned in the driver seat of the borrowed SUV from my gracious parents.
I knew the spill had to be bad just by the sheer fact that everyone seemed to be doing a firemen’s drill. The adrenaline pumping through my temples sedated me for a few seconds.
Finally I lifted a heavy hot tub soaked limb up to unclick the seat belt. Each step took me closer to a reality I did not want to face. The place where I would have to confront myself and refrain from just about every reaction in the book. The point in my life where being an example was not going to be easy.
I looked on at the toxic spill in the van. Why do we consume things that look like a nuclear waste explosion? Atomic slurpees cannot aid digestion. I’m pretty sure that the human waste from neon slurpees glows in the dark.
I scooped the pile of oozing green onto the pavement and went through the motions without saying a word.
I looked up and saw my youth kid quivering in the far corner of the backseat. I really wasn’t mad. Just incredibly weary. By not reacting I think he felt worse.
We arrived back to the camp site and I related the story to fellow people and it dawned on me that I finally had a present for my dad. The man that has everything under the sun – A professionally detailed vehicle.
Thanks to disasters and the mess in life, there is always a bright side. Plus there is no use in crying over spilled slurpee.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Being Allergic to the Opposite Sex
Growing up in Ottawa the general progression of the events in the sand box were throwing dirt in Nick’s face. Scaling the hedges of my mother’s well-kept garden before dinner to pick snow peas and uproot carrots to ruin my dinner – with Nick. To trade Pogs ® and stickers and smacked the pinnata’s at my birthday parties with Nick and friends. To chase garter snakes on the playground with Nick and his buddies.
My discovery of the terrible chemicals that make up the fine specimen of JELL-O were discovered on the back stoop of my house as Nicholas went home with a tummy ache, broke out in hives from head-to-toe immediately upon return to his house and the simple but confusing explanation from his mother that he could no longer come out to play etches itself in the memories of my mind. I stood there with a blank stare and thought, "Was it something I said?" More or less it was something I served.
Similarly I had a difficult time running with the girls while Nick was on bed rest. From an early age, I was informed that boys had cooties. I didn’t understand that. Nick didn’t have cooties. If anything the snakes we chased did. I couldn’t get along with the girls in my circle. I remember distinctly punching one of them in the face in front of my mother. Not my best moment in life – but it happened and she was being incredibly annoying. It didn’t justify my ridiculous reaction. I have since repented from this dirty deed of mine, spent a long hard night that night without dinner in my bedroom wondering why I didn’t wait two blocks to be out of sight of my mother before I made a connection with her nose.
It’s probably was best she saw it. I never hit a girl again and I didn’t have to go through the explanation of two sins rather than one. Punching is one thing, breaking my mother’s trust for lying about it just digs a bigger hole.
Fast forward a couple years and I’m sitting in my Communications Theory course at Trinity. I was studying the gap between communication between men and women. This subject fascinates me. Because no matter how we slice and dice it, there are differences. Our textbook even went over the whole theory that the movie, When Harry Met Sally covers. The premise is this:
That men and women can’t be friends because the sex factor always gets in the way.
Now is this true? I spent the latter half of my university career pondering this message and starting to believe it. Granted I was surrounded by a ratio that did not lean in my favour to securing any male friends. They had all paired off while I was busy at rowing practice. And since there were 4 girls for every guy, they secured what they thought was the cream of the crop as “friends”. Conveniently the vast majority of those people got married or dumped one another. Who knew friends would dump one another. Oh, right, they must have dated while I had my nose stuck in a book. Alternately the less than stellar with the ladies ran the other direction screaming. Incensed by the fact that a girl called to “hang out.” Happened a couple of times to me. Was it something I said?
I remember this one time when someone that I grew up with, forgot that we had grown up together. We had him and his roomies over for dinner because his roommate had suggested it in the first place. As usual, I somehow planned the event. And thus, at the dinner party, I simply asked how things were at their church and the guy literally was hanging from the rafters with fright.
“How d-d-do you know that I go to CAC?”
His roommate just looked at him, rolled his eyes and said, “Dude, she grew up with us.”
And I sat there and thought, had I changed that much? Was I giving off a desperate vibe by asking how church was going? I wasn't even interested in this guy. Should I be? He was constantly playing the banjo until like 4 in the morning on the other side of the wall that we shared. Was I insane in thinking this situation odd?
Fast forward a couple of months. I’m in Ottawa. Where I had met Nick growing up. I’m back in the sandbox of memories. I meet up with my friends that I grew up with. It’s fabulous. I hung out with guys and it truly restored my trust in the fact that I could in fact befriend guys and we didn’t have to go through an awkward Define The Relationship (DTR) moment. And I’m sorry, those moments are stupid because if you’re questioning every person in your life, you can’t actually get to know them.
