Good Enough

We do it to ourselves really, don't we? Just when  you think you have achieved or perfected something and are happy with the method used or the result, you take the bait. You see the headline or the tag line and instead of just continuing to scroll you click on it. 

The dreaded click. 

After all, why wouldn't you want to strike a better yoga pose, or bake a better cake or take a better photograph, or have a more mind-blowing orgasm, or be a better parent, or get more from your meditation practice, or have the most organized closet...or, or, or.

These are the continuous subliminal messages that flog us daily. Clearly the way you are doing it is not good enough. It's not fast enough or slow enough, or intense enough or tasty enough. It applies to our work, our relationships, our hobbies, our cooking, our possessions, our homes, our travel destinations, our skill at just about anything. Let's face it, none of us are good enough at anything. There is always a better way.

As much as I can see through these admonishments intellectually, there is still a latent curiosity to have a quick peak to see if maybe, just maybe I could change things up a bit to improve upon what I already thought was pretty good. It is almost as though you need to see if the difference between how you do it already and how someone else does it is just a matter of a quick and easy tweak that will elevate whatever it is to some sort of Nirvana. Not content with a simple bowl of hot oatmeal with cream and brown sugar like your mom always made you, no worries, make it like this and turn your morning bowl of gruel into a foodgasm.  

It diminishes your reality. That's what it does. Just when you think you have found the perfect little black dress, the September issue of Vogue poo poo's your choice. Think you have a wonderful loving and harmonious relationship? Look there - Sting and Trudie Styler practice Tantric sex and have the perfect house to boot! It's enough to make you stop the madness and just unplug altogether. Turn off the devices and put an end to the constant reminders that you can and should be and do better. 

The truth is, we can always improve because none of us are perfect. But do we really need to bother? And what is it that drives us to try? Why is perfection a goal at all, because even those who seem to achieve it in some area of their life often find it does not make them happy. The list of celebrities that we have at one time or another viewed as having achieved the perfect lives and then blew it all up in some way is endless. Think Robin Williams for instance, whose tragic departure from our world almost a year ago still saddens and perplexes us. So talented. So loved. So fortunate. So dead.

I had my own interesting discovery last week. My first boyfriend and first love who I had, until last week, thought had it all - or so it seemed.  I knew he had married the girl who came into his life after me, they had financial success, three children who were privileged to attend the best schools, a nice home and a summer cottage. I was happy for him. It seemed he had the happily ever after we all want. As I scrolled my Facebook feed I noticed a woman with a hyphenated name - hers and his. Hmmm, that was odd. I dug a little further and sure enough it turned out his perfect marriage ended some time around 2007. Sigh. One more fairy tale life bites the dust. It does seem that they have both gone on to re-marry and give it another go - maybe this time they will find that elusive perfect relationship. Maybe not.

The key for them and for all of us really may be to not expect perfection. Just wake up each morning and be grateful for how it is, and how they are and be thankful to be alive and perfectly imperfect. As much as I have come to find Dr. Phil annoying, he did have a couple of great ideas when it came to relationships. One thing he used to say that I have never forgotten had something to do with asking yourself "What can I do to make my partner's life easier today?".  The other thing he used to say was "How much fun are you to live with?" I think those two simple ideas are really effective. It prompts giving and introspection. And those two activities alone could be enough to achieve happily ever after as long as both partners participate. 

And on that note, I am going to the kitchen to make a pot of soup. Not the most mind-blowing, foodgasmic, gourmet's dream crock of hot nectar of the gods. Just a simple, nutritious, tasty pot of goodness, the way I have made it many times before. A "clean out the crisper" soup that will be less than perfect, but more than adequate.  

A "good enough" soup. Good enough for me.

Everybody Poops

A fitted sheet flaps in the breeze

The foxtail palm fronds sway gently

Dappled winter light dances on the lawn

Ripples on the pool surface cast moving shadows

on the steel shed next door.

Lorikeets chatter incessantly

while kookaburras gather and laugh

high upon a gum tree branch.

All is well with the world outside my window.

That is when I notice

what's so funny. 

A cheeky butcher bird has left his calling card

Streaky, slimy and seedy

dripping down the freshly laundered sheet. 

Bird humour,

I guess.

We are not amused.

It may not be killing you...Yet!

There seems to be this old school thinking that if what you eat has not "killed you", then it is safe to eat. I had this conversation one day with my aging parents. They are adamant about using their artificial sweeteners. Apparently one of their many doctors told them it was safe to use them, so that was all they needed to hear. Despite my encouragements to try Stevia or honey or maple syrup or agave, they insist on using them. They even said to me - "it hasn't hurt us". Well, that is where I beg to differ. No, I said, you are certainly still alive, but do you honestly think you are in good health? There was a slight pause as I put that thought out there for them. But, it was not enough to get them to change their ways. 

My father has had several illnesses over the past decade or more. He has had a quadruple bypass surgery. He is diabetic. He is currently battling lymphoma and just endured 7 weeks of chemo. He chalks all this up to the luck of the draw. Some people just get sick he reckons.  He has never even considered that what he eats might have an impact on his health. I don't get it. I also don't get anyone else who thinks this way. He does not consider for a moment that a lifetime of artificial sweeteners, sugar, alcohol, meat and dairy consumption and massive quantities of prescription drugs have had anything to do with his countless health issues. His health issues have been frequent and many since his early 50's. He has seen dozens of doctors and endured many surgeries. Not once has he put two and two together.

What is even more tragic in all of this is that not ONE of those doctors over the last 20 years has ever given him any nutritional advice. NOT ONE! This is more than tragic. It is criminal. It is criminal that our doctors do not study nutrition. It is criminal that they do not consider it in their diagnosis of patients. It is criminal that they are undereducated in the field of nutrition. They see thousands of patients and by the time they see them, it is all about treating the symptoms and trying to stop the disease that has already set in due to lack of proper nutrition. There are countless research studies available that have linked cancer and meat consumption. There are as many linking inflammatory diseases like arthritis to dairy consumption. There is even a new study that has linked diabetes to meat consumption, not sugar as many believe. The information available to everyone including doctors is overwhelming, and yet they still do not advise their patients to try changing their diets. 

My own personal experience very recently is what finally pushed me to change to a plant-based diet. I went to see a doctor about some serious digestive issues. I was astounded that this doctor did not ask me one single question about what I was eating. NOT ONE! He was quick to write a prescription for tablets and testing as though what I was eating mattered not. That is when the light bulb finally went on for me. I always knew deep down inside me that it was the key, but now I was ready to really make the necessary changes to test my theory. I stopped eating meat and dairy and have been eating a plant-based diet for over two months now. I have had the odd glass of wine or beer, but did find that it did not always agree with me. I quit coffee and tea and added more fermented foods. I eat very little sugar.  I stopped taking the meds he prescribed after 3 days. They were making me feel worse.

