I NEED TO WRITE TO BE HAPPY. —NORA ROBERTS

I’m at an odd crossroads. I have a whole lot going on, while a lot of nothing is happening. We have moved into our new home and have been busy scouring, repairing and painting. In between that hard core, get down on your knees or up on a ladder kinda work, we run to and fro between the various communities in our area, filling in the “holes” we see in the house. We have ordered closet systems and interior shutters, have purchased a new central vacuum system and bought a new King bed. We have dealt with the mundane but necessary: septic pumping, new hot water heater, repair on dishwasher.

We are settling down in paradise. I kid you not. I exaggerate not one bit. I step out onto the balcony—doves coo and hawks circle the back farmer’s field while horses frolic in the distance. The mountain sits quietly, majestic and beneficent, warming me with its presence. The pastoral land between my backyard and the ocean that endlessly beckons is calming, balm to my ravaged soul. For, at the moment that is what it is, ravaged. (Keep in mind, I do have a flare for drama.J)

I love my life. I hate my life. Well, perhaps hate is too strong a word. I am disgruntled, unhappy that it is all work and no play. We have moved to this spectacular province and the only thing I know, about the area I live, is the location of the nearest Home Depot or Costco. While I am not anxious to play tourist, it would be nice to see something beyond the hardware stores.

More defeating than that is the fact that we still have no furniture. I have nowhere to sit comfortably and write. And I crave writing. I am positively antsy and, if you speak with DH he will verify, downright cranky about the whole not-conducive-to-writing environment. Writing is who I am, it is what I need. It is right up there with eat well and exercise. It makes me healthy and whole. So, I can hardly wait until everything arrives and I can unpack and get back to the business of being me…which is writing.

Having said that, a ray shone over my frustrations this week. An agent read the first thirty pages of Raven’s Path and requested the full manuscript. I am not naïve enough to think that this leads to a happy-ever-after agent/writer contract, but I cannot tell you how heartening it was to get her email in the midst of my present turmoil.

It helped to remind me of part of the reason I moved out here: to shake up my life, to try something new, to sit on the couch and drink in the vista as I write…and write…and write.

Home is the nicest word there is. — Laura Ingalls Wilder

I am a confident person. In my career, and in my life, I have made decisions without hesitation. Some of them miniscule in the grand scheme of things, some of them incredibly important to all involved. I always weigh the pros and cons, tally the cost and move forward with a sense of sureness that I am doing what is best with the information I have at hand and in the moment.

Yet, I questioned our new house purchase. I did not doubt that moving to the west coast was a good idea. I grew up on the east coast. I was raised with mountains at my back door and the ocean at my front. Ontario has been good to me, but I did not wish to die in a metropolis…well, a mini metropolis, if truth be told. And, just let me note, I have no intention of dying in the near future. I’m banking on another 35+ years, thank you very much.

I had no qualms with shaking up my secure comfortable life. Complacency is enemy to creativity. I crave change, challenge and new experiences. Moving offered all of those things. So, not a glance back as we headed across Canada.

But, we looked at houses our second day on the island. We owned this one on the third. It was a frenzy of bartering, house inspection and septic inspection, followed by the arduous task of securing everything from insurance to hydro. We moved in two weeks after landing in British Columbia. We took a chance and sold our house, not knowing when or where we would secure another one. We flew without a safety net and landed with aplomb.

I had no idea how it could happen that quickly. And, so, I was filled with doubt. Is this the right house? The right area? Did we take on too much with the work that needs to be done? Did we jump too fast? My excitement was tempered by trepidation.

Then, friends came by. Now, friends alone are enough to bring joy to a home. The fact that they made time to come see our new, as yet to be furnished house, is solace to the doubtful heart. They were positive and glowing as they took the tour. Fantastic. But it was watching them look out our windows, seeing their smiles as they walked out onto the balcony, that brought true comfort. The affirmation of our choice was clear in their faces.

Any time I fret or doubt our quick decision, I will stand at a window and trace the direction of their gazes…and drink in the vista: pastoral lands wrapped in mountains with a glimpse of the ocean.

I am home.

 

Do the planets align or do we make our own luck?

I talked last week about how blessed I am in life: my life’s partner, my fur babies, my friends and my plethora of career choices. The question I have pondered this week, since I do have time to ponder…oodles of time—a discomforting state for me, if truth be told…is Have I worked to invite such amazing gifts into my life or is it sheer luck?

For certain, the circumstance of my birth is pure providence. It is the foundation upon which all other things have been constructed. Did I build the tower of my life or is it all about fate, a big game of Ker Plunk and I am just pulling out the right sticks through happenstance? I don’t know for certain, of course, lacking the surety of a preacher or a prophet, but I do believe there is an element of both at play.

Born in a country of opportunity, I have had access to good health care, free education and (when I did mine) affordable post secondary education. Times were not always easy and money not always ready, but I found that if I worked hard, kept my eyes on the goal, the pay off was worth it. I built a career. I built a life. No stranger to sacrifice and hard work, I built me…from the ground floor up. And, I’m darn proud of it.

Yet, I know so many others who can claim the same thing. They have had goals and have worked hard their whole lives in the same bountiful country as me. Despite that, their lives are filled with setbacks, heartaches and loss. They have done everything right but too many things go wrong. How do I account for that?

“The harder I work, the luckier I get,” a quote oft attributed to Samuel Goldwyn, sums up my general philosophy in life. I have applied it with great success. However, a little voice niggles in the back of my mind, always. Others work just as hard. Work harder. Why you? Why do your stars align? I have no answer. None.

But, Universe, know that I am ever so grateful.