Similarly, if you DTR and you fall for them later, it’s just all the more complicated on your end. In Ottawa they don’t really know what DTR is. In fact, I went out with a lot of them in what by BC standards are questionable circumstances but because no one questioned, it was just normal. Coffee wasn’t seen as a date. It was just an avenue for people to better get to know one another in good company.
In fact when I do go out with a guy, he usually has to stop me in my tracks and smack a frying pan over my head and say, Kelsey, I like you. I want to get to know you better. And then I go, Oh. Imagine that. Why on earth would you want to do something like that?
So I came back to BC. –Coquitlam rather. And I am back at square one. I’ve been banished to the same stupid mentality that everyone shares around here. Which baffles me because how do you truly get to know who someone is and befriend them when you’re constantly in a huge group of people?
I made a wrong move in asking someone out for coffee last year because I made an incorrect assumption of their character and wanted to remedy that assumption that ultimately made an @$$ out of me. I’m back to that stupid theory that men and women can’t be friends because the sex factor always gets in the way.
I know this is a gross exaggeration and that there are a lot of individuals that can think beyond the box. Not every guy is suffering from having eaten green JELL-O. Nick took that excuse years ago.
Now I know every theory has holes. So the guys that I am friends with? Well? If you’re going based on the theory, I think you can fill in the blanks. That's why I’m at square one. Just as soon as I think I’ve figured out the opposite sex, they change the rules -- even in regards to friendship. Which is why I think that stupid movie, He's Just Not That Into You is a testimony of how there are no rules. Because the rule becomes the exception and the exception becomes the rule. At the end of the day, I just think to simplify the theories, differences and complexities, the boys are just allergic to girls instead of lime green JELL-O. There. They somehow make sense.
My discovery of the terrible chemicals that make up the fine specimen of JELL-O were discovered on the back stoop of my house as Nicholas went home with a tummy ache, broke out in hives from head-to-toe immediately upon return to his house and the simple but confusing explanation from his mother that he could no longer come out to play etches itself in the memories of my mind. I stood there with a blank stare and thought, "Was it something I said?" More or less it was something I served.
Similarly I had a difficult time running with the girls while Nick was on bed rest. From an early age, I was informed that boys had cooties. I didn’t understand that. Nick didn’t have cooties. If anything the snakes we chased did. I couldn’t get along with the girls in my circle. I remember distinctly punching one of them in the face in front of my mother. Not my best moment in life – but it happened and she was being incredibly annoying. It didn’t justify my ridiculous reaction. I have since repented from this dirty deed of mine, spent a long hard night that night without dinner in my bedroom wondering why I didn’t wait two blocks to be out of sight of my mother before I made a connection with her nose.
It’s probably was best she saw it. I never hit a girl again and I didn’t have to go through the explanation of two sins rather than one. Punching is one thing, breaking my mother’s trust for lying about it just digs a bigger hole.
Fast forward a couple years and I’m sitting in my Communications Theory course at Trinity. I was studying the gap between communication between men and women. This subject fascinates me. Because no matter how we slice and dice it, there are differences. Our textbook even went over the whole theory that the movie, When Harry Met Sally covers. The premise is this:
That men and women can’t be friends because the sex factor always gets in the way.
Now is this true? I spent the latter half of my university career pondering this message and starting to believe it. Granted I was surrounded by a ratio that did not lean in my favour to securing any male friends. They had all paired off while I was busy at rowing practice. And since there were 4 girls for every guy, they secured what they thought was the cream of the crop as “friends”. Conveniently the vast majority of those people got married or dumped one another. Who knew friends would dump one another. Oh, right, they must have dated while I had my nose stuck in a book. Alternately the less than stellar with the ladies ran the other direction screaming. Incensed by the fact that a girl called to “hang out.” Happened a couple of times to me. Was it something I said?
I remember this one time when someone that I grew up with, forgot that we had grown up together. We had him and his roomies over for dinner because his roommate had suggested it in the first place. As usual, I somehow planned the event. And thus, at the dinner party, I simply asked how things were at their church and the guy literally was hanging from the rafters with fright.
“How d-d-do you know that I go to CAC?”
His roommate just looked at him, rolled his eyes and said, “Dude, she grew up with us.”
And I sat there and thought, had I changed that much? Was I giving off a desperate vibe by asking how church was going? I wasn't even interested in this guy. Should I be? He was constantly playing the banjo until like 4 in the morning on the other side of the wall that we shared. Was I insane in thinking this situation odd?