I have been sleeping better. I have more energy. All of my Achilles and ankle swelling is gone. My arthritic hands are 80% better. I do not take any medications whatsoever. I try to eat organic as much as possible. I have to wonder how my father's health may have been had he adopted some of these strategies in his 50's. 

So, the next time you say that the food you eat is fine; that it is not affecting your health and it does not matter, then turn to me, and tell me about this ailment and that ailment, I urge you to make some changes and just see what happens. It makes more sense to me to give your diet an overhaul rather than run to the pharmacy and scarf down pills to ease  your symptoms. Your symptoms are trying to tell you something. Masking them does not get rid of the root causes. 

None of this is new. Hippocrates had it figured out a long time ago. 

"Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food."

"Walking is a man's best medicine."

"If we could give every individual the right amount of nourishment and exercise, not too little and not too much, we would have found the safest way to health."

-Hippocrates

I'm Dreaming of a White... Kitchen?!

For any of you who may have been wondering where I have been, allow me to explain. In my last blog post, I announced that I had decided to go the vegan route. In the last few weeks, I have spent more time in my kitchen than I have most of my life. Not that I haven't always been one to devote a lot of time to food prep, it's just that now, I am like a permanent fixture in my small u-shaped temple of nutrition. This is not a complaint. It is just a simple fact. Keeping my fridge full of delicious healthy dips and sauces and quick plant-based snacks is a full time job. I do believe that I am now in a bit of a groove with it and have gotten a few basic recipes down pat that will keep me less chained to the chopping block.

Almond Pesto. Blackened Tomato Cashew Sauce. Walnut Pate. Lemon Guaccamole. Cashew Cheese. These are my five basic vegan staples. They have replaced things like traditional pesto, mayo, cream cheese, cheddar, brie, parmesan and even goat cheese in my diet. With just these five items, I can transport myself to a foodgasm in an instant.  Ridding my diet of dairy has been the biggest challenge. It has also had the most dramatic impact. For almost a year I had been suffering with some strange pain in my achilles and ankles. Whenever I sat for more than a few minutes, upon rising, I would be in enough pain that I had to delicately step around until the stiffness and pain subsided. It was annoying and nothing I did seemed to help. I saw a future of worsening arthritic joints and I was not amused. Well, guess what? It is gone. I would say it is nothing short of a miracle. 

I also used to have to ease into moving my finger joints each day. Upon awakening in the morning, my hands were stiff and I had moderate pain for a few minutes until I got my joints moving. This had been going on much longer than the ankle pain and it is now about 90% gone. I had read time and time again that dairy was inflammatory, but never paid much heed. It took getting to the the stage I was at, to really give dairy the heave ho and I would recommend to any of you out there who have any inflammatory issues to give it a try. What have you got to lose but your pain? 

So that is my health update. There have been challenges. Trips to Melbourne and Brisbane and Bundaberg and restaurant meals that were difficult to navigate. I allowed some fish and the occasional egg dish into my repertoire without any repercussions. I plan to continue this as part of my regimen as it is so, so difficult to find vegan choices in many eateries. Living a plant-based life 90% of the time allows some flexibility in my travels and social life that I consider a necessary compromise. 

But, back to my kitchen. I have seen some of the most spectacular kitchens over the course of my lifetime. Working in design and seeing hundreds of them has been a feast for the eyes. You name it, I have seen it. Every shade of granite and marble, sinks and faucets that cost more than my car, chiseled, hand carved cabinets and imported tiles and custom lighting and appliance garages and walk-in refrigerators with separate wine storage....and yet, I myself have never had a great kitchen. Every house or condo or apartment I have ever had over the course of my lifetime has needed renovating, but I always sold or moved before it ever happened. 

What really irks me about this (first world) problem of mine is that I have known many people with spectacular kitchens that don't cook. In one case, a client had double ovens, an enormous restaurant style gas cooktop and a sub-zero fridge that only ever held wine and leftover take-out from Pusateri's. She did not once use her equipment for cooking. I, on the other hand, cook. I cook a lot. I cook more than the average person. I cook for pleasure and health and necessity. There ain't no Pusateri's here in small town Queensland. If I want great food, there is only one place to get it. Right here in my sad little 80's kitchen. 

It was almost a dealbreaker for me when we were looking for a little house to rent. I mentioned this in a past blog. The house had a lot of other great features like a newly renovated bathroom and a nice little swimming pool, but the kitchen was ghastly. No dishwasher, an apartment sized electric stove, and the most godawful buff coloured cabinets and chipped countertops. The single sink had the original faucet that literally detached while I was running water the first week we lived here and a fountain of water started to spray all over the kitchen. The owners were quick to replace the ancient spout and handles...that's right...HANDLES...hot and cold separate handles. In my quest to find something nice about the space, I noted that the sink faced the garden and I could see the birds and look out while standing at the sink. This is something I have always liked - a window over the sink. I bought my own new fridge and microwave and replaced the fluorescent overhead light fixture with track lighting so I could direct light to the work areas. 

As we don't plan to be here indefinitely, there is not much else I could do. I manage with the stove. I even manage without a dishwasher. But the cabinets and hardware are simply the ugliest colour you could imagine. There was only one solution. Distract with colour. Ignore the colour. Treat it as a neutral. So, I added some shelves, and a valance and objects on top of the cabinets, all in an effort to move one's eye up instead of down at the peachy, buff, band-aid shade of pukey, terra-cotta cupboards - circa 1981 - you have ever seen.

Eighteen months later I have gotten used to this culinary cave of a kitchen. I manage to produce great food despite it's limitations. And isn't that what it is all about anyway? I turn on some music, glance out at the birds from time to time, chop and slice and dice and bake and saute and grill and mix and blend with love and intention and feed myself and loved ones. It really matters not if the cabinets are ugly as long as the food that is produced is beautiful. 

And if karma has anything to do with it, maybe one day I will get what I deserve...a kitchen worthy of my efforts.

Vegan Confession

Hello, my name is Debra and I am a vegan. 

That's right. Vegan. It is really no surprise to some of you I am sure. I have been slowly heading toward this lifestyle for a few years now. It is not even a big deal really, other than it is something I plan to write about here from time to time and share recipes and state of health updates when they are warranted.

