I've been trying to write this all day. I've started. I've stopped. I've started again. I sat and reflected on the year. I cried. Then I laughed. And I got angry. I worried. That my friends, sums up this year in a nutshell. 2015 has been unlike any year I've encountered. I'm so done with it.
There were some good moments - it certainly wasn't all bad. My Mom completed her cancer treatments and so far is in the clear a little over a year after her diagnosis and surgery. That's a huge win and a relief. I also had some random moments of pure happiness. Like staying at a friend's house and while lying in bed, hearing a train in the distance as I listened to the rain on the roof (some of my favourite things and places all happening at once). Or laughing uncontrollably until my sides hurt at a malfunctioning parking door at a Banff hotel. It wasn't that funny. But oh did we laugh. I made a couple of great new friends and reconnected with an old one. I was also on the receiving end of a couple of acts of kindness that seemed to come at just the right time. These and the other highlights of the year (hey I turned 40!) have really helped me get through things.
But for the most part, this year was really tough. Loss was the biggest theme for me in 2015. Sadly and frustratingly, I managed to cover this off in a lot of life’s categories. Some losses were major. Some minor. Put all together it just felt like I was constantly being hit with stuff and couldn’t stop to catch my breath, or really seek shelter. One thing after another. Death (a person and a pet). Major home expenses. Loss of friendships. Job Loss. Twice. Family illness. More than a few encounters with people who completely lacked compassion and kindness when it mattered most. Disappointment. Misunderstanding. Bad dates. Financial stress. A lot of uncertainty. In short, it was an asshole of a year.
People keep telling me next year will be my year. I hope so because quite frankly I'm tired. It actually doesn't have to be "my year". I'd be happy with a moderately better year. I am probably one of the most positive, resilient people out there and 2015 has tested me more than any other. While I do have some good people in my world rooting for me, I'm carrying most of this on my own. And sometimes it's kind of heavy.
I'm excited about 2016. I'm also a little scared. I feel like I'm going into some kind of uncharted territory, a new adventure. I think I'm ready, I know I am capable, but I also know enough to know you are never completely prepared for what comes along the way. I have put my big girl pants on, I have a plan and I'm charging forward. But not before I give 2015 one last kick in the shins for good measure on its way out.
I've been absent awhile. I know. I have about 3-4 blog posts on a range of topics half written, waiting for me to be inspired to finish them. That inspiration has been buried under an avalanche of curveballs that seem to continue to be sent my way. I have high hopes for 2016 because I am SO done with this year.
I recently have gone through my second job loss this year, and this time around Calgary's economy is further in the toilet than it was in June, by a long shot. In fact I think in many regards, someone has flushed the toilet and closed the lid. It's both terrifying and motivating depending on the day or even time of day you ask me.
I'm looking for work: something that is the right fit and gets me excited. At the same time, I'm also working to build up my business, Write.Brand.Image. I'm fortunate that I already have a few small projects to work on, although I know I will need to increase that a lot more to be able to stay afloat. I've thought about relocation but I am just not sure I am ready for that yet. For now I'm going to concentrate on growing my business and considering all the options out there.
There are a lot of people here out of work. Thousands and thousands of workers (120,000 ish?) at all levels, across the province. Suicide is up 30% this year. Engineers, project managers, administrative assistants, oilfield workers, trades. I made the mistake of reading "the comments" on a few articles on the subject of layoffs and our economy. There is a sentiment out there that Calgarians somehow deserved this; that so many of us "oil workers" have not planned for a rainy day and have been living beyond our means (so not true on many levels). Many of the unemployed aren't even oil and gas workers (me!) but the trickle down effect is already well underway.
