I was working the Starbucks drive-thru, and a customer handed me cash for her beverage, but there was close to $6 change I was to give back to her. She insisted though, that I keep it all, (for tips for us.) I told her that it was *very* kind of her, and thanked her. She expressed that whenever she comes through the drive-thru when I'm there, she's happy because I talk to her and always make her feel good about herself.
I told her that her timing was perfect and explained that she was making *me* feel good today. (I had just been telling two of my co-workers I was afraid my spark was a bit 'lost', and had said to them, "I'm afraid I will never be 'that girl' - the vibrant, shining one I strive to be.”) Turns out, I needn't have worried. My feeling down didn't last very long. I do have my own spark, after all and I want to keep fanning the flame until it's super bright! Like my friend Laurie says, why be a spark when we can rise up and be the flame?? If this sounds conceited, it really couldn't be further from the truth. This is about me trying to reach out to better myself, and has always been so. This is exactly the kind of thing those closest to me are also reaching for. I call these people, my Tribe. That customer has the same type of happy vibe that I aim for. I would be honoured to call her a Tribemate.
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My dad passed away 16 months ago. It was a devastating blow as only three short weeks prior to his passing he was feeling flu-ish. We didn't know he would pass shortly thereafter. I am very grateful I had a chance to go out and see him and say my final good-bye to him. Some people don't even get to do that, so I understand how lucky I was. I've reflected upon his life as well as his passing, with a great deal of thought put into it - and I have realized a few things. The first and most important one is this: We only get one life and it’s worth living it. But we have to be true to self. I had been living my life in only a shadow of who I actually was and have recently discovered more about who I am. I’ve been employed at Starbucks for almost a year and I recognize now that I’m an empath who is able to provide comfort to customers by serving them in a manner that personally relates to them. I also discovered that I am an extrovert, and am not as shy as I once thought. This trait serves me well when I communicate with customers. My dad was an outgoing person. He was in the ministry for many years. He was a real people person. He was warm, funny, kind, outgoing and gregarious. People were absolutely drawn to his charisma and he was always the life of the party. Ministry in the United Church was an excellent profession for him. Yes, he was a minister, but he was also himself which meant he was easily approachable. What I noted though, is that some people couldn’t differentiate between where he began and where he, as a minister, was present. I have noted that there are people who put him in a role of Savior, sometimes putting him on a pedestal that I’m sure he didn’t feel comfortable being upon... Because he was such a down to earth guy. When I first began my employment at Starbucks, I recall sometimes serving a multitude of RCMP officers at once. Initially, I had been very anxious. I‘d never been in trouble with the law before, but all of my life when I saw a police car I would freeze and get nervous that they might catch me somehow for some infraction that I was unaware of. So when I would see police officers in uniform at Starbucks, looking formal in their attire, I admit I was initially serving in a formal manner to match. I didn't know how else to respond, (and I was still new to the POS system on the till and was learning about the various beverages and customization buttons on the order screen. ) But then something happened. I began to get to know each of the RCMP officers as people first, but with an understanding that an RCMP career is a dynamic part of who they are. There were several who stand out to me as being empaths, too - they are the ones who ask how our shifts are going, whether we have had a busy shift with customers, and other considerate talk, showing us that they also see us as people. Many are very kind and appreciative of the customer service we provide, (as well as the hot sandwiches, bakery items and hot and cold caffeinated beverages), which are important when working long shifts with horrendous shifts in shift times, switching from days to nights, then back again. I don’t know how they do it. They do it in a jovial manner, too. When they are able to have a break together - it is a time of bonding between colleaugues that I am sure helps to refresh them as they carry on through their long shifts. Their camaraderie always lends a pleasant and welcoming vibe to the cafe. When the RCMP officers come into the cafe or go through the drive-thru, I feel honored to serve noble people such as them, who always put others ahead of them. Every RCMP officer is a hero. They are someone who would sacrifice self if necessary, and those who are employed as an RCMP officer is willing to do so. When the RCMP officers leave the cafe when they get a call, my heart lurches a bit and I hope they come home safe. I prefer to say, ‘Have a good shift’ when they walk out the door, rather than ‘Have a good day/evening’, because I want to impart that I recognize that they are on call, and are putting themselves out there, in the line of duty. One time, there were around 10 police officers who were in the cafe on a well deserved break - they got an urgent call, so they jumped up, ran out to their police vehicles and peeled out of the parking lot with sirens blaring and lights flashing. I remember that the noise of the sudden upset of chairs being pulled back when they got up in such a hurry was almost deafening all at once. Every person present in the café sat in complete silence for a moment afterwards. You could hear a pin drop. You could tell they were wondering where the RCMP officers were going, and whether they would be safe. I see the similarities between who my father was and who RCMP officers are, largely through career choices. Both careers involve a person who is widely available/present and very helpful in the community and both careers involve an element where people can lose themselves as people - as in, who they really are, depending on how others perceive and view them, due to their calling, or, career choice. I’ve sometimes seen derogatory comments on Facebook groups about our local RCMP, (usually involving tickets being written up for traffic infractions, etc.) From what I've seen, though, I understand how hard our RCMP officers work. The integrity and level of professionalism that they possess and display are apparent to me. This is an important blog to me to write because I want to convey the message that definitely, if you are an RCMP officer, or other First Responder, that you are still seen. I see the uniform first as you enter the cafe, and as you approach the counter, I see ‘you' as a person. It’s important to me to also recognize you when out of uniform. Because whether in uniform or in regular attire, you are still you. And you are respected for who you are, as a person. Much Respect to those who put themselves out there, for others. Thank You to all First Responders. Your work is greatly appreciated. Photo credit: William Vavrek Don’t let yourself get stuck in a rut! I’m easily prone to that, myself. I thought of a makeup analogy that relates to my life. Maybe this will resonate with you. I went through a phase this past September, where I *loved* a golden peachy pink tone of lipstick that was so pretty, and – so - discontinued. (Bella Pierre Kiss Proof Metallic Lip Crème in ‘Miami Glam.’) I did what any lipstick aficionado would do and ordered a couple. (Well, two more than a couple.) I found four on eBay and ordered them in four separate purchases. I had loved the shade so much and received so many compliments on it; I knew it was ‘me’ to a ‘T.’ I couldn’t find a shade anywhere that would replicate it. The more I wore it though, the less comfortable I was with using my other shades, I noticed. And the less comfortable I was with trying anything new for lipstick shades. I ventured out one day, though, wearing red. Big, bold, ‘Outlaw’ red, created by Kat Von D. I felt like a rebel, truly. It was a real ‘power shade’ and people noticed it. I got a lot of compliments on it. Somehow, I began to feel more comfortable to experiment with red shades, and slowly strayed away from my old, familiar shade which I noted in pics, paled my complexion, overall. Both lipstick shades were good, though. Each was amazing and worthy of using on a regular basis. I now try to go back and forth among the shades, even finding that purple is a pretty shade to experiment with. And yes, even black! This is what I think happens to us in life: We get accustomed to having the same routine, and we don’t take the time, nor do we expend the energy/drive needed to experiment with different components in our lives, and LIVE. I’m talking about truly living. No reference to lipstick in this regard. I’m starting to see that at the end of every day, that is one less day I will have here on earth. So why not make every fucking day count? #MakeEveryFuckingDayCount As soon as I saw these quotes from a favourite book I had read over and over to my own kids, I knew I wanted to write a blog on it. The following excerpt is from the book, The Velveteen Rabbit, written by Margery Williams: “Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit. "Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt." "Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?" "It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." My breath caught when I read it. My heart felt the heaviness of hurt. Of pain. The pain that I imagine we all feel in our lives…Being real is definitely pure pain, no doubt about it. But as the skin horse said, you ‘become.’ You become real, and so it is, to be real, you have to feel real and you have to experience real pain. People don’t become real until they experience life. Children experience life in increments. Little pains here and there, things like scraped knees, and disappointments such as lost balloons flying up into the sky. Children grow into teens, who experience a larger degree of pain in life. Some go through heartaches of teen relationships, which later, they discover to be smaller in scale to the heartaches they will experience later in life. As adults, we want to believe we know what we are doing. We are ‘adulting’, after all. We put on our best faces and move forward in what we deem to be a confident manner. Maybe though, we don’t know ‘wtf’ we are doing. Maybe we exude too much confidence when really, we feel like retreating into a protective shell. As the skin horse stated, it *does* take a long time to become real. Maybe some people experience being real when they are in their 30’s, and others, later. For myself, it has been later. Almost as though I have awakened from something. Life looks and feels different in these past few months. I feel as though for a long time I was perhaps just as the skin horse stated… I broke easily. I had sharp edges and had to be carefully kept. But then, I slowly started to shed all my old self. In no sense am I speaking in physical terms - This is to do with my inner sense of self, in what my role is in this world and how I will go about in fulfilling my goals, dreams and passions. I have finally become accustomed to being ‘me’ now, since I learned who I am, and I have ‘grown into my skin’, so to speak. I found out who I am and try to follow it. I am loved by family and friends and in many ways, with the pain and heartache, along with disappointments experienced in life, I am incredibly – what is the phrase…. Well worn. I am worn out with everything I have been through. Those who know me don’t find ‘me’ ugly. Those who know my voice, my thoughts, my feelings – as I have been expressing them in my blogs and through simply being my real self, understand me, and what I have been saying all along. “You become.” Indeed. Erin Flanagan Stashko - Dec. 3, 2018 Remember me
I stepped away from everything safe, warm and comfortable And stepped into a role of caretaker Of Patriot Of Giver Of All A sacrifice for my country they say And to that it is Yet… I see my country in my people I look into their eyes and know I did it for them For every single Canadian, present and future In past, too - In memory of my relatives who perished in WWI I speak not as one solider but as all Freedom lives within each of us But it takes a courageous voice and mind of grace To accomplish what we did Be a proud Canadian We are a strong and hearty type Who have kind but fierce hearts And who are loyal to our country And remember me, please Remember the way we said goodbye to our families Hugs at the train stations, bus depots and more Tears glistened in eyes but the strong hugs said it all: “Go Forth in Peace.” I didn’t make it through the war. I perished. But I obtained peace and my voice lives on As a reminder. I am that peace. I am that love I am that strength that flows Throughout the hearts of every Canadian Erin Flanagan Stashko Nov. 9, 2018 In the hospital room, My Dad took a few steps away from his hospital bed and stood tall and proud, despite being so ill, right after telling me we should say goodbye. His body was in a pose that was well known to me to be - ministerial-like. I had seen him strike the same pose for those in his congregations after a church service, when he would greet people as they exited the pews and headed toward him at the back of the church. He extended his arms to me in an outstretched, warm, caring and welcoming manner. I stepped into his arms, and as I hugged my Dad for what I - and he - both knew would be for the very last time, I felt my left hand very tenderly touch the back of his head near the base of his neck, resting it there in a loving, almost motherly gesture, that strongly spoke to both of us. I remember vividly how soft his hair was. My loving touch held all sentiment and spoke clearly: You have taught me well, my father. The time has come now for me to spread my wings to fly solo, without your physical presence at my side in this life as we know it. It is your turn now, to be cared for and soothed by my calming and loving touch. It was a sudden but evident role reversal that had more to emit to him: It is soon time to go to your Father and rest eternally in peace, for your work on earth - your very reason for your life, has been so graciously fulfilled. Much like Robert Munsch’s book, Love You Forever, in which the theme is the love between a parental and child, I expressly understand what Munsch means when he writes: “I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, As long as I'm living my baby you'll be.” Just as in the book, the mother fell ill and the roles reversed, so too did it instantaneously change between my dad and I. A couple of days before this, he told me that as a caregiver, he found it difficult to be at the receiving end of help, rather than the other way around. I believe we both knew the significance of our final hug and I also feel that my motherly instinct with my comforting touch to the back of his head gave him the same calming feeling that he himself had given to many, many others before, as he served God and God’s people - those being his congregations, his family, his friends and even strangers during troubled times. He served in the United Church but his love for others was universal. He would sometimes meet with various town groups and committees, and would joke around with people from other Religions, saying that “One day, we will all become United.’ - Of course, he meant United in Love. As well it should be. But with him being a United Church minister, it was a clever, albeit a little bit of a Dad joke (which, I fully admit, I sadly miss.) You have taught me well, my father. You have, through the years, passed onto me through perhaps genes, but more so, examples set, and teachings by you, how it is to be a warm, compassionate person to others. I shall carry on your legacy by choice and by and through my very being. It took me a long time to realize, Dad, that you have passed on an invaluable gift to me in which I can make tremendous use of in a mission to carry on your legacy of loving others. Nike always said ‘Just Do It.’ I believe you knew what they meant, and you ‘Just Loved’... You loved others when it was difficult - impossible even. But you just did it. You never gave up on anyone and put your faith in them that they would thrive. I won’t let you down, my father. No, I won’t back down. Life may throw some pretty crummy things at me, but I like this quote I recently read: “But when I tried to throw in the towel, God threw it back and said, ‘Wipe your face; You’re almost there!’ “ (Source unknown.) For sure, Dad! I am almost there. Thanks to you and many years of love, knowledge and teachings through you. Erin Flanagan Stashko - Nov. 5, 2018 This isn’t meant to scare you or make you feel panicked - This concept is something near and dear to my heart, just as this song is: https://g.co/kgs/dmhz5H Following through on this concept means more than doing stuff. Be yourself. Be YOU. Too many times, people don’t stop and talk to others. We don’t pay random compliments. If I think of something to say, even if I feel a bit silly saying so, I usually just do it now. For example, last night in the mall at one of the sales kiosks where they try to give out free samples, I declined the free sample but I stopped and talked to the lady. I said, I don’t have money to purchase products like this. But it bothers me that some people will walk on by and ignore you or treat you badly. I said, I just wanted to acknowledge that I see you as a *person. * She was so smiley and happy to hear this. I gave her two Halloween chocolate bars I had, (one was for her co-worker, I told her.) I stated that she was always giving out samples, now it was her turn to get something back. I know it was just chocolate. (When is chocolate ever ‘just chocolate’, mind you??) But - it lit up her face. Then she offered me up the sample in a genuinely warm manner. When I use my face cream sample today, I will remember this amazing person. One who stands with a smile, hoping for people to look at her and see her for who she is. Now - the pushy sales guy at the mall kiosk who claimed he ‘just wanted to see my smile’ - I’m sorry. I admit I rolled his eyes. But then I remembered to be nice. So I gave him one of these a real smile. It was genuine. As well it should be. Yesterday, I injured my right hand at work when walking full force into the pastry cart while grabbing a pastry. I have no use of my right hand with the exception of my thumb. My four fingers cry out in pain if I try moving them. So what I discovered, is that when I use my thumb to play every individual note with the right hand, a few things start happening. First of all, I am forced to slow down and take it all in and play with more passion. Secondly, no longer do the notes fall into place naturally for me (with each finger doing what they are supposed to.) Yet at the same time, all four of my fingers must cooperate with my thumb and basically move right along as I move my hand up and down the piano keys. Life is sort of like that. If a part of us is injured emotionally will become somehow unable to function as a whole. But at the same time it should be noted that while functioning with a piece of us injured emotionally, we are all that much more aware of life and all that it entails both in pain *and in living.