In fact, a recent mini-health crisis is exactly what finally pushed me over the fence and into the land of plant power. I was having some digestive issues and found it necessary to see a western doctor as I did not know a good naturopath here in Maryborough. So, off I went and after a brief interview, I departed with the usual prescriptions for meds to "cure" my ails. I reluctantly spent the next few days downing the pills according to instructions and instead of feeling better, I began to feel worse. So, back to the doctor I go, and he takes me off those meds and gives me some different drugs. Stonger meds. Meds he usually only gives to patients for their nausea following chemotherapy. 

Things got worse. My nausea was gone, but now I was constipated. Badly constipated. OH MY GOD CONSTIPATED! Should I go to the hospital constipated?! As I lay in bed suffering and whimpering, I came across a book review for Rich Roll's new book, his follow up to Finding Ultra, titled The Plant Power Way. This is a man who was 40, fat and depressed a few years ago and is now a successful athlete, author, speaker and overall GOD of good health. His wife, Julie Piatt is his amazing counterpart and GODDESS of the green garden herself, and, the book's co-author. She is the chef in the family. I had been following this duo for some time, watching their story unfold and longing to be like them; to have that kind of dedication to my own health. Instead of skimming past the glowing review as I might have done in the past, this time I dove in. This was it. This was my turning point.

After downloading a few of their recipes, I ordered the book, and that day I became vegan. Just like that. Initially I thought maybe I would clean out the meats and cheeses from my fridge, but it really didn't matter. I did not even want them anymore. And besides, I am not the only one living in this house. Right now, I have one carnivore and one vegetarian in this house, so I was going to have to get used to the idea that I would be surrounded by foods I was no longer going to be eating, rather than use it as an excuse to stop me from eating the way I wanted to eat.

I was also inspired over the last couple of years by a restaurant called Raw Aura in Port Credit outside of Toronto. It is a raw, vegan eatery that I had enjoyed many times before I moved down under. I LOVED the food there. I never ate a bad meal there. Everything was fresh and full of flavour and beautifully presented and I always left feeling energized and well nourished. I never felt full and bloated. I never had a sugar crash two hours later. I once said, if I ever won a lottery, I would eat there three times a day. So why not eat there three times a day? In essence, it is entirely possible to eat there three times a day...only I would be making it myself at home. So, I started incorporating some of their recipes into my repertoire of daily meals. 

Google is a wonderful tool for this. I would look in my fridge and see what veggies were available on any given day and google things like "butternut squash, broccoli and cauliflower vegan recipes" and then just scroll through until I found one that sounded good and try it. I made some awesome dishes - Cauli-alfredo (no cream, no cheese, you'd never know, with quinoa pasta), Garlicky roasted Butternut Squash, Curried Coconut Soup, Creamy Cherry Tomato Sauce (cashews replacing the cream), Chick Pea Blondies, Chocolate Chia Pudding (avocadoes instead of milk) etc. I fed it to everyone in the house. They came back for seconds. No one complained, in fact, they raved. And that, I have decided is the trick. I think we all have this dread about how we will survive without cheese or meat, but the truth is, we can. Not only can we, but it can be beyond delicious. 

So, I stopped taking the meds. I am going to heal myself with food. If nothing improves in a month, I will reconsider. I had an ultrasound to rule out any sort of sinister tumour or whatever and it came back clear, as well as some blood work and other tests. I am also going to try to eliminate gluten wherever possible in case that has been a trigger for me. I am six days into my new regime and already feeling better. 

There was another inspiration leading me here as well. It could be the most important one. My brother is vegan. He chose to change his approach to food a few years ago when he was diagnosed with lymphoma. He was a typical meat-eater leading up to this. After undergoing surgeries and chemotherapy, his doctors were delighted with his success in fighting off his cancer. He told them he had gone vegan and their response was - "keep it up, it's working." He allowed fish in his diet; the only animal protein he eats now. So, although this does not adhere to strict veganism, it is still a 99% vegan diet. I have decided to follow suit and allow fish from time to time as it will make life easier when dining out.

I will leave you with a link here to 5 recipes from The Plantpower Way. I made the Easy Tomato Sauce last night...left me wanting to lick the bowl! Super easy too! Go to the link and look for the pin with 5 easy recipes. Enjoy!

www.pinterest.com/richroll/nutrition-resources/

Thoughts on Friendship

FRIENDSHIP is a mirror to presence and a testament to forgiveness. Friendship not only helps us see ourselves through another's eyes, but can be sustained over the years only with someone who has repeatedly forgiven us for our trespasses as we must find it in ourselves to forgive them in turn. A friend knows our difficulties and shadows and remains in sight, a companion to our vulnerabilities more than our triumphs, when we are under the strange illusion we do not need them. An undercurrent of real friendship is a blessing exactly because its elemental form is rediscovered again and again through understanding and mercy. All friendships of any length are based on a continued, mutual forgiveness. Without tolerance and mercy all friendships die.

I read this quote yesterday. It is an excerpt from a book called Consolations, The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words, by David Whyte. I immediately added this book to my wish list. As a woman without sisters, my girlfriends have been and always will be my "go to gals" for just about any and every step in my journey through this life, whether it be a bump in the road, a pinnacle reached or just the simple meanderings along the way that require some feedback or witnessing. 

Leaving them all behind to move to the other side of the world was only made possible by technology. Without the ability to Skype or text or email, it would have made my choice so much more difficult than it already was. What really struck me about the excerpt by David Whyte was that last sentence. 

Without tolerance and mercy all friendships die.

I started to think about friendships of mine that had died over the years, versus ones that took a pause or dwindled due to distance or life changes. The friendships that pause are inevitably part of life but always remain hovering in the background. You know that all it would take is a phone call or an email to reconnect and you would catch up and despite whatever reason stands in the way of an ongoing connection, you are always there for each other. You have "tolerated" the reasons and understood why you drifted apart, yet never question the friendship.

The friendships that actually had to literally die really were due to intolerance. We have surely all experienced this. The friend who has not evolved. The friend you realized one day was racist. The friend who took advantage of you. The friend that lied to you...more than once. The day came when you could no longer tolerate their actions and it either died a slow death, or ended with a fatal blow; words that could not be taken back. Their actions were such that you were unable to show mercy. 

Put in such a way, it has given me a new perspective on two friendships that I ended over the years. I have always known that it was necessary, however it still left me with dangling threads. Threads of shared history. Threads of doubt. Was I too harsh? Was there any hope for the relationships? Could I have been more tolerant? Could I have been merciful? Or, as it stands, did I close the seam between us for the good of all concerned?

Friendships, like marriages take effort on both sides as we all know. I value my friends. I think they know I do. Just as I valued the friendships I ended for many years prior to their demise. I was witness to large chunks of their lives, as they were to  mine. The friends whose lives I witness now and who witness mine remain steady and sure with mutual give and take and ebb and flow and I guess I just want to say to all of them - thank you. 

