New

Below me, the roar of traffic is constant. It is unlike any place I've ever lived. Twenty stories above the street and it feels like I am on a ship on the ocean. Although where it is going, I am uncertain. The only certainty of my home is the newness of it all.

A new journey.

A new life.

A new direction.

This worries me less than I thought it would. Displacement is difficult because change is difficult, which is what makes moving so traumatic. And in my case, it isn't the only significant change.

There are people who love change, embrace it, seek it out even. But they are rare, and I am not one of them. I much prefer status quo, with perhaps the odd "challenge."

This is not that.

For most of us, change of this magnitude creates fear. What will happen? How will I get through this? How did I get here? The list of questions is as endless as the sea, because the inevitable impact of change is just that: questions. Self examination. World examination. Life examination. Everything we have ever believed is under scrutiny, and it is here where change becomes extremely valuable. It gives us a chance to re-examine everything, because the world not only seems different, it is entirely unrecognizable. And in this strange new place we have the opportunity to see ourselves with new eyes. Is it challenging? Yes. But it can also be rewarding, if only we have the courage to see ourselves through a different looking glass.

WHERE AM I?

I have, for the past few months, desperately tried to figure out how my life went from "there" to "here." I am still without answers. Oh, I could detail what happened, but I still don't understand it. Not fully. Listening to the roar of traffic still makes me feel like I am drifting out to sea. And so I wonder. Where am I headed? Am I moving in the right direction? Am I open to the inner work that needs to be done?

I pause and glance up at the sky. Clouds have moved in. The balcony faces east, and so even on the brightest of days, the sun is gone by mid-morning. On this day, a typically hot summer Toronto afternoon, I am grateful for the relief. It is still odd to write with so much movement and noise below me, with the continual awareness of so many people heading in so many directions. I try to reassure myself: I, too, am headed somewhere. Even if my steps are a bit slower than they once were.

But I am still overwhelmed. That much is clear. Every day I add a piece or two to the puzzle that is now my life, and slowly, achingly so at times, I am beginning to see a new portrait. It is difficult not to rush things. To throw the pieces together however they fit and force them together.

It doesn't work that way.

It's not supposed to work that way.

As much as I do not like to wait, times like this -- and we all go through them -- are necessary to create the lives we want to lead going forward. It gives us a chance to breathe, to remember our dreams, to remember the things that excited us about the future.

It can be difficult to accept, but that future is still there. Even in the midst of turmoil, it breathes inside of us, waiting for a chance to speak, waiting for a chance to remind us why we're here and the joys of life yet available to us.

I do not write those words in a vacuum. I can tell you what it means to be in pain. I can tell you what it means to feel trapped in a joyless existence. I can tell you what it means to live your life based on the next thirty minutes.

I can tell you that, but there comes a time when explanation is redundant.

We do not need comprehension.

What we need is hope.

Two years ago I saw the ocean on the sandy shores on the East Coast. It was winter, the beach abandoned, the water cold. I thought it would just be another body of water. It was not. I was shocked to find myself experiencing something entirely different.

The waves were gentle enough, but there was a distinct sound to them, an endlessness that was difficult for me to fathom. I remember thinking, 'this is not a lake. This is nothing like a lake.'

On the edge of the ocean, my mind was drawn to many things. Its power. Its endlessness. Its eternal nature. And for those moments, I felt small in a way that I'd never known.

Not belittled.

Not less.

Just small.

As if I finally realized what it meant to be human.

ETERNAL

We are all shaped by vast sources that we can hardly fathom. Regardless of our life, or the dramatic changes within it, we are a speck next to the ocean. We are human. Part of something much greater than ourselves. An important part, to be sure, but just a part. What seem like mountains to us are nothing within the scope of those parameters. And when we overestimate the size and complexity of our lives, we lose perspective on how easily we can find happiness again.

We are not mountains. Or glaciers. Or oceans.

We are human. And we exist to create change in the ones around us by changing ourselves. By accepting all that happens in our life as a by-product of living. And by understanding how and why we these changes have occurred and what we can do to create an even larger impact on the world around us.

Change makes us vulnerable. It asks us to stand in front of the ocean and acknowledge that we are are mortal. It teaches us that we know much less than realize.

I look down at the traffic below me. Can I do that? Can I look at myself through the ocean's mirror and see what needs to be done? Can I raise my sail and trust that I will move in the right direction, even if I do not understand all that is happening? Can I lay aside my need for control, my need for an inflated sense of importance, to do what needs to be done?

These are the questions we need to answer. The ones I need to answer.

I do not know how I am going to respond. But I'm listening.

Change Your Life: Take the Monday Challenge

When I was a kid, I used to love reading stories about characters that changed their life. Either they were athletes who trained and practiced and after initial failure, eventually found success. Or, they were fantasy characters sent on an unexpected journey who discovered they were capable of more than they imagined. Those stories still touch a deep part of me. (I’ve spent the past three years writing a story like that.) I suspect they connect with many of us. And when you’re young, they seem more plausible, don’t they? Life hasn’t become a complicated routine yet and everything is in front of you. Change, a new life, doesn’t feel so impossible. Your dreams are there, just outside your reach, and with just a bit of work and luck, you know that it’s only a matter of time.


But the years pass and you never get any closer. You feel trapped in this life that has developed around you seemingly without your consent. University and high school are well into rear view mirror, and we find ourselves working at a job we don’t love. Some of us assume the responsibilities of marriage and parenting. We have no regrets, but we know something is missing, and somewhere inside the routine is slowly bleeding us to death. We find that we’re angry, even if we manage to keep it hidden so it’s not easily visible to everyone else. We want to change, we want excitement in our life, but we don’t know where to start. And when we do make an attempt to break out, to do something different, we soon get discouraged by the enormity of the task and end up flowing back into our old routines. And when we hear people talk about “changing our life”, we scoff at the notion. (It doesn’t help that companies use this powerful idea of changing our narrative by promoting shit like Viagra or vacations or a new household appliance.) The years go by and we become people who are shrinking instead of growing. Our fears crowd us into a corner, and we justify these feelings by assuring everyone that “it’s just the way things are.”

