Transcending Procrastination

Internally committing to something is one thing. Publicly committing to something is entirely different for now there’s a heightened sense of accountability. Your actions are measured, tallied. Your inaction noticed for the void of activity it occupies. Your ideas, your dreams, your goals are now in the public forum – no longer locked away in the confines of your mind. They take on their own life, own identity and are now tangible. What noone could see is now in the limelight. It is now hanging over your head like a visible thought bubble…

…mine is written in 12pt Calibri font and says “I want to be a writer“.

In an effort to get my creativity kick-started I dove into a workshop with the amazingly talented, brilliantly authentic, witty and charming Donna Morrissey this past weekend. It filled me with so much enthusiasm for the craft and allowed me to stretch my proverbial writing muscles. We were challenged to write a number of short passages on the fly, without much preconceived thought about what we were writing. The results of our efforts were surprisingly good and some were downright outstanding. Some true talent in the group. It uplifted my spirits in that it showed me I can put thoughts to paper and come up with something quite worthy of being shared and it also put me humbly in my place and at times made me feel extremely inferior in my skills when pitted against other writers. Perhaps the best compliments came when other writers in the room approached me about a theme I had written about – procrastination.

It turns out that a common characteristic amongst the group of writers was procrastination. In fact, many of us admittedly have been procrastinators our entire lives – right back to elementary school. Imagine my surprise when I learned that my course mate, my grade 8 science teacher, admitted to also being a procrastinator! It was quite enlightening to hear that the majority of the people in the room had had an idea for a book floating around in their head for up to 20 years. Why do we put off these creative pursuits? Why don’t we listen to these yearnings to express ourselves? Is it because we don’t believe in our abilities? Is it because we fear that our voice isn’t unique enough? Are we afraid of rejection?

Just like running a race, the most important step to finishing a race is actually starting the race. This also translates to writing. If you don’t start writing then you’ll never finish what you aspire to write. If you can’t finish a novel then how can you possibly submit it to a publisher? It sounds so logical yet is such a stumbling block for me personally. I’ve been so focused on the “what ifs” of the final product that it has been holding me back from actually getting anything on paper. I need to stop looking so far ahead and instead focus on what I can control and actively make steps forward in achieving – the end result, of a novel.

Since the course on Saturday I’ve opened up my notebook and begun jotting down ideas for settings for the actions of the novel I want to write and have begun working on character development. It has been very fun to get down on paper the ideas for the protagonist and the supporting characters and the antagonist as well – to document their personality traits, their flaws, their hopes, their history and even their physical appearance. Some of them have come very easily as I’ve had them in my mind for a very long time. Others will come in time and will be developed as I go and the story unfolds. I’ve also begun Pinterest boards dedicated to setting and details. Having something visual to draw upon for inspiration is extremely helpful. My next step will be an outline of the different sections of the book, the major conflicts and events that will affect the character development and all of that is truly exciting.

I know that it won’t all happen overnight because I have a lot of other competing demands but it is fun to have this little alternate “life” going on in my head – ideas spinning for dialogue or scenes I want to incorporate. I find I sometimes am woken up through the night with a really great metaphor or a scene and I know this is a great sign as to how excited I am about this process.

So, I’m going to forget about the future details of publishing and just focus on the here and now – getting words down and moving the story forward. I’m excited to see what this brain of mine comes up with and what I’ll learn about myself in the process of writing. I’ve got a voice – I just need to start singing :-)

Dream Paralysis

Image by Valentia (click on the image to go to her Etsy shop)

If you could do anything in the world instead of the job you are doing right now, and had the funds to do it, what would you do? What would you be? Is it the same thing you wanted to be when asked the same question in your childhood? If it is, why haven’t you made that a reality? What is holding you back? What steps would you need to take to make that happen for you?

I was asked this question this morning by my carpool friend and while growing up I wanted to be a fashion designer, a teacher and a marine biologist – I am none of these. My life has taken many twists and turns and to be honest I’m not sure that at nearly forty years old I’d really still want to have any of those careers. Sure, parts of them still appeal to me like spending time near or on the ocean as a marine biologist.

So, what would I do now if I had the money in my bank account to throw caution to the wind and just “go for it”?

I contemplated my answer for a minute or so. After all, I had been in these shoes before. I had taken that leap of faith and opened a photography business. That was a passion I wanted to turn into something more. It did, but as I also rationalized with my friend – the question is a loaded one because there’s a fine line between turning a passion into a means of earning an income, and doing something for pleasure. While having a profession that allows you to do something you love everyday is ideal, there’s also that point where it no longer feels like fun and you’re working with deadlines, etc and it loses all appeal for you as well as the pleasure component.

I thought a bit more and contemplated honoring what has been nagging me from the back of my mind and the depths of my heart for a very, very long time. Finally, I said it. I put it “out there” into the universe and admitted it.

I want to be a writer.

*deep breath*

That felt equal parts freeing and absolutely terrifying.

My hesitancy in revealing that inner dream or desire comes with the fear of the eye rolls and the “who doesn’t?” remarks and in a world where everyone has something to say and a million mediums to convey their ideas it kind of feels like even if I do take the plunge, my composition will be like a very tiny pin in a giant haystack. What could I possibly have to say that is so different or unique that I’d think anyone would care to read it? Which is why so many people never realize their dreams – they’re so afraid of other people not believing in them that they forget to believe in themselves.

Just think for a minute what could we accomplish if we stopped worrying whether other people believe in us or not. Just because we set out to write doesn’t mean it has to be with ambitions of having our work published. Writing is a very therapeutic form of creative output and often times it is in the process of pulling a scene or a thought together that true beauty exists. If others appreciate your words, great. If not, the end result is still rewarding.

A part of me however, can’t stop thinking that when I walk into a library or a book store that every one of those titles is on a shelf because their authors were in the exact same spot I am right now. Thinking about writing. Daring to think about the possibilities. All writers start from the same place – that limbo of having a pen or pencil in hand and a blank page before them – trying to garner the courage to write that first word. It is only because they overcame the paralysis and put their thoughts down that it eventually translated into being published – that they went from being a writer to an author.

In my teens I wrote poetry. My favorite part of any English class was always creative writing. I took part in some creative writing classes in my twenties as well. The bug has always been there. In fact, in my Grade 12 high school yearbook, one of the English teachers (who by the way I did not have the pleasure of being a student of) took it upon himself to sign my yearbook with “I look forward to seeing your book on my shelf“.

I’ve never forgotten that. He didn’t even teach me in my 3 years of high school level English classes but his belief in my future abilities has always stayed with me.

I’ll admit, I’ve had an idea for a novel floating around inside my head for years. Little bits of plot ideas, characters, a setting. I had a picture in my mind’s eye of where the story would take place and last summer that imaginary location literally came to life. As if I had already seen it in a crystal ball, I stood right where I had imagined my story would take place. It was a surreal and extremely emotional experience for me. It was like I had been transported in time and placed inside my mind’s landscape. The experience only solidified my desire to do something about these notions of writing and begin the process.

Still, no matter how much I endeavour to write, I keep waiting for the perfect time, the perfect spot to put pen to paper. As an aside, I have always had an obsession with pens and blank journals. I own many journals that have never been marred by ink. A hundred times I’ve opened them with pen in hand and been caught in that never ending limbo of having a thought and there being a disconnect before it can escape my finger tips. I rationalize that whatever goes into those journals has to be worthy of being expressed.

