Working the System

Witnessing true gratitude can be as good as feeling it yourself. I didn't realize that until a few days ago, when I was at the bookstore where I work. We had a little event for kids, celebrating the launch of a new book, and a dozen or so children showed up. The mean age of those in attendance was around ten. The kids were a smart, lively bunch. We had several prizes to hand out, most of them little tokens for games of trivia about the book series. There were also two bigger prizes, a bright yellow t-shirt, and an autographed copy of the book, which the staff and I decided would be given away by luck of the draw, just to keep things completely fair.
One of the young boys collected a lot of the smaller prizes because he was really quick calling out the answers during trivia. He was as sweet as he was bright. When it came to playing for the two biggest prizes, we had narrowed the players down to that boy and a girl, because they had tied for accumulating the most points in the previous game. The winner for the t-shirt was to be selected by picking a number between 1 and 10. The young lad in question won by guessing the exact number, which happened to be lucky number 7. He was positively thrilled by his win and said thank you like someone who did so often. It was a pleasure to see.
The second of the "grand" prizes, the autographed book, was given away by drawing names from a hat. Sure enough, the same boy who had been cleaning up, by both wit and luck, won again. When he won yet again my first thought was that something strange was going on with this kid that day. I know statisticians and number crunchers would have had a logical, scientific explanation, claiming that the odds weren't really that great against him winning both prizes. I wasn't using my reasoning faculties, however, when I reacted in my typical now isn't that weird? fashion. I turned to the boy's mother and said something to that effect. Well wouldn't you know, she replied in my language. "He's been lucky all day," she said, "ever since he got up this morning he seems to have been in tune with the cosmos. There's some kind of cosmic connection, for sure." Her words were music to my ears.
This little incident already intrigued me, but what made it even more special was the boy's reaction to his streak of good luck. He wasn't just happy, he was deeply grateful. First he hugged himself with glee, and then proceeded to hug me and two of my colleagues who helped facilitate the event. I've worked with enough children at the store to know that he reacted in a spontaneous and more deeply felt way than most children his age would have done. It wasn't just a case a good manners. This kid's extraordinary, contagious expression of gratitude was genuinely moving. His mother clearly understood that we're all connected in some small way, and although she's probably never spoken about it to him in exactly those terms, he had obviously learned the lesson. He has a good mother, and it shows. His good fortune didn't just make him happy, or his mother proud, it also lifted the spirits of people who didn't even know him.
That beautiful young boy is off to a good start. As he goes through life, it won't always be easy, and it won't always be good, but this kid has a solid foundation for dealing with whatever crosses his path with fortitude, grace and wit. Bon voyage, young man.

Ladybug Day

Ladybugs bring good luck and carry our wishes out into the world to be fulfilled. Or so the story goes. Maybe it's because they're attractive and eat plant-destroying aphids that they're such a popular, fabled insect. This past summer I saw only one ladybug the entire season. Only one! And believe me, I was looking. I always enjoy their appearance and confess to making wishes on them whenever I see them. (More magical thinking. But hey, that's me.) When summer came and went and I'd only spotted one ladybug, I thought there must have been some blight on these benign bugs. Fortunately, I was wrong.
Yesterday, as I sat right here at my computer, I began to fret about the usual things I fret about, followed by the usual prayers and wishes to make everything right. Just as I was finding the perfect words for a brand new wish, I happened to glance over at my study window, which overlooks our back garden, and saw several ladybugs clustered on the window pane. More ladybugs kept arriving as I watched. Suddenly I saw more of them on my window pane then I see in an average summer! It was a mild, Indian summer day, and maybe they were gathering together to nest for their winter hibernation. Or maybe they had all come out of early hibernation because of the sudden warm weather. Whatever the reason, there were ladybugs galore.
Being prone as I am to seeing signs in almost every mundane little event that comes my way, the timing of their appearance lifted my spirits, of course. I took their timely arrival to mean that my wish would be granted. As if that were not enough to satisfy me, I jumped up and grabbed my tarot/totem cards. (It's a tarot deck with a picture of a different animal totem on each card.) I wanted to know if my just-wished wish would come true. (I know, I know. How many wish-granting signs and portents does one need?) Nonetheless, I was feeling connected to whatever was going on around me, and pulled a card. It was the 9 of cups, traditionally known as the wish card, and the creature depicted on the card was the ladybug. The words inscribed at the bottom stated "wish fulfilled." Nice, eh?
A little while later I went for a walk in my lovely, leafy neighbourhood. I was surrounded by red and yellow everywhere, and not just because of the turning leaves. Dozens of ladybugs flew all around and crawled over tree trunks and city walls. I'd seen hundreds of them by the time I finished my perambulations a couple of hours later. Even without my propensities for wishful thinking, the experience was a memorable one. It was something I don't see everyday.
A few hours later, with the delightful ladybug episode fresh in my mind, I met a friend for dinner. As she spoke of her recent travels, and places she's planning to go next, I kept remembering the not-so-ordinary day I'd had right in my own backyard. I haven't been anywhere for quite a while, and unless there's an unforeseen twist of fate coming my way, I won't be going anywhere very soon, either. I could easily have fallen into longing and dissatisfaction if I hadn't just had my ladybug day.
Well, as I sit at my computer a scant 24 hours later, I can see the ladybugs have gone. But my good mood hasn't. Of course I don't really know if my wish will come to pass. Only time will tell. In the meantime, I feel more light of heart than if the ladybugs had never made an appearance. And yes, I can just see magically-challenged people roll their eyes at my ostensibly naive and childish survival mechanisms. So it is with as much good humour as I can muster - and right now that's a fair bit - that I offer all the nay-sayers of this world a big, fat, juicy raspberry. Yum.
- G. P.