But the idea that we can’t change is pure bullshit. Of course we can! We just have to take off our skeptic’s goggles for a few minutes. Will you do that for me? I have something that might help. I call it the Monday Challenge.

The rules are very simple. Every Monday I want you to pick something in your life that you will do differently the upcoming week. You can pick anything, but I would suggest small things to start. What route do you take to work? Pick another. What TV shows do you normally watch? Skip them, and pick up a book at the library to read during the time you normally watch that show. Go for a nightly walk. Learn a new board game. Go to bed at a different time. The key is to pick ROUTINIZED items, and change them. Don’t go for the big things at first, necessarily, the idea is to readjust to variation in your life. (You’d be surprised how difficult that becomes.)

Make sure you write it down. Open a file in your phone or on your laptop, and mark the week and your Monday Challenge that week.

At the end of the week, reassess. If the change you picked is working for you, try to do it another week, but only to a maximum of four weeks. Now obviously, you can continue with the changes, but after 28 days you want to pick a new challenge as well.

Throughout this challenge, remember that attitude is very important. Whatever goals we set, make sure you hold them lightly. NO GUILT IS ALLOWED. Have fun with it. If the change doesn’t happen one day, or you forget another, don’t worry about it. Try again the next day. It’s only a week, and if it doesn’t work, choose something else the next week.

Changing our life often seems like a daunting task because we try to tackle everything at once. The voices in our head and in our life compete for our attention and we become exhausted just thinking about it. With the Monday Challenge, we’re not worried about the entirety of your life, we’re only thinking about the next seven days. Take one small thing, chart it somewhere, and see what happens.

At some point in our lives, most of us have been told that we shouldn’t dream, that we shouldn’t challenge ourselves, and that we just need to accept things the way they are. The implication is that we can’t be responsible and still live a life that pushes us forward. Why not? Why should we live in fear of change? Why should we accept a life without dreams, the same dreams that propelled us when we were kids?

Look, life will never be perfect. It will be filled with tragedy and heartache and sadness. Unfortunately, that’s the human condition. But there’s joy in humanity as well, especially when we challenge ourselves, contest our own ingrained status quo, and start stepping outside the box. Whatever you’ve been told; let me assure you that you can do it. There is so much out there for you, so much more than you realize, just waiting to be discovered. All you have to do is take the first step.

Steve

PS Fill me in on your challenges below if you like, or email me, and let me know how you’re doing. Good luck, my friends!

Same Ol’ Same Ol’

I'm sitting in my regular spot, tucked in the corner near the entrance of my local Starbucks. The music is far too loud and blares from the speaker above me. Some days it's difficult to write, especially if I'm working on my novel, as I find the music intrusive. I've never complained. Today is no different. I watch the masses pass by, as always impressed by how Starbucks has managed to market itself to so many different types. Business people, students, cops, factory workers, single moms. The list is endless. The people however, are largely the same ones I see every morning when I come. They come for their morning coffee, much like they'll probably visit the same place for lunch, and take the same route home from work. People are creatures of habit, and in a world that is constantly changing, there's something tremendously reassuring about visiting the same places and having the same associations. Unfortunately, in an increasingly open market of possibilities, there's a tendency to hold a bit too tightly to our daily routines. The real problem however, is not our routines or where we get our coffee, but the self talk that accompanies it. So today then, the challenge is simple. Listen to your self-talk. What are you saying about yourself when you get up in the morning? What are you saying about your life? What are you saying about your relationship, and about people in general?

It's surprising, but a lot of people don't realize how angry they are, how much they're sacrificing to protect their routines, to avoid listening to their self-talk. And they do it by burying it in "social code." ("How are you?" "Can't complain, no one will listen anyway.") I've heard people say that this type of thinking somehow implies maturity, that work is well, work, and that 'sucking it up' is the way an 'real' adult faces life. Bull. Yes, there are times when you have to do things you don't like, times when you have to put aside your own dreams and passions to serve people around you. However, if your life consists mostly of 'sucking it up', then you are being used and you need to change something. If you don't, you're on the path to becoming one of those bitter people who never have a kind word for anyone and do nothing but complain.

They key here, is not to blame someone else for the reason your life is dull and gray, because you've probably spent too much time conceding control of your life to others already. Take responsibility for yourself, and start by asking some hard questions. If there was one thing you could change about you or your life, what would it be? What do you hear in the few minutes before you fall asleep at night, or when you're stuck in traffic? Or have you so trained yourself that you don't hear anything at all?

I spent six years working at a job that was slowly eroding my soul. It wasn't the young people I was working with, they were redemptive part of my job. Most of the people I worked with, however, tended to be complainers, always griping about how they were getting screwed one way or another. After a couple of years, I was complaining too. It was hard to be hopeful and optimistic in such a toxic environment. Pushed by my friends, I went back to grad school, took a job making 9$/hour with supervisors too young to order a beer at a restaurant, and grabbed a tiny room in a house with nine other people. Leaving aside the fact that I met wife here, it was still the best thing I could have done. These days, I still miss the young people, still miss my old city, but everything has changed now. My friends encouraged me to challenge myself, and the results have been life changing.

There's no excuse for being miserable. I know that some of us are stuck, that we've made decisions that we regret and now must bear that responsibility. It doesn't mean however, that it must control our life. Listen to your self talk and change it. Plan for the future. Give yourself something to work towards. Whatever you do, don't take the easy way out. Listen to your heart, and follow it. Trust me, you won't regret it…

-Steve

Encouraged

Day 41 of 420 000

NOVEL WORD COUNT: Ummm… a lot

Another day. Another city. Another Starbucks. And coffee… lots of coffee. Necessary on three hours sleep. And no, I'm not procrastinating. Not exactly. Although my novel is currently open in another window and I haven't written a word yet this morning. But I'm not procrastinating. Uh-uh. Okay, maybe a little. But I was going through some of my recent posts and realized that I offered enough encouragement lately. Let's face it, one-note writers are boring, and while it's fine (and interesting) to take note of problems caused by religion or politics or annoying people, we also need a healthy dose of positivity or else why are we bothering to get up in the first place. Yesterday, as I was going through the book of Ecclesiastes in my morning reading, I came upon this verse:

"There was a man all alone; he had neither son nor brother. There was no end to his toil, yet his eyes were not content with his wealth. "For whom am I toiling," he asked, "and why am I depriving myself of enjoyment?" (4:8)

It's the thing I love about the book of Proverbs and Ecclesiastes. Some of the verses can hit you like a hammer. Like this one. It was written three thousand years ago, but applies to so many of us. It's a question we often forget to ask ourselves, and suddenly our lives become a whirlwind of busy. We forget who we're working for, why we're working, even though we already have enough. Years go by, and suddenly we realize that we've missed the point of it all. And through it all, change becomes almost a dirty word. That is, changing our life, reordering it, becomes frightful and taboo. Much better to just stay busy. And yet, there are always people willing to challenge that notion, people willing to re-examine and slow down. I was thinking about it last night as I drove home from the boot camp I'm running. (My day job, the one that pays the bills, is working as a personal trainer.)There, I watch and listen to people who haven't worked out or challenged their diet in years, driving directly from work to the camp, making all sorts of family accommodations for a fun but brutal workout. I listen to their stories, the craziness of our typical North American lifestyle, and yet there they are, not willing to accept the status quo. It's the best part of my job. A month ago I had a good chat with a woman at the gym who'd lost over a hundred pounds. Her whole life has been changed. How she feels. How she thinks. Everything.

As a writer, I'm used to being "poor". It's a sacrifice, if you can call it that, every artist makes, so I don't miss making big bucks and being able to buy whatever I want. Walking through a mall induces no desire in me to spend money, with the exception being bookstores and electronic shops, but even then, the library works well enough and we don't have room for a 52" Sony Bravia HD television just yet anyway. That said, the question of why, as in, why am I working so hard, is just as relevant for me. Why do I want to publish my novels? Why am I driven back to the page? Is it just about me? What I love about the question is that it centers me. It reminds me that I don't have to let other people set my goals for me. It reminds me that change is always possible, so long as I'm willing to make the adjustment. I find that encouraging. This idea that tomorrow doesn't have to be a repeat of today or last week is marketed pretty heavily in the self-help sections of your local bookstores, but I think most people get discouraged by the slowness of change and give up. Anything worth pursuing requires commitment, but commitment is much easier when we answer the question of why we want to change. For whom do we toil? And why do we deprive ourselves of enjoyment?

Take some time today to answer that question, and then take a good look at your life. If you could change something, what would it be. Set it in your mind and go for it. You'll be surprised what you can accomplish.

-Steve

Note: My brilliant wife started her own fitness blog this past week. She's the best trainer I've ever seen, and her nutritional knowledge is second to none. I encourage you to take a look.

Is Change Really Possible?

 

    I used to believe that change was possible for everyone. That for someone going through hard times it wasn't that difficult to make their lives better. All they had to do was, well, change it. I was younger then, and the world was a very different place. I didn't know about relationships or loyalties, addictions or abuse, finances or psychology or personality types. What I knew was that we all had choices; we just had to make good ones. At the time, I was a twenty-one year old pastor who believed that Jesus could change anyone's story. (Come to church and see what God can do in your life!) I was so excited by this possibility that it consumed me. I spent every waking minute devising ways to communicate this life-altering message to people. I handed out tracts and knocked on doors. I held youth events and youth meetings. I spoke to old friends and made new ones. People came and went. Some bought into what I was saying and came to church and good things happened. Others came to church and heard mean things about who they were and why they weren't good enough and left. Through it all, I was steadfast in my principles. There was no such thing as being inappropriate when it came to sharing my beliefs, because I knew it could change a person's life.

I remember meeting an old high school acquaintance in the parking lot of our local shopping mall. He was sitting in his car with his girlfriend, and he smiled when I stopped by to say hello. Within minutes I'd handed him a pamphlet explaining my life-changing message. His face wrinkled up as if he'd tasted something sour, and his girlfriend rolled her eyes. "Uh, that's great, Steve." He quickly put his car in gear and drove away. I hoped he would listen to what I'd said, but it didn't really matter. Whether he accepted it or not, at least now he knew how he could change his life.

The thing about preaching change is that sometimes you forget your own life. You get so intent on changing other people's lives that you start to think your life is perfect. That you are perfect. I don't think it's intentional, I think it's human and inevitable. The result however, isn't pretty, because with everyone you meet you start to think how they need change and what they can do to be better. You never say it, or even think it, maybe, but what you're really wondering is how they can be more like you.

***

    My friend Naomi is studying to be a counselor. She's tall and pretty and when you tell her about your life her eyes get really big and she listens so well you feel good about yourself. She's studying emotional narrative and story as her counseling major; how changing someone's story can change their life. Sometimes I don't understand what she's saying because she's smart and uses words that make me squint, but when she talks about it I am reminded of my own time when I was in ministry. A time when I used to believe that people could change if they'd only accept my story for them.

    Last week we were talking on her balcony, sipping wine and ignoring the cold wind like we were real Canadians.

    "Do you think people change?" I asked her.

    "Well," She said. "Personalities don't change, but people can. It is, however, a slow process."

    "So how do you help people change?" I asked.

    "Mostly I listen. Then I try to help them deal with the emotional narrative they find themselves in, and change it."

    I thought about that for a while, because it seemed a different answer than the one I'd used to hand out with cartoons on the backs of little papers to friends and strangers. I was also worried that I didn't believe people could change anymore, which scared me, because if people couldn't change I wasn't sure why we existed.

***

    During the three years I worked as a full time pastor, I never considered changing my life. Not really. Oh, I made promises to God to be less angry and more humble and be more regular with my giving, but mostly I felt like I had things under control. Everyone told me what a great pastor I was going to be and how much potential I had. I figured I was a dynamic personality because I wasn't afraid of public speaking and occasionally made people laugh. So the day my wife left me, after only eleven months of marriage, was not only unexpected, it was earth shattering. Though I didn't know it, I was about to change, and it wasn't because I wanted to or thought I needed it or sensed God's voice. I was about to inherit a new story, one that didn't make sense to me at all, but it was impossible for me to walk away from it because that new story was my life.