* And - that when a part of us is injured, somehow, our body and mind step up to the plate to compensate, each and every time! I have noted a few posts as of late from my Facebook friends who have stated that in order to feel happiness one must go through sorrow. I believe that is true. Just as I believe that to be completely whole as a person, one has to reflect. We have to get to know our true self. Only then can we be who we truly are. Erin Flanagan Stashko - Oct. 26, 2018 A Tribute In Loving memory of the one-year anniversary of my father’s passing, October 26th, 2017 I knew I would write a blog to honour the one-year anniversary date of the passing of my father, my hero. I envisioned myself seated at one of my favourite writing spots, Starbucks on Resources, typing out the blog in an orderly fashion. But as the days have started rushing in, to ‘the date’ – Oct. 26th, I find myself feeling panicked, in the sense that this day is coming all too soon. “But, wait!”, I want to cry out to someone, anyone – God, maybe? If there is a God? “I’m not ready for this!” To me, this is all still so fresh, and raw in my mind. So here it is, I find myself typing my every thought out into this blog, earlier than anticipated, hoping for a sense of comfort and peace in doing so. Grief is an all-encompassing process and after a year, I still don’t understand what happened. I want to message Dad to tell him about a RedFlagDeals website deal on electronics or tell him about something that happened at work - a pleasant interaction with a customer, that he would be proud of me for. But none of those things have happened within the past year. None of them will happen. Ever. Not ever again. The thing with him passing on is that nothing is the same. Everything has changed. This does not mean though, that everything has to be bad, does it?? No!! A resounding ‘No’! I am blessed I had my dad in my life for almost 48 years. There are many who have lost their dad much sooner than that. There are some, who, at a younger age than me, have lost their father. There are some I know, who have never had a father figure in their lives, either. So I recognize that I was blessed for many years and am very grateful. I’m also blessed to have so many fun memories with my dad. He had a gift of humour that would make anyone feel better at any time. He walked with his friends, family and his congregations through their own suffering and pain and he was there for me, too, during difficult times in life. He shared in happy moments in my life, as well. He was my mentor. A guardian angel, really. I truly looked up to him with the utmost respect. It may well be that nothing in my life will literally never feel the same again, as when Dad was here with us. I am not ‘ok’ with that feeling, I admit. What I am ok with, though, is that my dad taught me what he knew about grief, through those he knew, who have passed on, through the years. He taught me that there is no right way, or wrong way to grieve. That there is no linear time frame for grief. That we must continue to move forward and experience life to it's fullest when someone we love passes on. He told me he wouldn’t live forever, the time before I last saw him, before he fell ill. He told me that one day, he would die. Incredulously, I didn’t really believe him, though. My thought seemed rational to me: He has always been with me, how would he (actually) not be here one day? One day arrived, though. My mind knows not that this is permanent, but I am slowly realizing. It is. And I have a legacy to uphold. My father was the kind of man who, even when things were not going well in his own life, perhaps an ailing pet, etc., he would still shine on the outside to all those around him. His enthusiasm for life, for people, was outright joyous. I am reminded of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventures film, when it comes to my dad and all that he stood for: “Be Excellent to each other.” I want to get a tattoo of that now to remind me of his legacy, so that I can have a constant reminder to strive to be a daughter who honours the same traits and qualities that my father possessed. I am so proud of the man he was. My dad, my hero. I have not blogged or written for some time now, and although I have been feeling pulled do so for many weeks, it is only now after once more thinking about this, that I feel I must write this out. I am coming up on the one year anniversary that we lost my Dad, and all of you know I make frequent posts and references in blogs about him. He was, simply put, my hero. This time of year has always been my favourite time of the year. The colourful fall leaves, the crisp fresh air, the back to school routines and the start of preparing for holidays such as Thanksgiving, Halloween and of course, Christmas. This is the first year I have noted that along with the chill in the air has come a feeling of familiarity with loss. I see I have identified my Dad’s loss with the elements of weather/seasonal changes that hit in Oct. 2017, as they have now, in 2018. I wonder – has everything about my favourite season now been tainted with the underlying sadness that will inevitably ensue each year, as I remember the anniversary of his passing? I think not. I have a choice. My Dad isn’t here, but this year, in the months that have passed, I have been trying very hard to live out his legacy. His legacy of caring deeply for others and helping whenever he could. He didn’t have sons to carry on his name, so I am proud to at least have my maiden name included on Facebook and I have his namesake in my Blog, as well. The choice I can make is to let October drag me down with the cold wind, the grey dark dreary skies and the reminders of the trip to see him in the few weeks prior to his passing. Or… And this is a big one... I can decide to put my chin up, and smile at the many incredible memories I have of him. I can decide that fall can still remain in my heart as a special season to specifically cherish and honour his memory. This year and every year from here on out, I will be donating to the Edmonton SPCA in his honour, as it is a cause he was very passionate about. I was well aware that October has arrived. A few days ago when I was working at Starbucks, I was alone in the café area as we had just closed, and my co-workers were tending to chores in the back room. The song, “Queen of Hearts” began playing over the speakers – we have special Starbucks music channels, with a wide variety of music genres on each channel that we stream. Juice Newton had been one of Dad’s favourite singers I think,for he listened to her songs often when I was a child. All at once, I thought of him and felt his presence with me. Not just his presence, but, at a specific seat in the room, and I could almost see him sitting there, smiling at me and I felt a sense of comfort wash over me, and I felt calm as tears welled up in my eyes and I felt a lump in my throat from choking up over sensing him. It was more than that though… what I felt I could sense was him tapping his fingers on the table, enjoying the music as he always did. Now, I know that sounds outright crazy and I accept that it possibly (and maybe probably) wasn’t him. But I will say that we know not what lies beyond. He always knew I was more inclined to have dreams that came true, of things I had no clue/hindsight of, and he understood I was different. I like to think that he would know to reach out to me and that his messages of his pens, dimes, feathers, and now sense of presence, have not gone un-noticed. Thanksgiving is with one less person physically among us this year – but I think my Dad is still with us in spirit. I KNOW he is with us in heart. He had a big heart, my Dad did. So this year at Thanksgiving, I am thankful for all of the many wonderful years that I did have with him. ❤️ I was talking to one of my friends today and we were discussing how moms (or other caregivers) often won’t buy something special or do something special for themselves. He said:
“Maybe it’s time to just say to hell with it and do it.” In my case, I had mentioned spotting a grey and black plaid patterned wool skirt that I had walked on by at Marshalls, even though I wanted it. He asked why I didn’t buy it, and I quickly replied that the heels I owned were dog-eared. (Literally. My dog had chewed one up, making it wobbly.) He realized that I had wanted the skirt but simply didn’t have shoes to go with it – so he posed the question - Why not buy (both of) them? So, I started considering – maybe it was time to purchase new attire. It has been a year of deep grieving since I lost my dad, that in turn, has been a period of self-discovery for me as I realize, 1.) I am not immortal and, more importantly 2.) Really, who the hell am I, and what am I doing with my life? (I want to BE someone.) As such, I’ve been writing a series of blogs, in a cathartic manner of self-discovery that’s beginning to help to define myself. I had lost my identity and didn’t know where ‘me’ as a mother and wife began or ended, and who I, as a person, was. As of late, I have been identifying attributes I didn’t know I possessed, while I discover who the real me is. ‘The struggle is real’ bodes well for me, but the journey has been an amazing ride so far! I’ve wanted to step more firmly into the role of writer, so I wanted to treat myself today to new attire that would more closely match who I now identify as. I had been wearing solely yoga pants when I was plus sized and now that I have trimmed down to a regular size, I’ve been wearing jeans, Tees and hoodies. Hardly what makes me feel spectacular. Don’t get me wrong – I see many ladies in cute jeans and Tees and they look amazing. But for me, when I take the time to work on my makeup, I want to feel dressed from head to toe in business professional attire, especially when I go to a public venue to write my blogs and currently, as time permits, a novel. So today at Winners, I quickly found some amazing pieces. I bought the black skirt. I bought the shoes, the blouse and the blazer style jacket. But… I also purchased another skirt, another jacket (sweater) and even one more blouse. I know, right?!? I couldn’t believe it myself! I couldn’t make up my mind between any of them. They were all beautiful, and fit just right, as though they had been lying in wait for me with my new-found dress size after losing 46 pounds. The entire cost was $200 for seven pieces including the shoes, which essentially would add up to a huge variation in ensembles, since each piece could be mixed and match with the others. It was a smart move for an entire business professional wardrobe for just $200. The quality was impressive. But, it was also a bold move, on my part. Because I wasn’t used to doing this. I felt guilty as hell. Before gingerly laying my items down on the sales counter, I’m not gonna’ lie. I had buyer’s remorse before I even made the purchase. I had excuses up my sleeve to prevent myself from buying new attire. I wanted to scoop them all up and put them away, to be kept safely away from my wallet. I felt torn, though. I didn’t want to put the items back. Not one. As ai tried the clothes on I had found more of myself with each layer. The clothing was like a new part of me; a new piece to the puzzle that had long ago fallen to the ground, only to be scooped up again to be successfully fit into the puzzle. I had a breakthrough that allowed me to make the purchase for myself. I rationalized: This is not something that I do often. I also do not do this to try to BE beautiful. It is something that will boost and create a healthy self-esteem, to feel good about myself. It, in fact, has almost nothing to do with making myself ‘look’ better to others, but of boosting my own self-confidence which will only be of further merit in my day to day life. If I don’t believe in myself, why would anyone else?? Most importantly: If I feel good, I’ll be treating others in a better manner. As a caregiver, I’ve heard that to be the best caregiver possible to my children, it is important to take care of ‘self.’ I think of scenarios such as airplanes – we must put the mask on ourselves, first, to help our child, should we require oxygen. This is not to say that we always have to jump ahead of others. Not by any means. It simply is something I noted – that if we as moms or caregivers can take care of ourselves, it makes it easier to parent. It makes life better! Think of when you are hangry. If my blood sugar drops low, I feel as though I want to dropkick something as far as I can, LOL. So obviously, yeah, I get hangry at times. If I take care of myself though, and eat a snickers, or whatever satisfies me ha, then – I become a better person who is well equipped to deal with life and take care of my family in the best possible manner. Not only that, but – having indulged in a special treat helps to validate that I am a person, too. I count! (And guess what?!? *You* do, as well.) This is the hardest part for me to write, and to acknowledge, but - I deserve the clothes. I work hard to earn money and work hard as a parent, plus, I have many roles to tend to around the home. I deserve it. (‘It’ being whatever treat or pampering that helps.) I note now that writing it out and believing it are different, but in time, I will believe it fully. And so it is – you, reading this – as a parent/caregiver, you count. You have to try to do small things for yourself. Pamper yourself. Read a book, take a hot shower, sing in the shower even if you can't sing, sit in silence in the car parked at your favourite thinking spot or chat online with friends, write in a journal, smell a fragranced candle, order supper in, have a chai tea latte or a chocolate bar. Take a nap. Visit your friends (In real life.) Step on Lego spilled on the floor by the kids for an ultra firm foot massage. (Wait, no, don’t do that.) Just don't. Take it a step further…. BUY the book, the cute clock, the handbag, the shoes, the exquisite chocolate in the display case. BUY what you want to eat when dining out, don't order the salad because you know Johnny won't eat all of his kids' grilled cheese sandwich. Pamper yourself because if you don’t do it, no one else will know exactly how to do it. You know yourself best and know what to buy and how to treat yourself. Having worked in the cosmetics industry for over two decades, I was all aware of when customers would put forth the usual ‘excuses.’ And they were just that. “I’m just around the house, no one sees me.” “I don’t think I could take the time every day to do this.” “I’m giving myself a break from makeup, I want my skin to breathe.” I understood several things from my experience as a beautician: Moms feel guilty and often undeserving when they do something for themselves. Purchasing makeup or skin care for their daughters was never a problem, I noticed. Spending on themselves, however, was. Moms are a special bunch of people who put themselves last and others first. It becomes second nature to the point, they no longer think about themselves, and treating themselves. They seem to feel undeserving of a special treat. They feel guilty if they do spend money on themselves. By depriving themselves of ‘pretty things’ (AKA, self-care little treats such as cosmetics, clothing, purses, shoes, or even a special coffee drink at Starbucks), they are ‘tamping down’ who they are. STOP tamping yourself down. You are a mother or caregiver who freaking deserve good things. On a final note. I bought the shoes, as you know, but I discovered that I must learn how to walk again in heels, since it’s been so long. But the shoe fits, so I’m gonna’ damn well wear it. Erin Flanagan Stashko Sept. 9, 2018 It was the worst winter of my life. Dad had fallen ill in the fall and as my family and I drove down the long Alberta highway to head to his funeral service in late October, I couldn’t help but think to myself how fitting it was, that the cold snow falling from the gray bleak sky, pelting the windshield, matched my every emotion. I struggled to hold back tears, finally letting the hot tears spill from my eyes, sliding quickly down my cheeks. My throat felt hot and lumpy. I stared out the window through the snow storm, watching the trees whiz by. The branches of the trees were fitting, too. Every leaf had fallen. Even they knew my dad had died. Sadness loomed all around.
In the months that followed, in retrospect, I recognized myself to have been in a state of depression. I no longer found interest or joy in daily routines. Playing the piano, a usual emotional outlet for me, had become less of one. No amount of playing could help me with my emotional angst. I lost interest in all TV shows and movies, preferring to scroll through the internet, sometimes Facebook, or - write. I had always enjoyed writing, but for some reason, following my dad’s passing emerged a compelling need to write in depth, in a reflective style, and always from the heart. I found myself wanting to leave no stone unturned within my writing. Every thought, feeling or emotion I had was explored in the months that followed. I even wrote a story that spoke to me. The characters in it came alive to me, in the sense that I could understand the main character. She longed for a sense of control over her chaotic life. She wanted to take charge and change things up. Not just for herself but to be there for others as well. She wanted to be somebody. As I further explored the character, I began to notice that she was like me. As I wrote about her various characteristics and traits and as the story developed, I noticed something. She wasn’t like me, she was me. What I discovered about ‘her’, AKA me, is that she felt lost. She wanted to find herself. It was an enlightening discovery, to realize as I had been writing it had been about me the entire time. I felt like Dorothy in ‘The Wizard of Oz’ with the red shoes. I had known all along who I was. It just didn’t emerge until I was ready. I don’t know the precise moment I lost myself. I don’t even know the year, to be honest. But I have been on an ongoing search for the past 6 mos. and am discovering more each time I write. I began to recognize that over the years, I became less me and more, someone who was associated with being attached to a title of those in my family. It may not have been that way at all to others! But to myself, I felt as though I were mother and wife, after having left my much-loved career when my daughter was young. I found that I no longer knew who ‘I’ was, anymore. I also realized that who I am today is an entirely different person from who I once was. There are many mothers who stay at home without losing their sense of identity but for some reason, I fell down and got lost along the way. Did having kids change me up? Or aging through the years? Or my life experiences such as my father’s passing? Clearly, a combination of elements that hit me throughout life {and some of them packing a helluva punch} were all factors in making me who I am today. By re-discovering myself, I’ve noted so many things. For example, I profess to be shy, but often am not. Friends have pointed that out to me. Meeting people is still difficult, but I can do it. Stepping into a role at work where I must be outgoing, brings me out of my shell. For too many years I had been at home, focusing on family but doing so while living in my shell, while really needing to be out of my shell in order to be happy and efficient. It’s never comfortable stretching our level of comfort, finding out who we are. I found it helpful though, to recognize some things about myself. I think I am becoming easier to live with for others, as I ‘take care of myself’ and make sure to get out on a regular basis, to work, go out with friends, and chat more often online with friends. Another discovery about myself is that I am an empath and as a result, I tend to heavily guard and protect myself from whatever pain I can. Usually this is by way of keeping to myself and vastly limiting letting others in. I find it’s of no use though; not only do I feel my own pain, I feel others as well. What I did discover though, is that I can write about it in a reflective blog. Journaling has been around for centuries and there is good reason for it. It is truly cathartic for the soul. I am also now less inclined to be as hesitant in a situation. I’m more confident and basically have begun to realize that if I don’t seize life by it’s horns, then it will rear it’s (sometimes) ugly head at me and knock me down. I want to take charge of my own life and not just take a ‘wait and see’ approach. I want to make shit happen, basically, and I intend to do that. I’m gonna’ shake up this thing called life. As Prince once sang “Electric words, life - it means forever and that’s a mighty long time.’ It is. But we don’t know when that time comes to a change in our present physical body, one that ends life as we know it. So as I often mention, I am going to Be Here Now and enjoy every moment I have. I AM going to get that tattoo, ‘Be Here Now’, on my forearm, as a reminder to do just that. There was a restaurant that used to exist in our community that was what I consider to be a 'pivotal moment in time' for Grande Prairie and area residents in the 80’s/90’s, and that place was named Dar’s. It was more than a restaurant, though. I doubt those who frequented it back in the 80’s would call it such, as it was so much more.
