Anne L. Simmonds

sleeping on the sea wall

I was lying awake in the night thinking about what I would say in this blog.  If I had managed to rise and write, the result would definitely been different.  Those night time ruminations always seems more profound that what ends up being said or written in the light of day.  Wayne Dyer says his best writing time is between three and four in the morning – the time when Spirit shows up through him.  I’m afraid I lack his discipline.

My night-time rumination took me to an encounter the previous day.  I had just finished lunch in the park behind the Art Gallery of Toronto.  As I got up to leave, a woman using a walker approached me.  I had noticed her as she came out of the community centre and took a seat on the bench next to mine.   She asked for a bit of money to buy food.  I dug around in my wallet and found a ‘toonie’ and handed it to her.  As I did so, she remarked that she had just come from the funeral of a street friend.  She added: “A 25 yr old woman died on the street last week and there have been ten deaths in the last month.”  Through tears she continued.  “I’m 41, I’ve already had a stroke, and I don’t’ want to died on the street.”  I felt my own tears.  I felt helpless!  Some may say she was conning me.  I opened my wallet and handed her $10 and told her to get some food.

I wrote the previous paragraphs about a month ago, and as often happens, life intervened.  What I set out to do in this “series” was to explore the importance of what goes on the feet, in the mouth, and where we lie down.  I had intended in the last installment to talk about my experience of discovering the importance of a bed that supports my back.  I was going to talk about how years ago I woke every morning with a sore back and how, while on a trip sleeping in a bed with a firm mattress, I discovered my bed at home was causing the sore back.  I was going to talk about how much better it is to wake up without a sore back, for which I give credit to a very supportive mattress and regular yoga.

Sparked by the lament from the woman who does not want to die on the street, and the task of reviewing a book about death and dying, I started to reflect on our last “lying down” – our death, and its possible relationship to our sleeping and waking cycle. Is it possible that we prepare for our death throughout life?  Is living life deeply and to the fullest one way to do this?  The other very important recent event was the birth of a granddaughter whose name is Zoë, which means “life abundant.”

I am in no way an expert on sleep but I have had my share of sleeplessness, including the two interrupted nights I spent with Zoë in her first week, so that her mother could get some sleep.  As babies are meant to do, she is still spending most of her life sleeping.  That is how we start out and that is often how our life ends.  I think of my dad, as he slept almost 24 hours a day in his last weeks.  Like the peaceful sleep of a newborn, will our last long sleep be one of peace?

The woman on the street doesn’t even know if her “last sleep” will be in a bed.  Our city council is paying consultant fees to KPMG who are charged with suggesting where more services can be cut – and guess what they are suggesting – we (who are OK) can save a few dollars each by eliminating the services needed most by the poorest and most vulnerable in our society.

In the same way a mattress supports our sleep the question emerges – what supports our life as we live it, so that our final sleep will be one of peace rather than a restless one filled with unfinished business, regrets, fear and anxiety?  What supports our life to deal with life’s difficulties now?  What responsibility do we all have in our common humanity to the most vulnerable, to the most wounded among us?

For me, this issue revolves around my spiritual practices, which includes living life with authenticity, awareness, and attention:  attention to what is happening within and around me.  It is about continued and growing awareness of the things that support my life and, ultimately, my death; practices that see me through the current ups and downs, and practices of letting go and starting afresh.  My most important task is to remember and nurture my connection to what I call “divine mystery”, that will be present even when I am not, and my connection to all of humanity.

What nourishes your life at the present, not only your lying down at night but your movement through the day?  Don’t be afraid to think about this as preparation for your last “lying down” and when it comes, may it be one of peace.

Zoë and grandmother at Peace

If there is a foot gene, I inherited my father’s.  I realized this in the last years of his life, when my dad was declining with dementia.  I found that one of the ways I could settle him was to massage his feet.  He accepted my touch and relaxed.  Before the dementia, neither of us would have ever considered such an activity.  After one occasion, when we were both back on our feet, I was looking all over for my Birkenstocks – I finally found them – on his feet!  They were a perfect fit.

My interest in what I put on my feet started at an early age.  As a child when it came summer time, I remember my older sister leading the crusade to get us sandals – not allowed!  I never quite understood why but assumed they were unchristian.  They were lumped with other forbidden things in the fashion department – no lipstick, make-up or nail polish.  From an adult perspective, I now imagine that with seven pairs of quickly growing feet to cover in all seasons, sandals that would not be much use at the summer farm, would not make it into the family budget.

I do remember when I got my first mid-sized ‘high heels’.   I felt pretty grown up.  Imagine my embarrassment when these new shoes, being worn for the first time, caused me to trip down the stairs as my father waited in the car to take us to church.

