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. 

Craving Connection

It's 2013. It's a new year--a blank slate to imprint as we wish. I have been doing some thinking about what I want this year to look like--my aspirations and goals, along with the relationships and lifestyle that I wish to maintain.

I will confess that I am also mending a broken heart. I just had the privilege of spending three full weeks with seven of my most cherished peeps. We had the adventure of a lifetime-the type of opportunity that many would dream of having with people they love. Make no mistake--I am grateful that I have friends who can and will expend their precious time and money to travel 12 500 km to spend three weeks hanging out with us. Whether it was snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef, watching sea turtles dive off the shores of Stradbroke Island, touring the World Heritage Blue Mountains, partaking in a 'bucket list' NYE party in Sydney Harbour, or drinking latte and gin in the Hendrick's Lounge . . . I treasure all of those moments in my heart and in my memory. A week ago, my friends flew back to Canada, and I am still intensely mourning the loss of their convenient presence--of being proximately and emotionally close to people who truly know us AND love us for who we are. No "unknown" expectations, no awkwardness, no need to pretend to be anything other than ourselves . . . just friendship and love. It is a rare thing in this foreign world where we now live--eager to make new friends and have new experiences, while knowing that 12 year relationships cannot be built in, or compared to, those that we've had for less than 15 months. 

This is the necessary context for understanding my Facebook decision. Because after re-experiencing that kind of love and support, logging on to see "pages you might like" and "sponsored ads" and a whole lot of corporate and self-promotion just doesn't cut it for me. 

It is true that the sometimes "one-sided" nature of Facebook has always been a pet peeve of mine. I know I am an incessant post-er (or some might say an over-sharer), but I have never appreciated this aspect of Facebook--openly and honestly sharing details of my life with people who don't reciprocate. My way of dealing with what I see as the "dark side" of Facebook has thus far been to strictly control my friendship lists. I regularly "defriend" people from my Friends list who don't actively participate.

Over the past few months, I have really noticed that Facebook is becoming intensely focused on business promotion. My Newsfeed is cluttered with impersonal information that doesn't really matter to me, but that for whatever reason, I am taking time and energy to read at many points throughout my day. At times, I have wondered where I can find information about my friends, as if Facebook is hiding it somewhere and all I need to do is pass an endurance test that amounts to slogging through way too many ads and "pages they suggest" to win that elusive prize.

As it turns out, the time-wasting endurance test has been for naught. Friends have been telling me that they don't use Facebook very much anymore. Many have decided to "take a break". I totally understand the many valid reasons for doing so, such as: prioritizing time for other things, privacy concerns, and values that hold personal interaction above online communicating. But, while friends are "taking their breaks", I am no longer privy to information about their lives. I don't know what's happening with their jobs, their families. And by "taking a break", most don't mean they are no longer looking at Facebook. Many still log on regularly. What I think many people mean by "break" is that they are logging on to passively read what others are doing, rather than to actively share parts of their lives. Watching this trend, my best guess is that Facebook will one day be almost solely an advertising platform for business, as it can't be a place for social connection when people don't take proactive measures to use it to actually connect. 

Truth be told, I am desperate for some real connection. This was made quite obvious to me after spending face-to-face time with my dear friends over the holidays. Real connection. That means "two-sided" communication where information is freely exchanged and both parties feel like they get to speak and listen in equal measure. Obviously, Facebook isn't meant to replace face-to-face interactions--meeting in person will always trump online social networking. However, I am feeling naive in my former belief that Facebook is a useful tool to stay connected with those who live too far away to meet for coffee or dinner. Because I'm not feeling connected. If anything, these days Facebook is facilitating my loneliness. 

So I am going to bite the bullet, listen to my heart, and "take a break". And I really mean "break", because tomorrow, I will be deactivating my Facebook account, eliminating the Facebook app from my phone and iPad, and using every ounce of willpower that I have to not log onto the Facebook site for the next month. I won't see your posts and your Facebook messages. The bright side is that I will also not be spending my time sifting through the hundreds of advertising-related posts. I won't be ducking trolls and their negativity, just to find the few "bright" spots: Facebook Friend status updates that are hidden gems within an increasingly impersonal online "community".

