From the desk of Teresa Jordan, Executive Director – Well, in few days we will be ushering in a new year. For many or most of us, we are hoping the new year is better than the old as we tackle a totally different kind of Christmas season.

Any time that I go to Lindsay for work I make a left at the corner of highways 35 and 7. There is an advanced green light there, but sometimes I do have to stop in the turning lane.

One day I stopped a little late and a big 18-wheeler was making a left hand turn at the intersection. The driver
glared down at me and I felt like a totally incompetent driver as I sheepishly backed up to allow room for him to turn.

After this experience I have tried to remember to stop well back in case another big truck is making a left. I was so proud last week as I anticipated the amber changing to red and stopped well back, as I could see a B- train truck waiting with its double trailer to make the left.

I was super glad that I had paid attention.

The driver, seeing me well back … glared down at me as if to say, “You think I can’t drive or something?”

So it would seem there is a lesson here right? Drive like you ought to in this life, make the
decisions that feel right, follow your own true north because either way you are probably going
to get glared at.

Drive well and stay safe. May the year 2021 bring you peace, hope and health … and may it be glare-free.

The ‘thrill of hope,’ what a turn of phrase from that much loved, often-sung-out-of-key hymn at Christmastime.

I know that the news swirls with all kinds of bad – numbers, projections and waves of a virus that none of us saw coming this time last year. With a vaccine, continued education and experience, there is a thrill of hope for a world that could get back to rejoicing together in all the ways that we used to rejoice.

What is hope after all – confident expectation, a desire for something to happen, trust that a certain thing will come to pass. And so, what can we absolutely say that we hope for … a return to a time where we can hug our friends and family, when we can gather with our grandparents and others without danger, when we can dine in our favourite restaurants with no extra measures, when we can sing loudly for all to hear and dance like a toddler who does not even need the music in large halls full of our favourite people?

I love Victor Frankl and his writing about his experience of the Holocaust. He says that our human freedom is to choose our attitude in any circumstance and design our way. That even in a night as dark as this pandemic and all its restrictions have been, we can look to a brighter future, be thrilled by the hope of a new year that will at some point bring a new time, that we can look confidently to a place, after the weary part is done, when we can again rejoice together at a distance closer than six feet.

The thrill of hope is that we can focus on what is getting us down, or we can take as many moments as we need to picture this future that we can all share in together on the other side of our current challenge.

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From the desk of Teresa Jordan, Executive Director – Last week I had a great opportunity to take part in a leadership conference. Two days at six hours per day on Zoom, it was a different kind of conference experience, however, there were many good conversations and much learning. 

Each day started with a mindfulness practice led by Michele Milan founder of The Centre for Mindful Leadership. And unbeknownst to Michele she was one of the first teachers in mindfulness I had back in 2015; I still hear her calm, reassuring and centring voice in my head each time I try to be mindful. Mindfulness is really just about cutting through the noise for a few moments to bring yourself back to a still centre.

I loved the practices that Michele offered both days. The first involved several minutes of breathing. Then Michele asked us to put out hands on our heart and feel it beating, feel our breath going in and out and think what it means to simply be – and what we can offer the world in this being. 

The second day’s offering was similar, as most practices are, with breathing and centring, but this time the visual was a hurricane. Not very relaxing right? Michele urged us to think of the eye of the hurricane – that in the middle of all that swirling, noisy, raging storm there is a middle point where all is still and, if you look up, you can see the sky.  She told us that in the storms, the noise, the haste, the stress, the sometimes chaos of life, we can for a few moments connect with our breath and heart and find the centre. Let the swirl keep whirling and just be still in the sunshine within. 

Both days Michele said a similar thing to us as a group, “… and remember this is always available to you.”  Since she did not immediately give us her cell phone number I have to reflect what she meant; I could pause, breathe and be still as often as I needed to be. 

The eye experience is available to us at all times, in almost any crisis there is a way to pause and centre, to take a moment to let the problem move around and away us, while we just take two or three breaths – long enough to be still and look at the problem through a calm eye which is more able to see a path to solution or at least the next steps. 

