All We Need Are Companions

I've got the new Ed Sheeran song, "Photograph" on constant repeat. It is hauntingly emotive and lyrically connective to that experience we've all had: losing something or someone who you love. All the lyrics speak to my heart, but this verse says it all:

Loving can heal

Loving can mend your soul

And is the only thing that I know

I swear it will get easier

Remember that with every piece of ya

And it's the only thing we take with us when we die

It is no secret that our family has an ongoing love affair with the beautiful country that is Australia, and all of the wonderful friends and experiences that we've been blessed to embrace for the past (almost) four years. Lately, our love has been challenged: through employment redundancy, immigration uncertainty, and the long-awaited but now final decision: we are repatriating to Canada. 

I actually have not processed all that this decision does and will mean to me and to us. In time, I hope to do more writing and reflecting. And in what is traditionally "my style", I will most likely share my heart with all of who wish to know it. ;)

But, I wanted to share a bit of my "unprocessed heart" with you now, because we are so lucky to be loved by many, and as such, have been asked often over the past few months, if we need help.

We do need help. We need companions. 

We 100% know how fortunate we are to have had this opportunity. To have four explorative, adventuresome years, good prosperity, and enriching learning experiences for our children. To get those experiences, we risked and we worked hard, but we no doubt got the benefit of some good old-fashioned luck. The end result: an amazing four-year experience for our family that we are grateful for and will never forget. We FEEL gratitude.

We 100% know that we adore the country of Australia. We love ripe avocados and mangos, long 4WD treks into remote picnic spots, our "mates", our water dragons, efficient and effective private health care, sunrise walks on the beach, awesome accents, year-round sunshine and warmth, exotic holidays, snags and prawns on the bar-be, and the people . . . the people we now know as our "friends for life". We FEEL part Australian. This is our second home. 

We 100% know that we adore the country of Canada. We miss downhill skiing, evening daylight hours in summer, the national anthem, seasons, snow at Christmas, being citizens, “belonging”, the Rocky Mountains, Vancouver Island, Whistler, Starbucks, restaurant service, Clamato juice, and the people . . . the people who we know are family and family of choice. We ARE Canadian. In our hearts, we FEEL great happiness and comfort in knowing we are going home.

And yet, we feel sad. We feel anxious. We feel loss. We feel . . . we feel so many things. All at once. And I think, that is both normal and OK. What we need is companions to walk this path with us, to let us feel everything we feel, and know that in our sadness, there is also gratitude and in our laughter, there is also pain.

The other day, Ben said to me, "But mama, we can be happy because we are going home." We can, my dear boy. We can be happy because we are going home and we can be sad because we are leaving home. I said, "The amazing thing about love is that you can hold love for many people and many places and it doesn't reduce the love you feel for any one particular person or place."

For us, Australia offered us infinite opportunities to learn and grow-as individuals and as a family. It was “us versus the world” to a certain extent, as least for a while until we resettled. And we took it. In fact, we squeezed every last bit of experience we could get. And now, I guess it's time to go home. 

Loving can heal

Loving can mend your soul

And is the only thing that I know

I swear it will get easier

Remember that with every piece of ya

And it's the only thing we take with us when we die

  

Listen to the whole song here . . . 

"Photograph" by Ed Sheeran

Who Has Earned the Right to Hear Your Story?

"Maybe stories are just data with a soul". Brene Brown

If you know me at all, you know that I love the work of Brene Brown (BB). Brene is a writer, researcher, public speaker, and incredibly inspiring person. I remember when we "met", about three years ago. It was a typical day: I was scrolling through my Facebook feed, saw a link to a TED talk, watched it three consecutive times, and was completely engaged. Everything Brene writes rings "true" to me. Her research findings on the impact of shame and vulnerability have changed how I interact with my family and my friends. Her guidance on Whole Hearted Living has inspired me to do some HARD work as I strive for connection and authenticity in my most treasured relationships. If there is anyone who hasn't seen Brene's famous TED talk, here's the link . . . watch now! I guarantee her thoughts and her spirit will impact your perspective. With 12 million views to date, I am guessing there are others who agree with me.

Brene's Famous TED talk

I happen to know that one of the most famous people in the world agrees with me. And, for the record, I adored Brene's work long before Oprah decided to get on the Daring Greatly/BB band wagon. But, regardless of what you think about Oprah and her "Super Soul Sunday" (enlightenment marketing machine), she is right about Brene. I firmly believe that BB has got some answers. Ideas and answers that many of us need to hear. Along with the Beatles, I believe that there are a lot of lonely people in the world. People who are yearning to connect with others  . . . really CONNECT. I'm not talking about checking in with a Facebook newsfeed and sending a text that says, "how r u?"