It was a place that has been lost in time, throughout the years that since followed. No longer can people visit Dar’s, as it shut down in the 90’s. But when they used to frequent Dar’s, it wasn’t just a place to eat. Despite the astounding, amazing food, (spoken of so fondly, over three decades later; the cheesecake, the wings, the fries and gravy, and more!) - It was an incredible meeting place for the community to gather with friends and family. Many folks of GP and area have cherished memories such as gathering with high school friends after school; dining on fries with gravy and unlimited coffee. There were first dates that took place there, and of course, there were also (some – just a few) drunken evenings spent visiting with friends and munching on pizza, after attending local bar events or after a late night/early morning party was over. (Bush parties!) It was an incredible pre-movie date place. The ambience was so warm and cozy. Family celebrations such as birthdays, grads and more were also celebrated at Dar’s. Dar’s Lounge also had some of the best servers around. Norm, always with a great big grin on his face, worked in the lounge and was employed there for many years, which says a lot about the fine management. Office staff from various local downtown businesses such as the Daily Herald Tribune, and more, would stop by on Fridays after work for some cold, refreshing beer. They had TV’s in the lounge that would play 'Cheers' when it aired in the afternoon, through cable from Northern Cablevision. At Dar’s, everyone really did know your name. Gone are those days, though, where in a local dining establishment, staff and customers mingled as though in a relaxed, unhurried state of mind and body. Maybe the advent of cell phones, computers, and technology have made people shut down, shut off and hug their phones a little tighter, hoping to capture some of that incredible ambience and camaraderie that used to exist, yet failing miserably to do so. If I had a time machine like Marty McFly, that time, that place, that ‘feeling’ is what I would be setting my DeLorean back to. I have a feeling that I am hooked on a feeling. :( One of my friends comes from what she considers to be a dysfunctional family. She doesn’t say that much about it but has told me that she tended to block out much of her childhood. Her mother had a mental disorder and she felt distant to her Mom.
She swore she would raise her own child differently, and she has. She has been there for him and is close to him. She talks to him, and listens. She gives him the ability to soar on his wings, of his own merit but she is there for support as needed. Thinking back to my own childhood, there were some things I wanted to change about how I would parent my kids. I always grew up knewing I was loved, but our family didn’t talk about it. I would hug and kiss my Mom and Dad good night, until I got to the age where it just seemed awkward to me, perhaps around 9 or 10 years of age. It wasn’t until high school when a teacher asked us, “Who here, tells their parents they love them? When was the last time you told your folks you love them?” It was food for thought. I went home that day and awkwardly said it. It was reciprocated. In later years, it was still somewhat awkward to say over the phone, but eventually we all just did so. I made it a point and the setiments were always returned. I’m glad I did that as my Dad passed away almost 6 mos. ago, and I will never regret telling him I love him, each time we spoke! Not to mention, the emoticons, etc. used in phone messaging. Every night I hug my daughter, and when I hug her I try to do so with the utmost of love shining through. I had read of the importance of physical contact, even if just an arm on a shoulder for my 21 year old son. Kids need to hear they are loved but they also need to know it from the warmth emitted in a hug. I can not bear the pain anymore of seeing a tragedy in the news, particularly if it involve kids. Prior to having had my kids, watching the news felt different to me than it does today. After having them, a parental chord is struck - and ingrained within a parents’ mind is that of the pure connection between parent and child. Before we had the technology of social media and all that information that goes along with the world wide web, news was fairly easy to watch. Some tragedies would be reported, to be sure, but overall, the feelings that it evoked were those of sadness and of course, upset. Those thoughts, feelings and emotions did not linger as long, nor did they take over my entire being, the way they do now, after having had kids. Now in the news when I learn of tragedies, I see the difference in how the news is brought forth. Typically, I learn of the news first through social media, then, through the internet and news stations. Along with the news, are thoughts, opinions, sadness and often, images. Political discourse is often on the menu. For the Love of God, please do not post images of tragedies on FB or other social media avenues that you wouldn’t want to see of your own family, if the situation was reversed. The news itself tends to report, over and over, notable, newsworthy events. Such is the par for course for tragedies. One thing I find now, is that as each day that progresses, often the images and stories get more and more personal - and sad. I am a natural empath and find that the more time I spend immersed in keeping up with the news of such tragedies, the more drawn into it I become. ANY parent of children want to hug their kids a little more tightly when they receive bad news. I have felt so sad for the Broncos who lost their lives, as well as their parents, family, friends and entire communities. It really is a village of sorts, when thinking of tragedies that hit hard. The heartfelt outpouring of love is greatly appreciated by those affected, and I do my part in terms of understanding what happened, acknowledging it and, donating when needed. What I have found myself doing in these past few tragedies, is - obtaining the necessary, critical info., then pulling myself away from it after a few days. If I don’t, my mind is heavy with sorry and my heart feels like it’s breaking. My pain is nothing compared to theirs and I can live with the empathy I feel. What I don’t want to do though, is impart my heavy heart into my own family who is here now, and I can deeply appreciate. One thing about tragic events is that people WILL feel sad, and in despair for sure. Hanging on to such sadness, where it affects your heart and makes one feel sad and in a weakened state, is finally, after much thought process in my mind, detrimental and not a positive move. Positivity breeds positivity and while nothing on this earth will bring the Broncos back - nor will any amount of sadness and grief. Grief is a process for all of those more deeply involved in these Broncos lives, now that they have passed on. That is not the type of grief I am suggesting be hold back. Grieving is a true process and needs to be done to allow healing to commence. Yes, I wore a jersey as a show of support. I read many articles initially. How do I know when it is time to stop? When I just can’t bring myself to click on the link of the Bronco teen who is ‘doing better’ and is ‘positive.’ My heart hurts much too much to read up on him. I know he lost his friends, his coach, and physical therapist. He is moving on and will be ok, after all. You Let Your Life Revolve Around Your Fears When Your Fears Should Revolve Around Your Life7/11/2018 Do you have a phobia? I do, and it is not an easy existence. Depending on what your phobia is, of course, it will impact your life in many different ways. If you were afraid of leaving your home, for example, as an agoraphobic you would find exceptional difficulty in performing any task outside of the home. Scared of bridges? You may need to seek out a place that doesn’t have bridges that you would have to cross. Some people are scared of things like bras, and pickles, and I really couldn’t make this stuff up. I saw it on Montel Williams show before, and believe you, me, you do NOT want to have a phobia that is that terrifying should you spot one. I am saying the above tongue-in-cheek but of course, any phobia is something that is terrifying, to the person who is phobic. I understand that what one is afraid of, someone else will not be, and I understand because my own phobia is hit and miss, in terms of someone understanding mine. I am afraid of insects; mostly of wasps, hornets and bees but if something is flying, you can be dang sure that I am on the lookout for it and/or am running away since my flight or fight response is triggered as soon as I set foot outside. So from my own experiences with my deeply rooted phobia, I understand that someone’s fear of feeling a loose hair on their hand after showering (another real phobia I once noted in a friend of mine) is no less significant of a phobia than mine is. A bra, a pickle, a hair on a finger, can instill just as much cold fear coursing through someone’s veins, as an insect will for me. While I may feel their fear is an easier one to handle, I still recognize that fears that lurk in people’s hearts all have one thing in common; they have the ability to be debilitating for even the strongest person. People have a tendency to let their lives revolve around their fears, when they should be considering having their fears revolve around their lives. I am currently in a mode where my life revolves around my fears. I make it a point to not go outside. Basically, ever, unless I need to set foot outside to get to the vehicle. Now for me, that is my fine line of when I will finally seek professional help (again) for my phobia. The day I can not leave my home to get to my vehicle is the day I will admit defeat. Currently, I force myself to go from home to vehicle and it works because I know if I do not - that I am basically ‘done.’ For now, though, this blog remains largely unfinished - conquering my fears will take some serious reflection and much work yet, on my part. What are some of your tips to counteract your own phobias? Why is it easier to become close to someone online as opposed to meeting someone IRL (in real life?) It has always been easier for me to define myself, my emotions and figure out ‘who’ I am in reflective thought, so it makes sense that when trying to emit to someone ‘who’ I am in person, that it would still be portayed more easily in written word, as opposed to person to person, or face to face.