The other day, author, Ami McKay, wrote a blog post about the importance of doodling (read it here) and it was like a moment of sheer epiphany for me. The beauty of her thoughts for her next novel displayed in such a tangible format. Words and drawings and visual references. All of it looked so beautiful yet so ethereal. These pieces of plot and characters and scenes all finding temporary homes before they all get intertwined into the larger tapestry. It dawned on me that this was the exact process I’ve been avoiding because I thought I had to rush right into the sentence structure and the opening line.

What I realized is that that will all come in due time. My first step needs to be documenting all these swirling ideas in a place where I can let them go so that they are able to be recalled and revisited but in doing so it will free my mind to explore other thoughts and ideas to add to what I’ve already woven in my mind. In order to get from one place to another you have to be willing to shove off from the safety of the shore and just start sailing.

I’m hauling anchor.

April’s Cruel Day

It is that time of year when pranksters rejoice at the opportunity to be a tad mischievous and are absolved of all punishment under the guise of April Fool’s Day. The goal is to fool an unwitting victim into believing something or trick them into taking some sort of action you’ve encouraged them to.

Growing up in my household it was a prime time of year to be awoken by my father with the news that there had been a big snow storm overnight and that school was cancelled. Much rejoicing followed until we rushed to the window to see how much snow we’d be able to go out and play in with a day off from school – only to see bare ground.

Whatever the prank or hoax, it is meant to be received in a humorous way – to tease, get a bit of revenge but always to surprise someone when they learn the truth about a situation they have been enticed into believing.

However, there’s one prevalent hoax (especially since the invention and widespread use of Facebook) that many will resort to on April Fool’s Day – the fake pregnancy announcement. This my friends is far from funny and I’m about to share with you just why I urge you to never have this in your arsenal of pranks.

Fake pregnancy announcements, while they may seem harmless and all in good fun for you, can be extremely hurtful for others who are struggling with infertility or pregnancy loss.

Imagine for a moment that you and your spouse want nothing more than to get a positive pregnancy test result. Imagine you’ve been trying desperately to have a baby of your own for YEARS while everyone else around you seems to be able to have children without even thinking about it. How would seeing an update about a fake pregnancy affect you?

Imagine you have a child already and people assume you can have another one without difficulty – but the reality is you’ve been trying for months or perhaps years since the birth of your first child to give them a sibling. You also would give anything to be able to share the news of a pregnancy – then you see someone you care about joke about being pregnant. How would you feel?

Imagine you were pregnant and suffered a miscarriage or even more tragic, a late loss or stillbirth. Now imagine subsequently seeing a status update from a family member or friend announcing a pregnancy. While it would have been difficult if it were a legitimate announcement, then seeing it retracted in a “ha, ha fooled you” manner would be incredibly hurtful when you had your baby taken from you. How would you feel?

You might rationalize the announcement as all in good fun and you would never mean to intentionally hurt someone. You’d only do it because you know there’s nobody in your circle of friends or family who have problems getting or staying pregnant.

I assure you, believing that just because you haven’t been told about someone’s personal struggles with pregnancy does not mean they have not happened or are happening in their lives. To think otherwise is extremely naive.

The harsh reality is that many people who are challenged with infertility or secondary infertility or who have suffered miscarriages NEVER TALK ABOUT THEM openly. They grieve privately and only share the details with a few select people. Sometimes they only share that grief with their spouse.

It is for this simple reason that I respectfully request that false pregnancy announcements never pass over your lips or through your finger tips. What may seem like a harmless joke to you can cause unimaginable wounds to reopen for those you love the most, without even realizing your words are having that impact.

By all means, have fun and celebrate April Fool’s Day but beware of the impact your antics might have on others.

I have learned now that while those who speak about one’s miseries usually hurt, those who keep silent hurt more.
~ C.S. Lewis

Literary Affectionado

I’ve always loved the written word. As I child I was a voracious reader. Scholastic Canada book orders were like the Sears Christmas Wish Book for me, only they came much more frequently. I remember taking the book order home and pouring over it for hours – circling all the selections I wanted. I was very fortunate that my parents encouraged my interest in reading and nurtured my love of books by supplying endless reading material. I remember being over the moon excited when my elementary school teacher brought the Scholastic box into our classroom and placed it on her desk.

I’d sit in eager anticipation as she ripped the packing tape covering the narrow gap between the cardboard box’s flaps. She’d open one flap, then the other until finally it was open. I swear blinding beams of light sprung forth, up and out of that box. A reading Mecca. She’d pile the students’ orders on her desk and more often than not just let me take home the box they all came in because I had ordered the same amount of books as most of the other children combined. I’d race home after school and spread my new books out over my bed – not knowing which one to choose first. I’d devour each one cover to cover and then select another. My books were my prized possessions. Each one representative of a short pocket of time in my life. If you were to ask me what my favorite books were as I was growing up, the following selections would be on that highlight reel.

Elementary School Favorites

The first novel I remember reading in my childhood was Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I have always been drawn to period pieces and as a little girl growing up in the 1970′s and early 1980′s I tried to imagine what growing up on the prairies so many years ago would have been like. I tried to imagine living without electricity, going to school in a one-room school house and relying on the land for our food. I tried to imagine that this is what life was like for my grandmother, based on the stories she’d tell me of her childhood. I liked to think of her as the main character when I read the book.

Another favorite was John Peterson’s Enemies of the Secret Hideout.  I read this one many times and I think part of the draw for me was that I used to partake in a lot of imaginative play with my older cousin. One of the things we loved to do (besides play school – another favorite!) was to have secret clubs in secret hideouts around my aunt and uncle’s farm. We’d pay dues of 10 cents, bury things in coffee cans so our older cousins wouldn’t find our prized treasures and go on scavenger hunts. This is also about many of those activities so it was a natural favorite.

I also loved stories that had fantastical illustrations and the one that immediately comes to mind for me is The Littles and Their Friends also a book by John Peterson. I spent hours upon hours staring at this book as it was sort of like a bird identification book but in this case, for Littles. It illustrated the various locations they lived and the insides of their tiny abodes and I just got totally lost in their worlds. All the intricate multipurpose uses the illustrators found for everyday objects and the nooks and crannies they lived in just made my mind explode with curiosity.

Some of the books I loved as a child weren’t always one I read alone but ones that my elementary teachers read aloud for the class in the afternoons. I can remember this being one of my favorite parts of the day. The teacher would turn down the lights except the one over her head, we’d all get comfy in our desks (sometimes with our arms crossed and heads resting on our desks) and we’d get to escape to an imaginary world for a while. Some of those favorites were Charlotte’s Web by E.B. White (oh how I cried!), Tales of the Fourth Grade Nothing by Judy Blume and other classics like Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

Junior High and High School Favorites

I still continued to enjoy reading in my teens but I’m sure it is no coincidence that the number of books I read was in direct proportion to the number of hours I spent chatting on the phone with friends – that is to say that I spent a bit more time talking than reading. My attention span shortened and magazines featuring cute boys, quizzes and hair & makeup tricks found their way into my bedside reading stash more than novels did.

