Category Archives: stress

The countdown begins

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“Do not let the behavior of others destroy your inner peace.”

~ H.H. The Dalai Lama

It never ceases to amaze me.  Human behavior, whether good or bad, has enough energy to directly affect our own sense of self.  I am a calm person.  I have always had a great sense of peace about me and am quick to find the good in situations and in people.  But my faith in human nature takes a strong nose-dive when tourist season begins.

When you grow up in a small town or a small community, there is a true sense of peace knowing your neighbors and being familiar with those around you.  You learn to expect a certain level of camaraderie and happiness.  The members of the community embrace you and are quick with a smile and a genuinely warm hello.

With the arrival of the Canada Day long weekend, that seems to have changed.  No longer will you find the locals out shopping at all hours of the day and carrying on conversations as if nothing were more important.  Now those locals are hidden behind the doors of their homes, emerging only in the early hours of the day to do their shopping to avoid the onslaught of tourists.  The freedom of being able to enjoy our tiny town has vanished.

crowd

(image credit: theinertia.com)

I ventured out too late this morning and became caught in the vortex of that familiar angst and cynicism that seems to travel North on Highway 400 and vacation here during the months of July and August.  Everyone is in a rush to get everywhere and tempers are short.  I arrived at my familiar grocery store, exited my vehicle and my eardrums were pierced with two unfamiliar voices arguing about the angled parking  job of one of the overwhelmingly expensive vehicles in the parking lot.  I guess the memo about relaxing while on vacation was never sent!

We, as a community, have 10 short weeks to ‘make hay while the sun shines’, as the old saying goes.  For as much as these tourists treat us as an inferior breed of humans, they are a grand part of our existence.  So we grin and bear it….and we begin the countdown to Labor Day Monday.

Like animals emerging from hibernation, we allow ourselves to come out of our homes and once again greet the land and our surroundings after that glorious September long weekend.  We take deep breaths of fresh air and greet our friends with a smile, having survived another two months of insanity.  The local pub patios are packed with locals happily waving at the cars as they make their way back to their concrete jungle.  On rare occasions, streakers have been known to hit the streets with signs, wishing the tourists a safe ride home.  (well, it may have been worded differently, but you get the idea).

Until that day comes, I will do my best not to let the stress of these visitors infect my happy disposition.  66 days to go….but who’s counting??

More than merely notes on a page

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“Without music, life would be a mistake.” ~ Friedrich Nietzsche

I could live the rest of my life without television, but take music from me and you may as well send me into my next incarnation.  Music has a way of taking what was wrong and making it right.

After a long day the right song choice is the consummate escape to find my way back to myself.  Closing the car door in the office parking lot, starting the engine and letting that perfect song selection caress my mind is such a welcome close to any hectic day.

When you find inspiring music and let it seep into your soul, it’s much more than just listening to a song.  Those notes and harmonies can take you out of your current existence and transport you to a new state of being.  The songs become so much more than notes on a page, they become transcendent.

notes on a page

I have a very eclectic compilation of music that I enjoy and, each day that I want to peel back the layers of my hectic life and just relax, the song is never the same.  My diverse taste allows me a greater freedom in finding that right choice to help assuage the tension of every day life.  Those varying notes in that array of genres is the portfolio of my relaxation and escape.

I don’t ever defend my vast taste in music, I embrace it.  I am never at a loss for a tune that will suit the moment I am in, and that gives me a contented feeling.  My music can match any mood and any circumstance, and I will never be afraid to admit the extreme sides to my play list.

Recently that melodic portal of liberation has been opened by the beautiful tones of four soulful voices provided by The Tenors.  Music will always have a soothing quality but when you find the right blend of melody and harmony the result is an emotionally soothing journey.  My goal is to meet these four Canadian boys!

Music is much more than just notes on a page.  Music is a memory. Music is a feeling.  Music is the collection of notes at the heart of your soul.

What day is it?