In conjunction with Brene's recent Oprah fame (and likely because of it), BB is offering an online course entitled "The Gifts of Imperfection". I've signed up for this course and I'm slowly making my way through the curriculum, giving myself permission to procrastinate and distract when things get "tough" to both contemplate and integrate. Assignment One involved a few activities, but the one that stands out in my mind was an art activity/reflective question about this topic: "who has earned the right to hear your story?" What a question that is! According to Brene, "our stories are not meant for everyone" (Brown, 2010, p. 47). BB encourages her students to be aware of WHO in our lives can sit with us, hold space for our painful stories, and love us regardless for our strengths and our struggles. And according to BB, if we have one or two people in our lives who "embrace our imperfections, vulnerabilities, and power, and fill us with a sense of belonging" (p. 47), we are incredibly lucky.

I have thought long and hard about this question. I wonder if there are people who have an easy answer to it. Because it is a really tough question. Who has earned the right to hear my story?

In my view, the modern habits of social connection confuse the issue. We are living our private lives publicly, with Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram . . . and a whole host of other 'social media' platforms that encourage users to put their stories "out there" for mass consumption. And consumption is the correct word for it. Because social media is so often one-sided communication. And perhaps I'm a cynic, but being authentic on social media seems to be the ultimate oxymoron. Who puts their 'real life' on Facebook anyway? People who post are often referenced as narcissists or over-sharers or 'people with nothing better to do'. People who do not post are seen as voyeurs or gossips. This is not an environment that encourages belonging or connection. Where ever there is human tendency to judge, the freedom to be "true" can not flourish.

Here's my question. How do you determine who has the right to hear your struggles and your victories? Is it a matter of 'earned loyalty'? Does your 'chosen' audience remain the same or change depending on the story you want to share? I agree with BB that understanding, owning and sharing your story is one key to meaningful connection with others. I also think that being open and willing to be another person's 'story-listener' is critical for connection. When striving for meaningful, fulfilling, fantastic relationships, I think it is important to ask both questions: Who has earned the right to hear your story? Have you earned the right to hear another's? If you can name two or three people who qualify as answers to BOTH questions, you are, as Brene Brown says, "incredibly lucky". :)

Nikoi

50 miles from Singapore, but it feels like we have travelled much further. We are knee-deep in the middle of our five-day retreat to Nikoi Island. The resort defies comparison as it is unlike any place we have been before. The Island is owned by a group of expats, who have lived in Asia for most of their lives. They designed Nikoi Island to accommodate what they saw as a dearth of holiday options that were well-built & comfortable for guests, but not garishly luxurious. They acquired leasehold rights to Nikoi about 10 years ago, and opened for business in 2007. Allegedly, the place is always fully booked nine months in advance (with only 15 beach villas, space is limited). Somehow, we lucked into a five-night vacancy in early January & booked it immediately. We have been here for two days, and I can already understand why it is so popular.

Our first view of Nikoi, from the boat that brought us from Bintan

It is almost like someone dropped us into the set of a "Glamour" Survivor. Given its environmental focus, Nikoi is without the typical resort trappings of hot water tanks, TV, & air conditioning. Our "room" is a villa (two-story) in which entire lower floor is open to the outdoors. Upstairs, the ocean-facing wall is open to the sea. There are shutters to pull across the opening in the event of a storm. Otherwise, they are meant to be left open, for the ocean breeze to cool the room. Mosquito nets hang over the king-size bed in the middle of the large bedroom. There are 2 flush toilets & 2 showers, one of which has a hot water tap (I think it's solar-heated?). The pictures below probably paint a much clearer picture of this unique combination of rustic luxury.

Our beach villa "home" for 5 days

Bottom level, coming in from the footpath. You can see how villa is built on stilts (nature's AC).  Both levels are our own private space.

Bottom level contains day beds, chairs, and loungers all with an ocean view. There is also a bathroom/shower and Eskie-style cooler on this level.

View is going up the stairs to the second level

King sized bed, with one of the day beds. There are day beds on either side of the  larger bed.

King bed view, looking the other direction

Ben's day bed (at night, the mosquito bed drapes over where he sleeps).

View of the lower level of our villa from the upstairs balcony

Bathroom facilities

The activities on the Island are also organic. Sea kayaks, snorkels, and paddle boards are all available for guests' unlimited use. There is a Kids Club; it is unlike any Kids Club I've seen before. There are no "sign-in" or "registration" forms. The activities are completely unstructured. Yesterday, Ben crafted a homemade bow & arrow with carrying case, a woven bracelet and a shell necklace. He took turns jumping off the dock & swinging on the homemade, but sturdy zip line. The kids appear to have "free reign" of the Island, as they tear about on treasure hunts or running games. It is somewhat chaotic although it mostly seems that there are always gentle, friendly staff in arms reach.

The pirate ship at the kids' club. Ben loves that there is a "real" safe to lock up the treasures.