When I described my new hurricane mindfulness practice a friend quickly pointed out that there was no way out but to head back through the cyclone, that the eye of the hurricane is completely ensconced by the storm.  I think that is part of the beauty of the analogy – get quiet, get in the middle, get centred and then put on my Xena warrior princess pants and confidently head right back into the wall of the storm. The quiet centre is always available, we just have to step back into it as many times as we need.

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From the desk of Teresa Jordan, Executive Director – There is a natural rhythm to the seasons and, despite a world in chaos, that rhythm remains.

We are entering the season of darkness and quiet – the sun setting early, no insects singing us to sleep, very little bird song, the snow muffling almost everything else. This is a time to take things a little slower, to maybe cuddle up with a book, start a new indoor hobby, spend some time in the stillness to listen to your own small voice. In my house this is the season of board games. And for this week the game of choice has been crokinole.

My dad was a huge fan and competent competitor, so I have a long history with crokinole, but have not played in a while. So, this past weekend when my kids dusted off the board, I quickly realized that the game takes practice. I think that I would be pretty good at it if there were no challenging obstacles in the pegs around the centre, and no rule that you have to hit an opponent when there is one on the board. I think I could make smooth, clear shots to the centre with ease and stack up 25 pointers in no time flat.

But then I must reflect. Is it still a fun game, a challenge, a fitting competition with no obstacles, irritations or struggle to make it to the high points areas? And somewhere between having a laugh at my rusty misses and flipping the board over in frustration, I reflect that the fun and the appeal really does rest in the tough parts.

The year 2020 has a lot of pegs in the board, but I was reminded by several people this week – have lived through it will make the return to all those precious things we miss all the more wonderful. And next year, high points will be that much sweeter.

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From the desk of Teresa Jordan, Executive Director – Like most people, I have a pretty standard morning routine, with different preparations done at different times in order for me to leave the house for work at a set time. 

One morning this week, all was going just as planned when right in the middle of this well-choreographed dance party, the power went out. As I live in the country a power outage is a double challenge as the water supply is also affected. 

Now we do not have power outages that often – maybe four times per year. However, from the reaction on this particular morning, one would think that we live off the grid most of the time. There was no panic, no exclamations, no real bother. Knowing that I was now in the complete darkness brushing my teeth in the bathroom my partner brought me two lanterns. My son strolled out to the pond to get some “toilet flushing water” while my partner lit our gas stove with a match and started boiling water for my travel tea mug. 

The power outage changed everything, but the dance continued almost uninterrupted by the sudden new challenge. And that was that, I finished getting ready by lantern in the bathroom, got dressed, packed up my lunch, made my tea, waltzed off to work. 

What made the transition so smooth? Why was no panic or frantic wondering about what to do next or how to adjust to make the morning routine happen inside the added challenge? I think there were two things going on. First-off, we had experience with the power outage scenario – not that often, but they had happened before. Secondly, we had each other. As a team we just worked it out, did what needed to be done, stayed focused on the tasks we needed to do and helped one another. 

There was definitely magic happening on both counts. Experience with different challenges sets us up to be able to face them, or something similar, again with calm resolve.  And having a team of people around you to stare down and overcome the problem is so much more buoying than facing it alone. 

Challenges, setbacks, misunderstandings and lights out moments are the stuff of life and all we can take real control over our own responses to that stuff.  There is a choice in every challenge – rail against the darkness of it, stay alone in a dark bathroom, and complain about the injustice of a challenge when you did not want it.  Or seek out a light, lean on the team for problem-solving and calmly carry on with the now-new circumstances.   

Somewhere between flushing the toilet with pond water and putting on lipstick by battery-operated lantern, the challenge can be wrestled to the ground. And working with a team’s collective experience and knowledge, the light on the other side will return.

From the desk of Teresa Jordan, Executive Director – This past weekend I spent quite a bit of time beside a lake, staying in a cabin on Lake Bernard.

