Soul Food

By Pam Hadder

There is an interesting dichotomy surrounding our consumption – not just our daily bread, but all commodities we market.  We all seek to be the first horse out of the gate, to stay ahead of the curve, to remain relevant in a fast-paced environment increasingly viewed through the Vaseline-coated lens of technology.  But are we truly moving forward or are we just spinning the same old messages and information a higher speed and volume?  Are we demonstrating meaningful results or just clogging the environment with more content; more “stuff?” To me, it is a case of soul food versus fast food.

What immediately comes to mind when you hear about soul food?   Maybe it’s remembrances of the best meal ever, comfort foods, tastes of home; or cultural and community cuisine – soul food goes beyond just filling the belly; it creates connections, inspires and delights.  Compare this to fast food – it seems dim compared to all of the rich, complex and meaning-laden images we have about soul food.  Soul food is tied to deeply personal connections that withstand the whims and whirlwinds of the moment. So, can fast food be soul food?  It might package itself as soul food, it might capture some of the flavor and physical appeal of soul food, but the critical components are conspicuously absent: time, authenticity and meaningful personal connection.  Even more than the thoughts of Grandma’s or Mom’s family recipes, soul food is about that connection – interacting with others in memorable and satisfying ways versus split second visual interaction.  One does not equal the other.

It takes planning, careful selection of ingredients, and time to elevate a consumable product, service or concept to the status of soul food – it’s pretty easy to stave off hunger with a quick fix, but the moment is here and soon forgotten.  Tech marketers have skillfully convinced many of the value of fast food approaches – the offer is all the more alluring because of ease of access and perceived low cost.  Basically the human machine is pretty forgiving and can function with almost any kind of food, but science has proven we cannot live in good emotional and physical health without interpersonal contact and support.  Like others I rely upon technology to do my work and in my personal time, but whenever I am given the opportunity, I am working to establish more in-real-time and in-person connections and moments - I prefer the natural, the simple and the authentic, and I am opting to create meaning and lasting impact, and, where possible, to feed the soul.

Summer's End

By Pam Hadder

It’s that time – I can taste the change in the night air; the last precious days of summer. There is this soft haze that filters all of the harsh edges, the scent of ripening permeates yards and gardens, and the afternoon sun gently gilds our world in antique gold.  I feel such comfort and nostalgia in these last sweet days of summer; I think of my grandma, Suzanna, on her farm wearing an old cotton sheath dress and rubber boots. She was my Mother’s mother, and the mother of nine children.  She raised her children through the Great Depression and lived through two World Wars. She lost her husband to cancer when she still had young children at home and a farm to run.  Grandma’s life was not easy.

Mostly I saw Grandma in the summer months; we’d drive out to the country in the family station wagon. I remember so many simple things that are framed in summer’s sunny hues, including pumping water from the old farm well.  I loved the iron taste of that cold, fresh water.  Of course, there had been plumbing at her farm for decades, and the old farm house that housed a family of eleven, plus great-grandpa, had been dismantled, and a smaller home located on the homestead. 

When my Mom was a kid my grandparents raised their own beef and pork.  They had a few dairy cows and chickens – some layers and some roasters.  So not only did Grandma prepare thousands of hearty meals, she helped to raise the lion’s share of the meat and grew the majority of their produce.  Those were the days when rural families had summer kitchens – a place to prepare cooked meals that wouldn’t heat the main house, and provided some relief to the cook in the open air.  Today we are more likely to BBQ or use a microwave – or use the oven anyway, because we have air conditioning!

I often hear from my Mom how Grandma was a phenomenal cook and baker – but by the time I came along she didn’t do much of either – I am sure she exhausted her interest and energies raising a big family through challenging times.  However, I was delighted when she’d offer “store bought” cookies from a clear glass jar hand-painted with colourful fruit – this was a treat we seldom had at home, where my Mom made mostly everything from scratch.  We’d play cards, she’d give us kids money to go the corner store for candy; and she’d nap on the couch with its embroidered black velvet cushions, snoring like a chainsaw.  I recall the Vogue tobacco tin on her window sill and the ever-presence of stale smoke, but I never saw her light up or inhale, or roll up the next smoke. I was a very active, snoopy kid and Grandma would look at me with such warmth and gentleness with her jet-coloured eyes – she got a kick out of me.  I know Grandma was a strict parent, but she showed more tolerance with us kids; grandparenthood typically mellows the disciplinarians among us. I only recall Grandma being angry with me once – I was seven or eight and we were playing Crazy Eights at her tiny kitchen table; “You’re cheating, Grandma!”