For the next 30 days, if you would like to connect with me, please send me an email or an iMessage. We can Skype. We can talk on the old-fashioned telephone. If you live in Brisbane, we can meet for a coffee or a glass of wine. If you want to know what's going on my life, ask me because I will be more than willing to tell you. :) And then I will get the chance to ask about your life too. I want to know what and how you are doing, and I don't buy for one second that you don't have anything interesting to say. You do. You just don't want to share it on Facebook. And that's OK. Right now, I don't want to either.

xx K

Sabbatical

2012 is the year of my sabbatical. After enduring the impact of making a life-changing decision, and moving our family across the world, I officially declared that 2012 would be my year to reflect. I told myself that it really needed to be this way because I was required to be at home with my kids: helping them make the transition to their new lives, and being available for them whenever they needed me. But, more than that, I will admit to being completely daunted by the idea of qualifying myself as a psychologist or a counsellor in Australia. I will admit that I have not felt compelled to research how to work again. I will admit to not looking for the energy to problem solve the issue of domestic help/care for my kids. Declaring 2012 as my sabbatical year has had the impact of giving my overachieving-self some time off. For the most part, it has restrained the tendency that I have to serially jump into professional opportunities, without giving myself time to reflect on how I really want my career to progress.

And now there are 60 days left in my sabbatical year. The pressure is ON for me to declare (to myself anyway) my next step. What do I want to be when I grow up? It is a question that has plagued me for most of my life. 

At the risk of sounding odd, I will confess. I am fascinated by the concept of identity. How do we gain a strong sense of who we are in relation to our self, our family, our community, our world? Does a strong identity correlate with family, upbringing, personality, socioeconomic opportunities, or life experiences? Or all of the above? Because we all know people who seem to inherently know exactly who they are and what they are meant to be contributing to this world. I will shamefully admit that I am not one of those people.

I expect that those of you who've known me for a while are not shocked by my confession. Because my resume really shows off my reluctance to professionally commit. Or it shows off my versatility. Depending on my mood, I can see it either way. I do believe that each step in my career path has taught me a lot about myself. In every job I've held, I have learned more about my strengths and my challenges. I have made lifelong friends at every organization that I've had the privilege of working for. So, what's the hold-up, you ask. Why aren't you embracing this new opportunity to work in a new country? What are you afraid of?

I've thought a lot about this. My hesitation to "move forward" and get into the work world again. And I don't think I'm afraid. I think a better word would be "lost". I don't mean that in a dramatic way. I am grounded to my family and to my friends and to the gratitude I genuinely feel for the opportunities we've had.

But, there are some drawbacks to starting over. In the beginning, I think the excitement of having a 'clean slate' camouflaged the losses. But, as time passes, the losses are making themselves known. For me, I find myself flailing--struggling to be seen as a person with intelligence and competence. In Australia, people do not know me in relation to my career achievements, my professional skills, or my work experiences. They do not know me as a person that once prosecuted a man for murder. They don't know that I used to train police officers about how to lawful detain, arrest, search, and question persons accused of crimes. They don't know that I counselled families facing terminal illness. They don't know me as anyone other than a person who picks up her children from school every day at 3 pm, and otherwise, seems to have a lot of free time on her hands.

And before you mention it, I do 100% agree that picking up my kids from school is a worthy endeavour. That's why I'm doing it. But, it is not an endeavour that provides me with professional credibility. I confess to really missing my professional identity-the one where I was known as an intelligent and driven woman with skills to offer the greater world. I want to be someone more than a mum who lives a "privileged life" of staying home with her kids, working out at the gym, and lunching with friends. Please don't read this as a criticism of that lifestyle, as I know first-hand how much hard work goes into being a stay-at-home mum. I didn't know it before I moved to Australia, but I absolutely know about it now. Kudos to all of the stay-at-home mums out there--it is the hardest job in the world, bar none. And having lived it, I really mean that (I'm not just saying it because it is the PC thing to say). But, for me, my identity does not rest peacefully carrying only that role. I wish it were otherwise, but if I'm brutally honest with myself, it is not enough for me.