In the evenings I saw the sunset in the long stretches across the water. In the mornings, I watched the mist of the sunrise sweeping across the lake. During the day, I savoured the sparkling sunshine dancing on the waves. In the early mornings, I watched birds hunting for fish and people fishing in boats, plying their trade in hope of a fresh breakfast. 

The most wondrous thing throughout the weekend, however, was listening to the lake. With the exceptional weather I was able to leave the windows open and I could hear the waves, the sea gulls, the wind sweeping across the massive body of water.

Here is what I loved… at the side of this ancient lake, in the glory of this wonderful, unexpected fall weather, there was no pandemic, there were no closures, no statistics, no fear of the unknown.  The water was there full of fish and other wildlife, just as it has always been over hundreds of years. The waves were gently lapping against the rocky shore and, little by little, wearing the rocks down with a quiet, steady rhythm – as they always have.

Robert Frost is quoted as saying that the three words he knows for sure about life are: “It goes on.”We are facing extreme times, piled on top of the usual array of challenges in life, and it is easy to get overwhelmed and anxious. Find your Lake Bernard – find a spot where you can reconnect, listen to nature, listen to your own heartbeat, be still and quiet for even a few moments. In those moments of stillness, you can find a strength that will see you through to the next challenge.

Think of those gentle waves as they roll into shore, just lapping against the rocks of the Canadian shield and, without a cutting torch or chisel or anything powerful is cutting deep grooves, little by little over time. We do not need to search for a next big thing or heroic epic effort that will become legend. Like those quiet waves on the gentle lake, we can make a difference just in our steady efforts, in our careful decisions, in our gentle moves to look out for one another. 

There was nothing loud or spectacular at Lake Bernard, but in its quiet, steady,  beauty it left its lasting mark on me and set me up to face the “right now” challenges of the world again. They go on, all of the days and months and years, and the gentle quiet efforts of all us, they leave their mark.

Life is going on, in this harder time as in better times, and sparkles are dancing in quiet corners. We just need to be looking in their direction.

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From the desk of Teresa Jordan, Executive Director – Had some excellent training this past week about relationship building and I was surprised that so much of the content was about good communication. I reflected on how, ultimately, the bedrock of relationship is communication, understanding, holding space, being clear and really seeking to understand another person.

I am always surprised to see the breakdown of communication – actual words said being only 7% of a conversation, paraverbal (messages that we transmit through the tone, pitch and pacing of our voices) at 55% and body language at 38%. This means that all those friends with whom I largely only text have no idea what I am saying most of the time. And in this time where conversation is mostly constrained to virtual communications, we have to work harder to understand what is being said. This is challenging in a time when it also feels like we are working just a little harder to do everything that we do.

Luckily, the pay off to good communication is a huge one. If we are really focused – not on what to say next, not on the TV show in the background, not on thoughts of what might be for supper – really focused on what is
being said and how – everyone rises. We can understand not only
the message, but the person, a little better.

I think we all know how it feels to be really heard, really seen, understood and valued. This is a gift we can offer over and over, to all. It takes practice to quiet all of the other noise, to seek clarification, and to pay close attention.

Listening creates opportunity to see a person freshly, to learn something new and to create a new link. If the words are only 7%, let’s get curious about all that we are missing with each other – what we are really saying and who we really are.

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From the desk of Teresa Jordan, Executive Director – I think I speak for most of the human race when I say that doing hard things, or maybe more accurately complex things, is often left as long as possible, often sliding to the back burner, often procrastinated about to the absolute end of the time frame allowable. As a for instance when I finished my children’s “baby book” scrapbooks February 2019, said children were 18 and 20 years of age.

Some of us around the office call this tendency to procrastinate to the limit “eating the frog.” We know that ‘it’ must be done but who really wants to tuck into that slimy, undesirable, long put off or hard to swallow project right now?

I have always had a hard covered notebook in which to capture all of my messages, notes and ‘to do’ lists. From time to time, the big frog item gets copied and re-copied week after week in a succession of to-do lists until the very last minute. In some cases, copying out my colour-coded and comprehensive ‘to do’ list is the job choose to do rather than actually doing the dreaded task!