Fast forward a couple of months. I’m in Ottawa. Where I had met Nick growing up. I’m back in the sandbox of memories. I meet up with my friends that I grew up with. It’s fabulous. I hung out with guys and it truly restored my trust in the fact that I could in fact befriend guys and we didn’t have to go through an awkward Define The Relationship (DTR) moment. And I’m sorry, those moments are stupid because if you’re questioning every person in your life, you can’t actually get to know them.
Similarly, if you DTR and you fall for them later, it’s just all the more complicated on your end. In Ottawa they don’t really know what DTR is. In fact, I went out with a lot of them in what by BC standards are questionable circumstances but because no one questioned, it was just normal. Coffee wasn’t seen as a date. It was just an avenue for people to better get to know one another in good company.
In fact when I do go out with a guy, he usually has to stop me in my tracks and smack a frying pan over my head and say, Kelsey, I like you. I want to get to know you better. And then I go, Oh. Imagine that. Why on earth would you want to do something like that?
So I came back to BC. –Coquitlam rather. And I am back at square one. I’ve been banished to the same stupid mentality that everyone shares around here. Which baffles me because how do you truly get to know who someone is and befriend them when you’re constantly in a huge group of people?
I made a wrong move in asking someone out for coffee last year because I made an incorrect assumption of their character and wanted to remedy that assumption that ultimately made an @$$ out of me. I’m back to that stupid theory that men and women can’t be friends because the sex factor always gets in the way.
I know this is a gross exaggeration and that there are a lot of individuals that can think beyond the box. Not every guy is suffering from having eaten green JELL-O. Nick took that excuse years ago.
Now I know every theory has holes. So the guys that I am friends with? Well? If you’re going based on the theory, I think you can fill in the blanks. That's why I’m at square one. Just as soon as I think I’ve figured out the opposite sex, they change the rules -- even in regards to friendship. Which is why I think that stupid movie, He's Just Not That Into You is a testimony of how there are no rules. Because the rule becomes the exception and the exception becomes the rule. At the end of the day, I just think to simplify the theories, differences and complexities, the boys are just allergic to girls instead of lime green JELL-O. There. They somehow make sense.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Laughing With...and Learning With
Please read these lyrics written by Regina Spektor.
No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one's laughing at God when they're starving or freezing or so very poor
No one laughs at God when the doctor calls after some routine tests
No one's laughing at God when it's gotten real late and their kid's not back from that party yet
No one laughs at God when their airplane starts to uncontrollably shake
No one's laughing at God when they see the one they love hand in hand with someone else and they hope that they're mistaken
No one laughs at God when the cops knock on their door and they say "We've got some bad new, sir,"
No one's laughing at God when there's a famine, fire or flood
But God can be funny
At a cocktail party while listening to a good God-themed joke or
Or when the crazies say he hates us and they get so red in the head you think that they're about to choke
God can be funny
When told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie
Who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus
God can be so hilarious
Ha ha
Ha ha
No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one's laughing at God when they've lost all they got and they don't know what for
No one laughs at God on the day they realize that the last sight they'll ever see is a pair of hateful eyes
No one's laughing at God when they're saying their goodbyes
But God can be funny
At a cocktail party while listening to a good God-themed joke or
Or when the crazies say he hates us and they get so red in the head you think that they're about to choke
God can be funny
When told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie
Who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus
God can be so hilarious
No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one's laughing at God in a hospital
No one's laughing at God in a war
No one's laughing at God when they're starving or freezing or so very poor
No one's laughing at God
No one's laughing at God
No one's laughing at God
We're all laughing with God
No one is laughing at God when they’re starving or freezing or so very poor. This line resonated with me when I heard this song for the first time on the radio the other day. It brought to mind the warmth and recognition of presence I felt the minute I walked into the community on the Downtown Eastside. I started volunteering with Potters, a hole in the wall that provides for the people in every way possible. And, as much as I was serving them, they were truly teaching me.
Potters has had a very special place in my heart and this song and this blog post are devoted to all the memories that I have had the honour to be a part of at the Mission that relentlessly serves a community that is starving yet eager to embrace their recognition of the prevalence of evidence of our Creator. It rendered me speechless but ultimately reminded me that agnosticism is lost in times of need. The sheer raw depth to humanity that Regina Spektor presents is astounding. The simplicity of the message hits so far home I recommend just looking it up on YouTube. Does a better job than I ever could. Kudos to Regina.
