Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better and so does kindness

Month: May 2014

If You Could Stop It, Would You?

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On May 27, 2014

In Life Stories, Motherhood, Self-improvement

Monday morning came heavy and grey; a merciless headache and sore throat included.

Some chores had to be done, less so taking the boys to school. Pink eye on one, a bit of a cough on the other, the house felt like a camp where the blind learned to lead the blind. Everyone stayed home.

What then?

Two boys and a sea of Lego has but one big consequence. Creativity; with loads to spare. Breakfast anyone? Later, yes. Clink-clank, get started.

Head aching, I returned to bed for a nap. Close the door, soft covers wrapped around… Sleep.

Clink-clank. Pieces of Lego being fished out of the pile, not a good one, let it get buried by unearthing others. Clink clank, busy boys’ hands, eyes intently following the trajectory of fingers into the pile. Clink clank… Let’s be quiet, Mom is sleeping, says one boy to the other. Boys shushing, a cluster of whispers hanging by the door but not daring to come in.

Head stubbornly pounding, I wake up… I hear them whisper, playing… Memories of teeny boys snuggled against my body, smelling sweet and having their round arms all scrunched against their soft tummies, PJs all crumpled up, hiding behind their round knees… Nestled around like little birds, cozy and quiet… Please, there will be no growing up from now on.

PortraitWhy grow up, what’s there to do, what’s there to see?… You see a lot more when you’re stopping at every step to observe the world, you’re doing that now. So stay… Was the world richer then? It was, it is still…

Clink-clank… Asleep, awake, I should not miss a moment with them. When I wake up they’ll be older… Nothing stays the same. Lego people with short-lived bodies, crossing boundaries of time and becoming astronauts a minute or two after roping a plastic cow because they were cowboys…

Clink-clank, just two minutes ago… boys were small and words were as round as their fingers pointing to things they could not call by name because they did not know the words. Laughter…Shh, Mom is sleeping, let’s be quiet. Whispers flying around like soft butterflies, boys voices…

Memories of a new baby growing inside my womb, tiredness, joy. Big brother cuddled to read a book, eyes bright and ready, mornings starting too early, but time was ours, the big secret I found out about later…Big brown eyes, seas of love enveloping all my sleepiness and making it right. Can we read, mama? I read slow, he laughs, I read it again just to hear the chuckle, and then again… Laughter hides in the creases of my heart made especially for that. Little boy laughing and smelling sweet, asking for stories, more and more… Keep asking, make me remember I should never stop telling stories, because then you’ll laugh; when you laugh, you stay, time is ours…

TimeThe rushed river of life take laughter and round fingers pointing to worlds new and fantastic, days of unexpected joy, ‘just because’ hugs and kisses… the rushed river takes them all like small boats floating to islands of unchartered self, islands I did not know of until they appeared when little boys were born. Because they had to have places to live in. Tell me again how I was when I was born… They ask of the world only I have seen, the world of them joining mine.

I doze off, clink-clank… I wake up to a sweet burned smell that snaked its way into the bedroom and lands on my pillow. The boys, they must be hungry… Something’s cooking…

The sea of Lego is still in the living room, I step carefully over boats and forts and cowboys who lost their hats… the smell, what’s the smell? Little boy lifts bright hazelnut eyes from the sea of Lego. “I helped Tony make pancakes, for when you wake up…So you’ll feel better.”
Big brother chirps in … “They may be a bit salted… and a bit burned, we kinda guessed the recipe…” Big boy, wide-eyed and smiling, surprised at his own sudden growth into knowing how, explains some more with a hug. “To make you feel better…”

You don’t cry when that happens. You are not allowed. How could you not… You can, please know that you should. Because you see, the tears, hidden as they are, are but the big boulders that will stop the mad rush of the river, the boats will be pushed into green fields to become forget-me-nots… and you will never forget this, that and all that has been…

You want to keep them there… the clink-clanks of games past and present, the snuggles, the hugs, the surprises, the little hands creating wonders and not knowing the words to name them and inventing a whole new world of wonder just for you… The worries even, you know how to do it all as long as they are there, near… not letting go.

Don’t grow, stay. What then?