In junior high I do remember really enjoying the novel I’m Locker 145, Who Are You? by Sylvia Gunnery. The classic secret admirer tale. Our school didn’t have lockers so I also fantasized about how cool it would be to actually have a locker to find a note in. All the cool kids had lockers – well at least the kids on Degrassi Junior High did. :-)

I also fell head over heals in love with L.M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables. My parents bought me the book when we visited Prince Edward Island in 1982. I was eleven years old and being a redhead, I was eager to dive into the book and subsequent series because finding literature where the heroine also had red hair was pretty life changing. Anne is revered around the world and it gave me hope that this “curse” of red tresses was not going to hold me back in life. I drank in the prose. Montgomery is still one of the most influential writers in my own writing. Her use of descriptive language immediately ignites all the senses despite only using one to read her stories. Every line is a piece of poetry.

In high school, I was introduced to many other Canadian classics as part of the curriculum and I’m so thankful that they were. It is where I believe my love of Canadian literature and in particular, Atlantic Canadian literature, stems. For those who don’t know, I read almost exclusively Atlantic Canadian fiction – very rarely do I ever stray. I owe my love for this niche genre to my high school English teacher, Dr. Homer Noble, and his Canadian Literature course in grade 12.

Some of my favorite Canadian works of fiction include Ernest Buckler’s The Mountain and the Valley. It was through this book that I truly realized how profound of a character that landscape truly is. I was awakened to how much of an impact the physical surroundings play a role not only in the setting visually but in the lives of the characters as well. Being set in a fictitious community in Nova Scotia’s Annapolis Valley, I could relate to the setting – the way the light hit the fields of crops in the evening, the cyclical nature of life and death as it related to farming. I had a connection to the back drop, knew the types of people, their challenges. In a similar vein, W.O. Mitchell’s Who Has Seen the Wind provided a very clear picture of life in the prairies and of a specific point in time. A snapshot of life.

We also read Margaret Laurence’s The Stone Angel in high school and I remember being totally smitten with the fiesty character of Hagar Shipley. She made me laugh, she brought tears of empathy to my eyes and her prairie world was brought to life, again with beautifully crafted description. It detailed the inner conflict and external one as well of the main character in realizing she is not immortal and that she is increasingly coming closer to the end of her life. Family struggles with regards to contingency plans and nursing home options rang true for me at the time because my family had just been through similar circumstances with my aging grandfather. It spoke of long lives lived and moments of reflection for the things she did and regrets she had lived with. A really lovely piece of work.

In university I had the distinct pleasure and amazing opportunity to study under Dr. Jack Sheriff at Acadia. His enthusiasm for literature was infectious. He made me think about the written word in ways I had never noticed before. Suddenly written works became tapestries. There had been so much symbolism I hadn’t even tuned into before! I began to really appreciate the intricate threads of the writing process and how every single word was written with purpose and intent. They all played a pivotal role in creating the big picture. The most memorable piece of fiction we dissected in his class was Percy Jane’s House of Hate, set in rural Newfoundland. It chronicled the Stone Family and all the trials and tribulations of rural life in a tumultuous family environment. The characters were strong, the backdrop, again pivotal and the inner workings of the family dynamic were intricately woven throughout the tale. This piece just might be what sealed the deal for me and my love of Atlantic Canadian works. Jack Sheriff is also introduced me to my favorite short story of all time The Painted Door [pdf] by Sinclair Ross.

I’ve continued to read quite a bit into my adulthood but have definitely become more discerning when selecting titles to read. My downtime is limited and reading time even more so. My favorite reading spots are snuggled up in my bed while lying on my side or alternatively in summer, sitting in the shade of a tree on my family’s cottage deck overlooking the lake. Both spots allow me to focus solely on this little world being carefully crafted before my eyes but simultaneously in my brain with my imagination filling in the gaps.

Now I’m absolutely thrilled that my son’s daycare offers Scholastic book order forms! I feel like my life has come full circle. (No, this is not a sponsored post – Scholastic just truly impacted my life and my love of reading!) I’m now the parent that’s whole heartedly encouraging my sons’ love of reading. My oldest son (almost 3 years old) gets as excited as I did (do?) at pouring over the offerings, pointing to books with accompanying illustrations he can identify with. Excited, he exclaims “Monster trucks! Dump Trucks! Fire Trucks, Mom!” and I smile, knowingly.

What a glorious gift the ability to read is! So, what are your favorite childhood books?

If you’d like to check out my favorite titles from my adult years check out Books I Love. Happy reading!

Intrinsic Extroversion

Many of you have only met me in the last few years and most likely it has been through social media – forums, facebook, twitter, etc. Truth is I’ve been participating in social media in its most archaic forms since I was a child and that was intitally fostered by my father. I get my geeky genes from him. After all, my dad’s idea of heaven is Radio Shack.

My dad became an amateur radio operator (HAM) in 1956 – he’d talk to people from around the world while sitting in his bedroom, all through the use of technology. (Incidentally, I’m am amateur radio operator too – callsign VE1TAM). When I was a young child I remember going down into our basement to his ham shack (what amateur radio operator’s call their room of radio gear) where he had a teletype set up (these things were humongous!) and I’d marvel that I could type words and they’d be transmitted to someoene else’s machine hundreds or thousands of miles away. I was equally shocked when what they typed began being typed out on my machine. It was as if the machine was possessed!

From teletypes we progressed to the most rudimentary form of the BBS. I remember being a young teen having conversations with other amateur radio operators via our computer. I’d send a message to a friend’s address and before long the little green light on our box was flashing, indicating there was a message waiting for me in my mailbox – an early form of email I guess you’d say. Of course then in January of 1996, I got hooked up to that “internet thing” and had my own official email account, could chat with people using mIRC then ICQ (uh oh!) and of course then MSN and all the other wonderful forms of social media that have led us to present day like Skype, Twitter, etc. Interacting with other people through the written word has always been part of who I am. I love turning thoughts in my head into words on a screen and pushing SEND. In fact, I *might* be a little bit addicted :-)

So what is the common theme in this history lesson?

Connecting.

Connecting with other people despite physical distance. Connecting with them from the comfort of wherever you are and your message being received by them wherever they are. Connecting with others about topics we’re interested in, causes we support, sharing recipes and ideas, sharing our artforms and wares. All of it a sharing of thoughts between two or more people. It makes us feel like we’re part of a larger community. Gone are the barriers of communication based solely on proximity. We can literally reach out and connect with someone on the other side of the world. We can share and communicate with people that even ten years ago we would not have been able to connect with – all because of the advances in communications based technology. That’s a pretty awesome gift.

But do you take this amazing gift for granted? Are you recognizing the true value of the ability to reach out at any time to a multitude of people or have you become complacent? Do you even realize the impact you are capable of if you employ these tools and make a conscious decision to utilize them?

I’m referring to reaching out to others and going back to the grassroots level. How often do you take the time to write an email to a relative and truly inquire about how their life is going? How often do you send a text to a friend to check up on them when you haven’t heard from them in a while? How often do you send your best friend from high school a message on facebook to let them know you’re thinking about them?

Have we, as a society – a society where social media is so front and center in our every day lives, actually become disengaged from those we care about because we have this false sense of connectivity based on the fact we all have email addresses, smart phones, blogs, facebook accounts? Do we more often than not assume “if they want to talk to me they know 10 ways to contact me” – believing that because we have the ability to check in on someone by lurking in the realm of social media (by reading their facebook walls, their blog posts, their twitter feed) that we are in fact connecting with them? While we may learn things about their lives through these forms of social media it still isn’t interactive. Those people don’t know you’ve read their posts if you’re not interacting with them.

