Knowing when to quit

I shelved a book tonight. A half-read book. I’m almost ashamed to admit it, and I daren’t tell you which one it was. Suffice to say: it was boring. So dull that I would find myself making shopping lists and planning the day ahead while mindlessly reading pages. Not a good sign. But I persisted, dragging myself through chapter after chapter, getting nothing out of the experience except a vague sense of guilt; this is a book that I felt I should love, that I felt I needed to read.

(As an aside, I hate that word: should. Tell me you think I “should” do something and you’ll likely find me doing the complete opposite, my eye twitching ever so slightly.)

I love to read in bed - love – but lately I’ve been watching the Food Network and going to bed too tired to read. Avoidance: a sure sign that things need to change. Last night I looked at the three teetering piles of waiting-to-be-read books next to my bed (which I jokingly refer to as my to-do list) and decided: life is too short to waste on books you neither enjoy nor learn something from.

We all have things in our lives that aren’t worth the time we put into them: the friends who sap our energy, the jobs that slowly eat away at our souls, the hobbies we pursue for all the wrong reasons (“You should do….” Grrr). But there’s a lot to be said for knowing when to give up, and when to read another chapter.

I’m all for persistence: pushing yourself through the mental blocks, the tough days, the setbacks, the challenges — as long as the reward is worth it: health, joy, satisfaction, enjoyment, wisdom, understanding, love, true friendship.

I’m now reading a book that my son placed on one of the piles (we like to share our favourites). It’s entertaining and, as an added bonus, I’ve made a young man happy by reading it. Works for me.

To do: get a life

At the bottom of one of my many to-do lists, my painfully perceptive 14-year-old has added “#15 – Get a life”.

She certainly knows how to make a point. “You need to learn how to relax,” she often tells me. “All you ever do is work.”

I can see where she gets that impression. From the outside, my life must look like one never-ending to-do list. To be honest, it sometimes feels like that too: if I’m not working at work, I’m working at home – or working on my fitness or my blog or the laundry or the house or…  But no matter how busy I am and how much I accomplish in a day, I’m never done; there is always more work to do. At times I would agree: I don’t have a life.

But that’s neither true nor fair. The reality is, I do have a life — it just doesn’t involve three hours of reading manga each day. I’m not 14; I am a single mother with two kids, a full-time job and a house.

My life does have its pleasures. Today, for instance: riding to work under a bright moon and seeing the sun rise; pitching a new ad concept; eating tasty tacquitos for lunch (which I helped my 12-year-old chef-in-training make last night: awesome); riding home under a pink sky and trees filled with fiery fall leaves; playing Mastermind over dinner with my kids; listening to my daughter gush over Glee and new manga (omg!); eating miniature candies (a rare treat; thank you Halloween); watching my son doing lay-ups at basketball practice; starting a new read-aloud novel with my kids; listening to my son recite a poem he wrote in French (omg!); watching a little Top Gear on YouTube with him; reading in bed, my cat curled up at my feet.

And that was just today: a regular Tuesday. Sounds like a life to me.

What I’ve come to realize, or perhaps accept, is this: I only enjoy the pleasures of life (what my daughter would call “having a life”) when the necessities of life are taken care of (hmmm, Maslow’s hierarchy anyone?). I don’t – can’t – feel relaxed and have fun when there are bills to be paid, dishes washed, clothes cleaned, forms filled out… ad infinitum.

So, I will continue to make to-do lists and my daughter will continue to tease me for making to-do lists. But hey: that’s (my) life.

Fearless, or less fear?

Thanks to a teen manga obsession, my daughter recently started to learn tae kwon do. There are elements of self defence in her classes and I’m sometimes shocked by what she learns: how to take down an assailant who has you in a head lock, by the throat, by your wrists.

I’m a sworn pacifist, so this is mildly alarming. But what concerns me more is this thought: does learning self defence change your perception of the world? Does it make you fearless – or more inclined to think you have reason to be afraid? Will my daughter be better prepared to defend herself, or just more likely to live cautiously, carefully… timidly?