O Canada

I often think about my blessed life. I'm in good health. I live with a man I admire, respect and love. I cuddle each day with sweet little pups. I am surrounded by kind and generous friends. I have enjoyed a successful career and can indulge in exploring yet another one. I am also graced with the cognitive ability to accomplish things on an academic level and have the fortitude to face the unknown and to see tasks through.

On the heels of Canada Day, I am contemplating the full bounty of the gift that is my life. Through luck or destiny, I was born in a country that allows these blessings. Access to good health care and education is an incredible luxury. The freedom to choose who I love and spend my time with, and the right to choose my path and expect respect as a woman, are not things to be taken lightly.

I have always recognized that I live in a wonderful country, but our journey across its vast expanse has made me appreciate it even more. Canada, the land, is as varied as its people. It is spectacular, breathtaking, awe-inspiring. O Canada, with glowing heart, I have seen thee rise…and you are beautiful. Thank you Fate, for the gift of my home. May it forever be, strong and free.

 

Anyone?

If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?

Blogging always makes me think of that question. As a blogger you fell your words and wonder if anyone sees them lying there. I suppose blogging is no different from being a radio or television announcer. You present to a theoretical audience and you have to hope that in the void of silence that you face, someone is listening, something is resonating with someone.

Recently, I have had a lot of email in response to posts. It is gratifying to know that friends and strangers are checking in regularly. As I prepare to leave my life here and move across the country, it is comforting to know that the blog will remain a constant, a mobile connection to the world that can relocate with me.

Having said that, I am not sure what the next few weeks hold. I do know that I face busy days, heartfelt goodbyes and, no doubt, adventure. So, please forgive me if I skip a week or two of posting. When I am safely ensconced in the land of great forests, I will once again start making noise and wait breathlessly to see if you are still listening.

 

The Measure of a Man

I once read that the measure of a man is his children. I have searched for its author. Many attribute the phrase to Sidney Poitier but he, in fact, said that his father taught his sons that 'The measure of a man is how well he provides for his children.” While that certainly is an important element of being a good parent, I think my misrepresentation of the quote is a more accurate statement.

We had a wonderful visit yesterday with a dear friend. This friend is at a critical juncture in his life. He is questioning the choices he has made, wondering what to do next, unsure as to whether any of what he has done in life has been good enough. In essence, he is doubting his own worth. While it is not unusual for us to do that when we hit certain landmarks in our lives, it is an overwhelming feeling and often we cannot move beyond it to see in ourselves what others see.

This is what I saw yesterday. I saw a man who is a collector. Yes, he collects things, but he also collects people, he collects memories. There are pictures pinned throughout his workshop, marking the importance of those friends and those memories. I saw a man who is incredibly skilled and talented. He creates, he problem solves and he turns the battered and plain into the beautiful. He has done it in my home and he is doing it in his home. I saw a man connected to the land, a man who honours nature, and who is proud of the traditions and history he shares with it. But most importantly, I saw a man who values his family above all else. How do I know this? Well, because of his son.

His son joined us for the afternoon. Of an age where he should have no interest in spending time with his parents and their friends, he toured the property with us, his pride and pleasure equal to his father’s. He laughed at his father’s jokes, he listened attentively when his mother spoke and he contributed meaningfully to discussions that ranged from renovations to the state of society today. His sense of humour and his innate goodness were evident and it was an absolute pleasure to look beyond the child I knew and see the man he has become.

So, my friend, as you read this I hope you see that, while you have some hard decisions to make, you should never doubt your worth. And, if you ever do, look into the eyes of your son. There lies your measure.

Today is a good day to have a good day.

Life is filled with highs and lows. If we’re lucky they flow in and out of our lives equally. If we’re incredibly fortunate, our tides rise high for a good length of time and our lows ebb quickly. While I am not without my woes, I count myself firmly in the latter group. Am I a glass half-full person, or is life truly beneficent when it comes to me? I think there is a bit of both at play, but it is also about the choices I make. I’m not talking about the big decisions in life, but the every day little things and how I choose to react to them.

Lately, it seems, many people I care about are falling apart. I had dinner with a group of colleagues (well, ex-colleagues, but I just can’t think of them as ex-anything). Their workplace is filled with strife, further stressed by the political climate surrounding their jobs. They are trying hard to stay afloat but are feeling thoroughly discouraged.

 

My writer peeps are struggling. Rejections from agents are piling up and they are fighting defeat. Many are getting form letters and the impersonal response makes them feel like their writing is not even worthy of comment. When an agent kindly provides feedback, they revise, they cut and they work to implement all suggestions. And, they are getting dizzy from it, worried about losing their stories, worried about losing their voices, worried that they will never find an agent, never be published.

My writing is simmering on a backburner. Maybe tomorrow I will take it off and continue to stir and add ingredients. It is what I say at the end of each day when I find that, yet again, I failed to add a single word. I stress about it for a few minutes, and then forgive myself. We are in the middle of packing up 30+ years of living and getting ready to move across the country. Loved pieces have been sold and other treasures are going into boxes and into storage, to be shipped out to us who knows when. We don’t have a home to go to yet.

 

Yes, life is filled with highs and lows. We cannot change that. The only thing we can do is choose how we react to it. As my world here slowly disappears into cardboard boxes, I choose to embrace the rush of excitement rather than dwell on the overwhelming feeling of getting it done on time, saying goodbye and wondering what the future holds. I haven’t flown by the seat of my pants like this since I was a teen. What a thrill to be young and courageous once again.

 

In my career, I had the luxury of regularly addressing around two hundred people, young and old. I always encouraged them to be proactive rather than reactive and reminded them that they held the power of choice. Each and every day I had the opportunity to reinforce that with a simple message. I give it to you now my colleagues, my writer peeps and my dear readers near and far:  Make it a good day!