The loss of credibility, the loss of my extensive professional network, the loss of being seen as an accomplished career person, and the loss of being confident in my professional abilities and what I have to offer the employment world . . . these are my "overseas-move" losses that I think now require my close attention. It is ironic that I have spent so much time studying the dynamics of grief and loss, yet I don't know quite how to attend to my own grief. How will I move past all that I've professionally lost to find my way again, to reestablish my identity as both a 'good mum' AND 'professionally successful. In jest, I would say, "there's 60 days left in my sabbatical to figure out that answer". More honestly, I know that this is a process and I might need a bit more time. And that's OK. 

Fighting The Battle

There are stunning purple flowers covering the Jacaranda tree in our backyard. They are a sign that spring has come to Brisbane. Even in a tropical climate where the plants are always green, the landscape goes through seasonal transitions. With increasing daytime highs, a warmer swimming pool, and those amazing purple flowers, we know "spring" has arrived. I confess to experiencing cognitive dissonance as I try and associate "spring" with the middle of October. Living in the Southern hemisphere has demonstrated that much of what we knew to be true about seasons, holidays, and calendar events are really a cultural creation.

Jacaranda tree-blooms in the spring

In Australia, October is the month for Breast Cancer Awareness. Similar to Canada, there are various fundraising events requiring attendance, monetary donations, and increased awareness about the importance of self-screening and regular visits to the doctor. Unfortunately, breast cancer (BC) is not just an abstract concept to most of us. Impacting 1:8 women (before the age of 85 yrs), it is more likely than not that we all know someone who has been challenged by this disease. Many of us know someone that has lost their battle.

Or, if you are like me, you know someone who did not get to fully engage in a BC fight. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in May of 1998. Prior to her diagnosis, she had not seen a doctor for regular physicals since my brother was born in the early 70's. By the time she was diagnosed with breast cancer, the tumors had metastasized to her lungs and her brain. Her prognosis was terminal. Before she could even try to summon the energy and resources to fight any kind of battle, she had already lost her fight. As you might be able to imagine, as her daughter (and as her primary caregiver from this moment forward), receiving this news felt like a knife to my heart. The scary "C" word delivered with not one ounce of hope. I have never felt so devastated or helpless as I did that afternoon when the Peter Lougheed Emergency room doctor informed me that my mother did not stand even a remote chance of surviving the attack of this disease.

So, since May 23, 1998, I have taken on the BC battle on behalf of my mom. In the beginning, I engaged with her doctors, seeking a glimmer of hope that there was SOMETHING my mom could do to help herself survive. As it became increasingly clear that her "self-help ship" had long since sailed, I focused on how I could contribute to cancer-cure efforts. For many years, I raised monies for the CIBC Run for the Cure. I walked 60 km in The Weekend to End Breast Cancer with three very dear family friends: women who were equally invested in fighting this battle in honour of my mom. In 2005, I joined the Board of Directors for the Wings of Hope Breast Cancer Foundation (www.wings-of-hope.com) and spent several years assisting with fundraising efforts to provide financial and psychosocial support to breast cancer patients. I donated to others' fundraising efforts. And I encouraged my female friends to pay attention to their breast health: through regular self-exams, annual physicals, and mammograms.