FlightThere’s much to see as they grow, much to learn and then there is the time when they’ll want to break free… They won’t go far without looking back. If you let them go, never clipping their wings, if you love them enough to never clip their wings, they’ll have wings strong enough to bring them back…

I will know it when it comes. Time will be the teacher of all. Life as it comes… Fluid, beautiful, clink-clank of boats that will keep on floating down a rushed river which you’ll never stop entirely but sometimes… Go on, dip your toes, live, grow; grateful for seeing it all, for salty pancakes and for the hugs that came with it. Better?

Pancakes were salted that Monday morning, a bit burned and the most amazing I’ve ever tasted. Like in fairy tales, taking a bite, just one, keeps the magic there, keeps you there and keeps them too… Stay, don’t grow yet. And when you will, will you be back every now and then?

Clink-clank… the Lego sea. It’s a sea we’ve learned to sail for now, square waves and all, they’ve never been rounder in my heart… We should be on it for a while. Clink-clank.

Again?

Doing Right By The Land And Its People – Why It Makes Sense To Love Our Land

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On May 25, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Life Stories, Social issues

(Originally published as a column in the AM News on Friday May 23, 2014)

RoadWe left Kamloops on a rainy morning, set for a long trip to a place we’ve never been before: Bella Coola. The best kind of road trip; heading into a territory you don’t know, you cannot find enough information about and knowing there’s nothing like seeing it all up close.

Rain trailed alongside to Little Fort and then to Williams Lake. Everything was dressed in emerald green and cloudy fog.

We drove on a perfect ribbon of a road, left the rain behind and got to see grass so green it sparkled, and a horizon so inviting that you could not stop driving just so you can see what’s beyond it while the eyes were stubbornly glued to the surrounding beauty.

PeekingThe evening sky turned light blue and that’s when we saw the first of many beautiful painted horses, young colts hiding behind their mothers. Running free, most of them skittish yet curious, because when we stayed long enough by the side of the road to look at them, they came closer so they could look at us too.

Fair, no?

We passed communities so small they make you wonder how can they sustain themselves and why would people choose to live so far into the wilderness.

Countless birds studded the glittery surface of marshes, taking off suddenly to calls only they could hear. The sunset glazed gold and burgundy on long lazy clouds as we drove by burned forests, trees sticking up like ghosts… Among them, new forests were growing; tiny evergreens ready to write new stories of a land that could never grow too old.

SleepinessWe passed Alexis Creek, Tatla Lake, and decided to stay the night on the shores of a lake that is as calm as it is big, one of the gentle water giants of our province. Anahim Lake.

We talked to locals and found out about the suspended ferry service that hit the communities of Anahim Lake and Bella Coola hard. Tourists from all over the world would take the ferry up, they said, but few do now. Struggles the rest of us know little about.

We hit the road again, traversed Tweedsmuir Park and wondered at its pristine beauty. We spotted a fox with a fur coat that matched the surroundings.Gotcha!

HopeMore road, more burned forests, more exploding green seedlings. Hope.

Awed by the picture-perfect snow-clad coastal mountains, we descended on the serpentines affectionately called ‘The Hill’ by the locals, keeping a careful eye on the dirt road that is the result of much persuasion of the government by the locals, back in the ‘50s.
A distinctive feature of small isolated communities; determination.Truth

Hagensborg and Bella Coola opened up in green lush forests and thick grass every which way. The coastal mountains with their perpetually snowy tops guard the fertile valley.

LostWe hiked, saw petroglyphs hidden deep into the rainforest, sloshed our way through a flooded estuary that held life and death in perfect balance, and sat down with one of the elders by the side of the river one windy evening.

The old man was anticipating the arrival of a few fishermen down the fast river. Invited to join him, we sat down. Half an hour later the river brought a couple of dinghies with it. Sure hands casted nets into the murky waters. Fishing for spring salmon, but this is not the big run yet, the elder said.

More people came to watch, a seasonal ritual we were now part of. Someone mentioned the long-gone e
ulachon, the fish that were the reason for the old Grease Trail trading route.
They’re mostly gone now, but the Nuxalk people still hope for their return, the elder said. Shrimp boats caught tonnes of them as by-catch over the years and now the abundant runs ran dry…

PrayerA new totem by the river, a young boy holding his hands as a prayer to bring back the eulachon, was recently put up by two young carvers. Hope.

The fishermen were long gone but we stayed to chat. We found out about the industrial projects the community fought hard to stop just so they can have their salmon and their land the way they’ve always had them.

It’s more important than any money industry brings, the elder said. You can’t bring nature back so easily after they damage it with who-knows-what resource exploitation.