My Grandma seemed so ancient to me and yet she was only in her early sixties when she died of bladder cancer – I was ten years old when she left us. My siblings and I used to call her the “old grandma” and our other grandmother in Montreal who wore tailored suits, and sent us sticker books and hand-knit woolens was the “nice grandma,” although we rarely saw her.  I wonder if our Mom heard our remarks and what she thought about it. I recall Old Grandma’s last months - In those days they wouldn’t let little kids into the hospital cancer wards. I remember waiting in the car while my Mom went in to visit Grandma.  Grandma passed away shortly after that visit and I never attended her funeral – my parents didn’t feel kids belonged at funerals, I guess. 

So it seemed to me that one day I was playing Crazy Eights with Grandma and the next she was gone. I have this photo of grandma holding me – she’s sitting on a white painted wooden chair. I love her horn-rimmed glasses and gingham dress.   And, yes, I still sleep in the same position: relaxed mountain climber, supported by "Grandma’s belly" (pillow and comforter surrogates).  Grandma is gazing off into the future; likely my snuggling and sleep-breathing is making her drowsy. Funny the things that stay with us – seemingly inconsequential, but profoundly shaping our perception and interaction.

Another Way?

I recently had an accident and broke my left wrist. It sounds clichéd, but for those of us who have had these experiences we know it’s the truth: a split second and life can be diverted along a completely new trajectory.  Naturally, I am overwhelmingly grateful that the outcome was not worse – broken bones, a bruised bottom, and pulled ligaments are minor in the larger scope of things; the pain is manageable and bones and tissues heal. I also believe these things occur to push us toward places and experiences we are meant to be.  Although, when I said I was overdue for a break from work, this was not what I had in mind!

I have only wept once during this situation, and it was not about pain or the inconveniences of my new one-handedness; it was because I miss playing guitar so much. My lovely girls, Pearl and Badessa, sit mute in their hard cases. They don’t miss my touch, but you should know I love and appreciate them so much that I kiss them after every session!  They are my confidantes, my collaborators, my oases from all of the pressures and stress of making a living and making my way in this complex world. With the girls in mind, I asked the doctor, deftly shaping my temporary cast, if moving my fingers would harm the fractures in my wrist. Happily the answer was “no.” As soon as that back slab was in place, I began gingerly forming air chords and scales with my injured hand, longing for what was temporarily impossible.

As I was leaving the hospital, the doctor ushered me to a computer station and showed me my x-rays. I felt a warm flush of thankfulness. My bones had not been displaced by my sudden, hard fall; they were healthy and strong. The doctor allowed iPhone photos of the screens; later I marveled at the smooth white structures on my x-rays, particularly the intricate bones of the hand. We are fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14).

At home and evaluating the repercussions of my injuries, another cause for concern surfaced – my dear Mother has been counting on me for the past few months.  She’s had eye surgery and cannot drive, so once a week we arrange an outing, and I take her to run errands, grocery shop and so forth.  It is never a hardship; it has been a nice opportunity for us to bond and share more than a few laughs. I knew Mom appreciated my willingness and patience, and I recognized how fortunate I was to have a loving mother.  Mom is very healthy, but she’s getting up in years, and she has given so much of her time and energy to her seven children. I wanted to do everything and anything possible for her; so, I worried about my Mom, feeling frustrated that our activities had been curtailed.  I texted my son, my adult daughters, my work contacts and called my Mom.

Yesterday evening Mom called me out of the blue – it was 9:30 p.m. and she had been thinking about me all day:  was I in pain, was I able to sleep; how was I managing. Touched by her concern, I assured her the pain was not too bad – it only hurt when I “forgot” about my broken bones and tried to use my left hand “normally.”  I told Mom that I had finally broke down and took some pain medication – just over-the-counter stuff; because I had refused any prescription pain killers at the hospital. My main reason for succumbing to pain meds was the pulled muscles and ligaments in my right leg which had given me an instant pirate swagger - that might look funny in the movies, but it is no fun in reality. I knew I needed to address that inflammation and keep my body moving. At bedtime I self-administered reiki healing; I had been doing so a few times throughout the day since the incident. I closed my eyes and focused on the pulsing sensation and heat, as directed energy passed over the areas of injury.  I imagined the bones knitting together, glowing with white light. Afterwards I was calm and sleepy – momentarily drained of mental and physical energy.  I reflected with gratitude on my Mom's concern for me and I remembered Mom telling me about a man in her small town when she was a child – he had healing hands, and a gift for setting bones.  Supported by a cloud-like network of cushions and pillows, I drifted into peaceful, comfortable sleep and dreamed of a blue cat and playing guitar.