No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one's laughing at God when they're starving or freezing or so very poor
No one laughs at God when the doctor calls after some routine tests
No one's laughing at God when it's gotten real late and their kid's not back from that party yet
No one laughs at God when their airplane starts to uncontrollably shake
No one's laughing at God when they see the one they love hand in hand with someone else and they hope that they're mistaken
No one laughs at God when the cops knock on their door and they say "We've got some bad new, sir,"
No one's laughing at God when there's a famine, fire or flood
But God can be funny
At a cocktail party while listening to a good God-themed joke or
Or when the crazies say he hates us and they get so red in the head you think that they're about to choke
God can be funny
When told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie
Who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus
God can be so hilarious
Ha ha
Ha ha
No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one's laughing at God when they've lost all they got and they don't know what for
No one laughs at God on the day they realize that the last sight they'll ever see is a pair of hateful eyes
No one's laughing at God when they're saying their goodbyes
But God can be funny
At a cocktail party while listening to a good God-themed joke or
Or when the crazies say he hates us and they get so red in the head you think that they're about to choke
God can be funny
When told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie
Who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus
God can be so hilarious
No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one's laughing at God in a hospital
No one's laughing at God in a war
No one's laughing at God when they're starving or freezing or so very poor
No one's laughing at God
No one's laughing at God
No one's laughing at God
We're all laughing with God
No one is laughing at God when they’re starving or freezing or so very poor. This line resonated with me when I heard this song for the first time on the radio the other day. It brought to mind the warmth and recognition of presence I felt the minute I walked into the community on the Downtown Eastside. I started volunteering with Potters, a hole in the wall that provides for the people in every way possible. And, as much as I was serving them, they were truly teaching me.
Potters has had a very special place in my heart and this song and this blog post are devoted to all the memories that I have had the honour to be a part of at the Mission that relentlessly serves a community that is starving yet eager to embrace their recognition of the prevalence of evidence of our Creator. It rendered me speechless but ultimately reminded me that agnosticism is lost in times of need. The sheer raw depth to humanity that Regina Spektor presents is astounding. The simplicity of the message hits so far home I recommend just looking it up on YouTube. Does a better job than I ever could. Kudos to Regina.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Taking a Stand for the Hotdog Man
As I’ve previously stated in another blog I am a loyal Superstore fan. TO THE BONE. I refuse to shop at Costco or Safeway which is another story for a rainy day but the point is I love to shop at Superstore. After all, it’s what I know. And what do people gravitate towards?
What they already know.
Doesn’t always work in our favour because sometimes what we don’t know truly is what we need to know. Like the fact that most detergents are filled with a ton of formaldehydes which are absorbed into our skin from our clothing. Ya, like that sort of stuff. And I’m suddenly realizing that this tangent has nothing to do with me shopping at Superstore but at any rate. We continue to return to Tide and Snuggles, because its what we know and we don’t know wouldn’t hurt us right? I was going to try to go somewhere amusing on that tangent but it just didn’t happen. Not to scare you or anything.
Moving on.
My love for Superstore started in university. I started cooking on my own in 4th year when I lived in a cozy little apartment with two other lovely individuals. We split the grocery bill and decided that shopping at the most economical place possible would help lessen the load of worry about student loans and dwindling savings.
The local Superstore in Langley has this monumental individual that sort of became a landmark in my mind. His name is Miguel and he runs a hotdog stand in front of the shopping Mecca. Each time I shopped, he stood there like a beacon in my memory; tanned skin, crazy wild hair, beanie hat and hobo gloves. Dark framed glasses dwindle his big eyes and his 1,000 watt smile is hard to miss at the back of the monstrous parking lot that you think—that man’s face is all teeth.
His smile makes your day. It doesn’t necessarily mean that you’ll buy a hotdog, but you feel like you’re at home when you step inside that store. Like, I’m here. They know me here, because I know them. But really, you’re there because you need the barebone necessities out of life. The store is there to suck your money and Miguel just wants you to buy a hotdog. Plus, You’re out of toilet paper and in reality, you just want to avoid the circumstance of running out.
The pleasantry of an illusion is that it seems so real sometimes, remaining predictable. At any rate, Miguel became a friend that I had never met.
One day our life group gave us $20 each to go spend on the community. To give back, listen and share with others. To connect on our understanding of what Christ has done in our lives.
Alexa my roommate and I were shopping one day at the Superstore and she turned and asked me what I had done with my 20$. I had gone for quantity over quality. I had given my 20 dollars to the foodbank down the street from our house.
I reciprocated the question and she just stopped. “Do you know what the hotdog guy’s name is?”She asked me.
Suddenly the illusion came crashing in on me. I had created a friendship with an imaginary individual. “No. I don’t.”
“Well I think that’s what I’m going to do with my 20 bucks.”
“You’re going to change his name?”
She looked at me with that undisturbed maturity that she always carried like a graceful goose. I knew what she meant.