We have the ability to reach out and connect but how often do we truly do it? More often than not, we all seem to revolve around each other with virtual billboards displaying our latest news, assuming everyone we know will just read it. We chalk it up to being efficient – why email 100 people individually when you can post something on your facebook wall and reach all of them at the same time? But what if we’re just kidding ourselves? What if all this social media is just really making us antisocial? What about the people in our lives who aren’t part of our social media circles? Have we really forgotten how to interact directly with people? Must all of our communication be en masse?

All of this contemplation found me issuing a challenge on twitter today. I first asked my followers if they felt impacted in a positive way when someone reached out to them directly – through an email, a facebook message, a text, etc. Nearly all responded that yes, of course they did. It made them happy and brightened their day to know someone took the time to contact them in a direct and deliberate way. I then challenged my followers to extend that courtesy of purposeful communication to three people in their lives. It could be delivered through whichever method they preferred – email, phone, text, etc. Without even doing it I had an ethusiastic group excited to spread some joy to others.

At the end of the day I asked for a report – had anyone taken me up on the challenge and followed through? To my delight many had. They had touched the lives of at least three other people today – all because they made the conscious decision to reach out to them. In nearly every case the recipient of the message indicated it had made a positive impact on their day – to know someone was thinking about them and had taken the time out of their busy schedule to make a concerted effort to truly connect. To get back to the basics of one-on-one communication. One participant even went so far as to say they are going to implement this challenge into their morning routine in hopes of positively impacting the lives of others on a regular basis. How awesome is that?

Kindness is contagious. Once people feel the positive impact of having a kindness extended to them, they feel more compelled to do the same to another person and a domino effect is created. Drop someone a quick email, send them a text – do something to make a connection. After all, you know how much it means to you when someone extends that kindness to you. Why not return the favor or better yet, pay it forward?

So, next time you’re thinking about someone don’t just think about them. Tell them you’re thinking about them. You never know just how much impact a simple “Hi, how have you been?” might have on another person’s day.

♥ @ 1st Site

She stands in front of her dresser’s mirror. Fixes her hair ever so slightly, checks her makeup one last time. She spins around, checking herself from all angles. She’s ready. Heart pounding, she steps out into the February air, nervous – not sure if she’s making a mistake or on the edge of something wonderful.

She enters the large theatre’s lobby bustling with movie goers. As the minutes pass, the room gets quieter as patrons make their way to their chosen theatres. She stands there in the large room with the smell of buttery popcorn and her heart skips a beat each time she hears the door open. A couple enters. A family enters. A lone woman enters. Each time the door opens her heart races until…

He walks in.

She’s never seen him before but in that very instant she knows this is him. She’s spent hours staring at his words on her computer screen and she’s even heard his voice but she’s never seen him until this very instant.

As if all of time stood still, for the first time she set eyes on the man she was going to marry.

Thirteen years ago tonight, I was that girl. My husband was that guy.

We had been chatting – first online and then on the phone for about two weeks prior to this blind date. In January 1999, I threw caution to the wind and placed a personal ad online. This was back in a time when online dating was relatively new and the thought of meeting someone you had met online was not only a new phenomenon but very taboo. Skeptics cautioned me that only axe murders and other unsavory individuals lurked there and I kept reminding them that I found it impossible to comprehend that I could be the ONLY normal person on the internet.

It was sheer fate that Adam even found me online. He wasn’t even perusing singles’ ads. Somehow the ad I had placed on American Singles (now Spark.com) had been picked up by the Nova Scotia portal site NSonline.com and he happened to be visiting that site one day. A text link to my profile ad came up and curious, he clicked on it. Something made him respond to it and after I replied back to him we began chatting online through ICQ (or maybe it was mIRC? that’s how long ago it was!) and eventually the phone. (As an aside, many years later we actually met the owner of the site through a twist of fate when ended up living in Yarmouth for nearly a year). We were supposed to meet in March as he was living in Truro going to NSCC and I had just moved to Dartmouth a few months earlier and was attending CompuCollege. But then one day he asked me if we could move up the blind date we had set ourselves up on to a week sooner than previously planned. I was equal parts excited and anxious.

We set the date for Tuesday, February 23rd, 1999, agreeing to meet at Empire Theatres in Bayers Lake. We were to see “Shakespeare in Love” and “Message in a Bottle”. I arrived and waited. And waited. And waited. He was late – very late which I later found out was because he had been lost and wasn’t familiar with the city. I honestly thought I had been stood up. I was the only one standing in the lobby besides the theatre workers. I was this close to leaving.

I am so glad I didn’t.

When he finally arrived, looking frantic and relieved all at the same time, I knew it had to be him. It truly was love at first sight. We both later admitted we had that “well there you are, where have you been all my life cause I’ve been looking for you everywhere ?!?” kind of feeling. Our comfort with each other was immediate. It was like we had already known each other from a previous life. After the movies we went to a nearby coffee shop and chatted until it closed. When we parted ways he gave me a bag filled with things like flowers, candles, etc. and a card that said he hoped this was the start of something special. I still have the card and the movie ticket stubs from that night. The next day we asked each other how we thought the date went and we both agreed it was awesome. In fact we decided that we were going to officially date.

Less than three months later he moved in with me.

That Christmas he wrote me a letter titled “The Most Important Day of My Life”, recounting how life-changing the day we met was for him. I wept reading it. I knew how much his presence in my life was going to alter my future for the better and I was right. I wouldn’t change a step of the journey we’ve taken together so far because I know even when we veered off the path or hit some bumps along the way that they have only solidified our partnership.

On Christmas Eve 2000, he took me to my favorite beach (Crescent Beach in Lunenburg County, NS) and got down on one knee in the sand and proposed. I of course said yes. On August 10, 2002, we were married on that same beach in front of 180 of our family members and friends. Now here we are, thirteen years later with two amazing sons. I can’t imagine my life without him in it. He’s been my best friend, my husband and my voice of reason. We’ve been through lots of ups and downs together, lived in many places, had many adventures together and I still wake up every morning thankful that he didn’t stand me up that night.

Our wedding rings are inscribed very appropriately with “♥ @ 1st Site” which pays homage to our blind date and the fact we met online through the use of the @ and spelling of sight as site. On our wedding night, we danced for the first time together to the song we felt described our love perfectly, Savage Garden’s “I Knew I Loved You”…

Maybe it’s intuition
But some things you just don’t question
Like in your eyes, I see my future in an instant
And there it goes,
I think I found my best friend
I know that it might sound
More than a little crazy
But I believe

I knew I loved you before I met you
I think I dreamed you into life
I knew I loved you before I met you
I have been waiting all my life

There’s just no rhyme or reason
Only the sense of completion
And in your eyes, I see
The missing pieces I’m searching for
I think I’ve found my way home
I know that it might sound
More than a little crazy
But I believe

I knew I loved you before I met you
I think I dreamed you into life
I knew I loved you before I met you
I have been waiting all my life

A thousand angels dance around you
I am complete now that I’ve found you

Thank you, Adam, for thirteen amazing years together.

I still love you with all my heart.

Invisible Elephant

The best way of keeping a secret is to pretend there isn’t one.” ~ Margaret Atwood

I’ve been keeping a secret – for 353 days now.

It hasn’t been easy. It has not come without feelings of guilt and betrayal because honesty is the cornerstone of all relationships. Keeping a secret is a fine balance between hurting the people you love by telling them your news and hurting the people you love and risking resentment for not telling them. My decision to keep this information to myself was out of a desire to keep those I love from feeling the emotions of worry and fear – something I was feeling myself – and I wanted to spare them from that when I didn’t have all the answers to the questions they would be asking.