Thank you all for your tolerance, your mercy and for everything you give me. 

Witnesses...each and everyone of us. 

Poem for a Sunny Day

Heliocentric Contemplation

Relentless sunshine

Leave me alone

Your incessant demands for action

activity

joyous leaping.

Can't you see?

My mood requires rain.

Damp, dreary, grey

cool droplets

You shroud me in guilt

How dare I hover indoors?

Fuck you Mr. Sunshine

you and your heliolithic minions

Like an overly cheery morning person

Insistent. 

Annoying.

Take me to Seattle or Vancouver

Dress me in galoshes and hand me an umbrella

Today, anyway.

The Power of Words

"Words have no arrows or swords, yet they tear men's minds to pieces." Tibetan Buddhist proverb

Words. How many of us can look back upon our lives without remembering times when a few uttered words had an impact on us in some way? And it would also be fair to say that more often than not we recall words that were critical or negative or hurtful versus the positive or loving or encouraging ones directed at us. 

From an early age we start to bank them. We store them in our brains and allow them to collect interest. I have a passbook full of them. "You have heavy calves. You have a crooked tooth. Your folks are pretty blue collar. Maybe he cheated on you because you're too independent. (still not sure if that was a criticism or a compliment) Your weight is up again. Don't you regret having only one child? I don't love you anymore. I love you...I am just not "in love" with you. I bet if  we break up, you will get fat. "

Suffice to say, I can still dredge up the hurt caused by these comments. Comments that were uttered by friends or loved ones. The good news is I did not really dwell on them, but clearly, I never forgot them. My self-esteem, although tested over my lifetime has generally allowed me to let these words roll off my back. In fact, I would go so far as to say that my memory of positive, loving and encouraging words have had a much greater impact on my life so far. 

These too appear in my passbook. "You're so creative. You're very talented. You have such an eye for design. Your daughter is lovely. You're doing an amazing job. You look great. Your words have inspired me. I love you. I love you very much."

As much as the negative words hover in the debit column of the passbook of my life, the positive statements far outweigh them and feed me and spur me on. It makes sense to me that they would. Having said all this, sadly, it is not true for everyone. Not everyone is able to set aside the barbs and slurs. This is particularly true in the case of a woman I met yesterday. 

A woman who became obsessed with a few negative words. A woman who allowed a few  negative words to consume her life for several years. A woman who felt compelled to write a memoir to make sure her side of the story was made public. A woman who in my mind wasted several of the best years of her life in mental turmoil over a few words. A woman who could not see she was making a mountain out of a molehill. 

I attended the launch of Committed Undone, by Elizabeth Lowrie at Gataker's Artspace here in Maryborough, Queensland yesterday morning. It was Easter Monday, a holiday here in Australia and a seemingly odd day to hold a book launch, but according to Lowrie, it was the day her swami had advised. Clearly swamis don't give a fuck about holidays.

For those of you who do not know who this woman is (you are not expected to know), she is the ex-wife of Jose Nunes, the man currently married to Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray Love. In that book, he is known as "Felipe", the man she meets in Bali and falls in love with and eventually marries a short time after the book is published. 

Lowrie and Nunes divorced in 2001, years before he met Gilbert. Lowrie is the mother of his two children, so despite their parting, he continues on as part of her life via their children, as most divorced parents do. After reading Eat Pray Love and Gilbert's follow-up book Committed, I came away with the impression that Lowrie and Nunes had a civil and agreeable post-divorce arrangement for the sake of their children. I did not for a moment think that their divorce had been particularly difficult in the way some divorces can play out. I did not think that Lowrie had been painted in a negative light at all. In fact, her role seemed entirely minimal in either of the two books. She was a good mother, a cooperative ex-spouse, and an Australian woman. Case closed. She was in no way central or important to either book in my mind and I doubt that the millions of readers of these books saw her much differently. 

However, after reading her self-published memoir, it is evident that she thinks she was portrayed as a "bitch", a difficult ex-wife. She claims that the words used in the promotional materials for Committed defamed her character. The publishers of Committed used a quote from the book that read (in reference to Gilbert and Nunes) "they were survivors of previous bad divorces". In earlier promotional materials, the adjectives were a bit harsher. In one case the word "horrific" was used. In another, "catastrophic" and in yet another..."very, very, bad". Lowrie objected strongly to these adjectives as she had always thought she had what she refers to as a "gracious divorce".  She hired a lawyer and insisted the offensive words be removed from the ads. 

Now, you would think that this would have been enough to placate her, as the harsher words were consequently removed from the promo materials. As a self-proclaimed "practicing buddhist", she might have been able to "let it go". Sadly for her, that was not the case. She became obsessed with following the internet "hits" and how many people were seeing the words that she felt were defamatory. Each "hit" is taken personally as though the unsavoury adjectives were being absorbed by the public to such an extent that all the readers of these words were interpreting them as direct arrows targeting her character. Really? Throughout her memoir, she updates us on the numbers. With each large increase, her anxiety level seems to escalate. It is not long before she finds it difficult to focus at work. She plans a long holiday, not unlike the journey taken by Gilbert in Eat Pray Love, but at the same time, nothing like it either. 

She heads to the USA to do a week-long river rafting adventure on the Colorado River, spends some time in LA and Las Vegas before flying to Sao Paulo in Brazil for a 6 week meditation retreat at a Buddhist temple. From there, she heads to NYC where she departs by train for Canada and a rail trip from Toronto to Jasper, followed by a car trip from there to Vancouver Island. This part of the memoir reads like a journal and any attempts to make it more readable with forced injections of humourous moments (like she forgot this was a book and was trying to get people to read it) fall flat. What the book is full of are catty passive aggressive attacks on Gilbert and Nunes like this  belittling remark about Eat Pray Love ("Everyone did it in the 60's and 70's, meditating in monasteries is not something new! My friends and I have been doing retreats for years."), to name but one. And pretentious, pompous statements such as her description of her yearly gal pal get togethers where they only drink "quality wines". Or her mocking politically incorrect imitation of a Chinese waiter..."Chineeese boocccali?" 

Change seems to terrorize her as the secondary obsession throughout the book is her fear of retirement. She thinks about it constantly. She observes older people as though they are some sort of strange science experiment she does not understand. She asks them how they are surviving their decisions to retire as though it were not inevitable. She refers to her children leaving the nest as though they were the first ones in the world to leave home. She is clearly uncomfortable with change and the journey through life that all of us take. This is not a woman who rolls with the punches.