There is also this comment section notion that many of the unemployed should go and work in retail or fast food jut to have some money coming in. From what I've heard though, the service industry isn't wanting to hirer many of those out of work 'office types" because they know many won't stay in those roles. It's true. Frustrating for all, but true. In the office world, there are a fair number of really junior roles being posted for probably half or a third of what people were making a year ago. Even those with extensive experience willing to work at reduced rates are not getting hired, probably for the same reason they can't get the service industry jobs. It's no wonder people are feeling less than positive.
In my case, I've been a bit overwhelmed by the generosity and kind, motivating and constructively helpful words several people have sent my way over the last few weeks. I had a couple of pretty low points but because of these caring folks, I've rallied back and feel I'm in the best position to move forward and kick some butt in 2016.
As a public service announcement, if you know people who are struggling with job loss or looming job loss, reach out and say hello to them. Listen. Don't try to fix their problems because you probably can't. Avoid the cliches like "everything happens for a reason..." and "this will make you so much stronger" or "at least xxxx hasn't happened to you" or "lots of other people are unemployed too". Encourage but don't over cheerlead. Buy them a coffee. Offer them a brief distraction. Invite them for dinner. Do things that give them hope and help them see real options. Offer specific help like watching their kids or pets or giving them a ride somewhere because they probably won't want to ask for help. Let them know you are thinking about them. And, again, listen.
When I was ten, sitting in my mom's car while she ran into my aunt's house to get something during a snowstorm, a song was playing on the radio. I decided at that moment that it would be the song I'd dance to for the first dance of my wedding. The song? Chicago's "You're the inspiration". It gave me chills and was the most romantic thing I had ever heard.
I was driving home the other night, listening to the radio and that song came on. I smiled as I felt the nostalgia creep in. It still kind of gives me goosebumps and stirs the romantic in me. I thought about ten year old me, in love with being in love, believing in romance and dreaming about someday getting married. I felt a little sad; I wondered for a moment if I had let her down by not getting married. And it got me thinking - what would the ten year old me, think of the almost forty year old me?
Being ten is a cool age. You aren't a little kid anymore, but for most ten year olds, you have no idea about the angst-filled, possibly awkward years just around the corner. Ten year olds start to want a healthy distance from parents and family and gravitate towards their friends - and greater independence, but it is still pretty balanced. You have some pretty solid ideas and dreams about the future based on what you see in the world around you.
When I was ten, I knew for sure I as a grown-up I was going to be a journalist with a weekly column where I'd write about my life and anything I found interesting. It was going to be a funny column, similar to what syndicated columnist Dave Barry did (which I read religiously). I was also going to be married although the groom was undetermined and changed frequently, alternating between Toronto Blue Jays, actors and the occasional boy in my school (I had a phase where I loved any boy name Troy, followed by a similar phase where I loved any boy named Kevin).
Shannon a.k.a Shanny
As a ten year old, I loved animals. We lost our family dog that year, at the ripe old age of 15. I vowed to one day have many pets that I would love with all my heart and soul. I was definitely a kid who loved a lot of things deeply and felt a strong need to protect the things that I cared about, to make sure they were always okay. I had strong opinions about fairness, justice and people doing the right thing, being good to each other. I often shared my passionate opinions on current events with my mother and grandparents which frequently lead to my mother remarking that I had such a strong sense of right and wrong and views on justice and she wasn't entirely sure where those came from.
Nothing made me happier at ten than to be reading. If my mom told me to go play outside, I'd often bring a book and read outside instead (probably not what she had in mind). I devoured books, magazines and newsletters. I read books about serial killers (my mom was a little concerned), studied the criminal code of Canada (my mom was a little relieved) and read every Saturday Star from cover to cover. I loved politics, law, medical and lifestyle stories. I also enjoyed fiction and became quite emotionally involved with the characters.
A close second pastime to reading was riding my bike. I had an awesome sparkly blue ten-speed that I'd cruise around the neighbourhood on. I especially liked doing it after swimming as my hair, in the wind created by my super fast bike riding skills, would poof to epic, lion's mane proportions. Which I thought was super cool.