A car stops and the lady driver tells of a deer that just sprinted on the other side of the river. The old man squints to see it. He missed it, but happy to know it’s there.

You’ve seen so many during your lifetime, I told him. He smiled, looking far into the thick forest that cradles the invisible deer. It’s not about one deer, but every animal, bird and patch of land.

SurprisedThey are reminders that the old place they call home is renewed every year with new life. Hope. You have to respect all animals and the land that feeds them; the same land feeds you too, he said.

It’s about choices and compromises, he says, just as long as you can address the needs of a community without hurting the very land they live on and off of.

Tomorrow we’ll be heading back home, realizing yet again, that we are blessed with a land so rich it transcends imagination; rich not in resources to be gouged out, but to protect and help be, hopefully forever.the winding road

Hit the road, see the beauty and say it isn’t so… I dare you.

 

PS: For more road trip photographs please visit the recent Chilcotin/Central Coast/Bella Coola gallery

 

Come As You Are (Because Nothing Else Makes Sense)

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On May 15, 2014

In Life Stories, Self-improvement

YouThere’s nothing like a botched haircut when it comes to revealing how we insecure we feel about our appearance. Except that the haircut was not botched. I am no Edward Scissorhands but I’ve been the master of haircuts since my boys were born.

But boys grow and as they do, so do their worries. Their eyes open to a world that judges for no particular reason. ‘Am I done?’ has been replaced by ‘How does it look?’ and the verdict is never positive.

How could it be? We live in a time when pressure to be more and better than we are actually is an everyday reality.

We’re simply not good enough. If no one says it loud enough, we know they think it. They must, we think back. We assume and assumptions grow thick as trees.  Hollow trees that is.

We grow up being as curious about ourselves as we are scared of what curiosity may reveal. We are eager to create better versions but are disappointed with being just today’s version of yesterday. Not enough.

Should we be? Self-growth is real and necessary. Adjusting as we grow, taking cues from life, people and our inner guidance system, we become, we flourish and then we collapse. Not enough. Because in the end. no matter how much we aim to grow and how big the pressure, we cannot be more than ourselves, the person that once was unencumbered by fear of being judged. The person that dared to wear mismatched clothing, had the bangs hanging sideways and was never afraid to affirm who they were by talking dreams, everyday happenings and the miracle of seeing the world. Where did that go?

In time we learn to conform and we learn to fear changes because what if they’ll bring rejection of some kind or even a raised eyebrow? Or something we cannot see but we know it’s there and we’re fearing it, simply based on the assumption that it is there… Ridicule. A word that hides a monstrous concept; a word that follows the two words we dread the most, ‘not enough,’ like a hungry predator ready to pound on prey that’s hurt already.

Children, growing, grow apart from themselves, simply because of that, some more than others… Like getting far into a forest we do not know at all, we are walking paths that take us further away from ourselves than ever. We seek to find ourselves yet in the process of it we build the tracks of a creature we struggle to recreate from bits of ourselves…

Writing's on the wall Here’s the thing though: If you’re not brave enough to reveal yourself, who will you be? Can you keep up being someone else? Will we have time to know who we are though before we will cross the point of no return?

What are you afraid of in saying ‘This is who I am?…’ That someone will say ‘Not interested’? What would their contribution to your life have been and theirs to yours anyway if it was based not on real people but fictional ones?

What is it that you’re after? To understand the reason of being here, you’ll have to see who you are, truly so.

Where to from here?Do you think yourself beautiful? Don’t run to the mirror. Features of the soul are never traced by the same pencil as the one tracing the contour of your face.

You see, I don’t know your face, the way your hair looks, or if you have any. Maybe your ears are floppy and too big, or maybe they are too small. There must be at least one part of you that you think fine and would not swap for a better one… Yet for the ones you don’t like… If you could, would you trade them for better ones? But then what will you get? Anything would be better you say?

It never is. Better applies to becoming, to growing. Better grows out of accepting the reality of today. Better can only grow from real and because we want to. Never because we’re pressured to.

Mirrors of inside and outside reflecting into each other…Which is the one you will choose to represent you first of all? If you will reject the image any of the mirrors reflects, you’ll reject both. And if you do, who will come to accept you, mirrors and all?

If you’d have a choice to be your friend, would you? Make it so. Let yourself be seen in who you are. You’ll be that much better simply because you allow for that.