The memoir is full of contradictions as well. Her constant references to being a 'practicing buddhist" fly in the face of her often mean and catty barbs. She delights in any criticisms toward Gilbert's writing and is equally deflated when she hears praise. Lowrie says her mother taught her not to air dirty linen in reference to Gilbert's statements...yet her entire memoir is exactly that. Throughout the book she inserts famous (and not so famous) quotes that seem like great advice that she never took. ("Learn to let go. This is the key to happiness."- Buddha) If anything, she gripped even tighter.  She claims she was compelled to write her 'truth' as the only way to "heal" from her trauma. She claims her once 'perfect" life was shattered by these few words. Surely if one's life is so perfect, would you not work to preserve such perfection? Better still. how about realizing that there is no such thing as perfection, aka, "being human 101".

Lowrie's memoir does not read like an inspirational journey. Unlike Eat Pray Love that inspired thousands and thousands of women all over the world to be courageous and brave, Committed Undone is merely a portrayal of how not to cope with adversity. It is an example of how allowing anger and bitterness to consume  you can steal years from you. It does not provide divorced women with hope or consolation as she suggests. On the contrary. After reading this self-aggrandizing, 'woe is me" tale, it only serves to encourage divorced women to bloody get on with their lives and get out of their own way.  

I bought a copy of her book at the launch, but before I did, I approached her with a few questions. I asked her how she ended up in Maryborough and if she enjoyed her tour of Canada, to which she replied..."it's all in the book." Fair enough. I assured her I was planning to buy a copy, since that seemed like the only way I would get my answers.  I asked her if Gilbert was aware of her memoir and she said she "imagined she did". I asked her how her children (whom she claims to be fiercely protective of) felt about her book, and she curtly told me she did not talk about her children (another contradiction). I then told her 'for what it is worth, I never felt she was painted in a negative light, having read both Eat Pray Love and Committed, if that made her feel any better". She said she did not feel bad at all as she was now "healed". 

There was one other question I asked her that may have been most telling of all. I asked her if her book was self-published. Her eyes lit up and a smile crossed her face instantly. For a brief moment, it was as though she thought I might have an interest in publishing her book. She had no idea who I was other than I did not have an Australian accent. I told her I was not a publisher and her momentarily lit up face was extinguished as quickly as it had lit up. I sensed a defensive tension about her. I cannot say for sure what her motivation has been to publish this book, but I am not convinced it is only about telling her "truth". 

I want to believe it is, but she got my $29.99, didn't she?

The "truth" is, despite her best intentions, her self-published memoir may do more harm to her reputation and character than her silence, illustrating once again the power of words. Talk about turning the sword in on yourself. 

Ouch.

There are no Coincidences!

Champagne Pools, Fraser Island, Queensland, Australia

I believe in setting intentions, imaging, and the law of attraction. At one time I might have been skeptical, but as I have watched it work in my own life time and time again, I have all the "proof" I need. I have also been witness to how it has worked in the lives of others. Skeptics will "poo poo" it all as coincidence and I am fine with that. I do believe the skeptics should be a little more open-minded to possibility, but that is their row to hoe, not mine.

Over the last several years, it has become clearer and clearer to me how well it works. Last week I had a real smack upside the head from the law of attraction that I will share with you here today. It will help me figure out what I am supposed to do with it hopefully.

 Shortly after reading Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert in 2007, something started stirring inside me. I became restless. I began to crave change. It was a catalyst toward some serious self-examination that was long overdue. Despite its many critics, the book had a colossal impact on me. I was not alone. Thousands of women all over the world were struck by her words and her journey. Many longed to take a similar pilgrimage. At the time, I did not even think it was possible, but over the course of the next three years, this intense period of soul-searching gripped me, refusing to let go. In many ways, it was as though there was no stopping it. Something was forcing me to take this journey and I could kick and scream and resist as much as I liked. It would be to no avail. I made a conscious decision at one point to just stop trying to swim upstream against the current and go with the flow. In an attempt to help my trip down the river, I decided to work with a bit of imagery and play around with the law of attraction. 

I did some simple things. I changed all my passwords to names of women that I admired, with the idea that daily imaging of successful (in my mind) authors or characters would steer me toward a similar fate. In one case, after about two years of using one name,  it occurred to me that I actually did not want to end up like her, so I immediately changed it to another name and as soon as I did that, a course correction took place. At that time, I changed it to Elizabeth Gilbert, thinking it would give me the strength and courage that she had to do what I felt I had to do. I also changed the screen saver on my computer at work to an image of where I wanted to go. At the time, in my wildest dreams, I thought it would never happen. And then, it did.The image was of the Champagne Pools on Fraser Island. I have been there 4 times since then.  I also created an image board of what I wanted my future life to look like. As of today, at least half of the images I used that seemed unattainable at the time have manifested. 

Which brings me to a recent "coincidence". Last week, an invitation to a book launch appeared in my inbox. It was an event being held at the local art gallery here in Maryborough. Initially I glanced at it, not noticing the details. A couple of days later, I actually opened it, curious as to the book and the author, when the name Elizabeth Gilbert popped up. No, it was not her launching a book in this small town in Australia, but it just so happens, that her husband's ex-wife has written a book that will apparently unveil her "truth". She has used the fame and notoriety of her ex-husband's new wife to promote her own memoir, stating that she was blindsided by Gilbert's suggestion in her follow-up book - Committed, that their divorce had been "very, very, bad", when she felt it had been "gracious". 

Now, of all the small towns in all of Australia, how is it that I end up living in the same place as Elizabeth Lowrie? I did know after reading Eat Pray Love that "Felipe" had once been married to an Australian woman and that he had children with her and it was very likely that he would travel to Australia from time to time to spend time with his kids. But, it certainly took me by surprise to learn that she lives right here in this tiny corner of the world, the same tiny corner I have landed. So, now the question is - Why? Was I meant to meet her? Does she have a message for me? What will I learn at this book launch next week that will impact me? Should I send my heroine a note to tell her I am going? It almost feels like I am cheating on her in some way. Sidling up to the enemy? Should I read her book? Should I remain faithful to Gilbert? Was I meant to hear both sides of the story? Is Lowrie legit? Is she really just wanting her side of the story to be told or is she riding the wave of Gilbert's success to try and sell a few books? What is her motivation? 

There are certainly many questions. There is also an uncanny resemblance between the two. Both blond, Caucasian, same first names and both took healing journeys. Lowrie apparently meditated for 6 weeks in Brazil, rafted down the Grand Canyon and took a train across Canada, in contrast to Gilbert's eating in Italy, meditating in India, and finding balance in Bali. I cannot help but think that the ex-wife is really trying to stick it to Gilbert. There is a sense of bitterness and anger around the description of her story and she has even titled her book - Committed, Undone. C'mon! Surely she could have come up with something better than that! However, since I do not know the whole story yet, I will wait and reserve judgement until after I know more. I will try to keep an open mind and hear this woman out. 