I wonder how many other people in today’s world feel more comfortable in their own skin as an online presence, as compared to in real life? And is the reason for online or written representation of themselves because of how easy it is to go online and talk to people? Back in my day, as a child, my family would have a lot of people over for drop in coffee, sort of the same as showing up online on messenger. People could talk to each other more easily back in those days - eye contact was maintained and the art of conversation was not lost as it seems to be today. I have conducted a few social experiments as of late, for my own interest and understanding of the complexities of human nature. Now granted, I am only one person and so it is, this is not by any means a legitimate experiment that could be written as such. What it helps me with, is to better understand and acknowledge the fact that in my own life, human connections are getting fewer and fewer IRL. I had been fond of making FB comments on a couple of friend’s friends’ posts off and on over many months, finally venturing out of the security of talking mostly with long-term, ‘secure’ friends. I branched out and accepted their FB friend request. I began chatting in small increments, showing them an interesting article, or further discussing comments we had left on a friend’s FB post. Eventually, both of these people turned into someone I would consider a real friend. I found myself they reached out to me more often and I did the same. Eventually I determined when it was time to meet these new friends. I wondered - what would they sound like? What would their mannerisms be? Would they like me, as a person in the non-written format or would they prefer my written-work self? I met one friend at Starbucks, he had his dog in the vehicle and his dog has anxiety, so we stood outside with drinks in hand. Luckily, I had passed the ‘dog likes you’ test, as that is a very important one! I found this friend to be relatively easy going, in fact, more so than the serious side that he often displayed to me on FB messenger chats. Turns out for him, his more pensive side is explored through writing. His ‘real-life’ self is a lot more jovial and easy going than the serious side I often saw him exude, so I was very glad I met him. He also made me laugh out loud, literally and it was fun, we stood outside chatting as the summer evening sky got darker and as the mosquitos bit us up, we bade farewell - for now. We have since made potential future plans as we both see the merit to having the friendship be one that exists both in person and on-line. As for my second friend, he initially contacted me through a FB post I made in a community group, to offer up some help to walk us through a furnace issue. Basically, we just kept chatting and never stopped! Off and on throughout the day, it was mutually asked how we were doing and we would compare life notes. I am very glad I got to know him through the months because initially, he did not present as being ‘himself.’ What I discovered was that only once he got to know me did he really start to show off his true self. Meeting him in person was a delight, I had more experience in meeting ‘new’ friends now, and because we had gotten to know each other very well there wasn’t much anxiety to be had. I met him, gave him a friendly hug greeting (a handshake would seem silly and much too formal at that point) and we visited for a couple of hours. He also was different from his online self in that he was able to talk more than he did in chats, as he normally types out chats from his phone, so in person is a lot easier for him. I noted that he speaks in detailed sentences and intertwines them together in wonderful consecutive order. I knew he was intelligent either way, but I was impressed to witness it in person. I will also meet with him again in real life, but the convenience of online chats definitely makes it easier to talk off and on throughout the day. Both friends are such that we often say good night to each other. I feel as though I have known them equally as long as any other friend whom I have known well over 40 years, even. One thing I find very interesting about my two ‘new’ friends is that they are male, not female, which is new to me in terms of sex of friends. My husband is a male, so of course I am familliar with being friends with a male, but these friends are platonic. My female friends are also platonic but if I am being honest, I find that there can be a bit more drama involved, overall. If you are my female friend reading this, it’s not ‘you.’ Ha ha! It really isn’t! ;-) After my father passed away a few months ago, in Oct. 2017. I was struggling internally to deal with such a significant loss. I penned this blog out for a Facebook Grief group that I’m a part of, to reflect on and share the feelings I had. Reading my thoughts again evoke feelings of sadness but also offer peace. There is spiritual cleansing involved in writing – and in sharing with a group. And so it is, I would like to share this with you,
What it’s really like to lose a parent (your dad.) I was one of you before…The ones who had never lost a parent. I truly and earnestly FELT for you. I sympathized with you and my empathy ran very deep. Yet clearly not deep enough. Now that I am in the club, I can’t believe it. It doesn’t register with me (yet.) I see your posts – the ones that describe the unbearable pain with each passing event of birthdays, anniversaries, Father’s Day, Christmas, and more. The posts that show how MUCH you miss them, which only shows in my heart that…. I will never stop missing him. Time will heal wounds, say some; (things will be different but bearable.) I don’t want for that though. I want for life to be livable. For life to be enjoyed. I want to know I will laugh and smile again in the same way that I did before. And to know that I have my Dad in my corner, ready to seek wisdom – *at any time. * I know deep down it is impossible to feel ‘ok’ again but is also not impossible. I also know that I want to cherish and honour my own Dad’s passing. I want to live in a happy light that spreads joy to everyone and anyone that we meet. I want to give out compliments like they are going out of style so that people smile and feel special – as they should. If I can accomplish all of that, then maybe none of this would be in vain. I am in a new 'club' now. I used to have the privilege, before my mother-in-law, and now my own father, passed away. The club is now summed up by the photograph you see in this post. The club is for anyone who would pick a parent to sit on the bench with, for just one more hour. When Dad first passed away, I thought, (upon seeing an elderly man at the dentist’s office who reminded me of my own dad) – “How LUCKY your family is that you are here.” I wanted to tell him to love and embrace his family when he got home. But of course, I didn’t. An elderly lady kindly smiled at me one day in a chance meeting. We had briefly chatted and connected over a small grocery store item. I almost asked her, knowing how old she was, that she must have at some point lost her own parents – “How do you cope?” But I simply bit my tongue. I knew the answer already, though. No one wants to deal with it. We are not strong for dealing with it. We deal with it because we must. There is no other alternative. I understand my Dad is at peace now, yet his sudden passing was shocking. He himself spoke in the past that there is a time for everything, yet it was very hard to witness him being diagnosed with cancer, then ‘gone’ within one short week. He had so much life left to live. He had only been retired a very short time, under one year, because he felt so happy to help people in his calling as a minister. He kept putting off his retirement, choosing instead, to help others as much as he could. I also thought of how seeing this image prior to my mother-in-law and my dad’s passing, that I would have tried to think of someone ‘cool’ to sit on the bench with. I can think of no one cooler than my dear mother-in-law Elsie or my dad, Ken. I also think of the ‘Be Here Now’ mantra which I still plan to get tattooed on my left forearm arm one day. It meant a lot to me before Dad passed on and means more to me now, than ever. The truth is - none of us know how much longer we have here on this earth. If we can live right here, right now, in the moment… in this very moment, then we have accomplished a tremendous feat. Many people look back toward the past, to try to see the errors of their ways, and they stress about the future. It's difficult to live in the present moment. But if right here, right now, you are ok, then that's what counts! Erin Stashko - Nov. 21, 2017 If ever fighting a battle, (*especially if facing inner turmoil) remember this: "An eagle does not fight a snake on the ground. It picks it up and changes grounds, then releases it back to the ground. A snake has no stamina, no power, no balance in the air. It is useless, weak and vulnerable unlike on the ground where it is deadly, wise and powerful."
In my own words, take on the 'battle' but do so with your own astute level of knowledge to make the battle ground be your own. Use your intuition, too. You will feel confident and comfortable, and this will disarm your opponent (in this case the so-called opponent will be your own negative thoughts) and allow you to win the battle. This quote has traditionally been meant in a spiritual sense relating to God, but in my own fighting spirit sense, I took it to mean relating to sparring that can take place with internal struggles! 😛😜 I was talking to a friend of mine about names spelled backwards and what they mean. Some names have no meaning behind them when spelled backwards, but others are quite interesting!