You are more than your hair, or eyes or the contour of the face. There’s a whole lot of you behind every feature everyone sees.

Come as you are. Nothing else will ever make sense or keep your step balanced. That’s who you’ll carry through life, yourself. You. As you are.

 

 

The Need To Speak Up (Or Why Yet Another Day Is Still Not Enough)

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On May 14, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Kamloops, Life Stories, Social issues

Originally published on May 9, 2014 as a column in the AM News under the title ‘Is yet another day to honour veterans and remember the fallen enough?’ 

In a couple of days, some of us will observe two minutes of silence during the ceremonies for the National Day of Honour.

According to the PM’s office, May 9th is a day dedicated to ‘commemorating the strength and sacrifices made by the members of the Canadian Armed Forces in Afghanistan, and to recognizing and supporting the friends and family of the fallen.’

It sounds better than it actually is, you’ll hear most veterans say. Reminders are good, but parades and official breakfast aside, a day is a day is a day.

You watch the parade, extend your condolences to the families who lost their loved ones in Afghanistan, shake the hands of those who made it back and the next day we’re all back to our daily life, feeling good about the honouring deed. It should not end there.

Over the last few months, nine members of the Canadian Armed Forces committed suicide. Their families and friends pointed to the lack of support most veterans face once they return from the war.

Whether you agree with the war idea in general and the Afghanistan war in particular, one thing is clear as daylight: soldiers do not go to vacation in war zones, nor do they go there on a personal mission. They represent Canada. Therefore, it is only expected that Canada would support them when they return.

Yet many find themselves falling through the cracks of a bureaucratic system that cannot accommodate the less elegant needs of a damaged-by-war soldier.

Hence the question: Would a day of honouring the veterans do?

Some soldiers argue that we already have Remembrance Day. Why not honour the Afghanistan veterans then, together with the rest of the veterans and put the funds spent on a day like May 9th aside for the needs far greater than a commemorating day?

While help is not completely missing, many of the veterans face severe uphill battles by themselves. People do not commit or attempt to commit suicide just because. Many of the modern day veterans suffer from visible and/or invisible wounds, many of which surface as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) months or years after they return from deployment.

They fight demons only they can see and they often end up breaking apart even from their loved ones, lost between a system that was supposed to help them get help and overwhelming desperation that pushes them to seek ultimate relief.

Every person is affected differently in a given situation. Some of the veterans return to their previous lives after deployment, some continue to serve as reservists and some are either discharged or choose to retire or take a leave of absence.

Regardless of their status, veterans need to know they are not alone once they are back. A census of some sort that keeps track of veterans long after they return from the war and thorough, periodic tests that would allow them to get the help they need when they need it is the least they should be offered after putting their lives on the line.

To some it may be a formality, nothing more than a yearly checkup, but to many it would be a lifeline and confirmation that they are not forgotten. Lest we forget sounds much better when backed up by facts.

Many of the Veterans Affairs offices that closed recently due to financial cuts added insult to injury once more, pointing to a reality many of us are not comfortable with. We are not taking care of our vulnerable ones.

When veterans get the short end of the stick, how are we to convince them and their families, and ourselves as a society that we act with respect and compassion towards our fellow citizens?

That a country and its government support a war is one thing. To support the returning veterans and their families is another. No Canadian veteran should ever feel like their life is worth nothing just because the war has ended.

If we are to commemorate the fallen and honour our veterans, let’s do it right on the days leading up to it and after as well.

How We Love, We Live And Grow

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On May 13, 2014

In Life Stories, Self-improvement

FacetsThere are different kinds of love. As you go through life you get to taste many of them. There is no how to manual on any and as for the one that can run deep enough to change your life, you’ll know it by seeing it not with your eyes but with your heart.

You’re ready to love when you’re willing to know more. Of life, of the temporary state of being, of yourself, of being weak and strong, of being right and wrong, and knowing that being right or else has nothing to do with being. You learn, you grow some more; again. And grateful.

 

OneSome people love in ways that make them reinvent themselves or forget themselves.

Some love in ways that make them want to know themselves because someone shows them they’re worthy. Someone showed them the path to themselves, and they’ll never be lost again.

That is the kind of love that will help you find yourself and blossoming as you do so.

That love that won’t let you live a second more unless you drink its cup to the last drop. And the last drop will never come because there is no end to it.

You’ll know it when you feel it. If you’re lucky.