We all know there are two sides to every story. 

For whatever reason, seems I need to hear hers.

I Never get Sea Sick

Looking out to sea from the south side of Waddy Point

After a week of sleeping and  waking up to the sounds of surf crashing on the beach, the silence outside my window last night was particularly noticeable, just as the sound of those rolling waves took a night or two to get used to on Fraser Island, now that I am home, the quiet will take a couple of days as well. 

What is it about being near the ocean that is so refreshing and healing? I always come back from these holidays renewed in ways that other escapes pale in comparison. The moment we roll off the barge and onto the beach, something happens. We enter an entire new world, barely 90 minutes from our inland home and everything changes. The sea air and the sound of the surf begin to permeate the physical body almost instantly and it is not long before your mind follows suit. 

It is easy to live in the moment when the distractions of daily life are limited to the nature surrounding you. I once read a TripAdvisor review of one man's trip to Fraser Island and he essentially said he was bored there. He said there really was not much to see or do. I was dumbstruck by his opinions. Clearly he had chosen the wrong type of vacation for himself. It sounded like he had not done his research. Maybe he should have gone to Vegas. I find every  moment fascinating on the world's largest sand island. What may appear as a lifeless expanse of beach as you drive along the sand for 75 miles is anything but. 

Looking south from north of Ngkala rocks

In fact, on this, my fourth trip to Fraser Island, I discovered exactly how much more life there was, that until now, I had been unaware of myself. The last time I was there, I learned how to find pipis beneath the sand. We use them for fishing bait. I had seen others engaging in something called worming, but had never tried it myself. Believe me when I tell you, that you  may think you are walking on nothing more than hardened sand as your bare feet stroll along the beach, but the truth is, there is so much life underfoot, it is incredible. Surely, most of you have noticed little crabs, or seen the little balls of sand created by soldiers crabs, or watched bits of broken shells roll past, but did you know, that lurking just below the surface are thousands of worms? Now, you may be thinking, no big deal, a few little worms. Think again. The worms that are harvested to use as bait are at their smallest about 3 feet long, and as long as 7-8 feet long. I watched in awe and horror as the pros, (and Steve), tempted them to surface their heads with bits of smelly fish, then yanked them from their long and winding holes, sometimes having to fold them up along the way in order to get their entire length out of their cocoon of sand. These monster worms make Canadian earthworms look like beginners. 

In my naivety, I imagined you must need a pretty big hook to affix these fellas, but I learned that you only use bits of them at a time. Gulp! I do love fishing, but there are parts that require me to take a deep breath and wince, as I smack two pipis together to break the shell, then scrape the mollusk away from its home and pierce it with my hook two or three times before casting it out to sea. That took some getting used to, but pinching off bits of worm was pushing me to my limit. It is not a sport for the faint of heart, but the slithery gross parts are worth it when you feel the yank-yank of something unseen under the surf and you pull up and start reeling in. The entire time, wondering what will emerge as your catch gets closer and closer to the shore. It is like buying a lottery ticket and dreaming about what you will do with the money when you win. From the moment you know you have a fish on your hook, you have a period of time where you don't know what you have caught and as I always like to dream big, it is usually something that will be worthy of a prize and I imagine standing proudly as I hold up my awesome catch and photos are taken. However, that has yet to happen in my lifetime. I usually catch small or medium sized fish that are common. On this trip I caught 8 Dart. They are abundant in the waters off the island and are tasty enough but full of tiny bones, so we catch and release. The fun is in the hunt and the catch.

The famous Champagne Pools

When you are not busy fishing, or you want to rinse off the clammy, sticky salty film from your skin, there are many fresh water creeks that flow out to the sea from underground springs. The water is always cool and refreshing and on the move, so you can just plunk yourself down in the creek bed and let the crisp clean water flow over your body. Some are deep enough that if you had a flotation device or inflated rubber tire, you could float along the winding creek beds until you reached the end. These are great spots to stop and enjoy a picnic lunch and clean up before heading back to the shoreline.


Over the course of our week, we saw goannas, rays, dingos,  dolphins, white-bellied sea eagles, ospreys, kites, pied oyster catchers, plovers, sandpipers and many varieties of inland birds as well. I saw my first black snake wind and slither across the road ahead of our vehicle as we crossed the island on an inland road. I saw some crazy-assed spiders and thousands of butterflies and dragonflies. We came across a bizarre little sea creature on the beach, still alive, washed up with the tide. We researched it last night and it was a type of urchin known as a sea potato. There is no end to the discoveries to be made and the vast and varied life to be found on Fraser Island. I cannot help but wonder about the man who said there was nothing much to see or do on the island. Maybe he just had his eyes closed. 

Sea Potato (urchin)

And of course, for many, the main event is beach driving. I had no idea how exhilarating it would be. Imagine driving on the hard-packed sand at 80 kmh, navigating bumps and wash-outs, windows open, sea air on your face and scanning the horizon for dolphins, eagles, whales in season, surrounded by sunshine and blue sky as far as the eye can see and cranking up your favourite music or just listening to the crash of the waves for miles and miles! The word boring does not even enter my mind. It just fills me up to the brim with joy. Pure, unadulterated joy. 

Indian Head in the distance from south of Waddy Point

To immerse yourself fully and wholeheartedly into this jackpot of nature feels like being a little kid again. Spending the whole day outside playing like you did when you were 8 years old, coming home at dusk with pockets full of seashells, sticky and dirty and a little sun burnt, bits of grit and grime under your nails and the worst hat hair you can imagine - that is a typical day on Fraser. If  you are a camper, you continue the adventure into the evening, but for me, I look forward to a nice soak in the tub, a chilled glass of wine, some music on the stereo, dinner and a good bed to collapse in after a full day. Being lulled to sleep with the sound of the surf and waking to the most spectacular sunrises is the icing on the cake.  A bit of luxury and a lot of adventure. 

The perfect combination for this gal.

Can't wait until next time.

Sunrise from Kyeema at Orchid Beach

One Dog's Life

I had never met a dog who would stop and pose for a photo...until I met Broadus (Brody to his friends). It was August of 2008 and my nephew was getting married in Kelowna, B.C.  As I was living in Toronto, I had not yet met his best friend or his bride to be. It was a joyous family occasion and a memorable meeting on both counts. I am not sure whose eyes were more startlingly beautiful, his dogs or his brides, but I came away with lasting impressions of both.