I was pleased to find that my name, when spelled backwards, encompasses exactly who I am. Urban Dictionary website describes the word ‘Nire’, (which is my name spelled backwards), as this: ”The missing ingredient that is sold out. something you want but can never have.” On many levels that spoke to me. As a mother of two children (21-year-old son and 15-year-old daughter), as a wife, and ‘household glue’, I am painfully aware that ‘everyone wants a piece of me.’ Even the dog. The cat literally walks all over me but he’s a bit of a jackass and thinks he owns me. The truth is, no one owns me. All anyone can ever have of me is just a piece. Never the whole picture. Sadness and innate inner turmoil is a large part of who I am. It’s not depression that eats away at me, so much as it is empathy, compassion and heart-felt awareness of feelings; both mine and others. If someone hurts, then so too, do I. Not only is being this way exceptionally draining but it will always involve others being able to have only a small piece of me. There is only so much a person can give; only so much to go around. Many parents will be able to relate to this. The other component for me is that the sad part of me is often hidden; one would never know. It is a dark, significant part of who I am. An undesirable trait, to say the least. In my case there is an essential ingredient missing. ‘It’s sold out,’ just as Urban Dictionary states. Wanting more of me is out of the question then, for people who try to get to know me or for those who know me but want to learn more. The missing ingredient? I know what it is. It’s ‘myself.’ Very few people - in fact, only three people in my life of 48 years, have been able to have more of me than what others get and it’s what I think of as the ‘real me.’ Processing all of this as I am writing it out has been cathartic; it has helped me to see that I am a work in progress and need to continually move forward or forever be held back. Maybe it’s time to be myself, after all. How old do you feel? When I’m in a room with a crowd of adults, I feel like I’m the only non-adult there - like an imposter. As a kid, I wanted to grow up fast. The days, months and years literally dragged on, the way they do in the lazy days of summer. The older I get, the faster time goes by. I’ve discussed this with friends: The time span of one week that passed by when I was a child now feels like a short blip in time, with one ‘garbage day’ rolling into the next. It feels like it’s always garbage day, now. Thankfully our garbage day falls on ‘hump day.’ 😉 One of the best days of the week.
One component in life that has not changed as time moves forward, is how ‘old’ I feel. I don’t feel older than perhaps 20 years old, despite being 48 years of age. I recently asked one of my closest friends what age, mentally and emotionally she ‘feels’ she is. She’s 49 years old: “I feel about 25 years old. I feel like a kid when I'm in a room full of ladies my age (at a school meeting, Christmas party, etc.)” My friend also spoke of a quote someone shared with her: “I’m 40, but I feel like I’m in my 20’s…until I hang out with 20-year olds then I’m like, nope never mind, I’m 40.” She pointed out why she does not feel only 20-years old – she doesn’t feel she is younger than her own son, who is 23. That’s something for me to consider, since my own son is 21… do I really feel younger than him? No. Certainly not. Mind you, he is wise for his years in many ways. It’s nice to be able to connect with him with the mindset of being younger than my 48 years. My friend contemplated: “Do people who don't have kids feel the same way? My kids keep me young at heart, and I like hanging out playing games with Jay and the boys because I can let my guard down, have fun and not worry about being judged.” This sounds plausible to me! Having kids may be something that allows us to touch base with our ‘go with the flow’ youthful mind-set inner child. To me, it feels as though everyone else in the room has figured out this ‘adulting’ business. I went through all the right steps to be an adult. I found a career I loved early in life, dated a few gems and a few not-so-gems, got married, had 2 kids, numerous pets and last summer, we painted the picket fence white. So then, I’m all set. We even have the majority of paychecks going toward bills. Colour me an adult… externally. Internally, I’m still growing up. Life factors in my own life have affected my ‘eternal’ age of 20 mindset. For example, being the baby in the family may have made me feel younger than everyone else. Or, being in a community organization as a teen where I acted as participant, pianist, and other roles, but never the lead role. Maybe not having ‘take charge’ roles in my formative years led me into feeling others were wiser, and thus, ‘older’ – more adult-like. I feel like a fake in a group of adults, wondering if any of them will figure out that I’ve not really grown up yet, myself. What factors do you think influence what age you feel, inside? If you do feel your calendar age, does it continually change as more time passes? When I was in junior high, I wanted to quit playing the trumpet in the band class and switch to the clarinet, as my teacher believed me to not have the right ‘embouchure’ to play the trumpet.
I also wanted to quit an organization for young ladies that I was in; Job’s Daughters. I was shy around the group and being one of the youngest girls there, didn’t feel I fit in. My dad wasn’t accepting of my quitting the trumpet. (No doubt. Buying a trumpet had been expensive, and adding a clarinet that we couldn’t afford, was out of the question.) The message to me was, “Just keep trying.” I was irritated, but I did, soon falling into the trumpet 1st spot in the band, because I wanted to prove the teacher wrong. I was allowed to make the choice on whether to quit Job’s Daughters. Even at around 13 years of age, I did not make the decision lightly. I remember spending a long time debating the pros and cons but felt overwhelmed if I stayed on. I could see it was somewhat of a disappointment to my dad when I told him my decision, as he had expressed how important it is for a young lady to be a part of an organization, and, he felt that it would be advantageous to remain in the group. I begged to differ and remained firm in my decision to quit. My dad was good about it; he accepted my decision. When I wanted to quit piano lessons soon after though, I had a struggle with my dad on that one. I got ‘the talk.’ It was: “Do you want to be a quitter your whole life?” In my defense, playing piano by sheet music using notes, had never really made that much sense to me. I had been blessed with the ability to play music by ear through my maternal grandfather. Though I had welcomed the basics of piano lessons (and admittedly, it was beneficial for chording, etc.) I no longer wanted to put more time and effort into playing by note. I was in school, band, and had a part time job. I didn’t want piano practices or piano lessons getting in the way of my spare time. Playing by ear was my retreat into a private sanctuary of joy at times, and pure calm at other moments. It was my dungeon of darkness when sadness and teenage angst overcame me. I could play whatever tune I wanted to, and it didn’t require additional effort to do so, (because if I knew how the song sounded, I could play it.) I told my dad outright that I wasn’t a quitter, nor did I intend to be. I was quite taken aback. I knew inwardly already at a young age, that I was full of fire for whatever I set my mind to. I never quit anything again that I can recall, other than a job for a more opportune one. (I think my dad’s concerns stuck with me.) I was always filled with gumption and tenacity, with those two traits being my strong motivators in life. Through the years I can think of so many different scenarios where I would not give up. From small things such as dismantling pc’s and fixing them, to big issues that took many hours and days of time to get through to the end… Quitting was never an option for me. In later years, my dad told me he had the talk with me about ‘being a quitter in life’ because he had been concerned that if I started dropping out of things, that it could become an easy route out for future events. He also said he could see that I was not a quitter in life. This blog makes me question the idea of, what makes a person be coined a ‘quitter?’ If one has a valid reason for quitting, is it ok? What constitutes a valid reason? Then I look back to the Job’s Daughter’s scenario. I believe I made the best decision I could at the time, with the information I had available to me (which was, the experience of being in Job’s Daughters for a lengthy time.) However, as an adult, as I look back, I wonder – how would things have gone differently for me in life, had I stayed a member? Would I be a more poised, confident person in communication within groups or even one on one? Would I have had excellent qualities of leadership had I remained a part of Job’s Daughters and became the ‘Honoured Queen?’ After considering all aspects, I am inclined to think it is best to get involved in something because YOU want to. I chose the trumpet because my sister’s friend, Margo, had one, and “It’s an amazing instrument”, my sister told me. I joined Job’s Daughters because my two sisters were already involved in it, my dad was a member of the Masonic Lodge, and, the expectation was there for me to join when I was old enough to join. It was also expected that I attend college or University. Instead, I joined in on a career in the beauty industry that I loved, which lasted over 25 years. Making your own choices in life means you will likely pursue them with greater interest. Setting your own goals and dreams creates a lesser chance of quitting. If you do quit? Likely, there is a valid reason and you will move on to do other things you are destined to do. When I was a young girl, my dad posed this universally pondered question: “If a tree fell in the forest, and no one was around to hear it – would it still make a sound?” Immediately I exclaimed, “Yes!”, and laughed. Obviously if someone isn’t there, a sound will still be formed. Or would it? The more I thought about it, the more it freaked me out. No one would be present in the forest to witness whether a sound would be created.