Yesterday morning, we left both kids at this "Club" and went for a coffee & a swim. At one point, the kids came to find us, to ask if they could go swimming/kayaking. Our reply, "Yes, wear a life jacket". About an hour later, they tracked us down at the pool (delivered silently by a smiling staff member). Julia is talking a mile a minute about how Ben told the Kids Club staff that he knew how to kayak. I guess he did a pretty accurate paddling impression which they bought, and before anyone caught on to his game, Ben was paddling himself back to Bintan Island. She said that he could indeed paddle as he claimed, but he did not know how to turn the boat. Next thing she knew, the instructor was diving off the dock to fetch Ben & his kayak and tow them both back to land. "What did the instructor say to Ben?" I asked. "No more kayaking by yourself," she reported. I sternly looked at Ben who had the good sense to look down and appear marginally remorseful. "Why did you tell them you knew how to kayak?" I asked. "Because I thought I could. . . ", he smirked. Gotta love his confidence. In retrospect, that confidence could be the direct result of caring for children in a setting where they are given freedom to see what they CAN do instead of constantly being told everything they can't.

Stacey and the kids kayaking on our first day; this is probably where Ben got the idea that he knew how to kayak.

It's like we've stepped back in time 30 years. When I was a child, this kind of freedom was commonplace. We played games on the streets of our neighbourhood, largely unsupervised. We knew to come home when it got dark, and to phone if we stayed to play at someone's house. My parents didn't track our every movement and catch our every fall. If I'm honest, I'd even say that the parts of my personality that crave independence and adventure were likely fostered by this more laissez-faire style of child-rearing. I know we all believe that's not possible today. There are too many dangers and risks and bad people just waiting to harm these wee ones we treasure and want to protect. So, you can probably understand why I am struggling to find the mental discipline/resolve to let my Ben enjoy his freedom in this island paradise. I have been indoctrinated to believe that by stepping back, I am neglecting my child. But I can't deny that he appears to be more than capable of rising to the challenges of exploration, experimentation, and trusting new friends. And he's happy and confident, not afraid.

He loves learning how to make toys with the materials naturally available. This is a homemade bow and arrow.

I do believe that every decision in life comes with risk. Letting Ben freely experience Nikoi Island carries the chance that something or someone will harm him. However, I don't think we talk enough about the risks of denying kids these kinds of freedoms. Because while every mothering gene in my body is screeching "pull him in & hold tight", I've chosen to let him go. I've chosen this because I see the risk if I let him believe that he needs me trailing him and cautioning him and correcting him 24/7. As far as one can ever be assured of safety, I know this is a safe place. Ben is getting a holiday from our helicopter-parenting society and he is flourishing. It is exactly the effect that a good holiday is supposed to deliver.

The decadent lamb curry and chocolate terrine is still settling in our tummies. Julia is relaxing with us. Ben has insisted on being delivered back to the Kids Club-where all the action is! We are drinking post-lunch cappuccinos and thinking about afternoon naps. A young boy (9 years old-he told me earlier) approaches the bar. "Yogi", he says to the man behind the bar, "what time is the treasure hunt?" "Later", says Yogi with a grin. "5:00?", asks the boy. "No . . . 5:15." Another grin. "Yogi, come jetty jump with me", the boy pleads. Yogi puts down his work and they stroll to the dock together, chatting all the way. Moments later, laughter & splashing can be heard from the beach. I wonder if Ben is kayaking or jetty-jumping or sword-crafting. One thing I know for sure: he is having the time of his life.

Customs Forms and Motorcycles

First impressions are colorful. They are often vivid like dreams. They can imprint themselves on your memory with so little personal effort. In the future, whenever I think about Indonesia, I will remember Customs forms and motorcycles. I will also think of the shacks and the little shops selling all sorts of wares and the mosques and the smiles of the beautiful people who call this part of their world their home. But first, I will think about Customs forms and motorcycles. 

Indonesia was never on my list of places I must see. I don’t profess to know very much about the country or the culture. But about two months ago, opportunity presented itself in the form of a great airline seat sale from Brisbane to Singapore. The time frame for the sale included the Easter term break school holidays, and this cinched the deal. We booked our vacation for two weeks of “easy Asian” holiday time. I refer to it as “easy Asian” because that’s how people who have spent time in Singapore described it to us. As long as you aren’t chewing gum or smuggling drugs, Singapore is clean, safe, and full of interesting things to see and do.

However, two weeks is a lot of time to spend in one place with two kids under 10 years. Anticipating the need to broaden our horizons (and our options for activities), I turned to one of my favorite travel resources, TripAdvisor. I was originally looking for the closest Club Med resort, hoping to book a few days of R & R so that Stacey and I could re-charge while the kids played with new friends in the Kids Club. There is a Club Med on Bintan Island (60 minute ferry ride from Singapore). But the ratings were so-so, and the price was high. Many of the travelers were recommending a different resort called Nikoi Island. I read the reviews, looked at the website, and booked us in for 5 nights of environmentally-conscious, low-stress bliss.