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This time of year, I work more than the normal forty hour work week and a weekend off is a thing of the past.  When life travels at a million miles an hour, I tend to lose track of the days of the week.  I spent most of the day this past Wednesday thinking it could possibly have been Friday.

days of the week

Perhaps it was just wishful thinking but Fridays really mean nothing to me from May to October and thus begins my confusion.  I have actually come to thrive on NOT having weekends off in the summer.  My mid-week day off is far less chaotic in terms of getting things done in the small tourist town I call home but it does nothing to alleviate the perplexity of knowing the day of the week.

I’m sure I am not alone in the quest to follow the weekly calendar.  Life marches on whether we are able to keep pace, whether we fall behind or whether we skip ahead a few days. It’s a sure sign that we need to take each day in stride and not let ourselves drown in the wave we are riding.

Time forces us to grow, to shift, to adapt.  Every time we blink our eyes the world shifts beneath our feet and moments evolve into days.  It is no great mystery that we lose some along the way but the important part is that we keep our head above water.

Every 24 hour period ends in the word “day” and, although the frantic pace of life inadvertently makes me think I’ve missed one or two, I’m just happy I keep living to see another one.

In the still of the night

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Tonight, in Mother Nature’s fury,  we were graced by another storm exemplified by strong winds, rain, thunder and lightning.  Living in a rural area means we are well accustomed to living without power during these tumultuous acts of divine intervention.  The plethora of trees bend to the power that nature possesses and ultimately the lines of power created by man are no match for the Goddess of weather.  We have been plunged into darkness and are submerged in the sounds of silence.

The world, as we know it, has come to a grinding halt and we are left bathed in the ethereal glow of candlelight.  The earth has been baptised by the rain and the creatures of the night have true reign over their territory.  Man cannot disturb what it cannot see.

I enjoy these moments.  These nights that I am cloaked in darkness allow me the time to truly shut out the world.  I have no cause to watch mindless television or surf the web in search of something to idly entertain my brain.  I am left with my thoughts, transcribed in dim light by pen to paper, and a sense of relaxation that can only come from having no outward distractions to blame for my laziness.  This is true escape.

My world, apart from two small candles, is black.  The stillness of the night soothes my soul and the quiet envelops me like a blanket.  I pull myself into it, feel the comfort of its solitude and soak in the warmth of its bliss.  The creatures that sing their haunting refrains lull me into a trance.  Pin-pricks of light dappled the sky as Fire Flies dance on the velvet backdrop of their own Black Light Theatre.  The night is beautiful.

fireflies

(image credit: globeattractions.com)

Sitting in my darkened tomb I know, as all good things do, this moment of bliss will come to an end.  Power will be restored and the world will be bathed in harsh light and modern reality.  Thankfully the world I live in, so far removed from city life, can remain this dark if I wish to keep the outside world extinguished.  Even when the power is restored I can live in my alternate reality by leaving the lights off, enjoying the speckled light show outside my window and embracing the still of the night.

Burning the candle at both ends

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It begins innocently. We take on more and more with each passing day and begin burning that candle at both ends, always with the thought in mind that never the twain shall meet. But they do meet, and someone always gets burned.

burn the candle

In today’s economy and struggling markets people take on more burdens to cement themselves to their jobs. Fiscal responsibility tends to equate to physical and emotional exhaustion but we do what we have to do to secure our stability. It has become a dog-eat-dog existence.

Although we may see that candle as everlasting and continuous, we lose a little piece of our sanity with each drip of wax that is dispelled. A layer of our resolve, like the dripping wax, is melted away from us and collectively pooled into a well of fatigue. The moments of freedom we so carelessly took for granted are a thing of the past and the work day increases in its longevity.  As the winds of our reality fan the flames, the candle burns faster at both ends leaving us with more of a sense of panic and less candle to burn. The days seem longer, the nights seem shorter and we strive to hold fastidiously to our workaday reality.

