Ever since I encountered my first computer, sat at the keyboard and began exploring all the functions and cyber universe, I have been hooked. This tool is utterly fascinating to me. For some reason, I seem to have caught on rather easily even though I was already in my thirties when I began. I very quickly learned to design web pages using HTML codes. Why I understood this was beyond me, but what is even further from my understanding is how someone's brain would have to be wired to even begin to conceive the intricate pattern of electronic components and bits of programming required to create a machine that can write, draw, communicate, expand, connect, calculate, be modified at will by the user, self-regulate, update itself and so on. The intricacy of this device is so, so ahead of what we are essentially, just an animal, with a digestive system and arms and legs and a brain to drive it all.

 

Recently, I have become even more fascinated by what I now call the "cyber generation". When I began researching sites I could use to blog or write, I discovered a network of high energy folks who had posted articles, all different one from the other mind you, on as many as twenty different writing or blogging sites, all interconnected in some fashion or another, all supported by referral program widgets and personal ventures they had initiated. The instructions alone, for these sites, are mind-boggling. The extent of work that goes into every detail of writing, formatting, providing suggestions for networking, lists of tools for monetizing.... the very term, "monetizing", all so completely developed, thought through, detailed, broken down to the last bit. It is a completely new language, a new way to look at the world and see it as a whole, yet also as every single particle that forms the whole. All this, all at once.

 

According to diligent instructions regarding ways to ensure success with one's blogging or writing career on these sites, networking and elaborate content are essential. One should not settle for the one blog entry, the one webpage, the one subject that strikes their fancy. No. Readers want more. Readers will not read you or click on your affiliate programs if you do not provide an intense experience with an infinite web of possibilities for additional materials at the click of a button or link. For someone like me, straight out of the sixties, straight out of a more literary background, this was, well, too much information. I quickly let go of the urge to follow in these imaginary footsteps, in much the same manner I would not insist on becoming a rocket scientist. I leave that to the rocket scientists at heart.

 

So I settled with a couple of blogs and one ezine, which I update at my own pace for the simple pleasure of writing. When so many avenues are open before us, it seems we have two choices: Committing to managing a variety of paths or committing to recognizing where and how we fit in. It all boils down to accepting one's own style. There is no competition. There is only distortion. The distortion lies in thinking that since so many people can do all this now, and since it clearly works for them, I should do it also to demonstrate that I am also capable of that level of multi-tasking, or because someone might tell me that I am missing out on opportunities to expand my territory, my network, by not jumping into the pool of cyber-connectivity. In reality, no one is saying this.

 

The individuals, mostly fairly young I suspect, whose passion it is to develop this cyber world of theirs and share their success stories are doing just that, sharing their story, sharing their joy, sharing the joy of being the creative person they are capable of being, sharing the joy of honoring their dreams and talents. They lay it all out for me. They do not hold back. Their ability to explain and tutor is as intricate and expansive as the computer programs they develop. Their generosity knows no bounds. Perhaps this is the ultimate lesson in networking: Freely share what you know, allow others to see so clearly that they can decide the right path for themselves without hesitation.

 

I am content with my little piece of blog as it is, for the shear joy of writing, and I remain fascinated by the ever-expanding creativity of the new generations. I wonder, once more and repeatedly, how it is possible to participate in war, segregation, discrimination, any level of inflicting suffering and pain on others and on other creatures when we are capable of such magnificent and mind-opening creativity. Perhaps this "cyber generation" is on its way to connecting all of us through one giant web whose hub is a greater sense of fraternity. I hope so.

 

Slainte! 

My husband, Roderick, and I went for a walk in the woods this afternoon. Of course, our four-legged son Mathias came along. Not too far from our home, there is a privately owned trail that makes a one mile loop. It is usually a fairly quiet area. Other folks walk their dogs, or walk alone. There are many Beech trees, which makes me very happy because I absolutely adore them, but that is another story.

 

Today, Roderick brought a shovel along. The trail is also open to the public during the winter. Mathias is a rat Terrier, but bigger dogs walk there too, and moose, so when spring comes it is nearly impossible to walk safely without keeping your eyes down on the trail. There is what we jokingly call "boulettes" everywhere. In French, "boulette" means a small, round and soft ball. You get the idea. Since I had been working full time for several years until recently, and had not taken time to join Roderick and Matthias for their daily walk, I was not aware of the spring ritual. Roderick took it upon himself to clear the trail so it remains a pleasant place to walk for all visitors.