So what would this ten year old kid think of me and my life now?
Well she'd be bummed about the marriage thing. Although she wouldn't have wanted to be divorced either so she'd probably think a good thing I didn't marry any of my previous long term partners. That said, I think she'd be confused as to why I'm not "better" at love and relationships, given how much I care about the people in my life and how deep my feelings often are. She wouldn't want me to settle though, and she'd want me to keep looking for a person who loved me exactly as I am. Because ten year olds are both cheesy and wise.
She'd be over the moon about The Zoo. She's think two cats and two dogs are awesome and that I am very lucky to have them to love. Ten year olds have a knack for overlooking litter boxes, chewed things and would probably like the idea of getting a dog paw in the head at 7 am like I did this morning.
Ten year old Lauren would love the fact that I've lived downtown in a couple of cities. I know when I was a kid I always pictured being that independent career woman living in the city, working in an office building. She wouldn't understand my job, although with some explanation she'd approve given the writing element and the chance to "be in charge" and lead people. As a-super-ultra-mega shy kid, I always admired those who had the confidence to lead and be outspoken and I hoped someday I'd get over my shyness to do the same, as I knew I had it in me.
Other things she'd like? She'd think social media is awesome. And the Internet. I remember being in a music store mid 80s, the era of the mixed tape and thinking, why can there be a machine in the store that lets you buy all the songs you like off of albums and put them onto one or two cassettes. You know, instead of trying to make badly recorded compilations at home. I know; I could have been rich if I got that idea to market first. But I digress.
I think generally, ten year old Lauren would be okay with forty year old me. She'd think I'm really old, but that aside, she'd judge me a lot less harshly than I judge forty year old Lauren. When we were ten, we were more okay with mistakes and failure. Actually, while I knew what the word meant, I am not sure I really knew what failure felt like at ten. Making a mistake was more acceptable, because we were supposed to be learning and we weren't supposed to know everything about everything. We focused on that learning rather than dwelling on the errors.
When we were ten, we did things because they were fun, because we were interested in them and sometimes because our parents said you have to. We loved unconditionally. We had lofty dreams. We were excited about the future. We trusted. We thought going for ice cream was a fun night out. We were also a hell of a lot better at living in the moment and appreciating what we did have, rather than what we didn't. I'm not sure at what age we change the rules on ourselves or why, but it's kind of too bad that we do.
I think I'm going to make more of an effort to try to view some of life's ups and downs from the perspective of 10 year old Lauren. She might teach forty year old Lauren a thing or two.
Nine years ago today was one of the biggest days of my life. I got on a plane with two suitcases and a heavy carry-on in tow and left Toronto for the final time as a "resident". (Note: do not try to accidentally take a wrench through security at an airport. They don't like that and the moving excuse doesn't help). My furniture had left three days earlier, and would eventually (and I mean eventually) make it's way west as well.
I often get asked the question "Was it a job or a man?" that made me move out here. It wasn't either. Sure, my employer at the time was looking to fill a position out here and they had asked several times if I would consider moving, but it wasn't ever something they were going to make me do. In fact, I had said no a good solid six weeks in a row to the suggestion. Why would anyone want to move to Calgary? I had never been west of Windsor and will admit I was the typical Ontarian, believing the world revolved around Toronto and its placement in the Centre of the Universe. (Most Ontarians don't realize they look at the world this way until they go and live somewhere else). I had no interest in moving, let alone to Calgary. All I knew about Calgary was that they had cows there (or nearby) and had hosted the Olympics in 1988.
Then I started to give it more thought. All of my friends were coupled and/or getting married, moving to the suburbs and talking about having kids. I wasn't there yet at all. I was a couple of years into being single after two serious relationships. My few remaining single friends seemed to be busy all the time with other things and I felt like my social circle was really shrinking. I was starting to feel like I was in a bit of a rut, and wondered if maybe a change of scenery might help. I recognized that it would push me well outside my comfort zone, but it also could be an adventure. Still, Calgary was far and I didn't know anyone.