***

    My best friend Mark has a great life. I love his story. Whenever I tell him something like that he tells me not to glamorize it. I try not to, but his story is infinitely more interesting than mine. He also happens to be Naomi's husband. I go to their apartment every Monday night for football and some important male bonding, but most of the time I end up talking to Naomi on the balcony about God and change and her clients and my clients. Mark and I talk about those things too, but on Monday nights he thinks we should be watching the game and usually he yells at us to come in and tells us that we should be watching the game. But that's easy for him to say, his life is more exciting than mine.

    Three weeks ago he told me that he noticed a homeless woman outside Food Basics, a low end grocery store in the north end of the city that my friends and I frequent quite often. He told her to come inside with him, gave her an empty basket, and told her to fill it up. She followed him around for a while, until he gently pushed her towards doing her own shopping. Mark downplayed it when he mentioned it to me, although he and Naomi are both students and don't have very much money. As a rule, I have to practically drag these stories out of him, but I do it because nothing like that ever happens to me. For a time last year I did a few Mark-offs, (which shouldn't be confused with Mad-offs) talking to homeless people and strangers and even helping a few of them. I felt alive and strange and new, but then I forgot to think about it before my day started and began realizing how little I had in my bank account and how I would never get ahead and stopped doing it. Nothing like it has happened to me since. Most days I do not feel alive or new, and I find that I think about the past a lot.

***

    For a time my ex-wife and I put our marriage back together. I realized how much I'd acted like a jerk and started writing columns about how men shouldn't act like jerks. I even got a few letters from people in different countries asking me for marital advice and felt good and important. I started teaching them how they needed to change. I'd done it. They could do it. All they needed to do was listen to what I said.

    It didn't last though, and when my wife and I decided that the marriage was not going to work we talked about it and cried together for a long time. I cried because I'd miss her and felt bad about the whole thing. I cried because I felt relief and felt guilty that I felt relieved. And I cried because I knew that whatever hope I had of being a Christian 'star' who'd put his marriage back together (a VERY good story), was over, and suddenly I didn't have a story to tell. I had nothing to say, especially when I looked in the mirror and realized that if the best stories involved change and character transformation, I was a pretty terrible character. And my story sucked.

***

    I met Bethany about a year and a half ago. She is the daughter of two missionaries and grew up in Ethiopia. When I met her I didn't know that. I saw a beautiful girl walk past me on my break outside the Starbucks where I was working and somehow made her smile. She gave me her phone number. Three weeks later we had the God talk and she told me part of her story. I fell in love pretty quick, and for some reason she did too, and we were married this past year.

    Bethany has a great story, although she doesn't think so. She is finishing the second year of her program to be a paramedic. It is the toughest medic program in the country, and most days she is very tired. But she goes on the ambulance now, and takes calls and helps people. Twice she has come home and told me that she did CPR to help bring someone back to life. On those days her eyes glow and she bounces on her toes when she walks. Other days she comes home sad because she sees suffering and death and the bereavement of family members. On those days I hold her and she is quiet. Most days though, she loves what she does and tells me about it. She tells me about people who throw up on her or the other medics, the problems they have with certain medical conditions, and the rich people who call the ambulance for a ride. She tells me and her eyes glow. When people ask me how I'm doing, I usually tell them about Bethany because I love her story, or I'll tell them about Mark and Naomi because I love their story too.

***

    Being divorced and trained to be a minister is not fun. There are some things you can do as a pastor, some things that can happen to you for you to still be accepted as a church leader, but divorce is not one of them. If your marriage breaks down, people are not that interested in what you're saying about change, because it doesn't seem like you have it all together. Why would I want to change and be like you? You screwed up your marriage! So I stopped being a minister. I worked in group homes for a while, though I spent most of my time at Masconi's, a small pub down the street. I would bring my huge writing binder and set it on the bar and work on my latest novel. Sometimes the other regulars would 'contribute' to my book, and the next day I would find a page or two of swearing and sex slipped between the pages. The guys thought it was hilarious, and I pretended to be a good sport though I was usually annoyed. I would sip my beer with them and try to explain that I was creating art. That craft was important. That to be lost in the whirls of thematic difficulty meant nothing if the reader was somehow wakened from the unconscious dream. They would pretend to listen for a few minutes before changing the subject to the Raptors and what I thought about Vince Carter.

    For a long time I'd believed that Jesus could change people, but when my marriage ended I realized that he hadn't changed me at all and that maybe it was all a bunch of goop. Maybe people couldn't change. Maybe God didn't care. Maybe I'd always be the jerk I felt like when I thought about how I'd been with my wife and how I'd been at church. If I couldn't be a pastor, I needed a new story, so I decided to be a writer. Even if I couldn't change, I still needed something to do. Something to embrace. I'd started writing years before, but now I tried to live the life that I thought a writer was supposed to live. I wrote every day, and drank coffee and liquor and smoked cigarettes because all writers did those things, or so I thought. Even then I realized it was only partly about the actual writing, and that my life – what gave it meaning – was what mattered. I figured that if I could just get published, my life would change and it would be okay. Eventually I did get published, though I never sold any of my books, but nothing really changed, and I only managed to sell a couple of articles.

***

    The novel I'm writing now is about a young boy who is awkward and doesn't think too highly of himself. He is tall and shy and can't read or fight. His parents were both very important, but his father is dead and his mother is missing. He thinks he is slow and dumb because that's what he's been called his whole life and doesn't know that it isn't true. I call him Josh.

    I like Josh a lot, and even though I'm creating the story I find myself cheering for him. Cheering for him to find a new story. To find his story. And no, he's not like me. He's quiet while I talk a lot, although I guess we respond that way for the same reason. I like that his life is one filled with adventure, though I don't envy some of the things he's gone through, because they seem so sad to me. I like it that he is making new friends even as he escapes a group that is trying to kill him, but I feel sorry for him because he is young and is often lonely. His story is exciting and fresh. Mine isn't.