The thing is – questions crop up pertaining to observation and perception. This reminds me of someone who is on the ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder.) When processing info., it has sometimes been stated that those on the spectrum ‘can’t see the forest for the trees’, indicating that instead of seeing the whole picture, they may end up focusing on the fine details. Perception is present though and, in many cases, those on the autism spectrum discover fine details no one else would even notice! The truth remains that perception is different from one person to the other. Combine that aspect with a wide variation on what the ‘norm’ is for processing info. through our 5 senses. So, getting back to the tree falling – if no one is around to observe it, is it then a moot point? With the tree creating no sound? Obviously, one can place a recording device to record the moment that the tree falls. My guess is that sound would be heard. It makes the most ‘sense.’ One must define ‘sound,’ though. Is it what you hear? Is it what someone else hears? Is it vibration of sound waves? Furthermore, is not sound the interpretation of what our ears pick up? So, in this sense, does the tree falling in the forest create a sound, or not, if we are not present? I hesitate. I liken it to seeing colours. The red colour/shade that I see may very well be your green colour/shade. I don’t think anyone knows who sees what shade. The dress on the internet that made rounds last year (What colour is the dress?) went viral – was it blue and black, or white and gold, to you? I initially only saw it as white and gold, but later was able to see it as blue and black. I see different tones of colour from one eye to the next, so it strengthens my theory that people may see different colours and shades altogether. Especially when colour blindness enters the fray. There is evidence that being colour blind restricts certain colours from being seen. So, back to the tree once again – if no one is around (think of it as being with all five senses out to lunch, so to speak), and since people observe and process sensory info. differently – would it form sound or not when it falls? There are two types of people who will answer this. The first type is a very straight forward, no-nonsense type of person who will exclaim “Yes, of course it still makes a sound.” They know that logically, there is no good reason to assume the noise would no longer be made if someone were not around to hear it. There is the other type of person who is reading this – maybe you – who thinks about the different possibilities behind any of these theories. For example, technically speaking, a recording device could be stated to be an extension of our ears. So, in that regard, it’s not a true test to record it. What is fair is to consider the question - that with nobody present, not even a recording device, when the tree falls, whether a sound is made. The second group who answers this question by saying sound would not be made – the ones who questions this question and other theoretical questions, are dreamers in life. You generally think with your heart and intuition instead of putting practicality into play. There are pros and cons to each way of thinking. No one group is better than the other; each has their own ideas and perceptions on this theory. Although one would be right and the other would be wrong, the truth is – there is no way to know 100% for sure since no one can be present to answer the question. Going off in another direction, this ties in to Christianity in its own way. We can’t necessarily prove that God exists, just as we can’t prove that he does. We go with whatever knowledge we have at the time and try to process the information so that it makes sense to us. Some say Yay, there is a God, others say Nay. We are all entitled to our own thoughts, ideas and processes in life. It would be ill advised if we were to tell others how to dream or think. Philosophy and life matters go hand in hand. That question is an entertaining one to consider. What other philosophical questions get you straining your brain to interpret and respond? While talking to a friend of mine, I mentioned to him that the content I post on Facebook leans towards the positive side, largely because I am inclined to remain somewhat guarded as to how my life is going. This is not to say my life is all doom and gloom, but rather, for my online persona, I prefer to view the glass as being half full, rather than half empty at times as I do in my real life.
My friend stated in response, “I’m too much if a realist to pretend everything is perfect. I wish I could. Might make certain things a lot easier.” He’s right - My life (online) looks good overall and makes things much easier for me if my friends and family see that all is well. It is also easier in the sense that people don’t offer up their opinions and (generally unsolicited) advice on how I can ‘fix’ things in my life such as career and other elements. Not to sound ungrateful, but at 48 years of age, believe you, me, I have tried ‘this’,‘that’, and also THAT, (that they are suggesting) - and it didn’t work. I once joked around on Facebook that I could still fit into my earrings that I wore for high school graduation 30 years ago; one of my Facebook friends sent a private message to tell me about her weight loss product. People like to ‘fix’ others, and often are listening not to hear, but to respond - as was the case with my friend. One of my friends posted a quote by Brian Tracy on Facebook that states, “Successful people are always looking for opportunities to help others. Unsuccessful people are always asking, “What’s in it for me?”” True! (That is exactly what my friend had been doing, in trying to sell me on her weight loss product.) I like that quote because helping others is a huge part of what I want in my life. The fact that it is indicative of success is an additional perk. I think that when posting on social media, determining whether you are a realist, or an idealist is an important factor. If you’re a realist, you can’t pretend everything is fine because you know exactly what you’re up against. In that sense, being a realist is me to a ‘T’ because I am aware of life’s obstacles, in tandem with my shortcomings, downfalls and whatever else the combination may throw at me. But being an idealist is where my heart truly lies, in real life. I find myself often reflecting on issues that others may think are naive, impractical or out of touch with reality. I long for a life of great ease, yet one loaded with tremendous challenges. I want to pick and choose my challenges though, and in life, we just can’t do that. It is what it is, the cards are dealt, and we must deal with what cards are in play. I can however, choose to promote a positive self on Facebook. Not only is it more uplifting for myself, it also enhances positivity for my Facebook friends and family. In that sense I don’t feel my Facebook persona is a lie, because I seek the positivity within my own life that I can write about, and post to Facebook for my friends to see. My Facebook posts are always heartfelt; they just may not disclose all that I feel, and that’s ok! If I can’t dream it, then what’s the point, I say? I always liked the half glass full and half empty analogy until I discovered one day, a new saying about the glass that I am even more fond of - you can always refill it!! There is more where it came from. Sitting here now, drinking my iced caramel macchiato at Starbucks, I visually see the drink dwindling down. I long for another one already. Because it is something enjoyable, no matter how I look at the glass half full or half empty, I do see it as half empty - but I also see it as something I *can* do something about. I can refill it! Yes, please! A friend of mine told me about ‘wussy’ words and the meaning they may evoke. Words such as ‘if, maybe, perhaps.’ These words seemingly provide commitment to a certain degree, yet, offer a quick way out for those using them. On the other hand, a certain amount of distrust to those words is something that commonly occurs, the more times one uses those words and fails to follow through on a planned thought or action.
As a kid, we heard phrases such as: “If we have enough time, we can stop off and get a sundae.” If. Or more common yet – “If you’re ‘good’, we can go the fair. Using a wussy word is unfair if you think about it. 😉 It always has a safety net attached to it and more imperative is that there is always a condition attached, usually garnering hope for the expected intended promise which may or may not be done when using the words “if, maybe or perhaps.” I plan on banishing those weak words that offer no real intent, promise, or goals. After thinking this through, I’m going to start modifying my phrasing. I admit, I really will have to fall back on those words that offer up a ‘possible’ benefit. Other times, if I know I am going to bake cookies for the school bake sale, I will now commit fully, stating it as such. “Yes, I will be bringing 2 dozen salted caramel home baked cookies to the bake sale.” Putting it into a positive statement lends credibility that will extend into other areas in life. More serious matters. People will start to take you more seriously when you don’t use wussy words. It reminds me of Charlie Brown, and his wishy-washy ways, when the wussy words if, maybe, and perhaps are used. There are more words than only these three and when you hear yourself committing to something, you can listen closely to if you made a real commitment, or a perceived commitment, I want to be more like Lucy – someone people can count on. (Except I won’t pull the ball away.) |
AuthorErin Flanagan Stashko Archives
December 2018
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