When opportunity knocks

Sometimes, opportunity knocks and one of several things happen.

One, you have your head so far up your proverbial arse that you don’t even see the opportunity. Two, you see the opportunity but you are just too afraid to do anything about it. Three, you (tentatively?) make a move to reach for it and the opportunity slips through your fingers like butter on piping hot corn on the cob. And for some opportunities, the timing just isn’t right. Four... You get the idea.

The remedy for having your head up your arse is to get your head out of from said arse. Sounds simple, right? Well, if you’ve been stuck in that... ahem... position for some time it may take a fair amount of... ahem... lubricant to see the light of day again. Effective lubricant options include trusted family and friends who can point out the predicament you happen to be in. Another option is your boss slapping you upside the head see you see the obvious staring you in the face. You can also be the “victim” of hitting a brick wall and having to reassess your... ahem... position.

The remedy for being afraid to seize the day is to get over your fears, those ugly monsters that keep you from spreading your wings and soaring. Fear serves a purpose when you are being chased by an alligator and you need to run for your life. But fears in our modern world are often ill founded and based on unhealthy perceptions and assumptions. Identify your fears, face them and then, feel them. It’s not just a mental exercise; it’s an emotional one too. Keep chasing your dreams, no matter how scared you may be. It’s always a better option that running from your fears.

The remedy for an opportunity slipping away is to realize and accept two things. If you didn’t reach for it, next time, reach for it. It might still slip away but it won’t be because you didn’t bother trying. If you did reach and it slipped away, there was a reason. Whatever that reason, there is a lesson for you to learn. Learn and integrate the lesson and you’ll be on your way.

Then, there is the question of timing.

Chris DeBurgh (I know, Chris DeBurgh... Ha!) sings a song called “Timing is Everything in Life” and he’s definitely on to something there. Most often, timing cannot be controlled. We receive two job offers at the same time and must pick one. Holy mother of! You meet someone amazing when you’ve been dating someone for only a few weeks. What do you do? Agony. Your text message service is on the fritz when a friend invites you to the hottest show in town. You receive the message AFTER the show is over. Damn! 

Timing cannot be controlled and yet, it is sometimes everything in life.

Opportunities have come and gone in many areas of my life, for all the reasons outlined above. And frankly, I’m equally grateful for opportunities I’ve taken advantage of, as the ones that have passed me by. More and more though, I’m overcoming those pesky fears and I’m going after my dreams.

Music that moves the heart and soul

Earlier this week one of my besties and I went to see an absolutely magical show by the very talented PEI artist Lennie Gallant. The show is called “Searching for Abegweit: The Island Songs and Stories of Lennie Gallant.” For more about the show itself, I invite you to read the review by Lennie MacPherson published in The Guardian and the one by Mo Duffy Cobb from Arts East.

As I’ve previously shared, it was 13 years ago that I fell in love with Prince Edward Island. As an Islander by choice, listening to Lennie sing us through some of his favourite childhood memories growing up in a small fishing village on PEI’s north shore was like tapping into the very source of what makes the Island special for so many of us.

Through his words, his music and the images of his sister Karen Gallant’s paintings scrolling on the giant screen on stage, it felt like I had been swept up in a warm embrace made up of ocean breeze, salty water, marram grass and wharf fodder. In other words: pure joy.

Lennie’s music was not new to me – perish the thought! – but I’d never seen him live before. In revealing this to the other guests at our table, I ended up on the receiving end of a bit of (unwarranted) ridicule. The sensitive introvert in me was bruised as I don’t reveal myself easily, but by the time the music began, I had recovered.

  

The only way to describe what came next is that it was a musical and visual experience that moved my heart and soul. Despite all that was taking place on stage, I only had eyes for the images of Karen’s paintings and ears for Lennie himself. 

It was like I’d found a secret fountain and I couldn’t stop drinking. This replenishment came in handy when I readily cried during “Island Clay,” the images and music combining for perfect melancholy. If only I’d had tissues with me.

Great songwriting has always had that effect on me because what reaches me, what breaks through my protective shell – in either a positive or negative way – has always been... words.

I am grateful for music and songwriting that moves the heart and soul. It inevitably opens up a window to both my inner and outer worlds in the most unexpected ways.

Scents and sensibility

Most people have a well developed sense of smell, but for the olfactory inclined the world amounts to more than sights and sounds. It’s a world of scents and sensibility beyond what the average person can imagine.

Whether we pay attention to them or not, scents are everywhere: in the grocery store, the farmer’s market, the gas station, the beach, the fields, the forest, the street, the car, the restaurant, the bathroom, the bedroom, the office, the barn, the newspaper... You name it. There is a scent for all things even those we think have no scent at all.

Just for fun, pick something you think has no scent and smell it. Come on, try it! Pick the item up. Close your eyes. Bring the item up close to your nose and slowly... inhale. You may not be able to distinguish what makes up the scent but your schnozz will undoubtedly smell something.

I don’t think my sense of smell is necessarily more developed than that of the average person. But there are some scents that “get me” more than others. Some scents have triggered all kinds of memories, eerie associations to time and place, hearty giggles and even brought emotions to the surface I thought had dissipated.

My favourite scent by far is what I call the “lover scent.” My experience has been that when two people share not only a bed, but also deep rooted feelings, one or both begin to emit a signature scent, a scent that can be picked up even across a crowded room. Sounds a tad crazy, I know. But, to me, there is nothing more primal, powerful and all the while comforting than being in the presence of the lover scent.