My secret began on March 9, 2011 when I sat in my doctor’s office and asked her to feel my neck. The large lump. On the left side. Yes, that one. Could she feel it too? That wasn’t normal, was it? I wasn’t imagining that it shouldn’t be there, was I? I was right to be concerned. An ultrasound was ordered.While we didn’t want to say it out loud the elephant in the room was unmistakable. We were both worried it was cancer.

I waited. And waited. And waited for a call about an ultrasound of my neck to investigate what we guessed was an enlarged left hemisphere of my thyroid gland. I would wait for SIX MONTHS before I finally had my ultrasound on August 3rd.

I went on a trip to Newfoundland and while there I had a card reading done. After the card reading she did a pendulum reading. I was able to ask a question and the pendulum’s motion indicated the answer. I asked it if I had reason to worry about this thyroid issue and if it was in fact, cancer. The answer the pendulum gave me was a resounding “no”. I asked this question privately, in my head so the outcome of the answer was of no matter to the fortune teller. I kept holding on to that knowledge. I also purchased a necklace while in Newfoundland with a celtic knotwork symbol on a pendant I’ve been wearing since them. It symbolizes “Inner Strength” – something I knew I was going to be needing in the coming months.

On August 25th I finally received my ultrasound results. Verdict? The left hemisphere of my thyroid has been nearly completely taken over by a 4cm nodule and another 1cm nodule. My right hemisphere also contained a 2cm nodule and multiple other nodules about 1cm in diameter.

My heart sunk.

A million scenarios rushed through my brain as I am sure they are for you now. You’ve probably got that really sick feeling in your stomach and immediately thought “Oh no” or “Oh my god”. What did this mean? Are they cancerous? Benign? How do we find out? What do we need to do to find out? When can we find out? What if they are cancerous? All of these questions and a million more rushed through my head at the speed of light. I felt overwhelmed. I felt sick to my stomach. I hugged my two little boys tightly and wept as I rocked them imagining all the worst case scenarios. If this was cancer had it spread? Is it treatable? What is the survival rate?

I kept going back to what my doctor (and what google, ha!) kept telling me – if you’re going to get cancer, thyroid cancer is the one to get. Rare, nearly 100% treatable and in most ways almost a non-cancer.

But still that horrific word kept surfacing – CANCER.

I waited nearly a month from my ultrasound to have what in layman’s terms is called a “hot and cold scan” on September 8th. I was injected with radioactive iodine in my arm and then about 15 minutes later I had a scan performed over the span of about 45 minutes where they took four diagnostic images. The radioactive iodine is supposed to be “uptaken” by non-cancerous nodules indicating the thyroid is functioning normally and is referred to as “hot”. If it isn’t uptaken by a nodule it indicates a probably malignancy and is referred to as “cold”.

September 13th I met with my family doctor to get the results of the scan. Verdict: all the smaller nodules came back hot. The large 4cm one came back cold.

Suspected malignancy.

I’m not going to lie. I sat there and began crying in my doctor’s office and she looked me straight in the eye and matter of factly stated “Tammi, you’re stronger than this. Don’t cry. This is NOT who you are. Even if it is cancerous, you’re stronger than this. You’re going to be fine.”.

Have I mentioned how much I love my doctor?

The next step was a requisition for an appointment and biopsy with an ear, nose and throat specialist or ENT. My family doctor ordered it and FINALLY, after three months of waiting I had an appointment on December 7th. Dr. Hart was amazing. He ran over the different scenarios of the outcome of the results and honestly didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know from my own research and based on what my family doctor had told me. He manually examined me and then determined he not only wanted to biopsy the large nodule in my left hemisphere (which he could see and feel without issue) but also wanted to biopsy the 2cm nodule in the right hemisphere. He could not accurately determine its exact location by feeling so he decided to postpone the biopsy and do it with the guide of an ultrasound. He assured me that it would be completed before Christmas.

I left the appointment still no further ahead and now I had to do more waiting. I also realized that it was quite possible that I would find out my biopsy results right before Christmas. Would I tell my family and friends then? Would I wait? It tore me up inside to pretend everything was just fantastic in my life when for months I had been on this hellish roller coaster ride of the unknown.

Christmas came and went. No call for a biopsy. I chalked it up to the insanity of Christmas but by the 3rd week of January I started getting antsy. I’d been waiting over 10 months now for an answer to what this lump in my neck was. I phoned my ENT’s office on three occasions – leaving messages each time. Each message was more urgent sounding in nature. I was getting frustrated. Finally on February 1st I got a call back from his assistant. I was having a biopsy the next morning at 10am. Obviously my file had been mishandled. I was livid but also relieved that we were moving forward in getting a diagnosis.

I had the biopsies performed on February 2nd. My neck was sprayed before each needle was inserted to numb the area which was pretty much pointless. The ultrasound was used to visualize each nodule and then the needle inserted, wiggled around to a good spot and then the extraction of tissue was done. Each of the two nodules they decided to biopsy required three needle aspirations each. Not pleasant. Imagine being pricked with a pretty decent gauge needle nearly in the same spot, three times x 2. There was also a lot of blood that needed soaking up.

Things you don’t want to hear the doctor say but I heard:
1) after the first needle was done – “uhm…I’m guessing you tend to bruise pretty easily?”
2) “Usually we tell patients they can take off the band-aids/tape, etc in a few hours. Uhm…if I were you I’d wait until some time TOMORROW…”

So, the worst part was the uncomfortable part of being stabbed with six needles and then the wiggling around of them and the odd sensation of feeling the tissue being pulled out. Gulp. It was pretty close to my collar bone, did bruise quite a bit and was uncomfortable for the rest of the weekend. I received a call that despite results usually being in within 10 days that my next appointment with Dr. Hart would be nearly three weeks away – February 24th. More waiting.

Which brings us to today. Results day. The day I would find out whether I did or did not have cancer of the thyroid.

I walked into the Dickson Building and went to the third floor. My stomach was in knots. My heart beating like crazy. I registered and then sat in the waiting area to hear my name called. Toes tapping with nervousness. I was either going to get the news I had been preparing for when the scan came back saying “suspected malignancy” or I was going to get the results that the pendulum predicted. Which was it going to be? Was this going to be the day my life changed forever or was it going to be the day my life stayed the same?

What I did know was that if even one of the nodules came back showing a malignancy that I would be facing surgery. I had discussed at my initial appointment with Dr. Hart that if this should be the result that I would opt for a full thyroidectomy – that is, complete removal of the thyroid. I would then have to be on synthetic thyroid medication for life. I would also most likely have to undergo Radioiodine Ablation Therapy where I would be given a heavy dose of radioactive iodine and then need to live in relative seclusion for a period of time so as not to contaminate those around me. The prospect of how this was going to happen with two small children made my head spin.

As my name was called I took a deep breath and followed Dr. Hart into the room. I sat down. Already prepared to hear the results had shown malignancy in the large nodule. I had reserved myself to the fact I would be requiring surgery. I also knew that today was also the day that I could finally share my story with everyone. I was going to need support and most importantly I finally, FINALLY had a concrete answer to give.

As he went to open my file to read the results it went flying out of his hand onto the floor. He laughed and quickly tried to gather up the loose papers as I sat there thinking “what kind of comedy of errors film reel am I stuck in?” and tried to take a deep breath and calm myself down. Here I was in this damn chair, nearly a year after I first reported the lump to my family doctor and I’m 2 seconds away from knowing the final answer and my file goes flying onto the floor. Was I on Candid Camera?