So after much planning we picked out a card and a huge starbucks coffee and approached the hotdog man. I fished into my hole ridden pocket for some spare change for a hotdog for us to share. It only seemed appropriate seeing as we couldn’t just go up to him and not buy a hotdog.
So there we were. We heard about his life in South America. We had to put our sunglasses on when he saw the coffee. He radiated with astonishment. As much as he is all teeth, he is also all voice. He yelled his thanks across the expansive parking lot as it echoed through the Valley.
It was there and then that the point behind of the 20$ clicked with me. Quality over quantity is all that we can achieve as a grassroot individual in friendship and connection. What do you choose? Everyone or one?
This came to mind this morning. A while back I got a Facebook invite to a group to Save Miguel the Hotdog Man. My first thought was that he had had a gas explosion from his gasoline tank and was requiring skin grafts. I clicked on it because I actually had a personal connection to the cause through a cup of coffee. It turned out that Superstores out East were getting rid of their hotdog stands. With the conglomerate Subway inside starving for business, external vendors were pushed out.
I joined the group in a furious rage and send Galen Westen, the president to the monumental President Choice brand a rant the length of my forearm explaining that they could not get rid of Miguel because it wasn’t going to solve the solution to the problem of finding food tenants for the inside spaces at the Langley location. As one of the 5,000 individuals from Langley that spoke up, I can safely say that I stood up and spoke. And as a result, Miguel has kept his job.
It takes a lot to provoke me and to get me to the point where I feel that my response is needed means that I actually care. Which a lot of times, I don't feel that it is warranted. From a purely good business perspective, getting rid of Miguel just didn't make sense. So I wasn't just wasting air.
Perhaps it was all a wild and crazy rumour but I was willing to take a stand to keep what keeps the Langley community unique. Who knows if his job was ever in jeopardy.
Galen Westen responded to my lengthy diatribe the other day. I had to re-read my email to him. I doubt it was truly the President of President’s Choice but who knows. I’m sure he has an assistant paid full time to respond to the amount of fan/hate mail he receives. Maybe it was Galen. It’s been 4 months since this whole thing happened. But the point is that Goliath responded to David. Perhaps I'm just a sucker for PR.
But the point is that Miguel and I are actually now on a first name basis, I feel like I somehow made a difference in his life through joining in the collective choir and I have renewed assurance that Superstore is truly Super.
What they already know.
Doesn’t always work in our favour because sometimes what we don’t know truly is what we need to know. Like the fact that most detergents are filled with a ton of formaldehydes which are absorbed into our skin from our clothing. Ya, like that sort of stuff. And I’m suddenly realizing that this tangent has nothing to do with me shopping at Superstore but at any rate. We continue to return to Tide and Snuggles, because its what we know and we don’t know wouldn’t hurt us right? I was going to try to go somewhere amusing on that tangent but it just didn’t happen. Not to scare you or anything.
Moving on.
My love for Superstore started in university. I started cooking on my own in 4th year when I lived in a cozy little apartment with two other lovely individuals. We split the grocery bill and decided that shopping at the most economical place possible would help lessen the load of worry about student loans and dwindling savings.
The local Superstore in Langley has this monumental individual that sort of became a landmark in my mind. His name is Miguel and he runs a hotdog stand in front of the shopping Mecca. Each time I shopped, he stood there like a beacon in my memory; tanned skin, crazy wild hair, beanie hat and hobo gloves. Dark framed glasses dwindle his big eyes and his 1,000 watt smile is hard to miss at the back of the monstrous parking lot that you think—that man’s face is all teeth.
His smile makes your day. It doesn’t necessarily mean that you’ll buy a hotdog, but you feel like you’re at home when you step inside that store. Like, I’m here. They know me here, because I know them. But really, you’re there because you need the barebone necessities out of life. The store is there to suck your money and Miguel just wants you to buy a hotdog. Plus, You’re out of toilet paper and in reality, you just want to avoid the circumstance of running out.
The pleasantry of an illusion is that it seems so real sometimes, remaining predictable. At any rate, Miguel became a friend that I had never met.
One day our life group gave us $20 each to go spend on the community. To give back, listen and share with others. To connect on our understanding of what Christ has done in our lives.
Alexa my roommate and I were shopping one day at the Superstore and she turned and asked me what I had done with my 20$. I had gone for quantity over quality. I had given my 20 dollars to the foodbank down the street from our house.
I reciprocated the question and she just stopped. “Do you know what the hotdog guy’s name is?”She asked me.
Suddenly the illusion came crashing in on me. I had created a friendship with an imaginary individual. “No. I don’t.”
“Well I think that’s what I’m going to do with my 20 bucks.”
“You’re going to change his name?”
