But you need it

I've been working a 4 a.m. to 11 a.m shift this week. It's painful to wake up and go to work when many of my friends are going to bed or coming home from the bar at the same time. But this week has offered a nice treat: the first spring weather. Monday Tuesday and Wednesday, the thermometer has swelled past the 10-degree mark. Since my level of happiness is inextricably linked in proportion to the rise and fall in temperature - being able to spend some time in the afternoon sun on the first few days of spring was a treat.

I decided to go to the park. Only three weeks ago I came here to skate. This time, I sat on the bench and stared at the brown flat grass that had yet to be woken and dressed in green for the summer. I sat there for a long time, my face careening into the sun, listening to things that i had not heard in a while: birds, laughter, flies. I just sat there and watched stuff. Just because it felt so good just to sit there.

On the way home something interesting, but unsettling happened.

I saw an old Korean man standing on the sidewalk, watching people as they passed. This is usually a sign that he wanted something. Sure enough, as I passed he caught my eye.

"Excuse me sir..."
"Uh oh," I think to myself.
"Sir, do you believe in Jesus Christ?
"Ah..." I say. I keep walking, slightly swerving away.
"Sir, wait..." He pulls out some business cards from a black leather wallet. There is a cross on it. "Do you believe in Jesus Christ?"
"Um, no," I say.
"Why not?"

And in the brief moment, I was caught. I don't know if I do or don't. Maybe. Maybe not. It depends, I guess on who they type of Jesus you are talking about. The historical one? Or the one that inspired the crusades? Or the carpenter who was really nice to people in a time of confusion and discrimination? I wasn't really sure. I hadn't been to church in decades. But ... you never really know. Things change. The world is mysterious. Why shut the door? That doesn mean I need to be converted. I just need a conversation.

"Ah, I'm too busy..."

And that was my answer. It dropped out and it sounded stupid. But I was busy. So I walked away.

"But you NEED it," he said. He sounded so very sad. His words sounded heavy, forlorn. And I truly felt bad because I could not him help me. But I kept walking and didn't turn around.

He'd find someone else.

Are you good enough?

I just finished a great book that answers that question. It's call Status Anxiety, by Alain de Botton. As the title suggests, it talks about that feeling you can sometimes (or always get) when someone around you gets a promotion or drives by in a car you've always longed for. Or those other moments of fear where you think that you will not add up to much in society - no hospital wings named after you, no memorial cups, no street re-namings, no image on a t-shirt. etc. There are two forces at play. The people in my life generally know that wealth, fame, power -- although helpful and useful -- ultimately don't make you happier. But those things are certainly like worms on a hook that you must learn to swim around.

The book isn't necessarily breaking new ground. In fact, the mere construction of the writing shows that the idea of staus anxiety, and countering the idea of fame/fortune has been around for a very long time. De Botton takes ideas from well-known and sometimes obscure writers and philosophers an uses them to argue his point. He does of good job of boiling down old tomes into a fun, interesting read.

His point is this: the idea of high status has always been impermanent, a flittering concept that has always changed according to the taste de jour. Therefore why worry about being of high status when it means nothing in the end? Simple idea, yes. But his gift is illustrating the points with history lesson.

Another interesting point was this: Places like Canada or America have always been places known for equal opportunity. The "American Dream" means anyone has a chance to go from the gutter to glory. That's great. But, when everyone thinks they have a shot at fame, that nothing is holding them back but themselves, they are more prone to worry. Failure means you have no value. You are not good enough, etc, etc. You are always worried about looking better, getting ahead instead of being happy with what you have.

Lost in Translation (and Kimchi)

I'm sitting at a table in my favourite Korean restaurant. It's Saturday afternoon. The place is packed. The windows are all fogged up with steam from the goodness being served to us hungry customers. For lack of space, I'm sharing a table with two ladies, one Korean, the other white (around 45 years old).

From what I can glean, the white woman is helping the Korean lady speak English.

"So I was at the Church a few weeks ago. It was the funeral for my mother. She died. And I was at the church, standing at the door, thanking people for coming to the service. There were many people," said the white lady, making each syllable and word extra clear. "You understand what I am talking about?

"Church?" chirped the Korean lady.

"Yes. Church. But do you know what I am talking about?"

"Church?"

"Yes. A funeral. You know what funeral is? Funeral..."

"Yes yes."

"So I was thanking everyone who was there for coming. To my mother's funeral. And then, I shook hands with a man... a man... and we shook hands. I thought that I recognized him. Then after the service, he came to me and introduced himself. That man was an old boyfriend of mine from 30 years ago. Boyfriend. Old Boyfriend. Long time ago. 30 years. But he looks much different now. He's big. And fat. I did not recognize him. His name is Jerry. Jeeerrrrry. So we agreed to meet in Toronto for dinner," she said. "You understand?"

"Man?"

"Yes Man. But do you know what I am talking about?"

"Funeral. Man."

The white woman takes a deep breath. She doesn't know how she is going to get this story accross. But I am certainly interested, as I slurp my tea. Finally, I order my hotpot, they order the same thing.