***

    I never went back into ministry, although I still read about Jesus a lot. I like how he reaches out people around him, how he makes them feel welcome and how he loves them despite their faults. I like it because I hope that's how God sees me, because I don't have a very good story and sometimes I worry that I will never change.

I have a web site where I write about spiritual things and the church. A few weeks ago, one of my readers commented, at length, how I'd grown increasingly cynical and narrow minded the past two years. I thought about what he said for a long time because I thought he was right.

On my web site I complain a lot about the suffering and injustice of the world, and I expel a lot of righteous indignation at men who think they're better than women and people who think they're better than other people. What I don't say is that there is hope or that everything will be okay. I don't say it because I don't know it, and I think I complain because I wish I was better, or at least had a better story. Instead, I spend most of my time writing my novel about Joshua and training people in the gym who want to be fit. I prepare my wife's lunches and try to do most of the cleaning in our apartment because her schedule is so busy. She's grateful and warm and there isn't much I wouldn't do just to see her smile. I like being helpful, and often I feel guilty because I don't make very much money. I don't hang out in bars anymore, although I spend an inordinate amount of time at Starbucks because I like to write there and it isn't as lonely as writing at home. I still find people fascinating and wish I could do more to help them. But every time I've tried to build my life around changing others, it's ended up in the toilet. I get proud and arrogant and end up talking down to people who seem more like Jesus than I do.

***

 

    Can people change? Can people change their story? Naomi says people can, and I believe her because she knows more about that than I do. Can Jesus change our story? Mark says that he can, and I believe him because he knows more about that than I do. As for me, I'm not sure, exactly. I no longer think that I am destined for 'great things', because the things that I now think are great don't get a lot of publicity. Feeding a homeless person and reasserting their dignity is great. Counseling and listening to someone to help change their emotional narrative is great. Studying seventy hours a week so you can save someone's life is great. And teaching people to love one another regardless of what they do to you, and then dying to save everyone, is the greatest story of them all.

    So the answer, I guess, is that people can change. I'm not sure how we change exactly, but I know it's not as easy as I used to think. And I know we can't do it on our own.

Most change, in my life at least, has come through mistakes and tragedy and sadness. I'm a better husband because I was lousy before and the woman I'm with somehow understands me. I'm more understanding because I know what it's like to feel judged. I'm a better friend and more accepting of others because I know what it's like to be lonely. (I remember the nights I spent staring at my coffee table in a darkened apartment with no one to call.) The more I think about it the more I realize that Naomi is right. People can change, and while choice matters, it isn't just about the choices we make. It's about me. It's about you. It's a magical thing and sort of a silly cliché, but it all starts with this crazy idea that we're all God's children, as if we're one big family. We'll probably never be a happy family, because there are too many kids and someone will always feel left out or better or worse or not enough. But sometimes that's us, and that's okay too. Somehow, I think, so long as we remember the basics, that God created us and loves us, that we're going to screw up and make mistakes and that other people will too, I think we have a chance to change our story. And when our story changes, so does our life. I'm not sure I can explain it, but I've seen it happen, and if it can happen to the other kids, it can happen to us too.

 

-Steve

 

 

 

    
 

 

 

    
 

    
 

    
 

    
 

    

A New Home

The balcony is higher than I remember. Across the lake, the Toronto cityscape merges with the parks and green trees surrounding my new home. About five feet from the railing a tall pine extends its branches just past the eighth floor. A redwing blackbird flashes to the top of its limbs and sings before darting away, diving into the air currents and fluttering to another tree farther down.

For the first time in nearly two years I am alone. No sounds of my housemates getting up for work or getting breakfast or early morning chatter; just the distant hum of the highway and the quiet echoes of my coffee percolating in the kitchen. It’s strange, and in some ways welcome, this quietness, this sense of distance. There is sadness there, however, and it surprises me. After two years, my life has been irrevocably changed by my housemates and friends, and my ideas about community and privacy have as well.

I head to the kitchen to pour my morning coffee. The apartment is filled with boxes and a few scattered furniture items, and my sandals slap against the hardwood floor. With a bit of digging I find a mug and manage to pour myself the all important first cup of the day. It is hard not to think about what changes have come, and the changes that will soon ensue. For today though, I am lost in the memories of my move to Toronto two years ago, of my first meeting with my housemates, my first experience of living in community, and the way the many nights and long conversations on the stoop have changed me and challenged me.

I’m back outside, and I can hear my neighbor rattling around on the balcony next door. Somehow it reassures me, and I smile into my cup even as I thank God for the past week. Of all the things I’ve learned these past two years, perhaps the most poignant is that it isn’t enough to simply say you believe something. It’s fine to talk about the “rightness” of your religion, but it’s more important to chat with someone outside your faith – not because you want to evangelize them – but just because you want to hear their story. It’s fine to talk about issues, but not unless we’ve met the people who believe other than we do. The older I get, the less sure I am about many things, including my faith. The pathway to God seems murkier, especially when trying to steer through the natural prejudices of my culture and upbringing.

What makes it so ironic is that the times I feel closest to God are the times I confess my struggles. Times like this morning when I sit and chat with a God I long to serve and know, and One whom I respect enough to realize I may have it all wrong. Jesus has long been my hero, but in rational terms, there is nothing really concrete about my faith. I can’t prove it to you or hand you a lab test or logically convince you that I am right, if only because I may be wrong. I may be completely off about the whole idea of creation and loving Creator. What I do know, however, is that in building relationships with the people around me, in opening my ears and eyes to hear their story, I sense the imprint of a loving God in them, and that is what stirs me to pray. It is what stirs me to love better and more, and try harder at putting my ‘self’ to the side more often. My housemates helped teach me that, and I will do my best not to forget those lessons.

I stare out across lake to the city, until my gaze flickers at the two crows circling upward in draft, their wings wide, heads high, before diving back down towards the ground. The sound of morning traffic reaches up to the balcony, and it is with a contented sigh that I sip my coffee and look down at the world below.

Change can be difficult, but as I’ve learned, it is the one thing that helps us to grow in both understanding and wonder at the life around us. I’ll miss my housemates, but as in all things, it is time to move on.