Run for the Cure-Vancouver 2002
Running for Pauline & Leslie

Run for the Cure-Calgary 2003
Julia's first "run" for Grandma Pauline

The Weekend to End Breast Cancer Aug 2005
We walked 60 km over 2 days

My "team" for the Weekend and my "family" for life

The FINISH line--we did it!
I cried like a baby for about an hour--the most rewarding fundraising experience yet

Wings of  Hope Breast Cancer Foundation Board of Directors
October 2005 Annual Fundraising Luncheon

Run for the Cure 2007
Julia walked 5 km for BC at age 4

I often think about a conversation that I had prior to the Weekend to End Breast Cancer 2005. Each participant was required to raise $1500 in order to participate in this event. I was able to meet this fundraising goal through the generosity of family and friends who clearly wanted to support my need to fight. However, one friend informed me that she wasn't comfortable donating money to my campaign. She felt that such fundraising efforts were unethical in the sense that all of the donated monies did not go directly to research (with this particular event, there were high overhead costs as it was organized by professional fundraisers). Further, she doubted that researchers would ever find a cure for breast cancer so she was choosing to direct her charity contributions to different "less trendy" causes. At the time, I remember feeling gutted by her feedback and promptly responded as such, indicating that I hadn't chosen breast cancer as my cause. It had chosen me. And my family. And more specifically, it had chosen my mom. Many years later, as I reflect on this discussion, I realize that I have never stopped fighting BC. I have hope that I can somehow gain retribution from a disease that robbed my community of a fantastic school teacher. It robbed my children of their child-loving, gentle-spirited grandmother. And it robbed me of my number-one fan: the person who was always in my corner and whose words and actions always showed me that I was loved for exactly who I already was. Who wouldn't choose to retaliate against an enemy like that?

March 2006
My mom attended my law school graduation banquet
I remember her being very excited and proud

Since we moved to Australia, I haven't re-engaged in the BC battle. In truth, I think I took a break from the fight, even before we moved overseas. Four years ago, as I was immersed in my graduate studies in psychology, I was drawn into the world of palliative care, death and bereavement. In some ways, this new focus might appear like a loss of hope. But I like to think that in order to accomplish my own healing, I needed to redirect my efforts into helping those individuals who had "lost their battle" find some glimmer of hope (in the form of peace). 

There is a LOT of attention and millions of dollars directed toward finding a breast cancer cure. As there should be. Because it's a horrible disease and it impacts too many people who are in the prime of their lives: (most often women) who are raising children, supporting other family members, and enjoying professional success. But I think it is equally important to give voice to the reality that sometimes, we don't "win" the battle, we don't even get a chance to enter the ring. I know from professional experience that wonderful people get devastating news about cancer every day. And more often than not, support for those people is not funded (in scope or magnitude) in nearly the same way as cancer research. I know from personal experience that there is fear and loneliness and isolation when people hear the word "terminal": they know their hope to win the cancer-fight is gone. But, people who can't successfully fight a BC battle are still here on earth (for at least a little while), and they (and their families) are in need of some form of hope, even if it isn't the ultimate prize of life.

I watch those purple Jacaranda flowers bloom in my backyard and I think about my mom. I think about spring/fall and October and Breast Cancer Awareness. I wonder where, how, and when I will next engage in the BC battle. These are my efforts to honour my mom's experience: of finding herself in the middle of a fight that she knew from the beginning she would not win.

RIP Margaret Pauline Fraser (February 24, 1941 - January 1, 1999). There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss you. I will continue the fight. xoxo

Is Anybody Out There?

I am addicted to Body Combat. Seriously addicted. I didn’t think it was possible for me to become so attached to something that didn’t contain chocolate or alcohol. But, apparently it is. I attended my first Body Combat class on a bit of whim. Last February, I’d just started working out at my local gym, and I was feeling uninspired by the thought of countless hours on the elliptical trainer or the solitary (and repetitive) task of lifting weights. One morning, I noticed a line-up for an exercise class and within the the group of attendees, I found a familiar face. I inquired as to what the class was about, and decided to give it a go.

Now, I do everything I can to make it to two Body Combat classes a week-typically Monday and Friday mornings. The class is led by a extraordinarily fit and dynamic South African woman. Gill brings 110% energy, strength, and enthusiasm to all of her classes. It is impossible to spend an hour with her and not leave with a smile on your face. Which means that the class is full of hard-working, happy people who are doing something positive for their health AND having fun while doing it. 