I hope not. At 14, my daughter is bold, confident and ready to take on the world. She recognizes the inequalities and injustices in life but still doesn’t see the world as a dangerous place. Her eyes are open to potential dangers – we’ve talked about rape, assault, all manner of awful things – but she still regards most strangers with benign indifference; they’re just people, not threats.

Our perception of the world – and people – is often out of alignment with reality. As children we’re taught to fear strangers, when in reality it’s those we’re close to who pose a greater threat. As adults we’re inundated with news about murders, beatings, robberies and think that all hell has broken loose – regardless of the actual crime rate. As (North American) parents we’re reminded to watch for disease and danger, when in fact our children might be better off when left to play in the dirt and explore their neighbourhoods at will.

In short, we learn to tiptoe through life, expecting the worst. That’s not the way I want to live, and it’s not the way I want my children to live either: fearing the world and the people in it. I want them to get out there. I want them to visit places that are (reportedly) rife with pickpockets. I want them to try unidentifiable foods from roadside stalls. I want them to walk through parks in the dark and through towns without a guide. I want them to be open to experience, not afraid of danger. And if that means ditching the self defence lessons, so be it.

Alone, not lonely

I had lunch with a friend yesterday and we agreed: alone time is awesome. He’s planning his upcoming birthday: a solo trip down to the States to see his favourite band, and it’s not because he’s without friends; it’s because that’s how he wants to spend his birthday. Two thumbs up from me.

A lot of people seem afraid to spend time alone. I have a friend who’s been mountain biking for over a decade. She recently planned — but did not actualize — her first solo ride.  I have another friend who swears he will never see a movie in a theater without company. And I know more than one person who’s in a relationship because they’d rather be with someone than no one. (You know, if I was that “someone”, I’d rather have someone who wanted to be with me.)

I admit that I’m a fairly solitary person. I prefer solo sports to team sports. I wear my iPod when I’m out shopping, so it’s just me and my tunes. I prefer reading to book clubs.

At the same time, the people in my life are the most important things in my life. I watched “Into the Wild” recently, and my number one takeaway was this quote: Happiness is only real when shared. So true. My best memories are tied to people and my life is so much richer because I can share it with my kids, my boyfriend, my family, my friends. My cat. (OK: I know she’s not technically a person, but I’m going to count her anyway, even if she’s trying to destroy my SanFran Chinese lantern as we speak.)

To me, embracing alone time isn’t about being gregarious or shy; it’s about being comfortable with yourself — whether you’re alone or in a crowd. I admire my solo-birthday friend because he’s achieved that level of comfort, and I think that’s part of his charm: he doesn’t need anything from me, which is quite liberating. When we spend time together it feels like a bonus, for both of us, because the demands and expectations have been removed.

Tonight I am alone (apologies to the cat), but I’m not lonely. I’m blogging, watching the Food Network, noodling about; I had hummus for dinner because no one needed me to cook. I’m feeling fairly content, doing what I want to do, when I want to do it.

And tomorrow, when I’m not alone, I’ll enjoy that too — because I’ll be doing what I want to do. With company.

Visualize success

When I first started mountain biking, riding skinnies — narrow, raised wooden structures: ladders, boardwalks, logs — was one of my favourite things to do. I jokingly called myself the Queen of the Skinnies.

And then I took a nasty dive off one and wound up in hospital with a concussion and a recently dislocated thumb (I’d popped it back into place myself, not because I’m tough but because I had a concussion and didn’t realize that a thumb pointing towards your elbow is no longer in its joint).

I got back on the bike as soon as possible, but my relationship with skinnies was no longer the same. I approached them with fear; I’d get halfway through a stunt and balk. Over time, my fear got worse and I started to jam on my brakes the minute my front tire touched wood. Every failure compounded the previous one until I came to think of skinnies as impossible, at least for me; I’d just get off my bike and walk. The Queen was dethroned.

Thankfully, my riding partner is full of confidence in me that I don’t have in myself. He decided we needed a day of riding nothing but skinnies. I agreed, skeptical. But not long before we went out I happened to watched a video featuring Ryan Leech, a man who rides his bike on inch-wide pipes many many feet off the ground.

Ryan’s strategy: visualize success. Imagine yourself riding the pipe, landing the jump, making the transition, completing the skinny.