Midnight, day two, I lay awake – more realities and practicalities were settling in.  I pondered being limited to clothes that would accommodate the bulk of a cast and which allowed for toileting – there would be no help with pants, buttons and zippers at work. What if there was an emergency at work (I work for a women’s crisis centre with limited staffing) – my right leg buckled from time to time, and my left arm was limited in range of motion and ability. I wondered if the doctor would allow me to drive to work – my return trip commute is about two hours each day; I had not considered I might not be able to legally drive with my injuries.

Morning, day three, bathing was a drawn out ritual – like trying to scrub a floor with a feather.  I still feared the shower where I slipped and fell, and so I opted for a bird bath using the sink basin, soap and washcloths. I celebrated being able to grasp my deodorant stick, only to plummet to despair when I found I could not apply adequate pressure to adequately glaze my right underarm with the product.  I satisfied myself with several feeble applications over the same area.  I thought about how hard Mom always worked and how nice she always smelled.  As a kid, I knew when she was going out somewhere special – the scent of Cover Girl face powder, hairspray and a hint of floral cologne. I awkwardly applied a little guava and peach body crème; coaxing two able fingers from my injured hand to pull their weight in the process, and taking care to massage the ligaments and muscles of my right leg. I was temporarily house-bound, but Mom would approve – I was training to "get back out there" as soon as I am able, a butterfly beating its wings against hard glass.

Trajectories

By Pam Hadder

Sometimes you clearly see the changing path ahead – a hairpin curve on a rain-slick road, the plump kitten that chooses to flop down between your moving feet, or sudden wind and hail that rustles rosy fruit from the apple trees.  Timing varies, but in these instances there is clear cause and effect laid out for us within milliseconds: slow down, step with care, and harvest what you can while you still can.

At other times our actions and thoughts are circumvented by influences we did not foresee.  Sometimes the shift ingratiates itself so subtly, that we cannot logically trace the point at which we took an unplanned turn.  These changes can be incredibly complex, and they may grow or lay dormant for many years awaiting a certain stimulus to launch to the next step. 

Whether influences simmer or spring into full bloom, we may be shocked one day to realize that our opinions or interests differ vastly from a partner, family member, friend or group.  In reality the shift started a long time ago, and we attuned ourselves to different frequencies, initiating the transformation. Yet how often have you heard that cliché “we just grew apart?"

Even in sleep we are receiving, analyzing and responding to stimuli.  It makes me wonder about people who need complete silence and darkness to rest versus those that prefer a bit of background noise and light. I am also wondering if changing my sleeping environment could have shifted my personal trajectories.  Do we undervalue the influences bombarding our sleeping bodies? How much of us is shaped while we sleep?

Reflecting on these things, I am appreciative of how time continues to improve my editing – I am more selective of how I spend my time, more appreciative of simple things, and much more keenly aware of my vulnerabilities and strengths. Life is a beautiful symphony, layered with interpersonal, environmental and purely sensory experiences, meanings, and harmonies.  Incredible richness lies in the discovery, the surprises, and the unknowns that fuel our dreams and keep us engaged and curious. But all the while, we hit the brakes, dodge kittens and grab as many apples as we can before they hit the ground.

Old Windows

By Pam Hadder

Winter is hanging on - and I’ve been kicking myself for changing all but four windows in my little war-era home. Affectionately called “the sugar cube,” the house is modest but solid, with touches of character and craftsmanship that used to be basic, but are a lost art today.

A few years back, I received a performance bonus, and used it to change out aging windows in the sugar cube, musing happily about the improvements I’d see on my heating bills – all but a small-ish bathroom window, a mid-size kitchen window and two leaded glass piano windows with harlequin-suit-like diamond panes were removed and replace.  The old windows which remain are more predictable than the weather channel - you know it’s getting cold when they fog over, and eventually form icy glaze that can transform into elaborate Jack Frost works of art – unique crystalline patterns, feathering, swirling and spreading across the hyper-chilled surfaces; never two works the same.

My old windows made me recall my young self – perhaps seven or eight years old, coming into the back entrance of the family bungalow to change out sopping wet mitts bedazzled with confounding ice nubs, and warming frozen toes by the electric baseboard heater, before returning to the snow drifts, starry night sky and fort-building.  I was rather famous (in my mind!) for my snow fort construction, including manufacture of my weapons-of-choice: double-iced snow balls!  At all times, my army of one was ready to fight off the enemy.  Of course, my warrior fantasies were only acted out in my imagination, and the ammo was never used. The stockpile would freeze to the ground in a lumpy mass – no surprise that it was the last thing to melt in March, leaving a dead spot on the lawn that my parents attributed to the dog’s “business!”