 

The result of this yearly assignment is not only a “boulette free” environment for all trail users, but also a slower, more peaceful walk for us. I walk in our village every day, but this is for exercise so I put a lot of energy into it. Today, due to Roderick’s activity requiring attention to detail, I had to slow down. We did not speak much. Our footsteps and the sound of a light breeze became the all-prevalent sounds. The patterns of sun and shade against the ground and trees became more obvious, more vibrant, somehow. In a moment like that, one becomes aware of being. In our daily life, we are so involved with doing. Most of the time, our doing spans from a need to accomplish something, to finish a task, to organize our surroundings or to take the necessary steps to secure income and maintain our lifestyle. Roderick's simple trail clearing project accomplished none of this, yet it accomplished so much.

 

In the winter, after a good snowfall, I usually trade my morning walk for shoveling. I clear our porch, an area next to the house for our dog, and around our cars. This year, I realized that Roderick shovels our block's entire sidewalk. Our town has a small snow blower. It is operated by one man in the village, but he cannot always make it early, or there is too much snow for the machine to handle. It would be quite a different world if in every town one or two individuals per block shoveled their little corner of the world. It would be so close to the earth, somehow; a true act of community living.

 

I wonder what the world would look like if it were second nature for all of us to chip in, even in big cities. Individuals on one block could take turns getting groceries for neighbors each week, taking the kids to school, vacuuming out a few cars or mowing two or three lawns, no strings attached. Employees would get the mail, organize recycling, and clean the display windows for other businesses besides their own. Perhaps neighbors could even share cars. My father used to purchase his lawn mowers and snow blowers with our next-door neighbor. They would take turn using and maintaining them. I had forgotten this until now.

 

I guess it is all about our willingness to share, not only things but also ourselves. Several years ago, I started making bread at home. The very first time I pulled a couple of loaves out of the oven, I felt an irresistible urge to bring one to our neighbors. At first, as I walked across the street, I felt a bit ill at ease. I had not managed to reason my way out of this, but it was somewhat out of character for a solitary, quiet person like myself suddenly to visit the neighbors, loaf in hand. The moment I was face to face with them, however, and handed them a warm, wholesome loaf for no reason at all, I felt better than I had felt in years doing my own thing for all the reasons in the world. I think it is time to bring more of that back into my life.

 

Slainte! 

I can never finish self-improvement books that contain exercises. When I first come across the book and leaf through it, or research the author and customer reviews, I feel "this is it; this is exactly the sort of question I need to be asking myself at this point, this will get me to the next level, the next profound understanding that suddenly releases insecurity and fear and opens doors."

 

I have a whole ritual for these books. They must be read at night, just before going to sleep, to ensure I end my day with positive or thought provoking ideas that somehow require going through the process of sleep to be assimilated. I must have a notebook at hand to jot down life altering quotes and record every exercise as though there were going to be a final test. Every time, I am positive I will return to these quotes in the future, or memorize them and recite them in a moment of weakness or despair. I never do, or very rarely. Interestingly, the one "quote" I have memorized and never forgotten was from a conference on tape. It has two entire paragraphs. THAT one made an impression, and I did not even do it on purpose.

 

This game is sustained for about two or three chapters, but with distinctly less gusto at each sitting, until I finally end up in front of my bookcase looking for something else to read. I convince myself that I need variety and will return to the book with life altering exercises. I do not. I made bookmarks several years ago. I was going to sell them in gift shops; nearly all of them mark the page of some abandoned, self-imposed reading assignment. When it comes time to shed a few things from my environment, I will review each book with the intention of passing it on and will be unable to do so. I will not finish them either.

 

It is not that I do not learn anything from them. Quite the opposite. My gut feeling says, "Read it through, absorb it, savor the spur of the moment epiphanies without forcing them, move on." The exercises are for people who like exercises. Why can I not just honor my own style? Why do we impose such arbitrary rules on ourselves? Some students need to study and memorize for hours and days prior to a test. Others just get it. They absorb and move on. Maybe this is my reading style. A book is really a sort of conversation, or a fascinating conference one attends at one's own pace. I have walked out on so many of these great opportunities to be engrossed in a good story, to be inspired, to be encouraged. I am a book drop out!