He shuffled the papers and placed them back into my file folder. Glanced down at them and then looked up with a smile on his face and said…

“BENIGN!”

*tear of relief*
*tears of happiness*
*tears of gratitude*

He said “I don’t often get to deliver that news so this is great!”

I will have a follow up ultrasound one year from now for monitoring purposes and have been instructed that if anything should change or it begins to bother me through obstruction of my breathing or swallowing or I notice a marked increase in size then I am to report it to his office.

They say worry is a like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do but you won’t get anywhere. This is why I’ve kept all of this to myself until now so as to avoid giving you something extra to burden you with. I realize just now revealing this pretty heavy news to you may seem selfish and I understand those feelings of resentment you have – trust I chose to do so knowing that I saved you a year of worry and instead am able to give you a reason to celebrate with me. If I appeared to be preoccupied or burdened or not myself at any time during the last year it most likely has been during one of these trying times when I was trying to deal with the lack of information and all the frustration that came along with that. Keeping all of this to myself was incredibly difficult on so many levels and on so many occasions.

In the last year I have experienced the loss of people I love due to cancer and am currently cheering others on in their fights. I feel incredibly lucky that even if my test results had been the opposite that I was still going to be considered extremely fortunate to only have a highly treatable and contained version of it. I feel a renewed sense of vitality and of gratitude and endeavor to not put off things I have been.

This whole experience has been a major catalyst in my decision to stop trying to juggle so many balls and to decide what is a priority in my life – to listen to my dreams and act on them. Make steps towards achieving them. Spending time doing what brings me the most joy. I do so knowing that many others are not afforded this luxury and the test results they receive are much different than mine were. I feel extremely humbled, grateful and relieved.

I ask that you do only one thing as a result of reading my story – don’t put off getting things checked because you are scared of the outcome. It could save your life or it might also give you reason to celebrate.

Tonight, I celebrate!

Heart’s Content

I don’t want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want YOU.
~ Anne of Green Gables

With Valentine’s Day comes public declarations of love and adoration. More often than not, they are to prove to others that you are in love or are loved. Flowers are selected and delivered. Trinkets of varying degrees of value are bestowed upon excited recipients. Sometimes proposals are extended with the promise that each future February will be spent together celebrating a mutual love.

While all of those things are lovely and no doubt appreciated, they are simply only symbolic in nature. Giving and receiving of materialistic items can never replace the actual feelings of love. On Valentine’s Day it isn’t about what someone can give me or what I can give another person because in my eyes nothing can ever replace the feeling of being loved. Nothing can adequately ever compare to that feeling of joy in your heart that comes from shared experiences with another human.

I am blessed that each day I share my life with an amazing partner who has chosen to share his life with me. All the sunny days and the stormy ones too. I’m lucky in that I have someone who is receptive of my love and who extends that same level of companionship with me and all that it entails. I have someone who loves me unconditionally – which is priceless.

When I think about the most amazing gifts of love I have ever received from my husband, my answer is an immediate one…

Our sons.

The best part of these gifts is that they continue to provide me with that invaluable currency of love every single day.

From the moment I heard the little horse-like gallops of their heart beats keeping time with my own, I was smitten. Their first kicks and punches within my body, the experience of giving birth to them, of seeing their little faces for the first time, of all of their “firsts”…all of it is filed away in my heart. Little snapshots of stolen moments in time. Moments of shared connectedness.

One of my favorite memories that I often revisit is that of an evening in the autumn of 2010 when I was only a month or so away from delivering our second son. I was snuggled up in the rocking chair with our freshly bathed first son, his head on my shoulder while I rubbed his back and sang him “Silent Night” which has always been our chosen lullaby. As I sat there in the darkness with his warm little body so close to mine, his breath slowing as his little body calmed itself for a night of sleep I first smiled then wept. As I embraced my first born, his brother was also sharing in the moment from within my body – albeit lying 180 degrees in opposition from his brother but indicating his presence with little movements that made my stomach change shape. There I sat rocking one son from within, with the other in my arms.

Last week I was rocking the youngest (now 15 months old) before bed, in that same rocking chair, in the same position as his brother had been that night. In the darkness I softly sang him “Silent Night”, rubbing his back with my eyes closed, taking a snapshot for my mental file. The darkness was interrupted by a beam of light from the hall. A little figure cast a shadow across us as it entered the room and quickly scurried over to where we were sitting in the chair – my older son. He whispered quietly “rock-a-rock, Mom?” I motioned for him to join us and he crawled up onto my lap and rested his head on my other shoulder, snuggling in close so I could also rub his back.

I continued my rendition of “Silent Night”, admittedly through tears as I realized how eternally grateful I will always be for the love these two boys have given me and will continue to give to me. For the happiness they bring to my life every single day – and most importantly, for the person they have transformed me into and the new found journey they have allowed me to take with their father as we enjoy the adventures of parenthood.

They say a family is a little world created by love. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.

Ethereal Atonement

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Imagine for a moment the following scenario…

You’re in a car. You’re driving down a deserted country road in the middle of a severe blizzard. You’re finding it hard to distinguish what you’re seeing because the snow is creating that “I’m flying through outer space” effect only the stars are snowflakes in this case. You squint your eyes and try to just stare straight ahead without focusing on each flake but it is difficult. The windshield wipers are doing their swish back and forth across your windshield and for brief seconds everything appears clear but then your line of sight is clouded by the snow again. You keep looking out at the unknown in front of you, hoping you make it to your destination but doubts keep sneaking into your thoughts. Then you briefly lose control of the car as you hit a patch of ice. The car swerves, you try to correct as you quickly rifle through the different worst case scenarios and what each one would entail. You gain control of the car again but for how long, you’re unsure. Then for a brief moment you remember other times you’ve been in the same situation and you were able to come out the other side unscathed, safe and with a sense of pride that you did it. Oh how you long for summer when you don’t have to worry about the weather every time to want to go somewhere! How carefree you feel when you don’t have to navigate with all these unexpected and unpredictable factors. Not that every drive you take in winter is worthy of a death grip, but more often than not, it is a struggle, is stressful and causes other people to worry about your safety as well.

Now for a moment consider that the above scenario is actually an analogy about mental illness.

Go back and read it again. I’ll wait…

For someone who is afflicted with mental illness the above scenario is a very real experience. You feel as though you’re trapped in a moving, unpredictable vehicle that while you do have some ability to maneuver in ways you want to, there are other external (and in this case often internal) factors that prevent you from navigating things smoothly. Your thoughts are often clouded by altered versions of reality. You often feel things much more intensely than you do when not battling mental illness. Things seem overwhelming to you and you begin to quickly catalogue all the possible things that are/might/could happen to you while in this state. This just creates a more taxed brain and often worsens symptoms. You either find sleep difficult because your brain will not shut off or you sleep so much that when you wake up, dealing with reality is difficult. The summers in the above analogy refer to the periods of time when you are not in the depths of your mental affliction – when things seem clear, you cope well with responsibilities, you feel energized, capable of handling even the most complex challenges thrown your way and you feel on top of the world. But as those with mental illness know, sometimes those winters can be very, very long and the summers all too brief. Much like literal winters and summers we cannot predict the weather accurately. We sometimes do not see the flash floods or the avalanches coming. All we can do is try to prepare for the aftermath when they do occur or put measures in place to counteract the disasters so they don’t have as much of an impact.