I suppose it’s normal to be apprehensive about experiences which are unfamiliar. One thing we have not yet experienced is tourism opportunities in predominantly non-Christian countries. Other than Mexico, we have spent limited tourist dollars in non-first world spots. And, we have not taken our children to places where travel vaccinations and mosquito nets are recommended to provide some health protection from diseases such as typhoid, hepatitis, and Dengue fever. To top it off, I was a little worried about our safety from a legal perspective (the geeky lawyer in me is not that easy to quash). Blame it on the media, but I had visions of being interrogated (and punished!) by Singaporean customs officials for traveling with items we did not even know were contraband.

However, these are solvable concerns. I spoke to doctors and pharmacists and figured out what vaccinations we would need, and what medications we could bring. I consulted the Singapore and Indonesian Immigration websites and noted advice for travelers. I consulted Lonely Planet and Eyewitness DK and did some reading about the culture. By the time we got onto our flight for Singapore, I was ready to embrace this experience as the adventure that I know it will be. We flew 8 hours, from Brisbane to Singapore. We took a ferry from Singapore to Bintan Island. We drove across Bintan Island (population: 700 000; travel distance: 1 hour) to another boat launch, and took another 25 minute boat ride to Nikoi. And, upon disembarking the boat and gazing at the island paradise for 10 seconds, we knew we had made the right choice for the “re-charge” portion of our holiday. Nikoi Island is both rustic and luxurious; organized and care-free; friendly and private;   . . . . perhaps all indicative of the Indonesian culture that I don’t know much about, but am already keen to learn more.

There have already been some fantastic giggle moments. As it turns out, the Indonesian customs officials were not as I had imagined. They were not the slightest bit concerned 

with our family of four and our “100% compliant with the law” luggage. Unlike Singapore’s Custom/Immigration counter (which was far more intimidating but also, a non-event), our entry into Indonesia was surreal. It started out in a similar fashion. I wish I had taken a photo of the sign that greeted us at the ferry terminal (it pictured a stick figure being shot by another stick figure holding a gun, with the warning, “do not enter this area”), The Customs Declaration form was unequivocal: “Drug trafficking will result in death”. Gulp. We disembarked from the ferry and were immediately greeted by a Nikoi Island representative, who took our passports, and went somewhere (?) with them. Yes, I know . . . I can’t believe I handed our passports to a stranger and watched him walk away with them. We did what we were told to do, and proceeded to collect our suitcases while our paperwork was being “processed”. Then, we exited the baggage collection area, into Indonesian Customs. Interestingly, our suitcases were permitted to bypass the security clearance area without scanning or inspection. Just our family and our carry-on luggage had to go through the scanners. During this screening, the kind (smiling!) Indonesian customs officer asked me for our Customs Declaration form. I told her it was in my passport, and sheepishly added that I didn’t actually know where my passport was. She smiled and waved us through. Seriously. No passport, no Customs declaration. Instead, we were invited to relax in the “Emerald Lounge” with a bottle of water and a pre-purchased package of peanuts, while our paperwork was “processed”. In time, our paperwork was “processed” and came back to us, with shiny Indonesian visas inside, and we were on our way. With the Customs Declaration form still tucked in my passport. And with no one actually comparing our likeness with the photo in our passports or asking us a single question about our stay. Apparently, they were really not concerned with our family of four and our “100% compliant with the law” luggage. They could probably tell by looking at me that I had worried enough about this for everyone, so they could direct their attention to someone else.

The Nikoi Island resort employs polite and knowledgable SUV drivers to take guests from the ferry terminal, across the island, to the boat launch. Within minutes, our family, our luggage, and our Customs form, all piled into a black Toyota SUV with leather seats and AC. We were on our way. The “local” driver did his best to provide us with some information/history during the one-hour drive. Ten minutes into our journey, we drove through another ‘armed’ check point, and found ourselves in the “real part of Bintan Island” (our driver’s word choice, not mine). This is where we learned that there were about 700 000  Indonesians living on Bintan, and that the primary commercial enterprises were tourism and manufacturing (electronics and clothing). The kids asked some good questions about crops and growing seasons and languages, but mostly, they sat silently as we drove through small settlements of people, characterized by wooden, poorly-constructed shacks (described as home and shops by our driver). We heard that 60% of the population is Islamic, 20% Chinese Buddhist, and 20% Christian. We saw the primary and secondary schools and the government-built mosques (by far and away, the most luxurious-looking buildings on Bintan). 

All of which was interesting, but secondary (in my mind), to the motorcycles. These motorized two-wheelers are the most common vehicle for transport. Everyone rides them. Even children. Many without helmets. The youngest driver we saw was a boy no older than Julia’s age. At one point, Stacey non-chalantly asked our driver, “What is the minimum legal age to drive a motorcycle here?” “Sixteen”, he replied but, “the police aren’t bothered”. As we cruised across the island, our driver would pull up behind these motorcycles and beep his horn a few times. Then, our SUV would pull out and pass the bikes, cutting things pretty close IMHO. On one such occasion, we passed a motorcycle with three people on it: a young man (probably late teens) with two little girls on the back. The girl sandwiched in the middle was no older than 4 or 5 years of age. Beautiful eyes and long black hair, dressed in a pink sundress. With no helmut. We locked eyes for a moment and her face is now etched in my memory. The mum in me was desperate to pull her off this bike and into Ben’s car seat (the one that we treked all the way from Australia so Ben could travel safely across the island). 