It was summer and I had the routine of occasionally packing my laundry up in my car and driving out to my Mom's house to do it. This was mostly because I could sit by the pool on a nice day and swim while the laundering was in process. It was also because I could "shop" for things in her house like paper towels, toilet paper and bottles of wine (sorry, Mom). She was rarely there in the summer, and it was a pretty quiet, relaxing way to spend an afternoon. One particular weekend in early August I had such a 'Laundry Day". As I sat by the pool, my thoughts drifted to the whole idea of Calgary again. That particular weekend I was pretty fed up with a few people in my life for canceling plans. I sat and contemplated what life in a new city would be like. I still wasn't sure if the move made sense or if I was up to the challenge. At some point in the afternoon I got a little bored and decided to go through this box of memorabilia and documents my Mom has. I had been through it a million times before - it had things like my adoption certificate, her marriage license, my Dad's death certificate. It also had things like our old family dog Shannon's hairbrush and small keepsakes my brother and I had received as infants. As I rummaged, I noticed a small white box I had never seen before with my name on it. Weird. I was nosy enough I thought I had seen everything. Inside the white cardboard box there was a velvet box. I opened that up. And in that box I found a coin - a commemorative coin from 1975 that someone had given my parents to mark my arrival. Here's the kicker. The coin was commemorating Calgary's centennial.The following Monday I went into work and sent my boss an email: "Let's talk about this Calgary thing.".
Days later, they had me on a plane to visit Calgary for the first time, to help get a new food service account set up (SAIT, which is where years later, I am now working in a different capacity for the actual institution). My first trip out, my plane touched down on a runway with cows along one side of it. Yep, they indeed had a lot of cows in this city (I don't think they have them by the airport anymore though). I made several trips back and forth between Calgary and Toronto for a couple of months while planning the move, which officially happened the Tuesday after Thanksgiving.
And here we are, nine years later. So much has happened. I can honestly say I would not be half the person I am today had I not made the move here. To say (as I did earlier) that the move would push me outside of my comfort zone was a huge understatement. I had to find my way in a new city, make new friends and establish a new life. I gained a confidence and knowledge that far exceeded my expectations. I knew I'd be better for making the move. I didn't realize how much better. Career wise, there is no way I'd be doing as well in Toronto for a variety of reasons. The move also lead me down the path to becoming a kidney donor, which was another life changing, confidence boosting, learning experience of an event. So much has happened in the last nine years, from people to changes to accomplishments. I'm very proud of myself for taking a chance, for believing that this was something I could do, and do well. For believing in myself.
I'm not sure I believe that everything happens for a reason, in some arbitrary, fate driven way, but I do think that sometimes the least expected path has the greatest rewards.
Around this time, 40 some odd years ago, a series of events occurred that chose the path my life would take.
My Mom was out of town helping my Dad's sister, who had just had baby #3. My parents had been married a little over five years and were seriously challenged in the reproductive department. My Mom loved children and wanted nothing more than to start a family but it didn't look like it was in the cards for them. I know this had their relationship at a significant crossroads as they struggled with the pressure and disappointment of not being able to conceive.
Family legend has it that my maternal Grandma mentioned my mother's fertility issues in passing to her family doctor during a routine checkup around this time (my Grandma can be quite chatty so the story probably checks out). The story goes on to say that within the next couple of days, that same doctor was golfing (?) with a colleague, an OBGYN who happened to bring up the fact he had a patient who was looking for a family to privately adopt her soon-to-be-born child. Dr. OBGYN asked if Family Doctor knew anyone who might like to adopt. Family Doctor thought of my Grandma's story about my Mom and he made a call.