My prayer this week is that you would embrace the changes inevitable in life, that you would hear God’s voice amidst the questions of your everyday journey, and that you would find both joy and peace, and perhaps a little conversation amidst all of life’s struggles and hardships.

Much love

-Steve

This blog is dedicated to Szymon, Nads, Keti, Tika, Nemo, Hanz, Didi, Ashley, Mitoki, Yuca, and Eriko

The Treadmill and the Trampoline

Two Lives - One Life

Today

Have you ever had one of those days when you feel like something is going to happen, something important, but you don't know what it is? Or why? The story I want to tell you happened on that kind of day, and looking back, I suppose it wouldn't have mattered if I had known what was going to happen. Sometimes the person we trust the least is ourselves, I guess. Before I tell you what happened though, I should tell you something about me. I used to think that I could control things in my life by the decisions I made, that I was the master of my own universe. I suppose I still believe that, but what that means to me now, and what it used to mean, are very, very different. I know I'm getting ahead of myself, but it's important you understand what I used to believe, and how things have changed since that day.

I worked in a church for many years, and I have worked with people my entire life. I can't tell you how many times I heard people asking me to pray for them, that they needed a miracle in this situation or that situation. I generally like people, but I sometimes found myself wondering why they needed a miracle at all.

You live in North America. You own a beautiful house and two cars. You have a nice family. Sure, you have struggles, but isn't that part of life. Things can't be great all the time. You don't expect THAT, do you?

Just the same, I would agree to pray for them and offer what counsel I could. This went on for many years and I still didn't understand why so many people were looking for a miracle until the hedges of discipline and duty broke down in my life, when I began to realize the rhythms of life too often had little to do with my choices. I still believed in God, but this sense of powerlessness rattled me to the core. What if our choices didn't matter? What if I wasn't actually choosing? This went against everything I'd been taught in the church, and I didn't know how to handle it, so I just kind of sucked up and hoped for the best.

Until the day I got my own miracle. I didn't ask for it, not consciously at least, but it happened nonetheless, and things have never been the same.

Yesterday

It was warmer than I expected when I finally left the gym, the crowds thick along the street as I headed towards the subway and home. It was an uneventful ride and within a short time I was headed towards my car, my traveler's mug in one hand, my gym bag shifted well over my right shoulder. Another long week had ended, but I wasn't tired. I was oddly fresh, enjoying the bright sun and cloudless sky as I ambled along the sidewalk. The trees had lost their leaves, but even without their vibrant colours, today they seemed to glow and reach towards the heavens in the quiet stillness of the bright afternoon sun.

When I finally reached my car, an older woman with fiery red hair was sticking a piece of paper in my windshield. I shuffled forward quickly, my bag bouncing against my leg.

"Hey, I'm allowed to park here!"

I'd been forced to park further and further away (yup... parking tickets) from the subway until I was a full ten-minute walk away.

She saw me and smiled, and then removed the note.

"Oh good. You're here. I was wondering if you'd ever get back."

"I scheduled another client late..." My voice trailed off as I realized what I was saying. "Is there something I can do for you?"

She was a heavyset woman, wearing a purple scarf over a bright pink coat that was tattered along the edges, her lips painted a garish red that matched her hair. I instantly felt sorry for her, although I wasn't sure why.

"Can you give me a ride?"

I looked at her for a long minute. I don't always give rides to strangers, especially to the ones who hang around my car, but like I said, I felt sorry for her.

I opened the door and she slid in beside me, laboriously adjusting her thick coat and scarf. The musky scent of old perfume and sweat momentarily engulfed me, and I tried not to be obvious as I rolled down my window a crack to get some air.

"Where to?" I asked.

"Take me anywhere. Somewhere far away from here."

It was a ridiculous answer, but instead of questioning her further, I put the car in gear and pulled out. I glanced over at her while I was driving. Her face was craggy and lined. Other than the lipstick, she wore no other makeup else that I could tell.

"Do you have a place to stay?" I asked, my voice gentle.

"Yes. It's the same place it always was. It changes but never does, you know what I mean?"

I tried to check her pupils, but couldn't keep my gaze off the road long enough to see if they were dilated.

"Sure."

'What do you mean 'sure'?" She barked, her voice suddenly strong and narrow. "That's the first dishonest thing you've said to me."

I swallowed and didn't respond, suddenly wondering what I'd done. Had I picked up a total psychopath? Maybe it was my mood, but I decided to play along.

"You're right. I don't know what you mean."

She smiled, her face suddenly soft.

"Yes you do. But I appreciate your honesty."

"No, I mean it. I'm not a fan of so-called 'cryptic' statements because usually they don't mean anything. People say things just to say things, or say that they believe something and don't even understand why they believe it in the first place."

"It's not very helpful, is it?" She said.

"It's destructive."

She looked at me, and I could feel her gaze, which had somehow become stronger.

"So what do you believe?"

A blue Civic swerved in front of me, and I grimaced but didn't say anything for a minute.

"I'm Steve, by the way."

She smiled again, and when she didn't say anything, I began to worry.

"Seriously, where can I take you? There has to be someplace-"

"There is."

She pointed, and I sighed when I realized where we were. I pulled into my driveway.
I bent my head over the steering wheel. I knew that I was having a hallucination of some sort, that the woman beside me wasn't real. At least, I was almost positive that she wasn't real.

"I don't understand."

"Good. And you never will. That's the point."

"See, that's exactly the type of BS I hate!" I said, my voice rising. "The point is ALWAYS to understand! That's what it means to be human!"

She looked at me, her scent suddenly overpowering.

"Is it? Your problem, Steve, is the same one most people have. You have never accepted that you are human. You are not God."

"What? I know that!" My voice began to break. "Better than most, I think."

She reached out and patted my knee. Her hand was warm, and at her touch, I felt a surge of emotion.

"Thinking little of yourself is no different than thinking too highly of yourself. Both are a matter of pride. It is discouraging though, when some people use God as a tool to keep others unaware of their humanity, and keep them reaching towards divinity. God sees, but in this, he asks us to stumble and reach toward him. To see God is to accept who you are. How can we say that we believe God became human if we can't even acknowledge our own humanity?"