The irony is so incredibly poignant.  When we travel, we get to see “normal” through the eyes of others. I realize (once again!) how limited and insular we can become without these opportunities to see (with our own eyes) that the majority of our planet lives so differently from safeguards and protections that we blindly take for granted. Twenty - four hours later, I am still thinking about that little girl. I am wondering who she was riding with and where she was going. And hoping that she got there safely. However, (like the Customs form experience), I know that it is more than likely that she is safe, loved, and happy. What this says about ‘danger’ and protecting our kids and my own experiences of ‘letting go’ so my kids can ‘grow’ . . . well, I have more to say about that in my next blog post.

Walking in Our Shoes

I used to read a lot of self-help books. For 5+ years, I was a regular consumer of inspirational and motivational reading material. I was passionate about facilitating change--personally and organisationally. These days, I do wonder if I have forgotten most of what I used to know--my work as a professional coach & counsellor seems like a lifetime ago. Some bits have stuck with me, though. Like this story . . . it has always been one of my favorites!

An old man had a habit of early morning walks on the beach. One day, after a storm, he saw a human silhouette, moving like a dancer in the distance. As he came closer, he saw that it was a young woman and she was not dancing. She was reaching down to the sand, picking up starfish, and very gently, throwing them into the ocean. "Young lady," he asked, "Why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" Her reply: "The sun is up, and the tide is going out, and if I do not throw them back to the ocean, they will die."The old man asked, "But young lady, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and starfish all along it? You cannot possibly make a difference."The young woman listened politely, paused, and then bent to pick up another starfish, and threw it into the sea. Her reply: "I made a difference for that one".

I think I first read that story in a Stephen Covey book, although some research suggests it is properly attributed to Loren Eiseley: "The Star Thrower". Regardless. It's a really good piece of advice. For anything in life. Start small. Over time, small adds up to "bigger". And in the end, you have changed something that seemed formidable, if not impossible, at first glance.

As a parent, I have done my best to teach this lesson to my kids. At an early age, they knew that people across the world (and across their country) did not have the "easier life" that they have been blessed with. They also know that they can do things to improve the lives of others. Some of you already know that for Julia's 7th birthday, she requested that her birthday party guests donate money to the Red Cross "Malaria Bites" campaign. She came up with this idea on her own, after watching a very sad video about the numbers of children and moms who die from diseases passed on by mosquitos. She watched the video and she cried. And then we talked about how she could help those families. For three years now, she has donated money in lieu of birthday party gifts to this campaign. She is touched and proud to know that the $300 she has raised to date has purchased 30 nets and potentially saved the lives of 150 people. This is what I mean about starting small. She gave up a few toys and look at the difference she has made. It really is something for her to be proud of.

As you might know, Julia is a Girl Guide. She has been a Girl Guide since she was 5 years old. Now, she has been a Girl Guide in two different countries. As a member of this fantastic leadership-development organisation for girls, Julia has been provided with opportunities to give back to her community and to understand her responsibilities as a global citizen-living in privileged circumstances in a first-world country. A few weeks ago, we attended a "Thinking Day" Girl Guide celebration and we learned more about the UN's Millenium Development Goals (MDG). The World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts have adopted these goals as ways for our girls to strive to improve their world. Their "starfish", if you will. Each year, different goals will be highlighted, which are meant to provide direction/focus to charity/community work undertaken by our Girl Guide groups. The Global Action Theme is "together we can change our world". In 2013, Girl Guides Australia is focusing on Goals #3 and #4: Reducing Child Mortality and Improving Maternal Health. These are lofty important goals. And they are BIG. How does a group of girls in a country like Australia (or Canada) begin to tackle goals like that?

As you might not know, I was also a Girl Guide. I was a Girl Guide for almost 10 years. I learned a lot about ways to care for others during the time I spent in Guides. The 2013 Thinking Day event inspired me to consider how our community group of Girl Guides could help other girls around the world--what could we do in the spirit of the MDG's as WAGGGS is promoting? As is often the case with me, an answer could be found on the internet. Facebook to be more specific. :) I was surfing Facebook one day and noticed a post about CARE Australia's "Walk in Her Shoes". I spent about 30 minutes reading their website, and I was convinced. This was an opportunity for our family (and our Girl Guide group) to tackle the MDG's. To increase our children's awareness about the situation faced by many girls and women in third world countries around the world. To raise some money to help them. To make a difference. 

Consider these statistics (direct from CARE's website):

• On average, in developing countries, women and girls travel over 6 kilometres every day collecting water.

• They carry around 15-20 litres per trip. 