As it turns out, the dog was involved in the wedding ceremony. Not quite the best man, but certainly his role as ring bearer would give him "best dog status" at the very least. It was a casual affair in a natural setting in one of the Okanagan's lush apple orchards. The summer blooms were at their peak, the sun was shining and the cicadas hummed. The groomsmen wore off white linen pants and casually untucked light brown shirts and the groom switched things up with a light green shirt, so Brody, with his healthy shiny brown coat blended in with the wedding party, or maybe the wedding party was meant to blend in with him. Either way, whether intended or not, he was the perfect accessory at this festive occasion. He even had a place of honour on top of the wedding cake. 

Broadus sat through the ceremony next to his much loved owner. He did not slouch or whimper or try to run off. He stood proudly with the best man and calmly witnessed Johnny and Gayle's wedding vows, as any good dog would. He held the bride's ring fastened to his collar waiting for his moment to shine. Afterall, he was not just any old dog that day - he was the only four-legged member of the wedding party. The flower girl only had two legs, and besides, she seemed unable to sit still like he had. Hmmmfff! Humans!, he must have been thinking. 

After the ceremony, it was time for him to really strut his stuff. Photo time! Now, I am not really sure how it all started, but since he was a pup, at the sight of a camera appearing, Brody would jump into action. I reckon he must have been a celebrity or a male model in a past life, but this dog LOVED working the camera. He had this crazy innate sense to pose at the sight of any lense, big or small. He knew how to look directly into the lense, cock his head a little as though he knew his best side and hold still until after the click. He was a pro, through and through. Maybe he just knew how handsome he was, or was  not keen on having bad photos of himself swirling around the internet - who knows? All I know is that he was the easiest dog to photograph that I had ever met and likely ever will. 

Photos are a wonderful thing. As we move through life capturing moments and making memories, we are creating little visual treasures that can be revisited time and time again, whenever we get the urge to go back to a time that made us happy. And so, today, the morning after his passing, I am sure there are many who knew Broadus who are doing just that. Reliving past moments and smiling and remembering a good dog. 

A very good dog. A  much loved dog.

RIP Brody. You will be dearly missed.

Can you be Brave?

One of the most inspiring songs in terms of lyrics that I have heard in recent years is "Brave" by Sara Bareilles. It is intended as encouragement for anyone who is afraid to "come out". When I listen to this song, it always stirs some deep emotion within me that moves me to tears as I know there are so many people in this world who are fearful of living their truths. The song could just as easily apply to fear in general. The kind of fear that stops anyone from being who they truly are. The fear that lurks in just about everyone in one way or another. The kind of fear that requires being brave to conquer.

I know many people who live in fear. So, when I read this quote on Facebook today - the one you see above, it really struck a chord with me. It was the perfect summation of what I wanted to say to so many people, myself included. I felt my heart race as I read it. I wanted to shout it at the top of my lungs, because to live life any other way just seems like a waste to me. What is up with "settling"? Or not speaking up? Or working at a "job you hate"? Take the leap! "Be fucking brave."

Take all your excuses and toss them in the rubbish bin. They are just that. Excuses. If you truly believe that you are here in this one short lifetime to be happy or share your gifts or talents with the world before you die, there really is very little time to waste in fear. Quit hovering there. What are you afraid of? What other people will think? (that is usually a biggie) Afraid of failure? (the second biggie) Ask yourself one simple question. IS IT TRUE? I guarantee you that 9 times out of 10 it is not.  It's never too late. You always wanted a degree or doctorate? What is stopping you? Your marriage is a sham or abusive or dead? Leave it. You would rather be anywhere on earth than at your workplace? Quit. Find a new job or start your own business. Take risks. Experiment. Show some fucking enthusiasm for life. Please, just BE BRAVE! 

Brave

by Sara Bareilles

You can be amazing
You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug
You can be the outcast
Or be the backlash of somebody’s lack of love
Or you can start speaking up

Nothing’s gonna hurt you the way that words do
When they settle ‘neath your skin
Kept on the inside and no sunlight
Sometimes a shadow wins
But I wonder what would happen if you

Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I wanna see you be brave

I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I wanna see you be brave

Everybody’s been there,
Everybody’s been stared down by the enemy
Fallen for the fear
And done some disappearing,
Bow down to the mighty
Don’t run, just stop holding your tongue

Maybe there’s a way out of the cage where you live
Maybe one of these days you can let the light in
Show me how big your brave is
Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

And since your history of silence
Won’t do you any good,
Did you think it would?
Let your words be anything but empty
Why don’t you tell them the truth?

Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I wanna see you be brave

I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
See you be brave

I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you

I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you

A Perfect Day

Lychees ready for picking

Ever notice how the universe often delivers just exactly when you need it to? I do. It happens regularly for me. At least that is how I see it.

On Saturday night after dinner, I was whining a bit about the town I live in. I had held back as long as I could, trying week after week, month after month, to embrace the positive attributes of this small town in Queensland, but suddenly it seemed that the negatives had just been outweighing the positives more and more lately. I was no longer capable of keeping my opinions and thoughts about this town silent. 

My approach to expressing my thoughts and feelings about this place we call home now came spewing forth in a slow and steady flow like hot lava down the slope of a Hawaiian volcano, slowly and thoughtfully, but stinging and hot nonetheless with the potential to do irreversible damage along the way. I said this town had no life force, no energy, there were no good restaurants, no interesting shops, too many dilapidated houses, too many miserable, scowling faces. It feels dead to me. There is no forward movement here. There is a dull, lifeless quality that permeates everything. There is a stubborn stuckness (my new word) in attitude. I went on and on. 

It was probably hard to hear. Even if most of it is or was true, nobody wants to hear this kind of criticism of the town where they have spent most of their life. He listened. He heard me. I got it all off my chest. It was only the beginning of what is sure to be further conversation about the future and where we will end up. It should not come as a surprise to either of us really. One does not move to a town of 25,000 from a city of 2.5 million without a few hiccups. As much as life in the big city was wearing me down, the scale and contrast of "downsizing" was pretty drastic. It would take time. 

I do like several aspects of small town life. It's not all bad. Traffic is a non-issue. I still find myself arriving early for everything, never really believing it will only take 5 or 10 minutes to get from one end of town to the other. There is something to be said for limited choices. You don't waste much time dithering over unlimited options for everything from which shop to go to or which restaurant or which concert or which movie...you are lucky to have a choice between two. Pollution is not an issue. Overcrowding is non-existent. It is quiet. It is safe. 