This morning, Gill was physically exhausted when she arrived at class, explaining that she had run to get to the gym on time, and that she had already taught six Body Combat classes this week. But, as usual, she pulled out her fantastic attitude and everyone responded to her motivating energy. About halfway through the workout, she said to us, “if anyone ever needs someone to stay until the end of the fight, pick me”. 

I’m not sure you’d need to pick her. She strikes me as the type of person who would just “have your back”. I know she’s had my back for the past six months, although she probably doesn’t know that. My Body Combat time is my “me time”. It’s my stress-relief. It’s become my way of coping with vast amounts of uncertainty that happens when you move across the world without an “end plan” in mind. And, it’s become a place where I can experience the feeling of belonging to an empowering community of women who “kick butt”. At least twice a week, I get one hour to kick, punch, and battle my way through my fears, frustration, and loneliness that occasionally sneaks up on me in the many hours that I spend alone while my family pursues their work and school commitments. But, Gill’s comment led me to reflect a lot about community support--about the people who will stay until the end of your fight. All you need to do is ask them to be there.

My Facebook friends know about my most recent brush with vulnerability. Three weeks ago, Stacey went to Adelaide for a corporate conference. In the Murphy’s Law tradition, twenty-four hours after he left, I was struck down by a gastrointestinal virus that left me immobile and useless. I was not able to drive to the school and pick up my kids. I was unable to cook dinner for them or get them ready for bed. It was a terrifying feeling, and my initial instinct was to feel alone and helpless and afraid. And then I remembered that I wasn’t alone. I have friends who have my back and all I needed to do is ask for help. As it turns out (not fully understood by me until recently), I have created an entire new community of support. Friends picked up my kids from school, brought electrolyte drinks, baked for an upcoming bake sale, and offered deliveries of dinner and childcare. People I didn’t even know were quick to offer assistance, like the school secretary who left her desk and walked across the school campus to hand-deliver a note to Ben’s teacher. And my Julia (nine years old with the soul of an eighty year old) fed her brother and put him to bed. Then she poured me a bath, brought me hot tea, and set her alarm for 6 am so she could check on my well-being the following morning. The gift of this challenging time was the reminder that there are always people who “watch our backs”: who are there for us and willing to help, even when we think we are on our own and unsupported.

As life goes, I think so many of us feel like we are alone in our pain, our fears, and our challenges. When I worked as a counsellor, I noticed a common theme in the stories of my clients seeking support. They often reported feeling like others didn’t care or understand whatever adversity they were currently facing. And, in our busy, over-committed, isolated modern world, it is easy to understand why we feel that way. I know I’ve wondered many times if there was anybody out there: someone who would listen to my pain and provide some support. The thing is that if you ask, there is almost always someone there. Whether that someone is a friend, a family member, a stranger, your God, or your inner spirit . . . there is someone there who will stay till the end of your fight.

At the end of the Body Combat class, we take a few moments to stretch. The stretching routine is choreographed to some groovy but inspirational song, that leaves me feeling just the right balance of positive energy moderated with some quiet reflection. Today, we stretched to “Is Anybody Out There?” performed by K’Naan and the lovely Canadian singer/songwriter-Ms. Nelly Furtado (link to music video below). Isn’t it uncanny how everything in the universe seems to connect when you are paying attention? As I stretched and listened to the lyrics (“I don’t wanna be left in this war tonight, am I alone in this fight?”), I thought, “I need to blog about this”. 

We are not alone, there is always someone out there who will stay in our fight till the end. 

Thanks for the Body Combat therapy Gill. :)

 "Is Anybody Out There?" : Music video by K'Naan and Nelly Furtado

One Year Here

It’s official! We’ve lived in Australia for an entire year. One year ago today, we were unpacking our suitcases into our temporary apartment on Turbot Street in downtown Brisbane. And we were wondering. We were wondering: where we were going to live; if we’d make friends as good as the ones we’d left in Canada; where the kids would go to school; if we’d successfully learn to drive on the other side of the road; where to buy a car & a washing machine & a fridge & a coffee pot.  The “to do” list was endless and overwhelming. I will never forget my first morning in Brisbane, settling down into the black leather coach in our temporary living room, with a cup of instant Nescafe (that’s all we had in the house) and seriously wondering what the hell we had just done.

