Tag: blogger

flexibility

We all have these idyllic scenarios we run in our heads – at least I hope we do, or I am a weirdo – where we know just the right thing to say, or we have the answer to the problem that no one else sees, and we are proud… heroic, even. We rehearse what we’re going to say and we anticipate what the other person’s response will be, and it all goes so smoothly… and we win.

We do this in spite of the fact that it’s never actually gone the way we wanted it to, and ultimately nobody wins. We change nobody’s mind, and nobody changes our mind. We alienate people and risk coming across as assholes despite our best efforts to outwit the other person in the impending confrontation. Not only does our proposed scenario that we’ve rehearsed to death not play out as we thought it would, but the scenario has an ending, and real life has aftermath. For a real trip, try and have this confrontational visit with someone who’s completely fried their brain on designer chemicals and has little-to-no control over their emotions. It’s entitlement en masse, with a heavy dose of rage, and a penchant for blaming everyone around you for things you’ve done.

Perhaps maturity is realizing this in advance, or at least realizing it in the moment and showing some compassion.

The difference between schooling someone in a confrontational conversation, and being of service to their needs comes down to intention. Basically, do you want to wag your finger or do you want to help?

Me? I want to do neither… which is why being of service is such a massive personal sacrifice, and ultimately, why I keep droning on about it time after time.

This manifested itself in my life recently as looking after my niece in the event that her unhinged parent decided to cause a massive scene at my mother’s house. We deemed it best if my niece wasn’t there for that. Personally, I don’t think my mother should have been there for it either, but living in fear isn’t a thing we like to do, and my house is small.

The last thing I wanted to do was entertain a 10 year old. My entertaining-10-year-olds days are over, in my mind, but it was a need – not a want, and it was an act of service I was able to offer, regardless of the fact that I didn’t want to get in the middle of things any more than I already have in recent weeks.

But this wasn’t about me.
And it sure as shit wasn’t about my quiet evening at home, or the shitty sleep I got as a result of doing it.
But it was hard to let go of my quiet evening and my good night’s sleep.
It was hard to switch my brain back into 10-year-old mode.
It was hard not to step into the situation, lay out the facts as I saw them, and shut the bullshit down as I saw fit.
But I did those hard things.

I served.

the price of admission

“The first step; a frequently cited trope, is admitting you have a problem…”

On September 9th, 2023, I accomplished a personal first. I attended a gathering of people who I am simultaneously happy to see, and wish I didn’t have to see; however, we’re united by a common struggle.

The first step; a frequently cited trope, is admitting you have a problem, and although walking through the door of my first 12-Step meeting is an experience that echoes off the walls of my subconscious like some clanging gong – abrupt, and disarming, I have to say that the impetus for actually going has been a slow-moving yet still unstoppable growth, like mound of shit built by lazy insects. In essence, It’s taken a long time to get here, but I’ve known I would eventually arrive for some time now.

Yes, I admit I have a problem…

It’s probably the far reaching arm of my ego preventing me from actually putting a name to this problem – I thought I checked my ego at the door, but it still seems to be peering in at me – it’s hard to articulate your propensity for shoveling cookie dough into your mouth with a spoon, or your insatiable love of pop-tarts while attempting to put words together that don’t make you appear completely foolish.

I’m a poetic and a romantic – why can’t I come up with a better word for this problem? Ohhhh… right – it’s because it’s actually not fucking cool… and in this room you’re not fucking cool… and in the presence of these people – these honest and vulnerable and hopeful people, your “out there in the world” coolness factor means precisely nothing. In this room, you are the complete and total embodiment of embarrassment and humility, and you are sitting in a circle with other people who are the same… so no, there’s no fun word for this, so the narrative goes as follows:

Member of the groups: “My name is ___ and I am a(n) ___.”
The rest of the group: “Welcome.”

The “Mad Lib” answer-key version of this is: “Dave” and “I don’t really know, but I know I have a fucked up relationship with food, and I use it to cope with my problems” before I give a coles notes sample of how I inadvertently caused myself an extra 20 minutes of work while doing a home-renovation project and rather than doing the 20 minutes of work, I consumed a couple thousand calories while trapped in some strange, feckless trance – likely for longer than the aforementioned 20 minutes, but in the end I still had to do the extra work I caused myself, so it was a fruitless endeavor.

I’ve transferred my compulsion numerous times in my 41 years of walking around on this planet… but my first fascination was with food, and after I systematically pushed all the bad habits out of my life, I was left with my first love – and the only one I couldn’t truly abstain from: Food. I have other distractions… fitness, my car, music… and they do help me cope with life, but they’re not unmanageable compulsions that have driven me to negotiate terms with a higher power.