A Certain Spin on Words

Sharing my thoughts in writing with strangers is not new to me, but still strikes me as a little odd. Nonetheless, I've grown very fond of this little web of mine. In the past week I've spent more time telling whomever happens to read my words about myself, specifically my on-going "talk less, listen more" experiment. Maybe the fact that I'm talking less these days is why I'm spending more time expressing myself here. I'm also pretty sure there aren't any real "strangers" who are reading this. I suspect only a couple of friends who know about this web might stop by every once in a while.
In fact, "blogging" as it's called (a word I will never use again because I think it's so ugly) has always puzzled me. Why would anyone think that the minutiae of their life is so fascinating to complete strangers? Yet, here I am, doing exactly that. I've pondered this notion a lot lately, and have come to realize it's because I'm an actress, writer and storyteller. I want, and need, to express myself.
I still write in my journal almost daily. I love holding a good pen in my hand and feeling it roll smoothly over paper. I write my deepest, most personal thoughts in my journal. But they are not meant for anyone else; they are not meant to be shared. On the other hand, I have this lovely web of mine to communicate ideas and stories I want to tell.
I also know that my web is one of literally hundreds of thousands out there, and that only a handful of people know about it, and even fewer actually pay me a visit. But I write here nonetheless. The possibility that someone out there, someone I've never met and probably never will, can read my words and follow my thoughts pleases me. It validates me as an artist. I also know that most of my friends and family, people I love and who love me, do not visit me here. I understand that. They are busy, vibrant people with rich, full lives. My little "hobby" (another word I dislike, but there it is) is intended to entertain me, not them. Fair enough. But the artist in me, the person who needs an outlet for self-expression, also needs to be heard.
I'm fully aware that the time I spend here may be no different, i.e. in terms of being heard, than writing in my journal. But there is one crucial difference. If someone were to read my journal (goddess forbid!), they would be exposed to parts of me that are not particularly attractive. This web of mine, however, is meant to express only the best of me, the part of me I don't mind revealing to the rest of the world. In fact, I find it very odd that a perfect stranger might come to know the best of me - but certainly not all of it - when some of my nearest and dearest aren't abreast with what preoccupies me, or lifts me up and out of the so-called ordinary, day-to-day life they see me living. How weird is that?
I also know there are at least a few friends who do visit me here, and I want to thank them publicly. So thank you Rebekah, Cheryl, Barbara and Susan G. Your interest in my web, my stories, and me, touches me deeply. Your expression of friendship and respect for me, and who I am, makes the time I spend here worth it. And don't forget, my dears, and anyone else who may be an unknown member of my legion of followers, what goes around, comes around. Attention is always rewarded with information. And knowledge is power. I wish you well, as I do all people of good will.
- G. P.

Child's Play & Bird Brains

There was an old owl who lived in an oak.
And the more he listened, the less he spoke.
The less he spoke, the more he heard.
Why can't we be like that wise old bird?
I happened to open a book of nursery rhymes at the bookstore where I work on the first day of my "speak no evil" experiment. (See previous entry.) The above nursery rhyme was the one that turned up. Upon arriving at work, I had completely forgotten about my vow, and then a bit of child's verse reminded me of my mission. I've made it my mantra ever since. This rhyme used to be told to children as a reminder that they should be seen and not heard. (How Victorian!) But there is deep wisdom in those words that is useful to people of any age. When I consciously follow the advice in this seemingly innocuous children's rhyme, there tends to be less conflict, less discord.
I guess you can tell that my recent promise to myself still preoccupies me. In fact, it's a full-time fixation. In order to be successful, it has to be, because it requires constant awareness. I hope it's not complaining to say that I slip up every now and then. Sheesh. However, my recent rediscovery of this little gem has given me something to chant to myself when I'm inclined to say something that isn't constructive, upbeat, or at least neutral. So I often find myself walking around and muttering the little rhyme to myself, or suddenly blurting it out loud, much to the befuddlement of others. Sure, I end up looking like an odd bird, rather than a wise one, but I figure that's better than being objectionable.
I've also learned that by not saying anything that's negative or unkind, I'm talking less, of course, and more importantly, listening more. So how do I know when to speak? There is a Native North American saying that answers that nicely. Speak only if you can improve upon the silence.
- G. P.