• Two out of every three children who are not attending primary school are girls. 

• Girls are not attending school because they are needed to collect water and food--to provide the necessities of life for their families.

As of last week, our family of 4 are registered participants in the 2013 "Walk In Her Shoes" campaign. All of us have committed to walking 10 000 steps--every day--from March 18 to March 24. And we have organised a team of enthusiastic and committed fellow walkers-the Jamboree Heights Girl Guide district members. From Gumnuts (starting at age 5) to Rangers (as old as 16 years), we are all going to walk 10 000 steps. Aligned with the MDG's, our girls are learning about what is "daily life reality" for girls their age in less developed countries. They will be experiencing what it feels like to walk 6-7 kilometers a day. And they will be helping to raise money to fund projects that will improve the quality of life for these girls and their families.

To help keep track of our steps, I picked up our CARE "Walk In Her Shoes" pedometer kits from the Body Shop (national sponsor) just prior to registering for this event. The four of us have already started practicing, trying to increase our understanding of how far/how long it will take for us to walk 10 000 daily steps. Our youngest is 6 years old, and we have been unsure as to whether this challenge would be too much for him. This past Saturday, all 4 of us put on our pedometers shortly after "rolling out of bed" with the agreed-upon goal of 10 000 steps by the end of the day. Since we were spending the weekend out of town, in the lovely Sunshine Coast hinterland, we had some time to exclusively focus on achieving this. We ignored the intermittent rain and tackled a nature hike within the Mary Cairncross Reserve in Maleny. We covered about 2 km of walking trail in just over one hour. A post-walk peek at our pedometers showed us that we had completed 6000 steps. Some shopping and sightseeing for the remainder of the day enabled us to reach 10 000 steps by dinner time. I won't pretend that there wasn't occasional whinging from the kids because (of course) there was. "I'm bored" and "My legs hurt" were two phrases heard more than once. But because we have a purpose for doing this, the response to these complaints was easy to find. I wondered out loud if the girls who walk this distance every day get bored. And tired. And sore. And my kids had no choice but to imagine that they probably did, and wondered what they told themselves to combat those feelings-to forage ahead and get their chores done despite their discomforts. We also got the chance to talk about how lucky we are to be choosing to do this, while the girls who do it every day don't get a choice.

I honestly don't know if there is a better way to teach kids about gratitude and world perspective and helping others than diving into a challenge such as this. I love that my children are learning that there are injustices, hardships, and heartbreak in the world AND that we can all do something about this. However small our actions, they matter to the few that we are able to help.

Please consider providing a donation to our "Walk In Her Shoes" campaign. You can find our fundraising webpage at this address: walkinhershoes2013.everydayhero.com/au/kathleen-fraser 

Every donation is significant: $5 or $50. You will be helping us to help CARE make a difference, one girl at a time. And you will be helping Stacey and I teach our children that over time, "small gifts" add up to "bigger ones" and that each person, with intention and effort to help, CAN make a difference.


Our Fundraising Page

About "Walk In Her Shoes"

About the Canadian Red Cross "Malaria Bites" campaign

WAGGGS and the UN's Millenium Development Goals

The Queen of Boundaries

To love another person is to see the face of God.   

- Victor Hugo ~Les Miserables

A good friend recently told me I was the "Queen of Boundaries". Her perception surprised me. I have never described my strong-willed tendencies in such a positive light. But with some honest self reflection, I do admit that I've given "boundary-maintenance" its fair share of attention for the better part of my adult life.

The term "boundary" probably has slightly different meanings to different people. To me, it is that tangible line between the issues you are willing to "let go" and those that you will not compromise. My observation is that some people have flexible fishing-line style boundaries. Others have steel posts. Many people have both types: depending on the situation, their flexibility fluctuates.

I can intuitively identify when an issue truly matters to me. The steel posts go up & I can't tear them down, even if I think I want to. Although I see myself in everyday life as a "people pleaser", my personality changes on a dime when my important boundaries are crossed. My reactions and actions may appear to some to be stubborn, pushy, determined, focused, "control-freakish", or even annoying. I understand why others might see my behaviour in this light. But, it really is true that things are not always as they seem. Sometimes, there is method to my madness. Let me give you an example.

In state schools in Queensland, students are provided with weekly Religious Instruction (RI). This is not religious education, whereby world religions are canvassed and objective historical and modern day events are reviewed. This is religious Instruction, whereby students are taught by volunteer community religious leaders Bible-inspired lessons. I have no doubt that Christian RI in Queensland schools is wanted and appreciated by a large portion of our school community. So, this is not a debate about that. I respect that everyone practices spirituality in their personal ways and it is not for me to comment or judge.