I recall dreaming about being a princess, a Spanish dancer, a cow girl and other fanciful things while staring at the frost patterns on the back door glass; seeing fanciful shapes in the intriguing abstractions. Sometimes I would drag fingernails through the frost and contribute my interpretations to the surfaces; carving and tracing my visions.  I wonder how many kids still do this?  Have they even seen Jack Frost’s paintings? Could I sell admission tickets to the daycare kids across the lane?  I am doubly blessed – windows that predict the weather and which create artistic interpretations of winter schemes.

Ice in my Coffee

By Pam Hadder

PHOTO CREDIT: Bing Wright, Broken Mirrors series

Winter is closing in – arrow heads of geese soar skyward, directing their efforts south. Although it’s tempting to slip into denial when the midday sun warms my hair, the breeze on my bare face soon delivers a frigid wakeup call.  With each minute of daylight lost, I know I’m drawing on precious reserves from summer’s fiery bounty.  And yet last winter, amid the coldest winter on record in 125 years, I felt my heart surge with love – the colder it got, the hotter my fire burned. I can’t explain it in words and I haven’t reached a point where I can write music or capture those feelings with visual imagery, but it appears that after years of griping about the cold and snow, I have a developed an abiding passion for winter.

Exhaling into this chilly morning, I watch my frozen breath hovering in a free-form cloud around my head. For a brief moment it is like time stands still, and I witness my recent past expressed as a vapourous sculpture, which soon dissipates into the environment.  Like my frozen breath, human life is precious and yet insignificant in universal timelines. We emerge for a minuscule blip, and then are returned to the vast energized anonymity from which we emerged – reunited with a nebulous, ever-evolving, expanding life force.

I consider all that I know and love about winter – it is the blank canvas allowing for reflection and creative newness, it is the crisp jolt of air that challenges but affirms my stubborn resilience, and it is the stark beauty of branches against brilliant white snow drifts and deep blue skies.  Winter is dream time; rebuild and reset time – it is a time where we collect resources and review what to keep, what to give away, what to build, and we need to keep warm.  The cold requires us to move swiftly – to generate and sustain heat. We know from past experience that we do well to warm our core with comfort food and beverages. But most of all we need to keep the mind brightly lit with possibilities, using our ingenuity and stoking our personal fires to counter the sun’s waning favour.

Each year as the winter solstice approaches, I seek my New Year mantra.  Early winter marks the end of the incubation period, the third trimester – as such, I anticipate new life and I wonder, “What shall I name this new being, what will it look like, will I be equipped to attend to its needs?” What lessons and wisdom will come my way in the weeks ahead? In the past the mantras came to me unbidden; a gift from the cosmos landed with an unceremonious thunk on my unsuspecting consciousness! Typically the mantra took the form of a word or short phrase upon which I would reflect and then would seek deeper meaning and engagement. However, once I was attuned to this marvel, early winter became a time of anticipation and seeking – I was aware, so the delivery method was more subtle.  I was being encouraged to wake up and shift from patterns which did not hold meaning or value – the universe was making me work a little because I had the ability to do so.

Last year, however, the mantra process was exceedingly difficult – was the universe being fickle and withholding pearls of wisdom, or I was too distracted and desperate to see through the clutter? Had I lost my ability to discern subtlety? Or perhaps, I was being encouraged to seek, to move, to extend myself outward from this place of “me” of the personal mind?  Maybe I needed to understand my ability to flex muscle, to stretch, to discover and to prosper. I needed to break away from barriers that I feared, and in some cases, was so accustomed to that I could not see how they held me captive.

Nonetheless, the more earnestly I sought to connect, to forge, and to bond, the more disconnected I felt from that embrace.  At this point, I sometimes feel in tune with a joyous surge – I know there is more, and I know there is a reason for my insatiable striving, and everything seems possible, even easy. I have no fear or apprehension, just pensive, well-managed curiosity about the days to come and how I might prepare to receive understanding and to achieve the best results.