But I loved high-heeled shoes and I loved the way they made my feet look.  In my years of nursing I was required to wear comfortable, sensible shoes – something for which I am forever grateful.   As a VON (Victorian Order of Nurses) nurse in my first full-time job, I visited patients in their homes, walking all around the core of downtown Toronto in my black oxfords.  I was far less sensible when my vocation took me back to hospitals as a chaplain.  For much of my thirties, I walked the halls in high heels.

Something woke me up – maybe it was simply ending the day with sore feet and feeling wiped.  Maybe it was seeing countless feet, especially those attached to women patients, that looked like casualties of a ‘war on feet’ waged by the relentless fashion industry.  I do remember one day having an ‘aha’ moment, looking at my feet and realizing at a visceral level: these are the only feet I’m ever going to have, so I better look after them.  Daily I was seeing people with all levels of disability; not of course, all the result of poor foot-wear choices, but feet, as in whether they worked well or not, contributed significantly to the condition in a helpful or unhelpful way.

So this is how I ended up in the shoe store that started the conversation of this blog.  When I switched to comfortable, must less fashionable, properly fitting footwear, I discovered that not having sore feet at the end of the day was not only very pleasant but was entirely what I could expect.  It also meant more energy and less fatigue.

So I have not bought high-heeled shoes probably since my wedding almost 24 years ago.  But here is my confession.  Last January, after learning that my daughter was getting married this summer, and after finding a dress I love, I was walking by a fashionable shoe store and something caught my eye. I was sure they were perfect for the dress.  I bought them on the chance that they were.  And they are.  You guessed it – not Birkenstocks, rather, a pair of beautiful high-heeled shoes.  So on the day of her wedding, I’m not sure I’ll even make it to the end of the ceremony in them, but I’ll try.  When it comes to the dancing, I’ll put on my little dancing slippers, forget about fashion, and just have fun.

What is winning out in your life – fashion or comfort?  Is there something your feet are “begging for” now that will ensure that they are up to speed for the rest of your life?  What are the feet issues men put up with?

a brief pause on a bike trip in Germany

I “promised” that my next blog would be about “what you put on your feet.”  True to the reality of life, things do not always unfold as we plan.  So this is an additional blog in the now four-part series.  This is about something that I put under my feet – my bike pedals.

Last Friday evening, Bruce and I were cycling along Bloor Street in Toronto on our way to a wedding rehearsal, at which I was officiating.  While stopped at an intersection, Herb stepped forward and asked if he could take my picture.  He said writes a blog on cycling in Toronto.  I said:  “Sure – here is my card – send me the picture and the link to your blog.”  This is what he posted, and below is my fuller response and reflection.

Herb did not ask why I use my bike as my main form of transportation in the city.  Here is why.  Firstly, I find it the most efficient way to get around.  Take last Friday night: we could have taken the car during rush hour.  I expect we might have shaved 5 to 10 minutes off the trip, judging by the traffic.  The next day I also rode to the wedding.  I have two carriers on the back and my robe garment bag gets wrapped around my briefcase and together they are held across the back by bungee cords.

There is an incredible sense of satisfaction knowing these things:  I can more or less predict how long a trip will take; I am getting exercise; I am not contributing to pollution and traffic congestion; and it is much less expensive to run a bike than the car.  As I told Herb, I have been riding in the city since I moved back here in 1979.  When my daughter was little, she rode in a seat behind me.  In the early 80’s, no one, including us, wore helmets.  Today I would not go without it.

The roads are much busier; everyone is in more of a hurry.  It feels much more dangerous to me now that it did then.  I continue to ride because of its advantages.  However I do not want to die in a cycling accident.  Nor do I want to have permanent injuries – or any for that matter as a result of a mishap.  I will spare you the details of the falls I have already had in the past.  I am as careful as I can be.

But here is what I want to say to drivers.  I know some cyclists take chances.  I do not defend them.  Sometimes I am one of them.  However, I have had cars and trucks pass me so fast and close that I am slightly thrown off balance.  It feels that for a moment my heart has literally stopped.  A streak of fear has just jolted through me.  I am aware of how utterly vulnerable I am, should I be brushed, thrown or hit.

Also terrifying is passing a parked car whose door starts to open.  Please take a second, no matter what side is being opened, to look.  I have been known to scream “watch it!”

To those who are looking for the courage to get on the bike, I encourage you to start.  Use back streets and designated bike lanes to start and don’t be in a hurry.  Every time I get on the bike, I try to remember to say this prayer:  “Keep me safe and sensible.” I invite other cyclists, maybe even drivers to do the same.  And as I write this,  I challenge myself and anyone reading this, to offer another: “Help me to slow down and treat all others, drivers, cyclists and pedestrians as I want to be treated myself.”

a sunny south-of-France plat

I was in my favourite shoe store yesterday.  As I was trying on shoes another customer said to the owner, “These feel great, I’ll take them and wear them home.”  To which the owner responded;  “Happy feet, Happy face!”  Not missing a beat, the customer said:  “The three most important things for health are: what we put on our feet, what we put in our mouth, and what we lie on to sleep.”