It is our individual responsibility to snuff that secondary flame – to only allow ourselves one wick with which to burn our energy. If we allow others to dictate how much of the candle we burn at one time we may as well cast ourselves into the inferno and spontaneously combust.

The purpose of a candle is to burn for long periods of time, from one end only, and cast a glow of light that is warm and comforting. Burning that candle from both ends decreases the amount of enjoyment that candle is meant to purvey and exponentially diminishes the enjoyment that is elicited from that one single flame.

Strike your match carefully.  Predestine how much of that candle you are willing to ignite and at which pace you choose it to soften and dissipate.  If you light it sparingly, it will last much longer and the enjoyment of that flame will last that much longer.

Getting back my sense of self

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For the first time in a long time I walked through my house tonight and found I was smiling.  I wasn’t reliving a memory or anticipating an upcoming event, I was just….happy.

I hadn’t realized how much of my happiness had been consumed by reality until the corners of my lips were turned upright for no particular reason.  After all the tension I have experienced over the last couple of months, I was sure those muscles had atrophied and would require intense physiotherapy to get the full range of motion to return.  The degeneration of joy was paralyzing.

But I am once again finding beauty in my surroundings because stress no longer abrades my senses.  The scent of lilacs permeates my nose as soon as I step outside and the sounds of the creatures of the night soothe me with their harmonic tones.  And after many nights of being unaware of the true depth of my melancholy, I am now able to appreciate their symphony and realize that my true bliss has returned.

My words flow more freely now because they are no longer trapped in a smoldering vat of fermenting unrest.  My brain is at ease and my creativity flows in small streams until it culminates at the mouth of the river.  Those ideas trickle along the banks of my mind.  Each drop of inspiration is collected, it pools and eddies at the precipice until the words spill uncontrollably over the crest of rock and create a waterfall of language and expression.  That waterfall is my release.  That rapid flow of ideas is my heaven.

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(image credit: commons.wikimedia.org)

I have slowly re-acquainted myself with the things that I hold dear.  I have learned to let go of the stress and spend time each day making new memories and not just relying on recollections of my past to satiate my need for happy thoughts.  I have regained my inner compass.  I have reclaimed my sense of self.

Feeling up with some down time

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Yesterday I was able to leave work early and spend some much-needed time to myself.  While preparing to leave my old job and begin the journey of starting a new job, I worked 18 days straight and had little time to just relax and breath.

I performed the perfunctory task of cleaning my house, I visited my mom and I went out for dinner with a friend.  It was a great afternoon and once I was ensconced in the comfort of my living room, Mother Nature provided a great show of pyrotechnics last night for my amusement.  I lit the candles, extinguished the lights and let the smooth harmonic blend of The Tenors wash over me as I watched the lightning dance outside my window.

lightning_strike

(image credit: dottech.org)

I had a nice leisurely morning pulling myself from under the covers much later than usual and enjoyed a few cups of the “liquid of the Gods” known as coffee.  My laptop welcomed me with open arms and we spent a few hours writing together.

It amazes me that a few simple hours spent away from the constraints of reality can make such a difference.  Although I am truly a ‘people person’, I enjoy my solitude immensely.  I am ready to tackle the next few days remembering the cherished moments I just spent with my puppy dog with no outside distractions until we can close the door on the world once more and take those fleeting minutes to just breathe.

Doing the right thing doesn’t always feel right

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The hardest part of playing the role of both child and advocate is making the decisions that you know are the right thing to do, but they are the most difficult decisions to follow through.

I have written recently about my mom’s health issues and having to move her out of her home into a Retirement / Assisted Living Facility and clean the house of her belongings.  She seems to be content where she is, but she misses her pets immensely.  The decision to surrender her cats had to be done, but not without some hardship and second guessing along the way.   The place my mom is living now does allow pets, but we are not sure if this is going to be the place my mom is able to stay.

Trying to explain to my mother why she cannot get another cat at the moment is heart-breaking.  She would love to have a companion, but I would hate to see her go through the process of having to give up another pet if she has to move.  Sure, we are absolutely doing the right thing but it feels awful.