 

Perhaps the very existence of books with exercises tricks us into believing that we must adhere to the concept in order to get something out of the book. Says who? Perhaps it gives the illusion that it is no longer a book for one's simple reading enjoyment, but rather more akin to a school textbook, which must be approached a certain way, the right way. So now, another book sits on my table, with a bookmark where I left off, where I gave up on interrupting the enjoyment of reading because I did not want to stop for yet another soul-searching exercise. I do not believe this is because I do not want to know what I might discover about myself by answering the questions and writing about them. It is because deep down inside I am getting answers; analyzing them is often not the answer!

 

Slainte!

Several years ago, I volunteered on our local reparative board. This consisted of a panel of five or six volunteer citizens who met with individuals who had had DUI’s or had otherwise been arrested for theft, fraud, embezzlement and such. These individuals had been ordered by court to appear before us. Our duty was to create a community service and restitution contract they had ninety days to fulfill. This was a fantastic experience and a very humbling one also.

 

I come from a middle class, suburban family. I have acquired good education, all the way through university. I can honestly say that I have excelled at all the jobs and projects I have worked at and at fending for myself. I have never bounced a check, I have never been drunk, I have never had a car accident, and I have never stolen anything, except I did. I have robbed people of their dignity whenever I have judged them based on what I felt they had done wrong compared to me. I showed up on that board thinking that I would contribute to making these people take the right path. They showed me more about the right path than I ever could have shown them.

 

One young woman stands out. I believe she had appeared before us following a DUI. In the course of the interview, we noticed fairly intricate tattoos on her forearms. One of us asked where she had gotten them and what they meant to her. She indicated she had designed them herself. I cannot begin to describe the intricacy and beauty of the design. Even older board members, grandfathers and grandmothers whom you think would have been appalled by such “mutilation”, were absolutely in awe. In that instant, I saw the real person before us. The transformation was nothing short of radiant.

 

She had arrived staring down at the floor, avoiding our eyes, saying very little, fumbling with papers between her fingers. The moment we noticed her artwork, the moment we looked beyond the DUI and acknowledged the real person in there, she sat straight, looked us straight in the eye and smiled the most beautiful smile. We still designed a community service contract, we still discussed the offence, but we did it with the whole person, not just the offender.

 

She arrived at the follow up meeting, when her contract had been fulfilled, and quite admirably so I might add, with the same smile. She felt good. She felt good that she had faced her situation and she felt good that she had been trusted to face it even though this had all begun because, by many of our standards, she had “screwed up”.

 

This is one of many, many similar stories. One after another, the people who had taken a “less desirable” turn for a while showed up before us completely humiliated. Their names appeared in the local papers, everybody knew what they had done wrong, in fact, everybody knew mostly that, and little about who they were before, beyond this. Some did not get it, I will admit. Some were damned angry and felt “the system” had wronged them. These would usually return, over and over, and still not get it. Sad. Sad because even those who kept coming back, one offence after another, had talent, skills, some sort of victory at some point in their lives. When they talked, all had one thing in common. They all put themselves down in one way or another. All felt defeated in one way or another. All felt they could not measure up in one way or another.

 

After several interviews, I began to wonder if that was the key. I am not a psychologist. I simply started listening more, and watching, and wondering. Is it possible to drive drunk if you love yourself? Is it possible to steal and risk your freedom if you love yourself? Is it possible to hurt someone else if you love yourself? Finally, is it possible to love yourself if you do not feel loved?

 

Slainte!

It is nearly two months since I was laid off from my five-year position as a records manager. In that moment, when I received notice, I braced for a difficult road ahead, a sort of post partum crisis I was not prepared for. No one is. How do you re-create yourself after five years of building a relationship with co-workers and developing a daily routine? How do you recover from the familiar? Interestingly, these were my first and foremost concerns, not the fact that regular paychecks would be a thing of the past for a while.

 

To my great surprise, within moments of being notified, I felt as though I had just been released from an assignment with no end, one I could not have parted from on my own because I did not have the courage to say enough is enough, because I do not believe in leaving unfinished business for others who already have so much on their own plate, because I thought this job was my identity. It was not. I was there by default. In the right place at the right time to be offered a great, challenging project with no end.