"I don't know if it's that." I said, my voice steadying a little. "It's just that life never really turns out the way we want it to, I think." I said. "I don't think people are always greedy, I think they're just being... human."

I looked at her, but when she didn't say anything, I turned my gaze back towards my house.

"Why don't we get what we want? I think that's what most of us struggle with. And even when we get what we want, we don't really want it. Or something."

"What do you want, Steve? What do you REALLY want?"

Her question lingered as I lifted my head and stared at the house. I thought about Bethany. About my family. About Mark and Jackie and Mireille and Ernie and all my friends. I thought about Szymon and Nads and all my housemates. And I thought about those who were struggling and broken, the ones who saw no way out and that not only wanted a miracle, but also truly needed one, the ones that touched my heart more than any other.

She shifted her shawl.

"I have a question for you, Steve."

"Okay."

"Do you like working out?" She asked.

I wasn't sure what her question had to do with people getting what they wanted, but then, I was having a conversation with either a highly delusional woman or hallucinating, so I wasn't sure it mattered.

"Sure. I've been working out for a long time."

"Do you like running on the treadmill?"

"Well, no, it's boring. Unless there's a TV it's okay-"

"Have you ever been on a trampoline?"

"Yeah."

I saw where she was going and gave her a rueful smile.

"Life is both a treadmill and a trampoline, Steve. As a trainer and someone who likes to workout, you know that you can't always choose your gym, given the circumstances, but most of the time you can choose how you're going to exercise."

"I've heard this before, you know." I said. "This isn't exactly a new idea."

She laughed.

"No, it isn't a new idea. The difference is that you heard it, but didn't believe it. Didn't accept it. Knowing and understanding are very different things."

I paused.

"Are you an angel?"

She smiled and opened the passenger door. A fresh blast of air rushed into the car. She leaned in and glanced at my notebook on the back seat.

"Keep writing, Steve. It matters. Keep loving people. And tell your readers that even if they can't understand why life makes no sense at times that they should pursue the better. Our lives are a reflection we see only dimly even in the best of times. Tell them not be afraid to ask for God's help, and when they get the choice, to choose the trampoline."

I nodded, unable to speak.

I watched her walk away, her scarf lifting in the breeze, until she disappeared from sight.

Tomorrow

I know you probably don't believe my story. Heck, I don't believe it and it happened to me. Well, I think it happened. Maybe it was a dream. Still, things haven't been the same for me since that day.

The change hasn't come all at once, of course. Some companies and religions like to promote "instant makeover" or a "new life today", but anyone who thinks about it for more than a minute understands the ridiculous (and dangerous) premise to that notion. And in the movies, you only have a couple of hours for lives to be changed forever. But in life, the changes that last forever take just as long. Some days I still forget that, and I feel lost and unsure, but when I think back to that day, I remember her words. Treadmill or trampoline? It helps that I work at a gym, but maybe that's why she chose that example in the first place.

Every day I go to the gym. I like it most days, but it's still work, and I have to be there. In that sense, I guess I'm not choosing. And when it's time to work out, there are days I find myself wanting the treadmill, not because it's fun, but because it's functional. Because I don't have to smile. You can't force happiness, I don't think, but when I bounce on that trampoline, its hard not to laugh a little. I'm not sure what this all means, if anything, but my angel (or whoever she was) told me to tell you, and it really has made a difference in my life.

To embrace God is to accept our humanity. And when we can accept ourselves, in all of our foibles and brokenness and selfish nature, we are not only more likely to ask God for help (especially when it comes to loving other people) but there's a better chance of us finding the trampolines in our life. At least, I think that's what she meant.

So there it is. Another to story to dwell on or brush aside. My only hope is that you will at least think about it, and if it helps in some small way, well, then maybe you can pass it on to someone else. I haven't met many of you, but someday we may meet, and when that happens, maybe you'll have a story for me too. Maybe we can get a coffee and talk about it, after spending a bit of time on the trampoline together.

-Steve

How to Escape the Spin Cycle (Some Keys To a Better Life)

“Hey, bro.”

I hold my cell loosely against my ear and glance at the clock. 12:17 am. I’m not even close to being tired.

“Well,” Mark says. “I read your blog. A nice heart warming read... What’s up?”

“I’m not sure. Just one of those weeks, I guess.” I pause. “I’m looking for another job. I can’t do this, pal. I’m never going to make it.”

“What about the writing?” Mark says.

“I’ll always write. But I’m tired of having nothing. I’m tired of not being able to go out, or buy another pair of shoes, or being able to afford a date. I’m tired of looking at my bank account and wondering if I can make it through the week. I’m 35 years old, and what have I got? I needed a break, pal… and, well, it just hasn’t happened.”

Mark is quiet for a moment.

“That sucks, and I get it, but I just think you’re so close. I really think you just have to hang in there. Your work is good.”

I lean forward and think about all the “dream books” I’ve read.

“I don’t know, maybe I’ve been an idiot. Dreams suck.”

Even as I talk I’m thinking about how nice it would be to go shopping with, well, money. I’d bumped into an old friend today at the mall who’d just started working on a screenplay. When he heard I was a writer, he was even more excited. Only instead of being excited with him, mostly I was annoyed. I wanted to tell him not to bother. That the gods of the dreamers and artists, the publishers and patrons, were a capricious bunch. I’d bit my tongue, but it wasn’t easy.

Mark is quiet.

“Listen,” he says finally, “I really think your work is good. You get waylaid when you start thinking about your age and where you should be and all that stuff.”

“Yeah.”

We chat for a little while longer. When I hang up, I am somewhat encouraged. It isn’t the first time Mark’s given me a pick up. I pull out my work and start writing. Two hours later, I am worn and tired. It’s time to head outside for a break.

The sky is clear tonight, and it’s finally warm enough to stand on my stoop outside the front entrance without shivering. It’s been a long week, although in many aspects it isn’t much different from the last month, not on the surface at least. I’m still working for almost nothing. Still enjoying my co-workers and housemates. Still enjoying the interaction with the customers. Still writing. And yet, there’s a sense of routine that has crept into my life and has brought discouragement with it. Unfortunately, I'm not sure why things have changed. I understand that there is a rhythm to life, ups and downs that we do well to ride and not fight. That said, I can feel the change in my outlook, and it needs to be addressed.