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(image credit: factorydirectcraft.com)

I don’t have children of my own so I can only imagine the struggles parents go through having to do what’s best for their children and only hoping that someday those children will understand.  I’m not sure if my mom will ever agree with some of the decisions we have recently made on her behalf.  I can only hope she remains as happy as she can and some day, years from now, when she joins my father in Heaven she will look back on her life and know we are only doing what’s right for her.  I just wish it felt better doing it.

Over forty and feeling…..broken

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Forty may be the new twenty, but I don’t think my body got that memo.   I used to be able to handle stress much better, not that I had the stress I have in my forties, but the carriage that houses my soul never used to show signs of that stress.  I would bounce back and be prepared for the next onslaught of tension, armed and ready to kill that dragon.

These days, I am not as fortunate.  The knots of stress seem to locate the weakest parts of my body and finds the forty-something-year-old muscles far more inviting.  Like an unwanted house guest, it settles in, makes itself comfortable and it chooses to stay for a while.

About a month and a half ago I injured my knee while shoveling snow.  Who knew an activity so benign could leave such a lasting injury?  The pain subsided and temporarily vanished, but every so often it flares up again and I am currently moving slower than some of my mom’s new acquaintances in the retirement home.

I have yet to go to the doctor, but that trip is looming.  The male part of my brain had me convinced that the temple that is my body would heal itself, but that seems far-fetched as I hobble around my house this morning, wishing I had a cane.  In my self-diagnosis, compliments of Google, I realized that I have most likely torn the meniscus in my right knee.   It could be a minor tear but could also lead to surgery if not properly diagnosed and healed.

cane

(image credit: oralchelation.com)

Today, for me, forty feels more like the new sixty but I am determined not to let this affliction get the best of me.  I will beat stress and injury into submission with determination, tenacity and a borrowed cane!

What a tangled web we weave

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I have always been a big fan of telling the truth.  I’m not going to start with the lies now and say I haven’t told my share of the little white variety, but telling the truth is a much simpler way to ride the tracks of life.  It keeps our journey going in one direction with no sudden derailment or unexpected change in our course.

The art of deceit really is that, an art form.  It takes an organized mind to weave the web of lies and keep track of those lies.  Deceit has a way of exponentially evolving into more lies and the teller of those fallacies must internally document each line of betrayal in order to follow their own fibs.  It takes a somewhat composed mentality to follow the flowchart of untruths.

A web is conventionally described as something intricately contrived, something that will ensnare or entangle.  If only the teller of all the falsities realized that the victim of their woven trap was going to be themselves in the end.  It takes a cunning mind to begin weaving that web and follow each string that they have strung within it, but it takes an absolute genius to conform to all of the strings of lies within their web and remember which lie each string represents.

There does come a point when that continuous flow of distortion will fracture.  It takes one proverbial fly in the ointment, or in this case the web, and all of the falsehoods spectacularly disintegrate and split into a million loose ribbons of fiction.  If you sort through the wreckage, there is not one shred of truth to be found within that mangled mass of treachery.  Deception becomes a labyrinth with no possible escape.

Telling the truth will ultimately lead you to the most authentic experience you could have.  Sure, lies can give you the immediate escape you seek, but the truth has a way of rearing its ugly head when you least expect it.  It brings stark reality back into the fold and as the web is dismantled, it becomes a collection of meaningless strings.

Living an authentic life has more of a purpose than a life shadowed with doubt and deception.  You can protect yourself with layers of hypocrisy for only so long before people start to see the true core of your being.  They will systematically clip those strings you have so cleverly woven and expose the person that you really are.

You can only have legitimate relationships by being your true self.   If you begin any relationship with dishonesty, it will never be a true relationship.  Smoke and mirrors can only last until the smoke dissipates and you are left staring at your stark reality.  Don’t let that reflection be shrouded with the web of your lies.