She looked at me with that undisturbed maturity that she always carried like a graceful goose. I knew what she meant.
So after much planning we picked out a card and a huge starbucks coffee and approached the hotdog man. I fished into my hole ridden pocket for some spare change for a hotdog for us to share. It only seemed appropriate seeing as we couldn’t just go up to him and not buy a hotdog.
So there we were. We heard about his life in South America. We had to put our sunglasses on when he saw the coffee. He radiated with astonishment. As much as he is all teeth, he is also all voice. He yelled his thanks across the expansive parking lot as it echoed through the Valley.
It was there and then that the point behind of the 20$ clicked with me. Quality over quantity is all that we can achieve as a grassroot individual in friendship and connection. What do you choose? Everyone or one?
This came to mind this morning. A while back I got a Facebook invite to a group to Save Miguel the Hotdog Man. My first thought was that he had had a gas explosion from his gasoline tank and was requiring skin grafts. I clicked on it because I actually had a personal connection to the cause through a cup of coffee. It turned out that Superstores out East were getting rid of their hotdog stands. With the conglomerate Subway inside starving for business, external vendors were pushed out.
I joined the group in a furious rage and send Galen Westen, the president to the monumental President Choice brand a rant the length of my forearm explaining that they could not get rid of Miguel because it wasn’t going to solve the solution to the problem of finding food tenants for the inside spaces at the Langley location. As one of the 5,000 individuals from Langley that spoke up, I can safely say that I stood up and spoke. And as a result, Miguel has kept his job.
It takes a lot to provoke me and to get me to the point where I feel that my response is needed means that I actually care. Which a lot of times, I don't feel that it is warranted. From a purely good business perspective, getting rid of Miguel just didn't make sense. So I wasn't just wasting air.
Perhaps it was all a wild and crazy rumour but I was willing to take a stand to keep what keeps the Langley community unique. Who knows if his job was ever in jeopardy.
Galen Westen responded to my lengthy diatribe the other day. I had to re-read my email to him. I doubt it was truly the President of President’s Choice but who knows. I’m sure he has an assistant paid full time to respond to the amount of fan/hate mail he receives. Maybe it was Galen. It’s been 4 months since this whole thing happened. But the point is that Goliath responded to David. Perhaps I'm just a sucker for PR.
But the point is that Miguel and I are actually now on a first name basis, I feel like I somehow made a difference in his life through joining in the collective choir and I have renewed assurance that Superstore is truly Super.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
When the $#%@ hits your shirt.
As I look out my work window, I often think to myself, “I am so blessed to live and work in Beautiful British Columbia.”
For one, as I have been a Communications Coordinator setting off to find my own way in the industry and had a rough start of it experiencing job and then no job and then a job and then no job and now another job, I have come to appreciate the finer details about being employed and figuring out how to remain employable and on the forefront of the industry. Being an early adapter rather than the caboose so to speak.
Just the stripped down, barebone nuances that drive most people nuts about their jobs is a great starting point. For all that I have learned about the last 2 years of being out of university it’s almost 95% attitude and 5% hardwork. A few other points I would like to add to that:
1)Anyone can be a hardworker but if they are whistling while they do it versus grumbling they are to be noticed and praised and create an enjoyable atmosphere for everyone around them . I can’t keep track of the # of people that hate their jobs and get paid awestrucking amounts of money for what they truly do. Oh, and they also have a huge sign on their forehead that says, “I don’t care.” If you go into it for a paycheck, check the cheque at the door and hit the ground running as fast as you can. You may not continue to see that pay check if you can’t find ways to enjoy the smell of animal dung clinging to your clothing as a janitor for the zoo. Perhaps your reason for being there is that you’ll invent an odour eating invention that will make you smell like flowers while you shovel S*&$. If its money that you’re after its absolute misery ahead. Be forewarned. A study was conducted and the average price based on the survey on Canadian contentment is $40,000 a year. Anything above and beyond that doesn’t bring anymore contentment because it generally means more stress and truck loads of responsibility and generally lower job satisfaction.
2)Some things in life are just not fair. North American society – rather first world nations pander us, cater to our every whim and often our whims are to win. So everyone in competition is given participation ribbons and told that they are a winner. This is a lie. Accept defeat well and see it as a growth opportunity. You will get cut from the team for whatever reasons sometimes in all
fairness, in other times simply for reasons completely outside your control. This is nothing against you as a person. I’m sure you make up for it in personality what you lack in capability. Accept what you’re dealt in life and don’t try to be something you’re not.
3)Know yourself inside and out. I would be rich if I were paid for the # of times people my age tell me they don’t know what they want to do in life. Focus is one thing. Understanding who you are and what makes you get out of bed in the morning are truly the best career counseling advice that I can pass on based on what I have learned. The focus will come when you figure out what and how to motivate yourself.