However, here's the issue. I do not subscribe to, adhere to, follow, or practice my spirituality within any forum that could possibly be conceived as organized religion. Neither do my kids. And I have deep, meaningful (to me) reasons for the choices I've made. This does not mean I am an atheist, agnositic or in any other fashion, "spiritually deficient or devoid". These convictions ("my truths") are planted as deep in my soul as the religious beliefs of my fellow Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, and Buddhist friends. They are beliefs that I openly share with my children as part of my role as their parent. In fact, I think that one of my most important goals as their mother is to assist them in understanding and connecting with their own spiritual cores . . . with my guidance and love, but not my persuasion toward one particular belief system.

Christian RI, as it appears to be practiced in our school system, is not aligned with my beliefs about how I want to provide spiritual education to my children. I do not object to my kids being exposed to ethics or character lessons. Many Christian values, including love, service, and respect, are part of my belief system as well. In part, I believe that the dissonance I feel is rooted in the implementation of the RI program. The RI instructors (called religious ministers in the relevant legislation) are not Queensland certified teachers. The credentials/background of these instructors are not provided to parents. The instructors do not teach from a curriculum so the content of their lessons cannot be provided to those who may wish to examine them or know what their children are learning.

Wise friends have suggested that I could use this RI experience as a learning/debriefing way to discuss spiritual issues with my children. The difficulty with that idea is that I have no idea what the RI instructors are teaching my kids. It is hard to debrief an experience that you know nothing about. Short of sitting in the lesson every week, I will likely never know what information has been conveyed and how my children have interpreted it. The only consistent answer I ever get from my six-year-old, when I inquire about what he learned during his school day, is "nothing". Expecting him to be able to communicate to me accurate information about what he learned in Religion is not an realistic option. However, as those of us who are parents know, this does not mean he is learning "nothing". He is currently learning about 1/2 of what he knows about the world at school. As his mother, I believe it is my right to be able to obtain additional information about what his school lessons consist of, so that I might provide additional information and correct inaccuracies. And if appropriate, I provide my perspective, particularly if the situation requires the understanding that the world is not black and white; rather, there are multiple perspectives. Because let's face it--most of the time, there are.

In Queensland, the Education (General Provisions) Act (2006) and accompanying Regulations provide the legislative authority to implement this type of religious instruction in state (public) schools. The legislators have recognised that many students will not align with the religious beliefs of the religious instructors and thus, they have outlined important safeguards to address this issue. These safeguards include: the ability to opt-out of RI (actually, they require parental consent to be sought prior to offering RI, but this practice seems to be watered down in implementation); and the requirement that those that opt out be provided with other educational activities in separate learning spaces. In many cases, "separate learning spaces" appears to have been interpreted/implemented to be the back of the same classroom where RI is being taught. Again, this seems to be for administrative/logistical reasons (the teaching staff cannot leave religious community volunteers (who are not school staff) alone in the classroom with the children). But, the practical result is that "opted out" kids are in fact still present in the classroom for the RI lesson. The only difference between students studying RI and those that are not is that the opted out students are not required to actively participate in lessons. The opted- out students, however, cannot help but listen to/overhear the lesson and they will assimilate the information they hear in the many varied and unpredictable ways that children learn.

I can only imagine what the families of students who actively practice other organised religions experience with this process. In my mind, it is THE reason why many communities offer some form of secular education. Because there are many places that people can chose to go to receive spiritual education/guidance that will align with their chosen spiritual beliefs. Churches, synagogues, mosques, nature. But, having a choice about their children's school is not a reality for many families.

I have wondered: do I go with the flow? I could accept that my children are primarily influenced by me and their dad, and that I will be able to debrief their RI experiences/learning so that I know they know that they have "spiritual options". I could consider the idea that RI is not a "big deal"; it's an hour of singing songs and hearing stories--what harm can come from that? My problem is those darn boundaries. The steel poles have gone up and I can't bring them down, even if I wanted to. And when I take the time to analyse why I can't tear them down, I realize that they are being constructed and erected by my heart. What matters to me most is protected by my soul, even when I want to ignore it, when I want to "be agreeable", and when I think I "should" just go with the flow.

What matters to me? What matters to me as I parent my children through the complex, meaningful, and intensely personal realm of their spiritual identity development? At this stage of their lives, I want myself and my husband to be THE people who shepherd our children's spiritual growth. My life experiences to date have taught me that spiritual guidance is best facilitated by those people with whom you can trust to honour your heart. Those people who see you and love you for who you are. For our family (remember: I'm not judging the choices of others!), these people are not strangers who visit the public schools once a week to share their interpretation of what spirituality means to them.

So, I will move forward with a mission, and with my steel poles intact. People in my life have watched this issue unfold. I wonder if they are wondering why I am making such a fuss? Why I take on systemic issues that I have little hope of changing? Why I stress over things that others can just "let go"? I guess the short answer is that I am the "Queen of Boundaries". Whether I like it or not, it is just a part of who I am.