The certainty will be astounding and humbling. Like a thunderstorm opening the skies and letting out the light like a bunch of wild horses pounding down from the clouds right into your heart, and then stopping there to let you enjoy their wild beauty. They’ve come home.

You’ll fear they’ll leave until you see them feed on the grass and drinking the brooks that you once thought were dry and the land underneath cracked and tired. You’ll fear until one day you won’t anymore. You’ll know they’re there to stay.

Forever becomes permanence and it humbles you. Do you deserve it? Don’t ask that. If you ask of yourself, you’ll ask of others and that makes many dreams crumble before they take off flying. Fear kills dreams.

To seeThere are many kinds of love. You’ll never know when and how, you’re never ready and the game has no rules other than a necessity for open-heartedness. It’s not a word, you say? That’s just it. You’ll have to invent many as you go. You’ll have to write stories of losing and finding yourself, stories of daring to believe, courage to let yourself be shaken, courage to fly high when flying low is all you thought you could handle.

Most of all, stories of being vulnerable. Of learning how to. Of learning to never pretend you can smile when a smile burns the inside of your body.

Stories of being true.

If you are ready to be true, you will find the rest. It’ll come. Just open your heart.

Many, every one different, all the sameMost importantly, never judge any kind of love that comes your way. Be grateful. You’ll grow in kindness and patience and strength. You’ll feel alive. It matters.

 

The Pesticide Dilemma and Why We Should Look Into It

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On May 5, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Kamloops, Social issues

(Originally published as a column in the AM News on Friday, May 2, 2014)

The garden is coming along nicely. From green onions to radishes, carrots, peas and the lettuce mix disrupting the pattern of bright green with unexpected burgundy, our back yard is laced with goodness.

More to come. Back yard goodness, and weeds also. That means weeding. Again and again, until that first frost in the fall when it’ll all come to a well-deserved rest.

There will be plenty of clean food to eat yet we supplement, as we always do in summer, from the farmer’s market, sourcing for chemical-free crops as much as we can.

Clean food is something to be immensely grateful for. More so when, growing it ourselves, we become aware of the hard work behind it.

A recent Australian study showed that in just seven days of eating mostly organic, pesticide levels in people’s bodies dropped by 90 per cent.

This kind of science is not earth-shattering in the novelty category.

We know eating clean is good. While a couple of studies showed that organic produce is not necessarily superior nutritionally when compared to conventional crops (that is still a matter of debate,) the chemical load that the latter comes with cannot be denied.

It is well known that some crops are more sprayed than others, and some pesticides can wreak havoc with human health, especially when it comes to children.

Little sunsThere have been studies showing correlations between neurodevelopmental impairments in children and pesticide use; this pertains cosmetic use as well as agricultural.

The move towards cleaner produce, which translates into a cleaner environment and a lesser impact on human health, is an actively growing one.

Organic crops can be finicky in how they develop and their vulnerability to the elements, plus their increased demand for the tedious repetitive work, such as the above mentioned weeding.

For these reasons and more, organic produce costs more, yet perhaps not much more when one keeps to seasonal local produce.

Many say that you cannot feed the world unless you bring in conventionally-grown crops that rely on chemicals for growth and pest control, or genetically modified crops with that address the needs of the billions of us inhabiting the planet.

Most of conventionally-grown produce is undebatedly, cheaper than organic produce.
Yet, in many ways, it is, and continues to become more expensive. If we add the impact on human health and the environment, and the fact that cheap food encourages waste, the price spikes to new highs.

A comprehensive pesticide use survey done in California revealed that many children go to schools located near farm fields with intensive pesticide use, and are, as a result, exposed to high amounts of chemicals, some which have been already shown to be toxic and some already banned in other parts of the world.

The Canadian Association of the Physicians for the Environment (www.cape.ca) adds a strong voice to the issue.

The neurobehavioral effects of pesticide use on children are subtle in many cases but also pervasive. Behavioral problems, attention/hyperactivity issues, learning disabilities observed in more children every year, the result of chemical exposure before birth or during the first years of life. Pesticides are one of the said chemicals.

Children are, by default, vulnerable, due to their developing bodies. It is not a matter of whether they’ll be affected but how much.

A landmark study of Mexican children growing in a valley where pesticides are heavily used supports the concern. These children showed decreased stamina, impaired gross and fine motor skills, memory and drawing ability, when compared to their same age, less exposed peers.