Sadly, the majority of us who deal with mental illness do so in silence and in solitary confinement – feeling unable to reach out to others and share our struggles. Why? Because society has placed such a negative connotation on mental illness.

THIS HAS TO STOP.

We need to collectively take a stand and be vocal about our stories and our experiences with mental illness so we can live our lives honestly. So we can feel a sense of community, gain access to resources and so we can create a support network amongst ourselves so we don’t feel alone when we’re in the dead of winter.

If someone is diagnosed with an illness that will forever be a part of their life we instinctively reach out to them, tell them stories of others we know who have the same afflictions, offer our support in various ways and most importantly we never turn our backs on them. Can you imagine what our society would be like if we turned our backs on those who were diagnosed with cancer? I know we all know someone who was/is afflicted with this horrible disease. Our first instinct is to embrace them, comfort them, offer support and share their story with others so that the circle of support will keep growing in their time of need. Make no mistake, I’m not comparing cancer to mental illness because they are very different. But, they are also very alike in that everyone knows someone who is afflicted at one time or another with mental illness – the key being that you might not KNOW you know someone because they have been afraid to share that information with you. They’re afraid of being judged, afraid of being seen as a failure for allegedly not being able to cope with life’s challenges and most of all, are afraid of being shunned by you and others if their story were to become common knowledge.

Mental illness is a disease of the brain. Your brain is an organ of the body just as a heart, a kidney, a liver, a lung is. So why, if our brain is afflicted with a medical condition do we equate that as being the person’s fault? Why do we feel it is their responsibility to deal with things on their own, without fanfare? Why are we made to feel that we are the only ones who can fix us? That divulging this information is detrimental when in every way, owning our illness would be the key to possibly helping us through this blizzard?

If you were driving that aforementioned car through that blinding snowstorm and came upon another person on the side of the road and their car had broken down, would you keep driving? Would you leave them standing there in this midst of this snow storm by themselves and keep on going, pretending you didn’t see them? I’m going to guess the answer you’d give would be no. Then why do we keep on driving past others when we suspect something “just isn’t right” or that they “seem off” or “not themselves”? Why do we wait until they typically have a breakdown of some sort to stop and see if they are okay or need assistance? Just because they aren’t setting off flare guns to alert us doesn’t mean we’re not seeing signs of trouble down the road or don’t notice that perhaps a wheel seems squeaky and the steering seems a bit off.

The really ironic thing about mental illness is that when we’re having a difficult time we tend to follow society’s lead and shy away from sharing our stories. We feel we’ll become a burden to others and others “have their own problems to deal with, they don’t need mine too”. We internalize everything, isolate ourselves from others, lose touch with people who we care about and distance ourselves because society has told us it is our problem to deal with – much like the quarantine of a communicable disease. But the thing is, most people we know already have this disease as well. They aren’t going to catch it from you and having the support of someone who knows what you’re going through would be invaluable. But still we keep it to ourselves.

We need to work on creating an environment where we embrace being open, honest and genuine about our illness without the fear of being judged or looked down upon because the bottom line is NOBODY ASKS TO BE AFFLICTED WITH MENTAL ILLNESS. We don’t walk up to the ticket booth of life and say “1 ticket for depression, please” or “1 ticket for anxiety, please” or “1 ticket for bipolar disorder, please” no more than someone walks up to a ticket booth and asks for a ticket for cancer, diabetes, heart diseases or any other medical condition.

By the same token we need to also create an environment that embraces those who share their stories with us. We need to support others when they come to us and share their stories and show them the same kind of compassion and understanding we would if they told us they were afflicted with another disease of another organ. We need to stop using the horrific labels of “crazy”, “mental”, “psycho”, etc. We need to stay in contact with those who share their stories with us, check in on them, ask them if they need help with anything. We can’t continue to avoid them or let them feel alone and expect that they can “snap out of it” or “deal with it” or any of the multitude of other things we dismiss the situation away with.

The truth is we all have the ability to create a big web of support for those around us so they don’t get left by the side of the road in the height of the storm. We need to know we can reach out and trust others with our stories because isolation can’t heal with the speed that a combined effort of support can from those who care about you.

I’ll leave you with some of the song lyrics from Bill Withers’ “Lean on Me”. Think about them next time you think someone is struggling. Extend your hand and heart. Listen to their story. If they’re not willing to share it, ensure them you’re there to listen and to help and that’s there’s nothing wrong about reaching out for help. If you’re struggling, don’t isolate yourself. Lean on your friends and family. They are there for you. YOU’RE NOT ALONE.

Sometimes in our lives
We all have pain
We all have sorrow
But if we are wise
We know that there’s always tommorow

Lean on me, when you’re not strong
And I’ll be your friend
I’ll help you carry on
For it won’t be long
‘Til I’m gonna need
Somebody to lean on

Please swallow your pride
If I have things you need to borrow
For no one can fill those of your needs
That you won’t let show

______________________________________________________
I wrote this post in honour of

Quick Facts about Mental Illness from the Mental Illness Awareness Week website:

Mental illness affects more than six million – or one in five – Canadians. Of the 10 leading causes of disability worldwide, five are mental disorders. Close to 4,000 Canadians commit suicide each year and it is the most common cause of death for people aged 15 – 24. By 2020 it is estimated that depressive illnesses will become the leading cause of disease burden in developed countries like Canada.

Symptoms include:
Marked personality change
Inability to cope with problems and daily activities
Strange ideas or delusions
Excessive anxiety
Prolonged feelings of sadness
Marked changes in eating or sleeping patterns
Thinking or talking about suicide
Extreme highs and lows
Abuse of alcohol or drugs
Excessive anger, hostility
Violent behaviour
Irrational fears

_____________________________________________________

My Story:

I have had bouts of intermittent depression and anxiety since my late teens (perhaps even earlier). I know my triggers and the hugest one for me is a feeling of isolation – working in an office where I was the only person for weeks at a time, being on maternity leave, being away at university where I didn’t know anyone, etc. I am now an expert in my own mental health and can feel minute changes in my mental health before they typically can manifest too quickly. I’ve coped with my affliction through behavior therapy, short-term use of medications and most importantly, removing the triggers. In my case, that usually means a change of some sort to eliminate the circumstances that have instigated what I like to refer to as a “flare up”. In the past, I have tended to distance myself from those I care about and who could likely help me the most if they knew my story. It usually isn’t until after I’m “better again” that I feel comfortable in sharing. I’m now realizing that if I were more open about things when they were occurring that the support would come flooding in and my rehabilitation would happen much more quickly and effectively than trying to rely only on myself to do this.

Living with someone who is afflicted with a mental illness is not easy. It is challenging, frustrating and exhausting. I thank my husband from the bottom of my heart for standing by my side when I’ve encountered this unwelcome demon in my path. He has been part of the reason I’ve come out of the other side many times – because a promise of support, compassion and most of all understanding has made all the difference in the world. We all have the ability to be that someone for another person encountering mental illness. Won’t you be that person for someone in need?

The Happiness Quotient

Today a new sun rises for me; everything lives, everything is animated, everything seems to speak to me of my passion, everything invites me to cherish it.
~ Ninon de L’Enclos

Passion is defined as “a strong liking or desire for or devotion to some activity, object, or concept”.

There are things we encounter in our lives that we are inexplicably drawn to – that we seek because in doing so they provide us with an overwhelming sense of fulfillment and joy or a perceived sense of contribution in some way. Most often we think in general terms of a passion as something we do in our “spare time” that we wish we could do on a constant basis and get paid for. Instead we spend many hours of each day doing something we’ve become complacent about and that pays bills but does not bring us that innate sense of pleasure.