Recently, mentally and physically weary after a long working day, I tucked into my covers with Netflix, and I watched a 2011 documentary called “Happy.”  The film examines the roots of human happiness, interviewing researchers and examining cultures from around the world.  Happy asserts that happiness is 50% genetic-based, 10% environment-based and 40% action-based.  Additionally a number of key factors are known to affect our ability to be happy: supportive relationships (most commonly family and friends; community), and altruism (our ability to step outside of ourselves and care for others before our own needs). Additionally, there is a need for us to engage in those things that bring us joy and deep personal satisfaction – things that if we were not interrupted, we would continue to engage in for hours on end.  One researcher, pyschologist, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, has coined a term for this state: FLOW. I have purchased Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's books (Amazon) "Flow" and "Creativity: Flow and the Psychology of Discovery and Invention." These books aren't new - Csikszentmihalyi has been researching human happiness for decades and "Flow" was first printed back in 1990. However, I am eager to gain access to his findings and to incorporate that wisdom into my current engagements.

As I breathe in the warm air of this room, with diffused light flooding over my left shoulder, I suddenly know my mantra: it is simply, EXHALE. To exhale is to give over, to simultaneously connect and exchange energy physically and beyond the physical.  It means to empty the lungs of expended air, allowing for newness and ultimately for life. I understand that with newness the old must fall away - there are always choices and decisions that challenge and confound us. At this moment, I am enjoying one small breath: it flutters like a clumsy moth fumbling toward a soft light. I look out the window, and I sip the coffee that has grown cold.

Eyes On

By Pam Hadder

The eyes have it, eyes are the windows to the soul, keep your eyes on the prize, for your eyes only, eye spy, getting an eye full – there are so many eye-centric phrases within North American culture.  They roll off our tongues and into our communications without too much evaluation of true meaning or clarity.  A reality check may come our way when interacting with those to whom English is a second language.  Their refreshing perspectives can reveal that some of these glib phrases are filling space versus creating meaning or providing valid analogies. What are we really trying to say?

This summer, while visiting New Zealand, I was deeply engaged by encounters with Maori culture.  Traditional carvings similar to Canada’s west coast totems are inlaid with paua (pah-OO-ah) shell, and in particular the paua eyes of these majestic figures translate great energy and stimulate powerful responses.  The paua is incredibly beautiful – variegated blues, greens, purples and greys commonly intermingle.  Additionally, because of its smooth, reflective surface, the shell allows eyes to blaze in the sunshine and to emit an impressive glow in low light.  In Hamilton Gardens, Hamilton, New Zealand, I had the unique pleasure and honour to stand in a garden replicating a traditional Maori village. To be among these vibrant, powerful forms with dark storm clouds as a backdrop was breathtaking and deeply moving.

The traditional Maori carvings served to remind me that sometimes, visual media clearly communicates what our words cannot. Experiencing these incredible, significant cultural forms in person opens pathways allowing for additional layers of personal interpretation.  When defining learning within academic contexts, it is often described as "meaning making" – and it is known and understood that there are many access points to learning beyond written and oral communication; including via our encounters and interactions with visual forms.

Personally, the prominence of eyes and eye-centric phraseology in North American culture reminds me of the importance of observation and witness.  Modern use of eye-centred phrases and expressions, the focus on the eyes in creative expression and in marketing imagery mirrors the majestic forms created by ancestor cultures - we have followed the forms, but have we kept close contact with the meanings?  What if a bit more care was taken with our words and expression instead of recycling what we've heard before?  Why choose pat sayings and eschew possibilities for deeper personal connection and meaning?  Have we lost our ability to enjoy in-person human closeness and reverence, or can we shed the faceless mask of verbal oblivion and open our eyes to the possibilities of profound and personal communications?

Blue Tiger, Purple Moon

By Pam Hadder

Do you remember your dreams?  I find that if I consciously commit details to memory when I first awaken, they stay with me.  But most times I jump out of bed and rush into the various tasks necessary to tackle the working day – and the vivid images and experiences of my sleeping mind quickly vaporize like mist burning off in the sun.

I have heard a theory that when we sleep our soul is free to travel – that might explain why some mornings I feel like I have run three back-to-back marathons!  (I call those my “busy” dreams!) But aside from epic action and adventure scenarios, the most compelling dreams are those where I am given a gift – typically a creative idea or alternate viewpoint.  

Lately I have been taking these more seriously – I actually dreamed about a children’s book idea and title, for example – it was so realistic and specific that I could not brush it off.  When I awoke I recalled how Sir Paul McCartney once woke with a melody in his head.  He played it on the piano and eventually set lyrics to it.  But he wasn’t sure if the melody was unique, or if he was just playing some other composer’s work from memory.  He played the song for years, but just for those close to him – not in performance.  Finally he was satisfied that the melody was indeed his own!  This song became the mega hit, “Yesterday.”