It was just the advice I needed, along with a little encouragement from said riding partner. I had a great day back on the wood and, although I’ll never be Ryan Leech and I’ll still balk at some skinnies, they are no longer my nemesis.

I now take those two words with me on every ride and repeat them to myself when I approach every challenge — whether it’s a rock face or a log ride. I take them with me everywhere else too; it’s amazing what a difference a little positive thinking makes when your mind starts heading in the direction of self-doubt.

Try it.

The joy of now

You may have noticed: I love to ride bikes. I ride for many reasons: to stay healthy and keep in shape (I also love to eat), for the challenge, for new experiences, but most of all for how it makes me feel.

My head can be full of to-do lists and worries, thoughts about yesterday and tomorrow, work, kids, 327 unread emails, a myriad other things, but the minute I start pedalling, my focus shifts. I think about the terrain: the roots and rocks, the debris on the road, the obstacles and stunts in my path. I notice my muscles working and lungs pumping, sometimes hurting. I take in the sights and sounds around me. I concentrate on my form and technique, choosing the right gear, the right speed, the right line. It’s just me and my bike, right here, right now.

“Don’t you worrry about getting hit?” I’m often asked about riding to work. In truth: sometimes, but rarely when I’m actually riding. I’m so locked in the pleasure of the moment — or, sometimes, the pain and exhaustion — that I forget to worry about what might happen in the future.

Riding takes me out of my head and grounds me completely in the moment, if only for an hour or two. It’s fantastic. Next step: achieving that presence of mind when I’m not on a bike…

Do you have a bucket list?

I met a very discontent man when I was camping last week, and it really bothered me. His entire life seems to be one of dull routine, right down to the annual family vacation: two weeks every July at the same campground. Nothing wrong with that, except for the fact that the whole family seemed bored. Utterly. Stupidly. I kept wondering: what keeps them in this rut? Why do people insist on living an unsatisfying life?

Then it came to me: I think he — they — needs a bucket list. Or, perhaps more accurately, I think he needs to start living with his bucket list in mind (because he probably has a bucket list, even if he doesn’t know it).

I love the idea of a bucket list, a term I appropriated from Rob Reiner (apologies, and thanks). I haven’t seen the film, but I do know that a bucket list is basically a list of things you want to do before you die.

My bucket list is a combination of achievable goals and wishful thinking. I’m sure I won’t do everything on my list before I die; I’m sure I’ll revise it over time. If I die with items unchecked, I’ll only be disappointed if they were achievable and I failed to achieve them.

Because to me, a bucket list is not a to-do list; it’s a way of giving your life purpose and direction. The very act of creating a bucket list forces you to think about what you value and how you want to live. It’s a list of specific things to strive for, and general ideas to guide your journey through life. It helps you avoid getting stuck in boring ruts.

This is mine, in no particular order, minus the things I’ve already checked off:

• Visit my brother in Singapore; eat at street vendors’ stalls and cook a meal together
• Go back to where I grew up in England and visit my mum’s grave
• Go to the Northern Territory, Australia, with my family
• See the blue, yellow, red of Broome, Western Australia
• Go to Spain; eat paella, see Gaudi’s work in Barcelona and El Alhambra
• Visit every U.S. national park
• See a volcano while it’s exploding
• Visit Japan in cherry blossom season; tour Tokyo with my relatives
• Run a 10km race in 45 minutes
• Learn the camera, inside-out; sell a photo
• Drive across Canada, visiting every province
• Meet Gordon Ramsey and Bobby Flay; eat at a three-star Michelin restaurant
• Go to NY City; listen to live music all night and get pudding from the Dessert Truck
• See Bryce Canyon with snow. And hike it in summer, again.
• Ride my bike in Utah
• Tour Italy and France on bike
• Spend a summer in Tuscany
• Learn Spanish
• Go to cooking school. In Italy, if I must
• Go on an African safari
• Be an awesome grandma, if and when the time comes (no pressure, kids)

Your bucket list says a lot about you. What’s on yours?

Perspective

I had coffee with a good friend today. Let’s call him James. As usual, I snuck out of the office to meet him — vaguely guilty because it was not the Official Lunch Hour. We sat in the sun and talked and laughed and I went back to the office feeling much better about sitting at a desk for a few more hours.