Then one day you feel as though everything is right in the world at that singular moment. You are motivated to pursue your passion even further and after weighing the pros and cons of it all you decide to jump in, feet-first and take the plunge. You take a leap of faith, stepping away from all the self-doubt and the various scenarios of what could happen if you do decide to listen to your heart. In that single moment you redefine yourself. You’ve placed a marker on the time line of your life where you can clearly distinguish your life “before” and your life “after” that juncture. In that instant you went from “hoping and dreaming” to “doing”. Just making that conscious decision without having even acted upon it – just the sheer thought process, has opened up a whole new world to you.

You enjoy this new found sense of euphoria – what we usually denote as being a direct result of “following your heart”. You bask in the warm rays of positivity. Your friends and family applaud the risks you’ve taken to realize this dream you’ve been consumed with for possibly many years. They’ve always known you were talented – they’re the ones who have been encouraging you all along to cast your fears aside and “do this”. You’ve always known your inherent talent existed as well. How could it not? It has been your passion! Word spreads quickly. Your family and friends make sure of that. You’re doing what you love and getting paid for it. Isn’t this the epitome? Isn’t this the way everyone wants to live? You’re doing it. You’re REALLY doing it!

Years go by. You’re more successful at this venture than you ever dreamed was possible when this all began. Your talent is appreciated and in demand. You’re reputation precedes you. People you’ve never met know your work by sight and tell you how much they love it. You begin to wonder if any of this is truly real or if you’ve actually been living inside a very long dream! Could life get any better than this? After all, this is the success you dreamed of, the outcome you only hoped to realize and now it is your reality!

…but what happens when your passion starts feeling more like a burden?

While your passion has been evolving from a hobby into a sustainable interest, along with it comes increased responsibility. You’re no longer doing this for fun and have real clients and potential clients to answer to. While you’re your own boss, you also know that the real bosses are the people you provide a service or product to. They’re dictating to a certain extent your time and where your energy is going in managing their requests. With increased demand comes an increased need for output to supply the demand. The increasingly obvious challenge being faced is that we’re only afforded twenty-four hours in each day. In order to devote time to one part of our life – in this case our passion, we must simultaneously transfer that time and focus from another part.

But what happens if the cache you’re trying to siphon is no less deserving of your attention – and perhaps even more-so? What if denying those competing responsibilities for your time and devotion could have serious repercussions? What if those competing responsibilities are not tangible assets you possess but are measured in terms of people and time?

I took that leap of faith back in 2006. I daydreamed and ran scenarios through my head for years about what it would be like to put an end to the self-doubt and just cut the ropes of uncertainty and let myself spread my wings and see if the wind would take me where I longed to go. I built upon my years of scenic photography work and branched out into photographing people, doing portrait shoots and photographing weddings. I was beyond overwhelmed at the positive response to my work…what I still considered my passion and anything but work! I was inundated with requests for sessions and meetings with brides and grooms and my spare time was quickly booked up with meetings and shoots and editing time. So much editing time!

Then I had two babies within eighteen months – I had TWO new(er) passions.

The past two years have been nothing short of a circus act when you consider the juggling I’ve been doing in trying to devote the required time to my craft while also working a full time job and raising two young children with my equally busy husband. I still only have twenty-four hours in my day. If anything I feel like I have a deficit in hours at the end of my day. There’s always far more to accomplish than I have time for. My To Do List never seems to be getting shorter but instead, longer. I can’t get excited about checking items off because I’m too busy adding new task on to the list. I’m missing out on time with my ever-evolving and changing sons. I’m missing out on time with my husband. There’s a disconnect in our little world because if I’m not physically separated from them when I’m out shooting a wedding or off in another room editing for hours on end, I’m mentally not available to them either because I’m so caught up in stressing myself to the point of exhaustion about all the unfinished tasks at hand.

The most challenging part in this equation is that I truly am still passionate about my photography. It is such a part of who I am. Of what I feel defines me. It is a way in which I creatively express myself.

After much soul searching over the last few months I have finally come to the conclusion that an incredibly difficult decision needed to be made. I can no longer allow myself to feel pulled in a million different directions. I cannot lose sleep at night worrying about how I’m going to accomplish all that needs to be accomplished because I’m putting unrealistic pressures on myself. Most of all, I cannot continue to put my family last on the list of competing priorities. They deserve my time and undivided attention. We only get one day a week to spend together a family. ONE DAY. So, do I spend that one day a week shooting photographs for other people or editing photographs or do I spend it with the man I love and the beautiful little humans we’ve created together? Do you know that I didn’t even capture a single photograph of my family at Christmas this year because my camera had come to denote “more work, more stress” in my mind? How heart breaking is that?

They are only going to be this little once. I only get one shot to be all that I can be in their eyes as a mother. There will come a time when they won’t want to cuddle up on my chest and allow me to rub their backs before bedtime. There will come a time when they won’t want to spend their Sunday mornings with us having brunch because they’ll be teenagers that will sleep in until 2pm. There will come a time when going to the beach with Mom and Dad won’t be cool anymore. So why am I missing out on all those irreplaceable moments now? Because I’m following a passion? Because other people’s special moments mean more than my own family’s? Because I fear disappointing other people?

As I said, it took a lot of soul searching and has been an extremely difficult decision to make but I’m officially announcing the closure of the photography business at least for 2012. I’ll reevaluate and decide at a later time if I will reopen next year or not. Maybe it won’t be for several years. I do know that I’ll go back to it because after all, it is my passion. That will never change. It is too much of the tapestry that makes up my story – of who I am.

Make no mistake, it is not without sadness that I close my virtual doors. It will feel odd to not be a part of so many couple’s wedding days this summer nor capturing a family’s first photograph with a new baby. It will feel equally odd not to be attached to my camera for hours on end nor my computer! I will still be shooting a wedding I’ve already committed myself to and will still do an odd shoot here and there for family or friends and for special instances where repeat clients are in town visiting family and have traditionally always had me photograph them. I don’t mind those types of shoots because I’m familiar with those people. They know my story, they know my family and the demands I am working under. They respect my time and recognize the sacrifices I make in order to work with them and I know that they will also respect my decision to decline if I feel the sacrifice of my time to my family will be too great. I simply intend to not formally seek out new business for the foreseeable future. When a passion begins to transform into what feels like more of a burden because of changes in circumstance then you know it is time to reevaluate your life’s direction.

What I will gain though is priceless – the ability to rest peacefully at night knowing my To Do List is manageable and enjoying every single one of those hugs and kisses my boys shower me with. For the first time in five summers I’ll be able to watch sunsets and spend my evenings and weekends at the beach or at the family cottage – things we could not do because I was either shooting a wedding most Saturdays or I was holed away in a room editing from the time I got home from work until the wee hours of the morning during the week. I’ll be able to go for walks and enjoy fresh air. I’ll be able to attend family reunions, BBQs and just simply be there for my husband and boys. I’ll have time to read again and time to write – both things I enjoy immensely. Following my heart is what allowed me to transform this passion into something beyond my wildest dreams in the first place. I’m simply following it again :-)

I know this year will be a bright and happy one. So full of new moments of adventure with my family. I’m excited about capturing those moments with my camera and all the beautiful things we will experience together. I’m not putting away my camera completely, I’m just going to have a different focus :-)