Back to my dream book title - I researched it later in the same day.  There was another book similarly titled, but only ever so slightly.  Interestingly, the names of the book's characters also came to me in my dream, and these have been similarly noted for later use - I even saw the cover illustration; a finished book.  On a roll, I also researched a term that had come to me in an earlier dream – it had seemed like nonsense, but I began to wonder if it was from another language, and like Goldilocks I couldn't resist exploring.  I found a similar word that is the name of a Japanese manga character.  I’m not into heavy Japanese pop culture, so it’s unlikely that I would have encountered that name – so my mystery word has also been entered into my notes for future reference; unsolved but an item of interest. 

These are just two small examples of how our dreams can affect and inspire our waking lives.  Of course, most of us will not establish the global fame of Sir Paul, and we may not even aspire to attempt it. But we all have inborn potential and creativity – our dreams stimulate and inspire – in our dreams things can be both/and; we can work outside of the laws of physics, we can have  blue tigers, purple moons, and super-human abilities.  Thus, we expand beyond the common place, we defy the naysayers who have told us from childhood all of the things we cannot do or become. Dreams are a place to play, to discover, to test, to learn – we are truly “beautifully and fearfully made.” (The Holy Bible, Psalm 139:14)

I am also reminded of the 2006 documentary film “10 Questions for the Dalai Lama” where an American journalist travels for two years in India, patiently hoping to meet the Dalai Lama for a brief interview. Good fortune prevails, and the journalist is able to interview His Holiness. The Dalai Lama responds to one of the questions in a particularly unexpected manner – it is when he is asked what is the most important thing people can do to promote peace.  Without hesitation, His Holiness responds “critical thinking.”  This response showed great wisdom. Consider that with critical thinking, as with dreaming, we remove biases and boundaries; we examine, explore and compare with dispassionate objectivity. Critical thinking allows us to sift through filler and fodder to the crux of things – and what we typically find is commonality and also new discoveries; new ways of thinking, seeing and being. Perhaps our dream state is an inborn tool to nudge us toward a sublime state of enrichment and creative harmony?

Friends, the Emperor and Yoga

By Pam Hadder

I have decided to make a conscious effort to connect in real time with real folks – personally and professionally, every fibre of who I am is rejecting virtual falsehoods.   It’s like seeing someone you love eating crap, doing drugs or otherwise making unhealthy decisions – it’s a living lie and an overall “downer.” Don’t get me wrong – I love technology – I value and rely on the ease of applications and software to make my livelihood, and I have made a few meaningful personal and professional connections via social media and other online connections.  But let’s call the bluff – you know it’s true – you have to sift through a lot of detritus to find those diamonds in the dust! Time is precious, time is money, and I don’t want to pour out any more of my energy; nor do I wish to waste moments that could be funneled into real time, hands-on experiences – in my case, time outdoors, guitar/drums/dulcimer, fine art/painting/illustration, friends/family/loved ones.  

I am blessed to have full working use of my six senses, and I no longer want to limit their use to the virtual! Let me explain my path... when social media was gaining steam from a marketing perspective, I HAD to be engaged in it and  was obliged to try things – so that I could understand any benefits it could have for my clients.  To ignore the social media trend was like wearing an “I am old and obsolete” nametag!  So in short order my personal accounts became my guinea pigs, crash test dummies etc., and the rest is history!   Clients were insecure about being out of the loop (tech dinosaur syndrome) and had to have social media added to their websites – and in our industry (advertising and marketing), where insecurities are leveraged for gain, we were doubly doused in the frenzy – scrambling to understand, engage and stay ahead of the game.  And it is indeed a big game.

As I have stated, it has not been a complete loss, but I recognize that I am weary of the falsehood, I can’t play dumb, and thus the time has come for me to disassociate my vibrant, 3-D self from the virtual.  I am fully enjoying letting my feet feel the sensation of gravity: concrete, grass and earth; and real in-person human connection!  It reminds me of when I broke my leg in 1990 and how I felt when they took off the cast – scary but very real; magick! I should also point out that I was an “early bloomer” on Facebook.  We had a work group back in the day – three hundred of us found ourselves out of work when our employer sold the business and this “new, free networking thing” called Facebook was a way for us to share support, legal information, job leads etc.  So Facebook was my initiation into what was first called “new media” and which became “social media,” and it served the purpose.  So when social media started to push into the business realm, I was already familiar with it; it was “comfortable.”