This is just a few of many things I have taken into consideration as I embark on another day at work. As I clean the fridge this afternoon I remember the ideals I graduated with and sort of laugh at the naïve version of myself.
I adore what I do.
I think I have another stack of paper that requires shredding and another plant that needs watering. My lunch hour is over and I have to get back to it. But I smile because I have a job. And I enjoy every minute of it because I now know how to appreciate what I have because I won’t be able to when it’s gone. I never thought that I would be so happy with a watering can in one hand and a note pad in the other. I guess you could say the more I learn the more I realize the less I know.
For one, as I have been a Communications Coordinator setting off to find my own way in the industry and had a rough start of it experiencing job and then no job and then a job and then no job and now another job, I have come to appreciate the finer details about being employed and figuring out how to remain employable and on the forefront of the industry. Being an early adapter rather than the caboose so to speak.
Just the stripped down, barebone nuances that drive most people nuts about their jobs is a great starting point. For all that I have learned about the last 2 years of being out of university it’s almost 95% attitude and 5% hardwork. A few other points I would like to add to that:
1)Anyone can be a hardworker but if they are whistling while they do it versus grumbling they are to be noticed and praised and create an enjoyable atmosphere for everyone around them . I can’t keep track of the # of people that hate their jobs and get paid awestrucking amounts of money for what they truly do. Oh, and they also have a huge sign on their forehead that says, “I don’t care.” If you go into it for a paycheck, check the cheque at the door and hit the ground running as fast as you can. You may not continue to see that pay check if you can’t find ways to enjoy the smell of animal dung clinging to your clothing as a janitor for the zoo. Perhaps your reason for being there is that you’ll invent an odour eating invention that will make you smell like flowers while you shovel S*&$. If its money that you’re after its absolute misery ahead. Be forewarned. A study was conducted and the average price based on the survey on Canadian contentment is $40,000 a year. Anything above and beyond that doesn’t bring anymore contentment because it generally means more stress and truck loads of responsibility and generally lower job satisfaction.
2)Some things in life are just not fair. North American society – rather first world nations pander us, cater to our every whim and often our whims are to win. So everyone in competition is given participation ribbons and told that they are a winner. This is a lie. Accept defeat well and see it as a growth opportunity. You will get cut from the team for whatever reasons sometimes in all
fairness, in other times simply for reasons completely outside your control. This is nothing against you as a person. I’m sure you make up for it in personality what you lack in capability. Accept what you’re dealt in life and don’t try to be something you’re not.
3)Know yourself inside and out. I would be rich if I were paid for the # of times people my age tell me they don’t know what they want to do in life. Focus is one thing. Understanding who you are and what makes you get out of bed in the morning are truly the best career counseling advice that I can pass on based on what I have learned. The focus will come when you figure out what and how to motivate yourself.
This is just a few of many things I have taken into consideration as I embark on another day at work. As I clean the fridge this afternoon I remember the ideals I graduated with and sort of laugh at the naïve version of myself.
I adore what I do.
I think I have another stack of paper that requires shredding and another plant that needs watering. My lunch hour is over and I have to get back to it. But I smile because I have a job. And I enjoy every minute of it because I now know how to appreciate what I have because I won’t be able to when it’s gone. I never thought that I would be so happy with a watering can in one hand and a note pad in the other. I guess you could say the more I learn the more I realize the less I know.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Toe Maintain or Not Toe Maintain? That is the question
Maintenance is something I abhor. For numerous reasons. I always question things that take too much time. Perhaps that is why I have never been super keen on being a rather maintened woman. Things like pedicures, manicures, French tips, make up and shaved legs all fall under the category of maintenance. Don’t get me wrong, as due diligence to the code I’m given, I play the part, but not the most willingly. I view it as taking my Buckeley’s cough syrup in the event of a cold – a necessary evil.
Don’t get me wrong, I like feeling feminine. I hate the amount of time, effort and expended energy it takes to have a fresh coat on my nails and then the time afterwards while the colour sets. I pondered this a couple of weeks ago when I managed to summon up enough girlie desire to paint my toe nails a bright pink colour. I got two nails in and then my friend arrived and I had to stop what I was doing and leave.
I walked around like that until the polish virtually curdled off my toes. I even went to a wedding with the toenails painted like that. It drove everyone else nuts, but I was inwardly at peace because in my mind I had my priorities straight because others came before self.
At the end of the day, I figured you’ll accept me for who I am, you odd symmetric loving freaks because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter won’t mind. In other words, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.
