Growing Up and Being Grateful

I have not much to write about. And so much to write. My thoughts are such a jumble of odds and ends that I struggle to arrange them into anything structural. I wish my thoughts were more articulate.

Yesterday, Canada seemed like a giant place. Living on the opposite coast of the second largest country in the world is a long way from home. Yesterday I felt the distance. The 6,159 kilometres that lie in between me and my home felt like 6,159 kilometres.

Constantly I ponder my rationale for being at a post-secondary institution. I got up this morning, knowing that the better part of my day would be spent in solitude with my textbooks. I couldn't help but imagine all the other possibilities of how to occupy my time. But instead, I sit in the Killam. From a productivity standpoint, the architecture of this library works to my disadvantage. I have a strong interest in people watching, and this building, almost entirely windowed and central-facing into the atrium is not my most productive workspace. I watch as people mount their knapsacks onto their backs, heading back out into reality. I watch people work independently with their headphones draped over their ears, and I watch people work in collaboration. I see people frustrated by their studies, I see people stressed. I watch as people have that "ah-ha" moment and as people redundantly solve equations. I have found a sense of contentment, I am at peace with my decision once again.

It's that time of year again, where we register for the upcoming softball season. For the last 4 or 5 years my mother would go online, at this time of year, and register me for the North Shore Avalanche or the '94 Stars. This year, as I receive emails about registration deadlines, I can't help but feel a little bit sad. Gone are the days where my Dad would drive me to McCartney park while I shoved my dinner down my throat and rushed to put on my socks and slider. Then as we ran out onto the field, glove and bat in hand for our pre-game preparations, all my worries were suspended. I remember laughing and laughing and chanting and cheering and smiling to no end at the diamond. And even when I failed to catch the pop-fly that was directed precisely at my glove, and even if I was upset with myself, I could still smile.

One of my hockey teammates from last season just tweeted, "Last hockey game I'll ever play at home.. #woah #timeflys". I remember so vividly, as if it were yesterday, my final game in a minor hockey association. This is what I  wrote after it...

"Then, last night, after 9 years of wearing an Avalanche sweater, I played my last ever minor hockey game. I was kind of anticipating it, nit it was quite an emotional night. We lost. ... In hind sight, I appreciate the fact that I lost my final game as an Avalanche. Although the outcome might not have been what I was hoping for, it was a memorable game to say the least. I found myself savouring every moment on the ice."

Today also marks the 3rd Anniversary of the Opening Ceremonies of the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Games. I also miss everything about the Winter Games more than I will ever be able to articulate. If I could go back and sit on a seabus full of maple leaf wearing citizens, if I could sit in a press conference for Jennifer Heil and Alexandre Bilodeau, or if I could sing O'Canada with the crowd underneath the skytrain line as we waited to be admitted into "Canada Hockey Place". I would give anything to relive those unforgettable moments. What I've realized, however, is that instead of wishing for what I am unable to change, instead of dreaming of unrealistic time-manipulation, I need to show gratitude for those precious memories I've made. I need to use those as reminders of the countless precious memories I have yet to make. I need to live in the moment.


My good friend, Emily, wrote a beautiful piece on growing up, on the illusion of time, and on living in the present. Her talent for taking words and composing the most eloquent sentences amazes me. She inspires me to keep blogging.


Yesterday was difficult; today is a new day. I learned in the last 24 hours that no matter what happened the previous; each day is a new day. A fresh start. A clean slate. Today I slept in, attended class, sat in on an event where Jennifer Gillivan, president and CEO of the IWK (Izaak Walton Killam Hospital for Children), gave the most inspirational talk, and finally, let the sweat pour out at hot yoga.

Jennifer's advice to a room full of post-secondary students at various stages of their degrees came in the form of a list of 10 things we must try to never forget. None of these things were particularly profound. They were all those things that we know, but those things that we need constant little reminders of. Things that we need to reinforce within ourselves. These are the four that resonated the most with me:

- challenge the status quo
- be curious
- give graciously of your time
- never forget to keep a sense of humour

The greatest part about what the President of the IWK had to say, was that each of her 10 pieces of advice were things that everybody can do. And think, if everybody did just those four... what a different world we'd live in.

I read an article in the Globe and Mail today. "Lessons from my smart, sad, homeless sister". A beautiful testimony to the value of human life. The heart-wrenching story of someone who needed help.  A harsh reminder of the legitimacy of mental health.

It came at perfect timing, today is #BellLetsTalk Day. For every tweet with that hashtag, Bell will donate $0.05 to mental health initiatives. A recent tweet by @Bell_LetsTalk reads, "Canada, it's not even lunch time yet and we just passed 20,000 tweets. Let's keep it going. #BellLetsTalk". The support this campaign has seen is an affirmation of the incredible power of social media and the unbelievable compassion of humanity. I've seen Canucks Hockey, Prime Minister Harper, the Canadian Cancer Society, Justin Trudeau and the Canadian Olympic Team all encouraging support for this campaign.  Let's be there for a friend in need. Let's destigmatize mental illness.