Our first "home" in Brisbane. Taken exactly one year ago.

I know I’ve spent the better part of a year processing this transition. So often, I am asked if I like it here or how it compares to Canada. Sometimes people suggest that the move must have been easy since Australia is “so much like Canada”. Other times, people question our judgment for moving so far away from family and friends.

So, I am guessing, on the first anniversary of this life-changing experience, some of you might be wondering if I think moving our family to Australia was the “right” thing to do. And for the past two weeks, I’ve been soul searching for the “right” answer, the perfect combination of brilliance, insight, emotion, and humility. An answer that really illustrates the impact of uprooting all that you’ve known to try a life that you haven’t experienced before. Those of you who know me well (and love me anyway) understand that I like to wrap things up in neat little packages: fully processed nuggets that succinctly articulate all that I think and feel.

And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I can’t wrap this one up neatly. I’m still processing the experience and qualitatively trying to figure out where it fits in the continuum of what I believe to be my "good" life choices. One hesitation in labeling our past year’s journey as “good” or “bad” is that I suspect such labeling will trivialize the breadth and depth of all that we’ve learned and encountered in the past 365 days.

All I can say for sure is that making a change of this magnitude requires conviction. Not conviction that you are doing the “right” thing. Conviction that you want to take a risk and by risking, you will feel more alive. Call it a sense of adventure, or itchy feet, or the desire to learn and grow. Call it what you will, but I personally believe with all my heart that taking chances and living within the emotional upheaval that change creates are where I feel most alive. It is the place that Brene Brown has called “Daring Greatly”. I think I connect with Brene's work because her conception of vulnerability resonates so deeply with the values that I carry in my soul. I know, unfortunately from personal experience, that we don’t always have 80 years to experience our lives. We might not get to wait until retirement to finally do something “outside of the box”, to move beyond that often-constraining and occasionally soul-crushing “to do list” that we might think responsible, mature adults must maintain as their sole and driving focus.

So, I carry a deep sense of gratitude and appreciation for this opportunity. And a real sense of respect and love for my husband, who put himself on the line to give our family this gift. I recognize how brave he was to apply for the job at Santos, without regard to whether he was “qualified enough” or if “he could really move to Australia”. Stacey lives his life with great confidence and comfort in his skin. He has an incredible work ethic, and a high level of intelligence that helps him to quickly understand processes and human motivations. He is also a person with a high degree of ethical and moral integrity, best exemplified in his behaviour as a parent. He has always understood that his children are his children and thus, their care is as much his responsibility as it is mine. He has never turned a blind eye to their needs or their development as people. He is thoughtful and introspective, and almost always aware of the impact of his actions and words on others. It is through his example that I believe I have finally learned the power of living fearlessly, asking for what you want, and not settling for less because someone doesn’t believe it is the right thing for you. For those of you who don’t know, Stacey and I started dating in our first year of university. September 14th is the day that we met, and we’ve in essence been together ever since. There is no way to really describe the ups and downs of a 23-year relationship that started when we were in our late teens and continues after 7 years of dating, 16 years of marriage, 2 children, career changes, the deaths of 4 of our grandparents as well as my mother, an overseas move, and many other less dramatic but equally as impactful daily stresses and strains of life. We haven’t had a perfect marriage nor do I think we have even tried to have one, knowing the futility of such a goal. But, our life in this new world “Down Under” has recharged my sense of who we are as a couple and what we are capable of as people, professionals, and most importantly, as parents.

Happy boys on Stradbroke Island for our Christmas break

Swimming in the waterfalls at Mount Tambourine

Julia and Stacey both love to play in the ocean 

There have been no real surprises in the ways in which my children have risen to the challenge of this move. In a certain sense, they are "chips off the old blocks" and love the experience of adventure. My little adrenalin junkies! But, also, I believe that they took cues from our attitudes, values, and beliefs about the privileged opportunity we were being offered, and the strengths that our family possesses that would allow us to be successful in our new home. Julia was 8 1/2 when we moved here and she had to say goodbye to “her Nora”: a very close friend who she has loved since she was 3 years old. That was perhaps the hardest part of leaving Calgary for her, and thus, one of the toughest “goodbyes” for me, as her mum. Watching her heart break in that way, and co-living with her residual grief that is still with her today . . . that has been both painful and humbling for me. 