ReWired

I'm testing myself today. I've made a vow to speak only good and kind words, to myself as much as others. And to make three strangers smile. This may not sound like much, but it means that I can't complain about anything at all in any way for the entire day. It's not as easy as it sounds. Go ahead, try it yourself. Make an effort to go a whole day without a single word of complaint, without uttering anything that smacks of negativity.
Anyway, that's what I'm planning on doing today. I'm up for the challenge, and shall report back here when my day is done. Since I'm working at my place of employment, a bookstore, I'll be meeting strangers and working with friends and colleagues. It will require constant awareness of my every thought, word and deed. A worthy plan, I think. So we shall see what we shall see ...

the next morning ...

Well, it's 24 hours since I made a vow to go an entire day without complaint or negativity, and I am pleased to report that my mission was accomplished. It required constant vigilance and awareness, and although a couple of times I slipped into a judgemental mode at the bookstore when I witnessed unseemly behaviour from spoiled customers or miserable colleagues, I refrained from expressing myself. Of course, I'm not supposed to react aggressively to rude patrons, but I didn't complain about them to fellow workers afterwards. And believe me, I really wanted to.

Being mindful of staying positive and non-judgemental got easier as the day progressed. I guess my brain is already getting used to a new way of functioning. I'd catch myself reacting habitually to certain sticky situations, and then make a concerted effort to change my thoughts. I must have started to set up a whole new neural network. Awesome. By the end of the day I was less tired than usual, and felt more kindly disposed towards the world in general. It's nice to see karma working so quickly.

As Anne of Green Gables would say, "Today is a brand new day, with no mistakes in it." So I'm determined to keep up this little experiment for today as well. I want to finish installing this new program of mine. If I'm as successful as I was yesterday, then I'll go for it again tomorrow. And then I'll do it again and then again, until one day, even if I'm surrounded by disagreeable people or circumstances, I won't have to make such a conscious effort to be a peaceful and pleasant person.

- G. P.

Try to remember ...

September has come and gone and I didn't add a single yarn to my little web the entire month. I'm not sure why. I think I was waiting for a magical moment I felt worthy of sharing. Well, I guess I really am a fool. The whole point of this web is to help myself, and whomever else passes this way, to realize how precious and special each and every moment is, even the bad ones. Because let's face it, this life is all we have right now. Well, I've learned my lesson, so I'll try not to worry about how remarkable my life should be before I consider it noteworthy. With that in mind, here's a brief summary of some of the ordinary miracles I observed last month ...
A hummingbird visited my backyard. That's two hummingbirds I've seen in the city this past summer - the first two I've ever seen in the many years I've lived here. I spotted both birds within a few months of marking the tenth anniversary of my mother's passing by getting a hummingbird tattoo on my ankle. (See previous entry.)
I walked, without an umbrella, face up, in the gentle, late-summer rain. During that same walk a vivid red dragonfly landed on my arm to rest for a while. On yet another walk through our glorious neighbourhood park I spied a great blue heron, poised and motionless in the pond, within feet of the shoreline where I stood. And just a few feet from the heron a cormorant was perched on a wooden post, its wings spread wide, in full sun-worshipping mode.
I also met with a dear childhood friend whom I hadn't seen in eight years. I had called her up on whim, no doubt brought about by a powerful full moon that day, to wish her a happy birthday. It was good to hear her voice when she returned my call a couple of days later, and we caught up on our lives shortly afterwards when we met for lunch. Meeting with her after so long reminded me that life and learning goes on, with all its joy and sadness, fortune and tragedy. It will go on, even if we choose to not fully engage in it. And sometimes, tragically, it forces us to be fully engaged in the most difficult of ways. Grief is a price we sometimes pay for deep love. But Susan, my beautiful and enduring friend, is wiser and lovelier than ever, and has come back from great loss to live more fully and deeply than ever. It was a rich and rewarding experience just to sit with her.
I've learned that life doesn't have to smack me in the face with beauty, joy, misfortune or loss to make me appreciate all the rest of the small and seemingly inconsequential moments. I'm grateful for all of them. I'm an actress and a storyteller, and this much I know for sure - life is not a dress rehearsal.
- G. P.