Now, if only we could convince my car that maintenance was not required. Easier said than done. Anyone know of a good car whisperer?
Don’t get me wrong, I like feeling feminine. I hate the amount of time, effort and expended energy it takes to have a fresh coat on my nails and then the time afterwards while the colour sets. I pondered this a couple of weeks ago when I managed to summon up enough girlie desire to paint my toe nails a bright pink colour. I got two nails in and then my friend arrived and I had to stop what I was doing and leave.
I walked around like that until the polish virtually curdled off my toes. I even went to a wedding with the toenails painted like that. It drove everyone else nuts, but I was inwardly at peace because in my mind I had my priorities straight because others came before self.
At the end of the day, I figured you’ll accept me for who I am, you odd symmetric loving freaks because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter won’t mind. In other words, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.
Now, if only we could convince my car that maintenance was not required. Easier said than done. Anyone know of a good car whisperer?
Thursday, May 28, 2009
sinking sand of self
So I have recently learned something very valuable. I feel like the information age with an overly active image focused hedonistic society has created us into over expectant monsters. When I say this, I heavily refer to myself. Don’t jump to the automatic conclusion that I think I’m better than anyone – because I’m not.
What I’ve noticed is that with selfish individualism sets us up for an unhappiness, a fundamental flaw of constant dissatisfaction with our past, current and future circumstances. I’m not entirely sure as many people have depression as clinically categorized as such so much as we fundamentally become so inwardly focused and from thereon in it is a pit of sinking quick sand.
We seem to be forgetting a huge thing. It’s not about us and there is a bigger picture. On top of it, we can’t save ourselves as hard as we try to.
And thus, because we are a bunch of geriatric slow thinkers on this profound aspect of life, we set ourselves up for constant self-induced dissatisfaction. In our relationships both pletonic and not-so-pletonic. In our evaluation of self, life, and others. In overall contentment of life.
AND, as this is not a complainer’s blog, I have come up with an equation to attempt to simplify a complex observation with an almost just as complex equation.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Realisation(IT’S NOT ABOUT YOU) + Put others first
/DIVIDED BY/
Keep Expectations Low (for everything/everyone else)
= EQUALS =
Met*Exceeded Expectations in life giving way to understanding how to be more content
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I figure that if our unhappiness creates this spiral of unhappiness and dissatisfaction. Break the cycle. Re-evaluate why your expectations are so high. Keep a standard but recognize where you might perhaps be unreasonable in expectation and surprisingly if you were to not expect so much out of life, you’ll be more pleasantly surprised and content with what comes your way. Not to say this works in every circumstance, however, if you let go of a lot of high expectations, suddenly certain circumstances don’t seem like such a burden.
This is realistically an overarching theme that Christ came to hammer into our heads by dying unselfishly on a cross. If you’re truly curious about the Biblical principles that keep us grounded such as the themes behind this equation, you’ll dive into his word. I don’t have to preach at you in a blog. Just an observation for everyone.
What I’ve noticed is that with selfish individualism sets us up for an unhappiness, a fundamental flaw of constant dissatisfaction with our past, current and future circumstances. I’m not entirely sure as many people have depression as clinically categorized as such so much as we fundamentally become so inwardly focused and from thereon in it is a pit of sinking quick sand.
We seem to be forgetting a huge thing. It’s not about us and there is a bigger picture. On top of it, we can’t save ourselves as hard as we try to.
And thus, because we are a bunch of geriatric slow thinkers on this profound aspect of life, we set ourselves up for constant self-induced dissatisfaction. In our relationships both pletonic and not-so-pletonic. In our evaluation of self, life, and others. In overall contentment of life.
AND, as this is not a complainer’s blog, I have come up with an equation to attempt to simplify a complex observation with an almost just as complex equation.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Realisation(IT’S NOT ABOUT YOU) + Put others first
/DIVIDED BY/
Keep Expectations Low (for everything/everyone else)
= EQUALS =
Met*Exceeded Expectations in life giving way to understanding how to be more content
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I figure that if our unhappiness creates this spiral of unhappiness and dissatisfaction. Break the cycle. Re-evaluate why your expectations are so high. Keep a standard but recognize where you might perhaps be unreasonable in expectation and surprisingly if you were to not expect so much out of life, you’ll be more pleasantly surprised and content with what comes your way. Not to say this works in every circumstance, however, if you let go of a lot of high expectations, suddenly certain circumstances don’t seem like such a burden.
This is realistically an overarching theme that Christ came to hammer into our heads by dying unselfishly on a cross. If you’re truly curious about the Biblical principles that keep us grounded such as the themes behind this equation, you’ll dive into his word. I don’t have to preach at you in a blog. Just an observation for everyone.
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