James is my reality check. He stays up til 2, then rolls into the office at 10. He heads out to matinees when the urge strikes. He spends copious amounts of time online, doing non-work-related browsing at the office.

Is he a slacker? No. He’s smart. He works hard when he has to and doesn’t when he doesn’t. His employer values and trusts him because he puts in the required effort — on his own unique schedule — and produces results. He’s a successful professional; he wears a suit; he’ll be retired by 45 because he’s spent his entire life working toward that goal. Unlike most people I know, he’s living every day for himself: doing what he wants, when he wants. Not in a selfish way (he’s an incredibly generous and giving soul), but in a self-conscious and deliberate way. Granted, he doesn’t have kids — but that in itself was a conscious decision.

After saying goodbye to James today, I thought: I wish I had a job like his, so I could just head out to a matinee once in a while, guilt-free. And then I realized: it’s not the job, it’s James. He could take my place tomorrow and he’d do things very differently.

I don’t want to be James or live exactly like him; that’s not the point. We’re very different people, with very different priorities and goals. (And I am a marginal workaholic.) But I do want to be like him in one important way: I want to live my life thoughtfully and with purpose. I want to enjoy my life by approaching every day like it’s my only day.

So tonight I revisited my sadly neglected blog, went for a run and helped my son make burritos. Now I’m going to read to my kids. Because those are the things that I enjoy — just as much as James enjoys his midday matinees.

Read to your children — and teens

We’ve got a lot of traditions in our family. All of them are sacred; most are a little different. Thursday night is Survivor night. Every vacation requires two souvenirs: a fridge magnet and a Starbucks mug. Thanksgiving equals roast chicken. The Christmas tree must have a personality and a name; we always cut it down ourselves.

Of all our traditions, reading out loud is one of my favorites. I started reading to my kids when they were babes — literally months old — and we’ve never stopped. When they were little, story time was the great motivator. Come to think of it, now that my kids are 12 and 14, it still is: finish your yams and then I’ll read. 

That is the power of a story, of words. Books are fabulously entertaining. And reading is great for your brain, forcing it to think and create images and sounds and smells, rather than simply accepting the information that is provided, by TVs or computers or the world.

But reading out loud, together, is one step ahead. When we read together, we discuss. We debate. We talk about things we’d never talk about otherwise. Trolls and torture and rules and gods and gender politics and… Well, the list just goes on.

In short, we connect. When you read, you share the experiences of the characters you read about. When I read with my children, I share that experience with them. The story becomes part of our family, our history, our shorthand. “That’s exactly what Jack would do.” I know: exactly.

On that note, I have a chapter to read.

31: too young to die

My mum died of breast cancer at the age of 31. When I was young, I thought 31 was old; I thought my mum had lived a full life. And then I turned 31 and it hit me in a big way: 31 is too young to die.

I often think of all the things I’ve experienced and accomplished since I turned 31. I taught my children to read and write and watched them grow into young adults. I learned to mountain bike. I became a published writer and even wrote a book. I saw Paris and Bryce Canyon and the sequoias of California. I saw one of my photos gracing the cover of a magazine. I completed my first 10 km race. I got a cat. I made many many friends.

I also think of all the things my mum missed after she died. Watching her children grow up. Meeting her grandchildren. Countless other joys and adventures in between.

We live in a world obsessed with youth, beauty and breast size. How trivial  these things must seem to my mum, I sometimes think. I’m fairly sure she would have loved the opportunity to grow old, see her beauty fade, keep her breasts – whatever their size.

Next time you look at your wrinkles and wish for the return of youth, think about what those wrinkles represent: years spent living. And count yourself lucky.

I’ve done a number of cancer fundraisers over the past few years. On July 10, I will run 10 km in the 2010 Vancouver Underwear Affair in memory of my mum — and in the hopes that the money I raise will help find a cure for cancer and give some other mums a chance to grow old.

I’ve set my fundraising goal at $1,500. All funds raised go to support the BC Cancer Foundation. Visit http://va10.uncoverthecure.org to learn more about the Underwear Affair or to sign up as a participant, or visit my personal page to make a donation.