The breeze picks up as I move down from my stoop and stroll down the driveway under the empty sky. The moon’s silhouette shimmers off to my left. A few birds have woken early and their scattered song reminds me of the late hour. It a funny thing about the human experience, but we do everything in cycles. Most of us have heard the expression that people are “creatures of habit”, and it’s true. Nothing we do is ever truly spontaneous, even for the most unpredictable personalities. We couldn’t survive if we did, but that said, it still has tremendous implications for our lives.

The routines we create for ourselves are based on the culmination of our life experience; our childhood, our past and current relationships, and yet rarely do we consider the reasons why we do the things we do. We certainly aren't programmed to make the “healthy” choice.

The sad truth is that most of our choices are based on convenience, pleasure, or fear. And that includes our religious choices -- the church we attend or don't attend. The God we believe in or choose to ignore.

What follows then, is that we entrap ourselves into habits that are actually destructive, relationships that smother us, faith that binds us, and jobs that drain life from our soul. And the most frustrating aspect of this human tendency is that we have the ability to change it. Too often we get trapped in this “spin cycle” and believe there is no way out. We spin and spin and church and churn until our lives become one long unpleasant dream.

People can only ask “what if” and “if only” for so long. If we don't escape the spin cycle life will eventually wear us down, and instead of feeling renewed and empowered, we will become critical. We'll mock others who are trying to make it. We'll scowl at those still enthusiastic about life. And we'll sniff (especially at the younger generations) about what it’s like in the “real world”. In other words, we contract the deadly virus of "trapped reality" and spread it with every brush of contact with other humans. We are unhappy, and we unconsciously pull others towards our own unhappiness to make us feel better. (Misery loves company.)

So the only question then, is how do we change it? And what happens when we realize that our life suddenly sucks?

First, understand that it isn't 'sudden', though it may feel that way.

Everything we do flows out of who we think we are and what we expect from the world around us. Happiness is achieved when we close the gap between our assumptions about what our life should be like and what we perceive it to be.

Notice that I didn't say how it "really is." (And I'm giving away my leaning towards post modern thought here) How it "really is" can't be subjectively defined. For example, I'm 35 years old. I work in a cafe. That's true, and if that was the whole truth, it would be easy to judge my life accordingly. However, I'm also a full time graduate student and striving to make a go of it as a full-time writer. I do not see myself as a failure, but as one striving towards the future for something better. What matters then, is not what others perceive about my situation, but how I see it. That's why we must be careful when considering the counsel of others, because the standards they are using are always different then our own.

Unfortunately, too often we listen to the wrong people and end up in spin cycles... (especially when it comes to jobs) simply because we accept other people's version of our reality?!
So to escape the natural trap, we have to learn to examine our own motifs on why we do the things we do, and why we're not able or willing to change them.

For me, one of my largest struggles is money. I don't know why I've historically been terrible with it, although I have a few ideas. What I do know, however, is that fear is involved. Suze Orman, the famous financial guru, asks her potential clients this question first when she addresses their finances: "What are you afraid of?"

I've spent the past week thinking about that. What am I afraid of? What is holding me back?

The key in the spin cycle is not to change just anything, but to find the idea or the root that is causing us to make the same bad decisions over and over. And how do you find the root cause? It's easy enough. Just think of the things that cause your emotions --sadness, fear, anxiety, anger -- to flash, and you will find the root. That which is without an emotional connection we are able to let go, but any memory or belief attached to an emotion is nearly impossible to release. (It's like sticking your hand into a pail of honey and then grabbing a loose roll of toilet paper) Not without dissecting it first, and perhaps getting some healing.

Second, once we realize where our emotions are most sensitive, we need to create a "blank spot" in our minds. No, it isn't some new age, voodoo mind trick. What I mean is that we pretend that there is no emotion. It's an acting trick, but it's an effective way to help us deprogram some of the more destructive habits in our lives. When you get up tomorrow, be someone else. Be the woman who you see in the mall striding along with confidence. Be the man you saw talking easily and casually with a couple of ladies at the restaurant. Be the university colleague who always seems so popular. Be the person you imagine that you would like to be, and make choices as if you were that person.

This is not a matter of authenticity. It's still you.

Remember, the core of who we are is not what others see. Our core, the "real us", is the person we long to become.

I know, I know, I can hear the comments already. "Steve, the person you are is how you behave." Nonsense. Even God, speaking to one of his prophets who is going to choose a king, says to his prophet (Samuel) "Man looks at the outward appearance, God considers the heart." (1 Sam 16:7) Our 'outward appearance' is our behaviour, and while it can give us clues as to who we are, it isn't the full picture. This is the reason we should always try to see the best in people, and encourage them accordingly.

Spin cycles occur when we lose sight of God's picture of who we can be, of who we were created to be, and in turn, who we really are. The Spin cycle is the product of a distorted view of self (and God) which prevents us from making the necessary choices to change the things that need to be changed.

My prayer this week is that you will identify at least one spin cycle in your life, and address the root emotion and cause behind it. If your spin cycle is a little bigger, as mine seems to be, maybe its time to do a little 'acting', and create the character that meets with the missing, unexpressed part of who you are. And finally, that you would understand that you are loved by your Creator, and that you were created the image of God for the purpose of serving those around you. If you don't, you'll inevitably move into another spin cycle. We were not given this life to live in endless pleasure, endless fear, or perfect convenience. We were created to serve God by loving Him and loving one another, and so long as we remember that, we can close the gap between whatever discouragement we are facing and the contentment that comes when life is no longer just one long routine.

-Steve

Note: I can hear the comments already. Yes. I believe in absolutes, especially when it comes to the care and responsibility of our family. However, too often we still use behaviour and isolate it as "the sole expression" of another person and define them accordingly. How lucky are we that God judges us differently. We would do well to learn from Jesus I think, but it's just a thought...