Within a day or so, my Mother got a call at my Aunt's house, from my Grandma, asking if she wanted to adopt a baby that was due any day. My Mother didn't know what to think - at first she thought it couldn't be real - adoption wasn't really even on their radar and this was coming out of nowhere (in some versions of this story my mother hangs up dramatically on my Grandma, thinking she is playing a mean joke). But it was their chance to have a family. So she packed up and returned home to get ready for the possible arrival of a new baby. They had nothing a baby would need and scrambled to get the basics together.
Meeting my other Grandma
for the first time (not the chatty one)
A few weeks later, on a Monday afternoon, the phone rang. A little girl had been born. Adoption laws at the time stated that infants could not be placed with their adoptive families until they were at least seven days old. The doctor kept me "for observation" in hospital for that first week so that I wouldn't have to go into foster care (something that was important to my Birthmom). The nurse apparently were more than okay with this, because they had a baby that they could snuggle, hug and feed. It was always thought that they had named me (Jennifer) although I now know that my Birthmom did that.
When the week was up, on an unseasonably warm late October day, a "neutral third party" (the adoption lawyer's wife) picked me up from the hospital and brought me back to their home, where my parents were anxiously waiting. From that day forward, I became Lauren to all who knew me, although I wasn't officially adopted until June of the following year. On that day, the judge asked to hold me. He then stood up, addressed the court and said "I'd like to introduce you all to Lauren Elizabeth Herschel".
I always knew I was adopted. I don't remember being told. My Mom said when she was later pregnant with my brother (surprise!) and I was less than a year old, she'd tell me that while I didn't grow in her tummy, I was just as much hers as he was. I was always told that my Birthmom had made a choice to have me and that she took very good care of herself so I would be born healthy. Adoption for me was always framed in a very positive way - that my Birthmom had wanted me to have the best life possible and that my adoptive parents really wanted me as well. I always had the sense that not only was I in a very loving adoptive family, there was also a Birthmom (and family) out there who cared deeply for me, hoping I was doing well and thriving. Sometimes when you tell people you are adopted, they initially look uncomfortable, uncertain if it is a good thing or not. I always thought I was lucky I was adopted and that I was truly loved and wanted by a lot of people, before I was even born.
My Dad was never okay with me looking for my birth family - he said the family I grew up with was my family and that's all I should need to know. My Mom always seemed to understand my curiosity a little more, and she knew that someday I might want to know more about where I came from. All I knew growing up was that my Birthmom had been in her early 20s, was a student and had nothing significant in her family medical history. That's not a lot to go on but in the 1970s, there weren't many rules around what information had to be collected in a private adoption.
After my Dad died, I decided to look, if for nothing else, updated medical history (watching a parent go through cancer makes you reflect on that kind of thing). In my mid 20s with the help of the Ontario government, I was reconnected with my Birthmom. It was pretty interesting to find out what we had in common (quite a lot) and see pictures of someone I look like. After a few months of letters and emails, we met. The following day, I was introduced to a slew of other amazing family members and family friends. They are all wonderful, kind people and I feel pretty fortunate to have a whole "other" family come into my life. They have always made me feel like I belong, like a long lost relative that just was away for 24 or so years.
I know not every adopted person's story is as sunshine and lollipops as mine. It's always been something I've had a deep appreciation for. Being adopted and all my experiences around it has definitely shaped who I am today, for the better. I was given a great start by a selfless, caring woman, and raised by a pretty awesome family. It doesn't get much greater than that.
P.S. Here is a letter the lawyer's wife wrote years later to my mother, after my dad died, remembering the day she picked me up from the hospital and brought me to them. I guess it was a special day for her too.
The big 4-0 is a mere 21 days away. I thought it would be a good time to update "the list" and see where I am at (although I do have another year to complete these things). It's funny how life gets in the way of somethings and not others. A lot has changed for me in the last year and there have certainly been some big ups and big downs that have contributed to where I am on these goals.
Here is what I've accomplished:
Buy a new bicycle. Done!
Do at least one random act of kindness every month. I've done this consistently. Yay!