Don’t get me wrong, I am not bailing on all of my “friends” and “followers” but I am disengaging from any falseness that I can detect.  Remember when it was all about the number of friends you had on Facebook?   Or can you remember the thrill of launching your first Twitter account, and within seconds you had new connections? Anyone could do it – even little kids could do it! It was a big ego gratifier and due to the ease of access it allowed many voiceless underdogs to shape a public persona that had power, esteem and meaning – virtually.  In my working context, social media was initially seen as a good “free” tool for all sizes and types of organizations to gain general awareness or for product and event-specific promotion.  I say “free” because marketers like myself soon caught on that there was a massive time investment with social media – content needed to be meaningful and you needed a lot of it.  Consider that the life of a tweet is (at best!) three hours, and you do the math from there!  Meaningful and relevant content that was also timely (i.e. strategic process) – this was and is seldom seen or achieved, and to date, no reputable academic studies have been able to prove that high numbers of followers, web site hits, etc. directly correlate to increased revenues for business.  Social media is making some people rich, but it’s not the business or personal account users, it is the developers who are raking in the cash!

To make matters worse, along the way people have lost their sense of reality, and along with it quality and integrity.  Because almost anyone can access the platforms, there has been overwhelming saturation of information and a dumbing down of quality. Therefore you will find that in the virtual world it’s quite easy to shape a persona or brand identity and make it look appealing and cool – but what is the real-time, in-person experience?  When you get to the nitty-gritty of things, is it just a virtual ego game, or does the person or the business have any real value? When was the last time you had really good after-care service? When was the last time someone really anticipated your needs and delivered on time?  When was the last time you felt that true warmth of connection?  The BIG factor, is that at some point, for legitimate personal and business pursuits, you need to connect in the realm of reality.

What makes or breaks your day?  Do you really care who unfollows you on Twitter or unfriends you on Facebook or what some random person says on your Instagram account?  Are you paying for groups of followers so that you look more appealing for “real” followers?  Do you waste aimless hours eating visual eye candy on Pinterest? Do you automate social media to free up valuable time?  Do you ever ask yourself – what the hell am I actually achieving?

Three final words:  friends, the emperor and yoga. 
1) FRIENDS:  my Dad, who was often disappointed by fickle, back-stabbing, small-minded colleagues (he worked for government – imagine your favourite Dilbert cartoon, complete with Pointy-Haired Boss) –  Dad always said if you were lucky you would have two or three true friends in your life.  You know the ones – you can call them anytime, ask them anything, they tell you they love you; they don’t try and change you – AND they build you up; they celebrate when you succeed!

2) THE EMPEROR:  have you ever read the story, “The Emperor’s New Clothes?” – if you haven’t you should.  It’s a kids’ story and the moral of the story is about deception – truth and reality.  Social media is our modern day “emperor’s new clothes!”   Once you get it, you can’t live the lie –even if everyone else is; you can’t un-see the truth, you can’t un-learn what you know is factual.

3) YOGA:  why this huge popularity with yoga these days? Based in traditional Ayurvedic medicine, yoga is about wellness of the body and mind – it requires real-time connection and physical and mental awareness.  Human minds and bodies are trying to disconnect from the false and reconnect to what matters.  It may not mean yoga for you, but it might. Over and Oooohhhmmmm ...

Goodbye False Icons!

By Pam Hadder

Today is an auspicious day. Rising from bed, swinging sleepy limbs out of cotton swathing to face another day, I am delighted to see the sun’s blush just meeting the horizon; we are in sync at last, without need of a jarring alarm – it’s a perfect beginning to the rest of my life.  Into the shower I trundle, happily soaping all those wonderful body parts:  silently thanking my feet, legs, arms, back, breasts, toes, fingers, ears – I am blessed to have a healthy body; thank you, thank you, thank you. 

No more judgment – not from me; never again - the world will judge my female form harshly, but I have chosen to be her one stalwart supporter.  When I emerge from my domestic cocoon and I must face the many false icons of Photoshopped “perfection” online, outdoors, in print – everywhere – and should I feel myself feeling diminished; fading, I will tap along the pathways my counselor has shown me – face, collar bone, ribs, hand; repeat.   Affirmations will flow from my lips like a bird song: “I am wise, I am healthy, I am enough, I am beautiful for who I am; I love and accept myself…”  

I will feel my heart maintain a slow confident beat, faithfully keeping time while I maneuver through the day’s obstacles and successes; I will draw air into lungs that infuse my whole being with vital oxygen, and when I eat I will refuel; energize – I will relish each bite: savoury, sweet, sour, salty. I will not count calories, or steps; nor will I ever use a scale.  I will not judge my worthiness by size, shape, how much or how little I eat – I will not see food as my enemy.  Food is there to nourish us, after all – so I will delight in having the good fortune to select from many fresh food options, and I will luxuriate in its beauty, sensuality and diversity, and in those special times I can share earth’s nutritional bounty with others.