I am grateful for having experienced it and... I look forward to experiencing it again. :)

Maya Angelou

U.S. politics has been a source of interest – even fascination – from the time the Iran-Contra hearings flooded the airwaves and rudely interrupted the afternoon soap operas my sister and I watched during summer vacation.

The year was 1987. I was 12 years old and Oliver North boldly replaced Mac, Rachel, Felicia and Cass. Another World be damned! From there on out it would be politics all the time! Well maybe not QUITE from that exact moment but that’s where it all started.

So... What does this have to do with Maya Angelou?

That smile!

It was on a cold January day in 1993 that I first came to hear the words of poetess, activist and phenomenal woman, Maya Angelou. She had been commissioned to write a poem for the (first) inauguration of President Bill Clinton, inauguration that I watched with intent and interest. She delivered the poem to the assembled masses in her deep and emphatic voice, a voice I had never heard before.

Honestly, at first the inaugural poem made no sense to me. I wish I could say it had magically transported me into the world of poetry and hidden meanings. Or that I felt an instant connection to this smart, strong, successful woman. Or that I’d been inspired to write a poem of my own. None of that happened.

But, as a fan of U.S. politics and of the written word, I became curious as to how and why those two entities intersected on that fateful day. This curiosity led me straight to seeking out the works of Dr. Angelou.

Within a week I had read the first four books of her autobiography series. To this day, the story that sticks out in my mind is the one where she became the first woman – black woman at that – cable car conductor in San Francisco when she was a teenager. This would’ve been in the early 1940s. Imagine that!

From the stories she shared, she struck me as a woman who lived life her way, with all the good and bad that it entailed. She failed, succeeded, failed, and succeeded again. She seemed to not only grab life by the proverbial cojones, but to inhale it. Of course I don’t know that for a fact. That's just how it seems to me.

Her stories moved me, producing laughter, tears and more laughter. She left behind an impressive body of work and enough nuggets of wisdom to adorn the walls of a mansion. There is one particular quote that continues to inspire me and for which I am especially grateful:

“Do the best you can until you know better. When you know better, do better.”

My grandfather ❤

My maternal grandfather was born in 1925 in a small town north of Québec City. He was the fifth of six children and one of three boys. His own parents hailed from the Îles de la Madeleine (Magdalen Islands). In search of a better life, my great-grandparents moved to the mainland not long after their first child was born in 1918. Almost one hundred years later, Islanders from PEI and the Magdalens are still heading West for that “better” life. The more things change... ;)

 

He wasn't that debonair when I knew him but he still had swagger!

He didn’t have much of an education, only up to Grade 6 or Grade 8. I can’t remember for sure. He went to work at the local paper mill at a young age and rose through the ranks. He only spoke French and the mill owners and operators spoke English. So he taught himself English. He eventually supplemented his education by taking distance education courses through M.I.T., something mostly unheard of at the time. His course certificates proudly hung on his home office wall. He would eventually be responsible for operating several mills, including starting some from the ground up. He is a classic case of having come from nothing to make something of himself.

Growing up, my sister and I spent a lot of time with our maternal grandparents, especially during extended summer stays. We LOVED everything about it. It really was our second home. When our parents came to pick us at the end of our vacation we would hide – literally hide! – because we didn’t want to leave. We would try to negotiate: Three more days! Two days! One day! It would start with a semblance of seriousness and would quickly turn into sorrowful pleading (one more day.... pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease). Inevitably, we would begrudgingly stomp to the car that would take us back to Montréal.

While I loved my grandparents equally, it would be fair to say my grandfather and I had something of a special bond. It probably comes with being the first grandchild of the family.

Some of my most cherished memories include trailing him around the property, watching him fiddle on projects in his basement workshop (projects I didn’t understand), observing him at mealtime (he was very quiet), cuddling with him and my sis on the back porch while listening to evening Expos games on the radio (that was awesome!), listening to his stories while he pointed out the stars, and going on road trips.

Thinking back on it, he was probably an extroverted introvert. There were times when he would just come ALIVE and others times when he would be completely shut down. One instance when he would come alive was on card game night. One of his brothers and sister-in-law would come over after supper to play cards for pennies. Those games would last well into night and the house would fill with laughter, cigarette smoke and one-upmanship. Those were special nights for us as well because we were allowed to stay up later than usual, hang out with the adults and partake in the snacks!

As alive, entertaining and chatty as he was, he could also be quiet, stand off-ish and moody. He came of age during the Great Depression and World War II, events which obviously left their mark. But behind the sometimes gruff exterior there was a heart of gold. He loved my grandmother. Maybe not the way she would have wanted to be loved but he loved her tremendously and wanted nothing more than to make her happy. He wanted nothing but the best for her, his children and his grandchildren. He would give his last shirt to help someone out, which sometimes got him into trouble.

March 1946

What I remember the most though – and that I had forgotten until recently – is that he believed in me. From a very young age, he would tell me that I could do and become anything I wanted, anything at all, even Prime Minister if that’s what I wanted. He was a possibilitarian if there ever was one.

Unfortunately, he passed away when I was 21 years old and didn’t get to see and experience what I would become, or what I am still becoming. I don’t think he was ever disappointed with me but he was a bit worried. Those years between 18 and 21 were awkward ones for me. Despite that he never lost faith in me. For that - and so much more - I am eternally grateful and I owe it to him to never lose faith in myself.