I tell my story with a hint of mist in my eyes because I don’t even like remembering it. I’d love to forget it and fill it’s place with music, or art, or some brilliant reflection of what life is supposed to be but instead I have this story – an insignificant blip, and a weak example of why I am really here, but these are strangers and I’m not ready to let them in yet… and when I’m done speaking, I look up from spot on the floor I was staring at – just beyond my left shoe as it cradles my right shoe on the end of my outstretched legs – and rather than seeing judging, laughing faces, I am met with nodding heads and appreciative smiles.

My story ends; as I tell it, in a rather strange place where any other group of people would keep waiting for the resolve, or some calamitous punchline, is instantly relatable in this room. I don’t just feel seen, I feel understood.

As an aside, Today marks 1 calendar year since my last alcoholic drink. I can’t say I was ever counting the days, but I will say this: You can do whatever you want to do, and if it helps you to align yourself with your purpose then you should probably start now if you haven’t already.

Much love.

one hundred

“This is my 100th post. I never really imagined what this blog would become… “

This is my 100th post. I never really imagined what this blog would become… originally I just set out to write a little around training for a triathlon and working to be a better person… but I suppose time passes, too. I’m glad to still be writing, even though I often wonder what I should say that I haven’t said already, or how this will evolve.

I’m happy to have maintained the practice of writing this, and am happy for the other practices I’ve adopted along the way. Originally there was a video component that was a bit ambitious, and thus fizzled out after the triathlon in 2021 but I’m not opposed to reintroducing something a little more off-the-cuff at some point.

I did the things I wanted to do. Lu and I did the triathlon course, and I ran the half marathon last year. I’m moving into other fitness disciplines and working on my car. I’m not sure why I feel compelled to take an inventory of the last 2 years but if you’ve been reading along, you’ll know that I’m also a bit of a fan of the 12 step method of recovery, so here we are.

This blog has been side-line to a triathlon, a half-marathon, most of a pandemic, the writing and recording of an album, an amazing rekindling of relationship between myself and my environment AND between myself and my car, the entire life of my beautiful dog, and a couple of birthdays. Even as I write this my then-12 year old is creeping up on being a 15 year old, and my girlfriend hasn’t aged a day. In fact, her and I are both younger than we were when we started.

Who knows where this adventure will take us?

Thanks for reading along, and to the several of you who’ve weighed in – thank you especially.

activism reaction

“Perhaps it’s due to the high volume of meat consumers in my home province of Alberta, or it could be the general sense of entitlement that comes with living in a prairie province, but when they asked if we were vegan and we said “yes” I sort of wanted a pat on the back. “

My family and I happened upon an animal rights demonstration outside a local Food & Music event a few months back. As much as I know these things take place with regularity, I’ve never actually seen one on a street corner before. Of course I’ve seen literature at punk rock shows, documentaries, videos online, and the like, and I’ve certainly read or been told about protests occurring near high-dollar restaurants – but on the street level, participating in a conversation… this was a first.

Perhaps it’s due to the high volume of meat consumers in my home province of Alberta, or it could be the general sense of entitlement that comes with living in a prairie province, but when they asked if we were vegan and we said “yes” I sort of wanted a pat on the back. I’ll admit I’m not immune to the effects of my own ego, but really in the end we came away from that encounter feeling like we weren’t doing enough.

Now, I don’t feel inferior. My voice and my platform are different, and they are that way by design because part of what I want to convey is not only can you live on plants, but that you can thrive in your creative life and be in excellent physical condition in doing so. I aim to dispel the notion that vegans are vitamin deficient and weak by my deeds, my lifestyle, and my creative output – which includes this blog (among other things).

The lesson I taught myself; or reminded myself of in this case, was one of pride and humility. I firmly believe that we honor those around us by offering the best of ourselves, and not being shy about our capabilities or downplaying our accomplishments. I also know the difference between speaking truth and bragging.

I don’t hold signs on street corners, but who’s to say I never will? I won’t limit myself in my abilities any more than I will commit to something that doesn’t light me up. The people we spoke to that day are impassioned, and their voice is just as important as mine.

Training is getting back on track in a more aggressive way this week. Starting Tuesday we’ll be back to a pretty firm 5 days per week that includes biking, running, and swimming as well as weight training. It feels simultaneously like a step backward, and like a big undertaking – but we know we need to inch our way into this program a bit after a chilled out fall season, and we’re slightly constricted by our work schedules.

My heart tells me not to let my work schedule get in the way of a good workout, but I have to remind myself that this program is mainly about the slow burn – the momentum and regularity of conditioning. Some mornings we really only have a 60 minute window to get to the gym, get sweaty, and get home, and we’re good with rolling with that.

There are no training days… only training weeks and months.