"Well. It turns out Jerry, the man is a lawyer. A big lawyer in charge of 200 laywers. He makes a quarter of a milion dollars. Verrrrrry biiiiig moooooney," she says. "You understand?"

"Man. Yes."

"So we go for dinner. We go to a very expensive restaraunt. And we chat. Our politics are very different. He is very conservative. You understand what conservative means?

"Yes."

"And then at the end of the meal he says... do you mind if we split the bill!," she says with a disgusted chuckle. "He big lawyer, me a nurse who does missions to Africa. Big money. Me no money.... you understand what I am talking about?"

"Yes. Money."

"Not very polite. I had to pay thirty dollars."

The food arrives for the ladies. But the white lady is dismayed. Korean food requires some complex logistics in terms of what to eat with what, and where to dip things and how to mix things. She can't get things right. The Korean lady keeps shouting... "no no no!"as he guides the white lady's spoon to the approprate dish.

"So this man calls me the next day. Asks me if I want to go to art show with him. I say yes. But I do not know if he will make me pay again for my meal. I suggest we go for a food or soething before the art show. He picks me up in his Bee Em Double-U. A very fancy car. He says he is not hungry. Can we eat after, he asks? Ok, I said. So we go to art show. See the art and then we get back in his car. He says to me, where can I drop you off? No dinner! He does not ask me for dinner. And I am very hungry. " she lefts off another laugh, this one more pained. "Do you understand?"

"Man, funeral?"

"Yes, my old boyfriend. He is strange. I no go out with him any more. He has social problem. I no like that."

"Ah," nod the Korean lady, as he breaks an egg and pours the yolk into the bubbling pot.

I finished up my soong dobu. I pay the bill and leave. I wonder who paid for their meal...

Getting Older

Ever have those days, those moments of realization that you are getting older? Ironically, these moments never happen on your birthday. These feeling comes in small instances like the flash of a camera bulb. These are not necessary sad or depressing thoughts. Just moments of realization that seem surprising even though they should not be. As if getting older always happened to, well, old people.

Just recently, I had these kinds of feelings or actions:

1) Bars/clubs are getting boring
2) You buy clothes that are practicle and good quality, not just cuz they look cool
3) You worry about saving money (RRSP)
4) A friend says they are getting married/pregnant
5) You see a new building go up in your neighbourhood
6) You scorn teenagers who wear silly things just to look cool
7) Compaing the prices of chicken
8) Remembering fifteen years ago with clarity
9) No fear of looking uncool to other people
10) You save old jars to store things in

Skates

I work at strange hours. Last week, I was working from 4 am until 12 am. This week, I work from 12pm to 8pm. That means, I either have the entire morning off, or the entire afternoon off. With most people working when I am not, I've recently picked up skating. No, not speed skating or shinny or hockey. Just skating around at my own pace. Right near my home, is a park called Christie Pits. When I got home at noon hour, I made it a habit to go there and skate for an hour.

As a kid, skating was a chore. It was cold, slippery. Everyone else was better than me. So I never really bothered. I never played hockey as a kid, nor did my parents make me try figure skating (thank god). A few years ago, I got a pair of skates for Christmas. But I never used them. They stayed at the back of cupboard. This year, finally, I decided to give them a try.

My first attempt at skating was a shaky affair... I moved in circles around the rink. Kids 1/4 my age sped past -- going backwards. But this time I didn't really care. I'm now old enough, thank god, not to be embarrassed about whether I am good or not with two blades attached to my feet. After all, there I was in the winter sun, the sky blue and cloudless, gliding on a sheet of ice. Hearing the din of skates crunching on the snow, the blades dragging over the ice, the hollow knock of the boards. Everyone is moving freely and quickly around. Some better than others. But everyone is out. My nose was running, my cheeks were. I was sweating. How Canadian, how lovely. And for the first time in my life, I realize that skating was quite a lot of fun.

Too bad it took so long.

I went back each day, learning to turn faster, doing cross-over strides and making more effective stops. I fell a few times and collided with one kid ("Sorry Mister"). But no bruises or broken bones. Just a few sore muscles that I didn't even know I had.

After a week, I was getting comfortable. I could make some tight corners, stop, and make a few fancy strides. I was quick. I went from being a cadaver-on-ice to a half decent semi-beginner.

When I had my evening shift, I brought my skates to work and stowed them under my desk. When I was done, I carried the skates in one hand down to the the lake to make my rounds at Harbourfront. And by 8:30, I am moving around the ice, the black lake on one side and the skyline on the other. It was zero degrees and perfect. I starting working on skating backwards, turning backwards, and stopping on both sides. I was there for an hour, sweating and huffing until the rink closed.

And today, it's raining. Christie Pits is closed for the season. And the temperatures are on the rise. My short adventures are over for now. Yet, I now can look forward to the next winter. And I've never done that before.

Monday... it's Ok

Fridays are usually better than Mondays. If only because you know that two free days follow Friday. However, look at that forecast above. Spring is on it way this week. And that's just fine with me!

Late Pick-up

Loblaws called and said I had a few rolls of film still in their files from October. When I opened the envelopes, it was like uncovering a time capsule or finding a twenty dollar bill in the pocket of an old pair of jeans.