Action expresses priorities ~ Mahatma Gandhi
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My actions, every action, no matter how small, shows those around me what I find to be important, what I hold as valuable, and where or how I choose to spend my time. Many of my actions do not necessarily result from a conscious intent, however, they still illustrate my mindset, my values and my priority.
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How often do I pick up my phone and look at the screen? How often do I do that when I’m spending time with someone I enjoy? What message am I sending to those closest to me?
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How often do I listen without hearing? How often do I listen with an intent to respond, rather than just listening to listen? What message am I sending to those dearest to me?
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How often do I tell myself that I have failed? How often do I ignore my “gut” feelings? How often do I stifle my feelings, or desires, or needs? What message am I sending to myself?
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Every action, all action, expresses what we hold as a priority.
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Be present, listen with the intent to listen, to hear, to support, to love our friends, partners and those we hold dear. I am incredibly humbled and grateful for my connections, my supports, the amazing group of people in my life. I want to express that priority.
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Be brave, put the phone down. Turn the ringer, the notifications, the buzzing off. Disconnect and reconnect with the world around us. Smile at strangers, look up instead of down. Be amazed.
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Be kind. Turn off the negative self talk, give yourself and everyone else the benefit of the doubt. Respond with care, empathy and kindness, always 💚
Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts ~ Winston Churchill
This was the day. I could feel it. It was time. My first solo motorcycle ride. Nothing epic, just a loop around Stanley Park, slow and steady. The speed limit is 30 km/hour and a mere 10 minute ride from my apartment. It was perfect, after rush hour, on a clear, dry, sunny day. I had gone on a few rides with my Breath of Fresh Air (BOFA), on my new bike, and I wanted to clear this solo hurdle. I successfully fought my urge to overthink it, remembering my bestie’s five second rule: when I feel like going, just put on my gear and go. Don’t stop to (over)think it through. I texted BOFA, ‘I’m doing it...Stanley Park here I come!’ His reply was instantaneous, ‘You got this! Text me when you get home please.’ The adrenaline was already coursing causing a slight tremor, but I knew that it would go away, and I would settle in, after a few blocks anyway.
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... I took a deep breath, pushed the button again and proceeded up the ramp. I was coming in hot, afraid I wasn’t going to be able to duck under the still up-rolling gate, I hesitated. Then I stalled. Stalled on the ramp, just before the gate that was now quickly moving back down. This was not the scenario I had planned. I started my bike again and put it in first gear, and attempted to give enough throttle to go up the ramp. But the bike was only moving backwards, I kept trying to find first gear, was I in neutral? My wheel turned and in a split second I knew, the bike was going to lie down. I put my feet on the ground and eased Fred onto his side. Fuck. Fred looked to be in fine shape, but I was not. Fred was on his side, on the ramp, just before the gate. And despite all of my best efforts, I could not pick him up! Shit. Now what?
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I was frustrated with myself. I felt like an idiot, like a failure, as if I should have known how to get up the ramp, as though I was inadequate in some way. I berated myself for not being perfect at something on the first try. And the gate scared me. The gate got in my head. The gate from hell.
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Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage ~ Lao Tzu
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We were sitting at a table, drinking delicious, cold, thick smoothies, chocked full of health and goodness, while watching the couple behind the counter move symbiotically, as they nimbly attended to the hungry crowd. The restaurant was one of a kind in that part of the country. Healthy, organic, farm to table ingredients. Not necessarily our usual scene, but a welcome change from the heaviness of tortillas, cheese and meat. We marveled at the long line-up, generally a sign of a great place, and also at how the couple moved in concert with each other, as though they had been doing that dance for their entire lives.
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Another patron, one sat next to us, commented on our fixated gaze while we sipped our smoothies, grateful for some air conditioning and an escape from the midday heat. He told us they knew each other as kids, going to the same elementary school, and playing together as they grew up. When he first met them and asked for their story, the Husband told him that he always knew he was going to marry the Wife. Ever since the second grade. They lost touch over the years and the Wife was matched with an older, successful businessman and married off in an arranged marriage. She was miserable. Her family was happy, her brothers had jobs in the company and her parents were taken care of. Eventually, overwhelmed with despair she ran away. She ran from her family, him and his money, the entire life she was arranged to live.
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A few years later, the Husband found her. He knew he was going to marry her since the second grade. They fell in love. They moved. They opened their restaurant. A love of cooking, of dogs and the beach, they started a new life together. A perfect arrangement.
What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything? ~ Vincent Van Gogh
It was my worst nightmare come true, every anxiety-ridden, fear-provoked, inability to fall back to sleep, nightmare, but I was awake and it was real and it was happening to me. There I was on Sunday afternoon, feet firmly planted on the ground, hands tightly formed into fists, gripping the clutch and the front brake, and thinking to myself, “now what the fuck am I going to do?” My first real ride on my brand new motorcycle, it was sunny and warm, a beautiful day for a long, slow ride. The perfect opportunity to get used to the feel of the bike, the controls, the clutch, and conquer some fears. My Breath of Fresh Air (BOFA) was riding ahead of me. An experienced rider, with a powerful bike, I heard him say through our helmet communication devices, “easy into the right turn, it’s clear” and he was gone. Accelerated up the hill, and I did not. The light had changed, a big truck was stepping on the gas, and I knew I needed to stop. I made the right call.
A mere week prior to this incident, on a Saturday morning, bright and early, I was in a parking lot. The sun shone down, the wind was blowing, and I was straddling a motorcycle. I turned my attention to our instructor giving us directions. I had never started a motorcycle before. Motorcycle Riding 101. Created for complete beginners. I had all my own gear, and I was comfortable sitting on the back of a bike, but now it was time to get in the cockpit. I was excited!
That excitement continued until shortly after lunch, when I not only stalled the bike, but dropped it with a resounding THUD. I was rattled. And the feeling continued all afternoon, the bike was riding me, not the other way around. It had been a very long time since I’d put myself in a situation where I was so firmly outside of my comfort zone. Sitting outside in the sun, helmet next to me, shop cat at my feet, I felt a sensation I hadn’t felt in quite some time. I had to admit to myself that I wasn’t very good at this. I wasn’t a natural, undiscovered, motorcycle riding talent. This was going to take some work.
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The fear of facing your fears is harder to overcome than the fear itself ~ Anonymous
As a teenager, I was (and still am) deathly afraid of spiders. Arachnophobia. I had recurring nightmares that spiders were dropping from the ceiling, and my mom would need to come into my room, turn on the lights, wake me up, and show me that there were actually no spiders. When the kids at school learned of my phobia, things worsened, as it was funny for them to throw plastic spiders on me, at me, and hide them in my locker. The gut-clenching, cold sweat, anxious, nauseating, paralyzing fear was impossible to explain or understand, unless you were firmly standing in my shoes. Or rather quaking in my shoes.
My mom clearly remembers my sixteen year-old self coming home after my first driving lesson and telling her that cars were “death machines.” I had a healthy fear of driving, well not actually of driving, but rather of being in an accident. Working as a paramedic, and later as an Emergency Room RN, amplified my fears of being in an accident. These fears were now soundly based on witnessed events and incidents that landed my patients on my stretcher. Downhill skiing, mountain biking, rollerblading, ice skating, driving, walking, hiking, breathing.
As an adult, I still identify with fear, however, my sense of fear has shifted. After years of being in the healthcare field, I no longer fear death and dismemberment. Instead my fear is of failing.
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