Start a wine collection. Done! Although I drank a lot of it.
Find a new volunteer gig. Done!
Become a mentor in a mentoring program. Signed up for this with IABC. Hopefully a mentee picks me
Finish my company website (the company I own, not the one I work for). Done
Here's where I'm on my way or it is reasonable I haven't started yet because there hasn't been the opportunity:
The run I'll be doing October 25
Go back to school. Still no news here.
Run a 5KM10km 5km run event. Booked for October 25! And re the 10km - I was probably drinking when I thought up that one.
Travel to Ireland. Still on the list....
See Montreal.
Go to Italy.
Visit Boston.
Explore Chicago.
See San Francisco.
Take a culinary class.
Hit 25 blood donations.I am set to hit 25 on October 24!
Walk the dogs more often, even Cricket. I've been better with this but still have room to improve
Lose 10lbs. Found my scale. It's broken. Need new scale. I think I have lost the weight though. Maybe.
Pay off all debt (not including my house and maybe not my car). Partly there: Student loans are done!
(#40 - mystery item)I'm not saying what this one is. Working on this ;)
Learn Spanish. At least in a basic conversational way.
Sing one song by myself in Karaoke.
Here's things I've "failed" on because I've had the opportunity but haven't completed the task.
Write everydayweek (blog!) This has been a fail, although I've made three posts in the last week.
Go to Vegas. Had two trips booked and both got cancelled. Awesome.
Mail a letter a week just because. #stillfail. I haven't done this at all. I have however bought stamps. Which if you know me, is a miracle in itself.
Take golf lessons. I didn't even golf this year
Visit Napa Valley. I had hoped to do this for my birthday but it doesn't look like that's going to happen
Buy a wine fridge.
Learn more about wine.
Learn to hang a picture. Properly.
Learn how to put air in my tires
Learn how to change a tire.
Go for at least one hike in the mountains (June-September - I am not crazy). No excuse for this. #fail
Take a public speaking course.
Make fresh pasta.
Learn to ride a motorcycle (even a little bit). I am not even sure I still want to do this one - I go back and forth on the idea.
It's nice to review things and see where I am - I think I am further ahead than I thought I would be. I've always enjoyed setting big goals and going after them every few years. Hopefully I'll be able to keep at these and get them all done. Oh and if anyone wants to teach me how to hang a picture, that would be great.
I've been learning a lot this week about perspective and how different mine can be from that of others. In some cases, having a good discussion about the other person's outlook on thing can bring clarity, understanding and acceptance. I may not completely see things their way but I can accept how events made them think and feel, and what they saw as the important issue, and how that may have differed from my initial take on things.
In another case, delving deeper into the other person's view on things has actually caused more confusion, and has made me realize we are further apart on things in life than I thought. Some people are so sure their perspective is the only way of looking at things, that they shut out all the alternatives and feelings of others involved. It's funny, but dealing with this latter situation, has made me realize I needed to be more aware and open minded about the other person's perspective in the first situation, and that I was in the wrong.
Cryptic right?
It is. In the first situation, I realized that I was making things more about me than they should have been and that in one area, I wasn't being completely truthful in how I viewed events - not with myself or with the other person. A molehill became a mountain because of it and I regret that a lot. I reacted in a way that wasn't in keeping with who I am, or how I treat people and I made it worse by not owning my mistake.
In the second situation, the other party basically did the same thing to me. When confronted with a concern I had with their behaviour and how they were treating me, they insisted all the problems were because of me and couldn't see how they were contributing to the issue, or how they could be doing things differently. They blamed me for how I was feeling. I recognized this and more importantly how it made me feel. While these two situations were not related at all, it opened my eyes to how I could be doing things differently. I've always thought I was pretty good at seeing both sides of a dispute or issue, but I can see now where I'm maybe a little more egocentric in some situations than I should be. A little too black and white. And not empathetic enough.