Post-script

After posting this blog, my attention was drawn to the fact that many others in Australia have similar concerns. For those Australian parents who wish to know more about this issue, check out the following websites:

Religious Instruction in Victoria


Religious Instruction in Queensland


Controversy About RI in State Schools

Flooding Legacies

There is nothing quite as humbling as good ole Mother Nature. As a person who grew up in the Canadian prairies, I thought I had seen "bad weather". Actually, after spending 40 years coping with eight-month long winters; experiencing countless days of "four-layers of clothing required" -30 C; dodging freak hail and thunderstorms; and driving in blizzards where heavily falling snow reduced visibility to zero, I pretty much figured I had seen it all. But, this past weekend, (Tropical Cyclone) Oswald decided to show me his version of subtropical "bad weather". It isn't a version that you see promoted in tourism campaigns. Living in Queensland is not always about sunshine and sun tans. Sometimes, the weather looks like this:

Pictures of the Queensland cyclone/flood January 2013

My youngest turned six this weekend. My little Canadian boy, born on one of those "bad weather" days I speak of above. My winter-turned-summer baby. He is intensely proud that he now celebrates "his earth's rotation of the sun" on a summertime national holiday: Australia Day. He loves doning his "I Love Oz" t-shirt and jovially celebrating his birth in conjunction with the birth of his newly adopted home. 

Birthday boy opening his gifts
(only birthday activity not dampened by the weather)

This year, our Australia Day outing was rained out, courtesy of Oswald. And little did we know at the time, that we would not see the sunshine again for 72 hours. For the next two days, we would be hammered by incessant rain, and howling winds (with speeds up to 70 km per hour). Trees were uprooted, windows smashed, flash floods swept cars from the roads that were, only moments before, safe to travel on. TV images from towns north of us showed tornados reeking havoc. And then came the flood threats. Because over 250 mm of rain had fallen in such a short time, rivers and their feeder streams were overflowing. And all that water was coming our way . . . to our idyllic home on the Brisbane River. To beautiful Brisbane, a city that has not finished rebuilding from the last devastating floods of 2011.

We didn't live here in January of 2011. But we have heard a lot about it from people who called Brisbane home on that D-Day: January 13, 2011. When all was said and done, there was over one billion dollars in property damage and 35 lost lives. The people of Brisbane have not yet finished repairing the physical damage caused by that natural disaster. When we moved to Brisbane in September of 2011, the city was immersed in its clean-up efforts. Stores were re-opening, some insurance monies were (finally) forthcoming, and houses were being renovated. However, in some ways, I think that repairing the extensive physical damage is the easiest part. The un-repaired (un-repairable?) damage is the psychological one, not easily seen but almost always present. The elephant in the room.

On Sunday, we went out to a movie in an attempt to create some (belated) celebratory atmosphere for our birthday boy's special day. We arrived home mid-afternoon, and turned on news reports to get further information about the peak of the storm, expected to slam its full force into Brisbane that evening. The TV news is never about 'good' news. So we had no illusions that we'd hear anything other than dire predictions. I will say, though, that I was unnerved to hear the announcer somberly announce an impending flood of the Brisbane River. We live on the Brisbane river. Our kids go to a school that is adjacent to the Brisbane river. Brisbane is actually centered around it's river, from the entertainment precincts in the CBD and South Bank to the many parks and cultural public spaces. And the news just got worse. By Monday morning (a public holiday in lieu of Saturday's Australia Day), we learned that our property (most likely the yard, not the house) was expected to sustain flooding damage. And that the city would once again be staring down the barrel of a destructive overflowing river and a massive clean-up/rebuild effort. We monitored the water levels of the river all day on Monday. We created "flood protection plans" in our heads.We strategized with our landlords. We accepted offers of "call us when you need us" help from friends, neighbours and strangers. And we waited. We waited all night. Last night, I awoke hourly, walking tentatively to the windows that have a river view, and cautiously raising my eyes to the "unknown sight", hoping that I would see water--in the distance only! By the grace of God, every time, that's all I saw. 

As I write this, I believe the worst is over. The sun is shining today. Temperatures are 31 degrees. And the river in front of our house is right where it belongs-in the river bed. As it turns out, rising water levels are so far measuring far lower than originally estimated. Early news from those working/observing the CBD is that so far, many of the buildings expected to flood did not and actual damage is far less than many dared to hope. This morning, my children got to attend their first day of the 2013 school year, and our life will most likely return back to "normal" very soon. "Normal" until the next act of Mother Nature anyway.

First Day of Grades Five and One -
posing with the Brisbane River :)

One thing is clear. I can now say that I have a better understanding of the legacy of the 2011 floods. There are deep (generational) scars that always take root in situations such as this: where there is such widespread destruction, heartbreak, and loss. Yesterday, I could feel that collective pain; the fear that more loss was coming and the helplessness to stop it. But, the spirit of community, the senses of humour, the willingness to pitch in and help others without thinking of your own inconvenience--these signs of humanity are also 2011 QLD flood legacies. I will declare that in my opinion, Brisbanites are cut from some tough cloth. Because although this Canadian prairie girl thought she had the market on living in extreme climate conditions, she doesn't. I haven't seen it all. Not even close.