A friend recently reminded me that hard things are best done with gusto, like taking Buckley’s cough syrup. There is no pleasure in sipping away while you listen to your favourite show tunes. That stuff is horrible, but necessary; you just have to hold your nose and belt it back. And I guess it’s the same for those dreaded tasks big and small. The huge policy review, the grant application, the report, the survey roll-up, the letter that you must write to friend you have hurt – we can imagine that all taste horrible.

So what is a girl with a colour-coded, hard-covered, beautiful ‘to do’ list supposed to take away from this bit of thinking? I guess I need to watch for signs that I am putting something off, make a plan more often to move it to the front burner, and never mind the nibbling… just eat the frog in one gulp.

I think we all know that once the job is done, there is an almost instant relief in not having it hanging over us, a pride in having conquered it, excitement in crossing it off rather than transcribing it yet another time. Similarly to the Buckley’s scenario, we are going to feel better almost immediately.

From the desk of Teresa Jordan, Executive Director – Since my family could not gather for Thanksgiving, I suggested we post that for which we are grateful on the private Facebook page that we share. I asked each sibling to post on Sunday and then immediately began crafting what I thought would be the mushiest and most profound post of the day (mine, of course).

To my surprise, on the Saturday before the deadline, my youngest sister beat me to the punch with the most sincere, introspective and delightful post. She mentioned each sibling and how much they mean to her, listing what she was most thankful about for each, and then for the whole family.

To put this sister’s post in perspective, you should know that her thank you comments at Thanksgiving dinners of the past four years or so have all focused on her favourite alcoholic beverage. So, her contribution this year was absolutely unexpected, wonderfully heartwarming and wobbling.

My youngest sister’s comments set the tone and soon everyone was adding insights equally engaging about their gratitude for in this big, slightly functional family.

This experience with my sister is a truly good reminder not to assume or make predictions based on past behaviour or the little personality boxes in which we like to catalogue people.

All of this left me unsure of my next move, where did my planned wholehearted, well-crafted mush-fest belong now? I found myself following my husband’s lead for comments and our profound contemplation was this “We are thankful that on Thanksgiving weekend pumpkin pie is an acceptable breakfast food.”

And I am thankful for the nudge that nobody should be judged on who they were even yesterday – things could be entirely different today.

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From the desk of Teresa Jordan, Executive Director – Last week marked a milestone in my life that had me reflecting on who I was 25 years ago – where I thought I was headed, what and who was important to me, who I was busy with. 

I think the reason we mark the anniversaries of different occasions is perhaps for this sort of thing – looking at how far we have come, marking the passage of time and noticing that perhaps – in looking closely at photos – we have in fact aged. A quick little check in, to notice and appreciate how far we have come, or grown, or achieved or learned. 

Here’s the thing – I know what that 22 year old girl in the photographs was thinking, dreaming, wanting and worrying over. I know the plans that she had for her long life and I know where she thought her paths were leading. 

“Dear Young Teresa, almost nothing turned out the way you expected. In fact sometimes that path was lost, flooded, turned to loose gravel and shards of glass. At other times it was so surprisingly glorious you could not have dreamed it better. I know that you got mired in disaster and distress lots of times, but you made it through, you were made to do hard things and to find glittery happiness sometime. Love Less-Young, Teresa.”

I guess the thing about all this reflection this – I have realized for all my planning, unexpected things happened. For all of my sleepless nights of worry, unexpected things happened. For all of my times of great sadness, or joy, or excitement or stress, unexpected things happened. 

And while I know my nature is to think and plan and worry, if there is any take away from thinking about the anniversary of my first marriage, it is that there is much to be said for trying to stay in the present and be grateful for exactly where you are. 

Yes, I tend to think too much, perhaps worry and plan too much. This reflection has been a good exercise for me; it is a reminder that if I could sum up the last 25 years of my journey – with all its joy, sorrow, laughter, love and tom foolery – it would be that most of it was unexpected. Which is exactly as expected, really.

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