 

It never happened. Five years of consistent overtime, installing records management procedures, requesting corrections and reviewing completed documents, modifying forms, solving problems, database development, all vanished in the blink of an eye. One would think that this should be heart wrenching in some ways. It was, for an instant. In that instant, it washed away with the tears. I actually asked myself "What was that?" If I were to describe it visually, I would say that I stepped through a portal, from one story into the unknown, a magnificent and liberating unknown. As I say this, I imagine the swish sound of moving into another dimension, one that welcomes me. Had I been an intruder? Yes. Using my skills, definitely, but not consciously choosing the circumstances. I cannot reconnect with memories of this as I would with memories of a close friend or touching moment. It is not part of me. It is not me. I do not miss it; there is nothing to miss. It never happened because I had not brought my entire being into the situation. If some device could retrieve memories of the last five years from my brain, there would be a gap, a flat line.

 

I sit at my computer every morning, next to a large window with the sun pouring in, my dog on my lap, Roderick working on his own projects and going in and out, great music, nothing but my own destiny to look forward to, and it seems perfectly normal and in good order; just as it should be, just as it should have been, as though I had never left this moment. Perhaps I simply dozed off for a while and had a very complex dream, the sort you try to recall and convey to others, but the images vanish the moment you try and there is nothing left to say.

 

I recently encountered a fascinating person who has had an impressive career, a list of accomplishments ten miles long. He even holds patents. I was delighted, but for a moment, I felt small. There was someone with great ambition, who had lived his life fully, and was still doing so, and here I was, without a job, sitting at my computer, creating online profiles and developing a small business consulting service, doing artwork, reading, contributing what? However, because I am sitting here, exploring what comes next, I can also see clearly enough to know that I was not seeing clearly. This man is doing what he loves, what he wants to do, what he is good at, what he cannot help but do because it is part of his entire being. It simply pours forth from him and he follows his heart. Within moments, I realized I was right on track too, in my own way. I may never have a Masters Degree or life-long career, but I am learning to master my own life and I think the most important part of this is to realize and accept what we have to offer to the world, and go ahead and offer it. Not doing this is a great failure, far more than failing at a class or a business.

 

When I originally began creating an online profile, I soon realized that I felt compelled to present myself as the professional records manager, consultant, and businessperson. I created at least three profiles before I finally settled with this one. In spite of my experience, in spite of my skills as an organizer and manager, each time I focused on this I felt I was describing someone else, or rather missing out on the whole person. The artistic side came forth. In fact, it pushed forth, a small voice growing louder and claiming its place in the world. Yes, it is perfectly ok to be an artsy person too. After all, the more structured side, the business systems developer, is also a creative person. After all, if I am not me, then I must be a fake, someone without the integrity to be genuine. This is what struck me about this man's journey. It is the journey of a genuine person.

 

Do I believe I can live off my artwork and personal business? No. No in the sense that this is not how I want to live. I like spontaneity, not mass production. I like opportunities to unfold. I like the freedom to choose. I like a regular paycheck, a budget plan, automatic withdrawals from the bank account when the few bills we have are due, knowing that we can have a little roof over our heads, that I can always properly care for the little creature placed in my care, my dog Mathias. This is the structured side. It must be honored. It provides the grounds for the creative side to walk on, and on, and on.

 

I wonder if other people are discovering who they are as they design their webpage and online profiles. Are they describing who they are, only to discover that this is not really what they mean? Are they starting over, repeatedly, until they get it right, and then say, "Ha! That is so me. Why did I not see this before?" I feel like telling the psychologists and psychiatrists I used to work with that creating an online profile would be a great discovery tool for some of their clients. Who do you say you are when you have to announce it to the world? Look at the first draft. Can you honestly say this is me? Are you willing and able to play that part? If not, start over. Tell me, tell youself , tell the world about the real you. I have never felt so healed. Perhaps I have never been so healed.

 

Slainte!

 

 

There are two types of dreams, at least in this head of mine. One type draws on recent encounters, event or conversations and creatively rearranges them to produce a sort of silly show to entertain me during my sleep. In these, I feel like the audience at a good, usually silly and thoroughly funny play.

 

The other type takes me to mysterious worlds where I interact with people I do not know, yet thoroughly recognize. The storyline usually involves a journey, lesson or quest, and the impact on me is lasting, profound and pleasantly "disturbing". They always bring into question who I have been in recent days, my thoughts, behavior, choices, and questions.