While may say ‘Well that does not happen in all farm areas’ and they may be right, there are a few thought-provoking aspects of such studies.

As we know, much of the colorful, out-of-season produce found in grocery stores in North America comes from places such as the Yaqui Valley of northwestern Mexico where the pesticide study was done.

If there is demand, the offer will be created. A demand for blemish-free, out-of-season food creates an unwanted series of events that end up affecting people’s health. Theirs and ours.

Conflicts of interests are never fun to solve, but we ought to when children’s health, and human health is general, are at risk.

It comes down to the silly yet relevant ‘How do you eat an elephant?’ and the cheeky answer: ‘One bite at a time.’ Perhaps that’s the way the pesticide issue should be addressed as well, starting with our community.

Decreasing the amount of pesticides children are exposed to has to be addressed. From purely cosmetic use, such as lawn maintenance, which is another source of exposure for children and pets alike, to agricultural use.

Encouraging community gardening, supporting local farmers – we are blessed with many – through the farmer’s market and, ultimately, creating the link between needs and abundant, seasonal produce that can become a source of good nutrition for those with limited resources are but a few ways to reduce exposure even further.

There is no shortage of creativity and good intentions when it comes to food and keeping a community healthy. As they say, when there is a will, there is a way…

When Home Is Spelled With a K

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On May 1, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Kamloops, Life Stories

Views...We spent Easter weekend in Seattle with our extended family. We drove through the Okanagan, camped in Osoyoos waking up to a perfect mirror of a lake, drove alongside blooming orchards and passed through small towns that look like accent pillows thrown around.

We stopped for ice cream, we stop by antique shops, talked to people who have been collecting signs of the past since they can remember, and we stopped here and there by the side of the road just because.

We stayed in a suburb of Seattle, but went to visit the city one day.
It was dazzling. Wide ribbons of highways, some on the ground, some in the air, all tied up in knots you get to untangle once you live there long enough, peppered with cars of all sizes rushing this way and that. Did I say dazzling?

We visited the farmer’s market and walked around downtown just until the boys begged to go home. Rivers of cars streaming in the streets, bumping shoulders with countless people at the market and being parked on the K level of a A to P parking lot proved too spicy a dish for us all.

Seattle is a big city, we knew that of course. We know of big cities from living in Vancouver until two years ago.

I want to believe that every city, no matter how big, has pockets of neighborhood that create the small town feel (maybe?) because deep down everyone connects that way with the place they’re in. Yet even with that hope in mind, the thought of suddenly being thrown into a city that size and having to live there a while made me feel uneasy.

Perhaps I’ve become a bit spoiled by the comforting lull, still vibrant but on a different scale, of life in Kamloops.

And for good reasons.

Most times I walk to downtown I am bound to run into someone I know. I may not know their but we know of each other.

Farmer’s market season will start soon and I will see many familiar faces I’ll keep on seeing all summer. We will talk to people the always we always have and get to know more than the price of goodies they sell. As one should.

We often forgo our cowboy-coffee-on-sun-splashed-porch ritual and opt for a coffee shop in town and it is always a treat. In most coffee shops we visit, I know we will see familiar faces; owners, baristas and customers.

We know of their life, they know of ours. We talk, catch up on the latest and say ‘see you later’ knowing we’re not saying it because how else can you end a conversation.

We will see them later because the place we live in is small enough that neither of us will go unseen.

There’s comfort in it.

There’s a mesh of good warm feelings that grows around you when you get to know the place you’re in and the place is small enough for you to be more than a rushed pair of legs or two sets of wheels, respectively.

And just like that, there’s nothing wrong with choosing to live in a big city either. As they say, to each their own. In the end, it’s about coming to know where you feel most at home and why.

I’ve lived in many big cities since leaving my hometown, similar in size and appearance to Kamloops, at the age of 18. It was fascinating at times, it was frustrating too, it was exciting and then it was tiring.

The rushed rhythm of the big city was, more or less, in sync with my own rushed lifestyle (which was rushed because I was in a big city, some could argue.) Following life’s fluid ways I got to visit smaller communities and knew right away that I’ll never return to the big city.

It takes going places to realize where you want to be the most and it takes going to places loud enough to barely hear your thoughts to actually hear them loud enough.

Last but not least, gratefulness to realize that you’re in a good place. Imperfect at times, but real is like that. Charming too.

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