So, Saturday night turned into Sunday morning and life went on as it does. We were up for a walk at the crack of dawn, said g'day to a mob of roos up the street and over at the park, came home, made breakfast, enjoyed the gentle breezes that blew through the house, did a few domestic chores and then I suggested we go out for lunch. This is fairly rare as I have come to the conclusion that there really are no good spots in town for this. I kid you not. Not a one. However, about 3 weeks ago, I had noticed a new spot opening on Wharf Street and was curious. A couple of the gals I play tennis with had heard it was pretty good and I was eager to check it out. 

It was a newly renovated space in one of the town's old historic buildings. As soon as we stepped inside, I knew things were looking up. The decor was instantly appealing - all black and white with splashes of bright citrus green, banquettes lining the walls against the windows and an open kitchen, a beer garden out back and a larger room for big parties - the Forest Room - decorated to reflect the name. It was really well done. Was it possible they had actually impressed me? Indeed they had. We sat by the window in a cosy corner and the food was not outstanding, but it was fresh and more than adequate. The service was a bit wonky but given it is early days and they were short-staffed, all was forgiven. The menu had several things that seemed interesting, so we will return to try a few more things. This little jolt of newness was right on time. 

The Forest Room at Alfresco on Wharf St

After lunch I suggested a drive. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. We decided to pop in on some friends just on the outskirts of town. They live in a charming old Queenslander house on a large acreage. When we arrived they were entertaining another couple on the wrap around porch for lunch and they insisted we join them for a cup of tea, so we accepted. It was really lovely to sit and chat and look out at their expansive lawn and all the surrounding trees and birds and butterflies flitting about. The couple we just met were interesting and chatty having just spent two years caravaning around the country after selling their house and all their possessions, then set off to explore the entirety of Australia. I wanted to hear everything, to feed my soul with tales of their adventures and discoveries. Again, just what I needed. 

After tea, we were invited to help ourselves to mangoes and lychees that were growing on the property. I picked both for the first time and although for many it is just an ordinary experience, it occurred to me that even this simple act of picking and peeling and eating a lychee off a tree was something I had never done before. In Canada, the only lychees I have ever eaten were purchased at a grocery store and they were brown on the outside. These lychees were red on the outside and sweet and juicy on the inside. Had you asked me minutes before if they grew on a tree or a vine or came up out of the ground, I would not have been able to answer you. But now I know they grow on trees and taste a whole lot better right off the tree, much like any fresh fruit or vegetable.

The day was unfolding nicely. They then invited us to join them on an excursion to the riverbank next to the Brolga Theatre where a late afternoon concert and twilight market was taking place. I had heard something of these monthly events, but had not been to one yet, so this was a welcome invitation to check it out. We all met shortly after for drinks and some live music set before a backdrop of the Mary River with a few sailboats and small yachts, anchored intermittently and  bobbing softly on the water. 

The entire day was really unplanned and spontaneous. Each segment presented itself effortlessly and simply and we went with the flow and it took us on a perfect little journey that filled all of  our senses. The unexpected visuals at the new bistro, the delicious tastes of freshly picked fruits, the sound of live music, the balmy breezes of late summer on our skin, and the smell of gardenia blossoms and mock orange near the river. 

Borrowed Gardenia Blossom ;-)

My complaints of the night before dissipated as I recounted my day and I felt grateful again. It felt like the universe had provided me with a reminder and it shifted my thinking back to a more positive outlook. I can choose to focus on the negative or I can choose to focus on the positive. 

And it is indeed a choice. It is presented daily. The trick is to choose wisely.

I'm working on it. 

Planting new Seeds

I remember my last semester at Ryerson and the stress I experienced. The final papers. The final exams. The pressure (mostly self-imposed) to complete and pass all my courses so I could earn my degree. It was weeks and weeks of high anxiety. I recall I gained about 10 lbs. and even started smoking cigarettes after having quit for 6 years. I took up drinking Scotch at the bar at Oakham House next door to the Journalism building. I did not even like Scotch but it seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, what journalist worth their weight did not know at least a little something about the varying degrees of peat in a dram of good aged single malt Glenfiddich or Macallan? 

Somehow I managed to get through it. In the end I collected my piece of paper that proved I did the required work, quit smoking again, stopped drinking Scotch, found a real job and as for the 10 lbs., well they stuck around for awhile. No one is perfect. 

Studying and deadlines have never been my forte. There are days when I still find it hard to believe I got through. In fact, I still have a recurring nightmare that I did not get my degree. That I am clamouring to find my way through the hallways of the school, cannot find my locker, have not studied or read any of the course materials and the underlying fear throughout these nocturnal journeys through hell is that I will have to explain to my parents that I did not graduate. That I failed. Failed myself. Failed them. Simply fucking failed. When I wake up from these sweat-inducing dreams, for a brief moment I believe I did not succeed. I screwed up. I blew it. As I come around, open my eyes, shake it off, I am always so relieved to realize it was just a dream.  How is it that I am still plagued with these nightmares 30 years later? What part of me still needs to please mommy and daddy? Do we ever feel we have done enough or been enough in their eyes? Why do we allow our failures (seeming or otherwise) to outweigh our successes in their eyes? As much as I know mine have been proud of my accomplishments, I still fret over their opinions of my downfalls. 

The need to please. That bitch has to go. She simply must because the truth is, she will never be enough. Even in the past when it seemed she may have had their stamp of approval, the problem was that she did not have her own stamp of approval. She was too busy trying to turn herself into something that would make them happy, all the while sacrificing  herself to the cause until the day came when she knew she could not go on with the facade her life had become and it required such a dramatic upheaval of change that it made her anxiety-stricken final term of university seem like a walk in the park compared to what she had to do now.

She is not even sure where she summoned the strength and courage it took to turn her life upside down and venture down an entirely different path. One of uncertainty. And as much as she knows intellectually that nothing is really certain in life, hovering in it for the last four years has been the biggest challenge of her life so far. The question of why is ever present. Why did she have to do it? Why upset the applecart? The apples were all piled up neatly, unbruised, attractive, ready to be eaten and enjoyed but now they are spilled and rolling all over the ground, getting dirty and battered and landing on their sides, or upside down, some getting lost under the cart, some snatched by birds, others gnawed on by rodents, but some actually surviving in tact. 

And it is in those, the intact spilled apples where she is finding her strength. The parts of her that were there all along that have survived the spill. And they are perfect and ripe and juicy and their seeds are healthy and alive and she will devour the fruit as it falls and then plant the seeds and start over again and the fruit she produces will be of her own making and she won't try to squeeze them into a cart again. She will eat them as they ripen and let them land where they may fall as nature intended.

Nothing will be certain. And that will be OK.