 

I had one such dream last night. It started out in a sort of Inn where I and other people were getting ready to get on the road. The journey began by climbing a square spiral staircase. Next, I found myself sitting in a sleigh. A man was pushing it. A woman walked at my side. I recognized the man. My own dog was on my lap. A group of other people walked behind us, and then ahead, until we lost them. There were Doberman on the path. In real life, my Rat Terrier does not befriend bigger dogs, so I was concerned about his reaction and kept him close. I am not usually afraid of any dog, but in this environment, sitting in a sleigh, lost, when they came near they growled right in my face. I tried to stay calm. One finally gently took my hand in his mouth and promptly flipped on its back for me to rub its belly. A friendship gesture.

 

I suggested I would walk off to a hill to determine if I could see which direction others had taken so we could find our way. On the other side of the hill, in the distance, there was a trail with marathoners on it, with numbers attached to their backs. I suggested we should walk in the same direction to get back to civilization. The sleigh was gone at this time and a veiled woman walked with us. She tripped and fell down a bank, and lost her veil. The folks who accompanied me ignored her. I was shocked. I helped her up, picked up her veil and gave it back to her. She walked on.

 

We eventually returned to an Inn and began climbing down the square spiral staircase, but I soon recognized that it was not the same one as before and notified my team we had not reached the proper destination. At the bottom of the staircase, through a door, I could see the marathoners walk by, in the same direction as before. End of dream.

 

I love taking this sort of dream apart, though often I do not bother. I just stay with it, enjoy the mystery and colorfulness of it. Today, for some reason, it all came to me so fast it was as though someone else was explaining it to me in my ear and I was very matter-of-factly repeating the analysis to Roderick, my husband: I was clearly in charge of my destiny. I decided which way we would go, I instructed on he path to take. Though what came ahead was threatening (the dogs), I stayed calm and ended up taming the situation and realizing that there was no threat. Marathoners are an organized group, with a starting point and a known and certain ending point (destiny). I used them as the model to fashion my path. Something was unveiled in the process. Not only that, but also one fell off the path, was unveiled (released identity?) and continued the journey, unhurt. I went up the staircase to begin the journey. Going up feels to me like detaching from something, taking flight. I went down when I returned, but it was not the same place. I had not yet reached the destination, and I would have to separate from the common path again to do so, not get near it, but separate (lingering attachments?). The direction of the marathoners was the same, however, so my journey was indeed heading in the right direction.

 

This dream, and my own spontaneous interpretation of it, seems rather in harmony with my present situation since I am currently taking a new course, re-discovering my artwork and recreating my work life. I feel good.

 

Slainte!

 

One action led to another, quite literally, and I did not once stop to "edit" myself. I was having a ball. It all flowed. Until it did not. I started projects that required more attention, more skill and more commitment than I can provide at this time. Once in, I felt the struggle but refused to back down. I have to be somebody and re-create an identity, after all. Right? Wrong.

Time for a reality and honesty check. If something is a struggle in the sense that it uses up energy but does not fulfill me or lead to a constructive and valuable use of my time, why would I be doing it? Why indeed? Who's watching? Who's telling me to do this? Am I ahead of where I was? Nobody. Nobody. And No. I think this is called learning by elimination. If it is not, then I have just coined a phrase!

I am drained and uplifted at the same time. I have created a road map, quite spontaneously I might add, and now that I look at it I can see the many, many detours. I am glad I am not applying for a job as a city planner. What a waste of infrastructure!!! But it was not a waste after all. I have identified more of what I like and what I don't, what I am good at and truly enjoy, and what I can do well but do not need to get involved with. I had forgotten a personal quote I like to throw out there once in a while. This time, it fits like a glove: "I am good at washing dishes; this does not mean I have to make a career out of it."

What a relief. We went to the restaurant across the street for a celebration of my newly acquired wisdom. I rarely eat meat, but I felt like a steak. I even had a cherry coke. Perfect feast to celebrate a breakthrough, and the dogmo (nick name for our dog Mathias) got a nice chunck when we returned.

Incidentally, I should have paid attention to the dog. Not that I don't, but I mean really pay attention. Whenever I am upset inside, or fidgety or impatient, he shakes. He'll just sit there and look at me and shake. I can play with him, hug him, take him out... he'll shake. He knows. He is a walking emotions barometer. The dogmo is shaking; time for a reality check. I hope I can remember this.

Slainte