It has taken decades for the child, then a young woman, then a mother to reach this place of feminine certitude – I am, I feel, I appreciate, I blossom, and I am eternal.  When the work day is done, I will stretch and smile, and seek recreation in the things that bring my body and mind healthy stimulation and inspiration: my art, my music, and leisurely time spent outdoors, or in silent reflection, writing, listening or resting. I do not need to justify my choices; I do not need to explain, but I must fully engage as only I can so that I can enjoy my personal potential.  If not today, then when?  We are only certain of this one breath, this one moment after all.

Back to my body – my good, beautiful, healthy body – I solemnly vow that I will honour her.  I will not wear tight polyester, I will not pound my bones against the hard road, I will not pant so hard I taste blood.  I will stand tall and gracefully walk at a pace that feels right in clothes that feel right, I will feel my heart beating strongly, I will enjoy the scents and sights around me; and I will connect with the people around me  with positive energy – when they smile, I will smile back.
  

Some very good women to heal you and inspire your journey:

Limon – http://limonfresh.ca/

Virgie Tovar – https://www.facebook.com/virgie.tovar.1/about

Soul-full

By Pam Hadder

We are in that mysterious twilight time in the Canadian north - near the cusp of the winter solstice, we witness the slow degradation of day light, replaced by a familiar half-dream time that nestles between now and then.  My body responds by demanding more sleep, a slower pace, intermittent bursts of citrus-bright colour, and/or more caffeine. Canadians frequently joke about hibernation, but modern demands for working folks push toward the opposite: we fight the natural rhythms of the human body to slow down in winter.  And so my conflicted heart waxes toward the heavens, surveys the subtleties of colour, and gravitates inward to float in the dream-time place, soothed and sustained by the compelling poetry of words and sound.

I am always excited for the winter solstice – it brings us closer to the season of lights, Christmas, Kwanzaa and other holiday experiences that reinforce togetherness, cultural resilience and appreciation of our place within this living miracle. But more than this, the solstice means we are one day closer to spring!  By the end of January, the days are noticeably longer, and I feel a surge of anticipatory energy.  It is always this time of year that I receive my focus or mantra for the year ahead.  Most of the time, it just comes to me and I know immediately that it is true and meaningful.

This year is different – the interference from without seems larger,  and my personal insights are more soft-focus, nebulous, and  yet imposing like a great, old tree that I can’t quite wrap my arms around no matter how hard I try!  I feel like the messages are there, but I am not quite connecting.  My sleeping dreams have been varied and bizarre – no help there!  A few nights past I dreamed of incredible Hanukkah/Holocaust themed installations in a gallery.  An ash-grey room sparkled with fine glitter like ground marcasite, and here and there were bright jewel bits on the walls – looking closer I saw the bas-relief of Jewish family life.  It was both eerie and beautiful – it spoke to me of the survival of beauty, family and tradition amid great evil and opposition.  Another night I dreamed of wildly challenging outdoor escapades with my dearest friend, waking exhausted and questioning, “What was THAT about?” And on another occasion I was engrossed in mundane filing, sorting and admin work – a little too “widget factory” to relate to my working reality, and therefore simply crazy!  I imagine my brain doing a disk clean up and file dump – like “clean out the fridge” suppers I have been known to make for my children; it’s just doing what it can with what it has on hand!

And so I wait, expectant, hopeful, humble – maybe my mantra is merely to question or to dream?

Mission Possible

Sometimes life has a way of knocking the stuffing out of a person - I know what it means to feel small, insignificant; powerless. But then sometimes people or events remind me that I have a purpose, that I have value, and that I can achieve many things through persistence and effort.

Yesterday I was reminded of the fragility and beauty of life - I am thankful for the nudge. I thought I would be at a gallery show opening, but I spent several hours at a hospital with friends instead, saying good bye to a gravely ill family member. Funny, how tight the curve can be some days - whipping us around and setting in motion a completely different turn of events! And although I could never have imagined my day unfolding as it did, I am absolutely certain that is where I was intended to be, for reasons known and unknown.

Humble, grateful; joyful at the altar
I sip the bitter nectar of this hour.
Wedded to thee, soul to soul
Tethered to eternal light
Amid the sweetness of
Spring blossoms.