Nora & Julia - spent our "last night" in Canada together in our hotel

Only nine months later--together again and still "BFF's"

But Julia has received many gifts from her father, including his ability to draw on inner strength in times of emotional upheaval. And she has found her way here in Australia, making new friends, finding a new piano teacher and resuming her lessons, essentially ‘skipping grade three’ yet achieving good academic results in grade 4. She has learned to swim like a fish and speak the Aussie lingo. She has found a new Girl Guide group and made another great friend in a co-Brownie, Miss Nicola. Like her mother, Julia continues to try and find ways to process what has happened to her, and often speaks of how she’s changed and grown, as well as what she likes and doesn’t like about Aussie culture, and the people and things that she misses in her Canadian homeland. 

Julia's good friend, Nicola--her ray of sunshine in Oz :)

My Benny was only 4 1/2 when we moved and thus, I think his transition has taken a much different path. Because of his developmental stage, he didn’t leave Canada with the same friendship/school history as Julia. He was in more of a position to start fresh without feeling disloyal in doing so. He is 3/4 of the way through his first year of school (it’s called Prep), and I shake my head in disbelief when I realize that he will be starting Grade One in January. Ben has just now reached an age where friends are becoming more important, and his preferences are developing for activities and places. He is beginning to vocalise what he thinks about life here in Australia and what is important to him. And it is with a little bit of sadness that I have to recognize that his memories of living in Canada, of being Canadian, are not as entrenched as they are/were with Julia. He uses Aussie lingo, and he is starting to pronounce words with more of an Aussie accent. I think he is pleased as punch that his birthday falls on National Australia Day (Jan 26), as he seems to believe it is some kind of omen that he was meant to live in this country. Of course, I am committed to reminding him of who he is and where he came from and I do it often. And so (perhaps to please me?), he speaks abstractly of his mother country. But his memory of his early childhood will be memories of Australia, while Julia’s are memories of Canada. It will be so interesting to see how this shapes them both as teenagers and adults, particularly if we decide to return to Canada to live at some point in the future.

Celebrating Ben's fifth birthday on National Australia Day (he'll always have the day off school for his birthday)

Ben has a love affair with kangaroos

Since we really "settled" in Australia (in February--after we finally moved into our current house), I often find myself shaking my head in disbelief with respect to the life that we live in Brisbane. We rent a gorgeous home, right on the beautiful Brisbane river. We have made some good friends--people who have “been there” for us during this tumultuous year. We have sufficient financial resources to explore Australia. It perhaps seems enviable and annoying to those who watch us on Facebook from afar and wonder if we actually work or experience hardship in this new life of ours. Of course, it is not always obvious on Facebook that we do many things in relative isolation. That we live 12 000 km from people who have been our support and our family for the past 40 years. And that although we chose to move, it doesn’t mean that we didn’t make that choice with grief and regret about all that we would be giving up.

Our first family trip to the koala sanctuary--one week after moving here (we still look a bit shell-shocked)

Backyard bliss

Some of those amazing Canadian friends that we miss every day!

Noosa beach at Easter

We miss our Grandpa John and Nana xoxo

For some time now, it’s been my plan to write a blog about our overseas experience. As I’m prone to do, I’ve made many excuses about why I haven’t done it yet, but a few weeks back, I decided that today would be the day I would start my blog, so here it is. I know I use Facebook to write about a lot of things that happen to us, but Facebook has it’s limitations. I am keen to try a new forum for expressing myself, journalling our experiences, and reaching out to those who care about us, and wish to know what we are up to. I welcome your feedback and support about our adventures.

With much love from the land down under,

Kathleen