Over breakfast this morning, my friend and colleague Bruce Sanguin and his wife Ann Evans were sharing in my “healthy” morning cereal.  Enjoying it, Bruce said he was impressed with my attention to healthy food.  He hadn’t yet seen the basket with poppy seed croissants!  I told him the above vignette and he said – “That ‘s a great beginning for a blog.  If you are not going to use it, I will.”  I responded, “Give me a week!”

I went on to say that in my better moments I understand what I eat to be part of my spiritual practice.  Occasionally this helps me to slow down, chew, and really taste and be grateful for what I am eating.  Lots of times, I’m still pre-occupied with conversation or thoughts and give little awareness to the food.  I remember a writer telling the story of a thanksgiving meal, his favourite of the year: On finishing his turkey dinner in the company of good friends, he realized he had been so caught up in the conversation that he had not tasted one bite of his food.  That has happened to me!

This is how my attention to healthy eating came to be “spiritual practice.”  Please be assured this is a work in progress!  Years ago after a weeklong retreat, I was on my way home and waiting for a flight.  I always find it easier when on retreat to eat a smaller quantity of better quality. I had a lot of time at the airport so went in search of food, and ordered an omelette, which came with fries (hard to turn down!)  Shortly after the meal I became very aware of how sluggish and tired I suddenly felt.  It felt like the positive energy I had when I left the retreat had suddenly disappeared.

On another retreat, I fasted for several days, drinking only water.  If you have ever fasted for any length of time you know that you become weak, slow down when moving, and need lots of rest.  I broke the fast with a fresh peach, and then another.  I could literally feel the energy return to my body.  The visceral connection between what I ate, and that my food is my fuel, took deep root in me.  Paying close attention to how I feel after eating continues to be important feedback, especially useful when I pay attention.

Is it a constant challenge?  Of course!  Especially at special events or when we entertain friends and family.  After all, food is such an important social ritual and such an enjoyable sharing time with others.

There are definitely times when I overeat, over-drink or simply put “junk” into my mouth.  If so, can I be gentle with myself and rather than “beat myself up?”

The good news on this front is that at least in this part of the world it is getting easier to get healthy, local, unprocessed foods, especially when they are in season. I encourage you to support your local farmers’ market, preferably organic, if available.  I love the opportunity to buy my vegetables from the farmer and his or her family who have put their energy into growing it for me.  I am grateful for those who are willing to do this hard work, as it signifies hope for the environment.  We, animals, and the earth have suffered from the way food has been manufactured and processed for the last 50 years.  For more on this check out what author Michael Pollan has to say in his several books.

Back to spiritual practice.  My body is a small “piece of creation” that I have been entrusted with.  To have the energy to offer to the world what Spirit wants to be and do in and through me, requires awareness of my food choices.  It also matters what I put on my feet and what I lie down on at night.  Thanks for the challenge Bruce.  It looks like two more blogs to come.

I’ve heard that sentiment several times this week as finally “spring has sprung” in my part of the world.  Most of the week has been sunny and the Magnolias, Forsythia, Sand Cherry, Tulips and Daffodils are singing in the sunshine.  As are we!

One of the conversations went like this:  “I has been so long in coming.”  Yes, It always seems to take longer than we think it should.”  “And those several days in March of warm temperatures and sunshine give us a false sense that spring has arrived.”

Is it not just like life?  Over and over again (each season throughout the year), the changes and transitions in nature are a metaphor for our lives.  I am at an age when I no longer disparage the winter months and cold weather – on good days that is!  But like everyone else when it is gray, dark, cold and seemingly endless, I complain or wish it was otherwise.

I have also noticed that things I’m waiting for, within me or in my life, can also take a lot longer than I think they should.  These can be things I’m attempting to let go of or heal from, or things I am anticipating or waiting for.

Here is a recent example:  My husband and I were on holiday in Florida at the end of April.   (So yes, I did have a break from the unseasonably wet and cold weather.)  While there, I painted.  As I am preparing for another art show next November, I am under a little more pressure than usual to produce new work.  I had one painting in particular that I was pleased with and felt it was good enough for my show.

I am not usually a particularly patient person and I often do things quickly, as I often feel as if  I have a lot to do.  When I was packing up my art supplies to come home, I heard my teacher’s words about properly protecting my art.  I put the finished painting in my portfolio thinking it would be safe enough.  When I took it out at home, there was a line though it that it had picked up from a board that was obviously pressing on it during the long ride home.  I was upset, especially as my first attempt to wash it with water failed.   My husband said:  “Leave it to me, I will try and work with it tomorrow and see what I can do.”  I went to bed, and lay awake a good part of the night, essentially beating myself up for being so careless.  In the morning, while Bruce was still having his breakfast, my impatient self had to get at it again.  He again offered to do it a little later, and suggested a particular cleaner that might work.  Impatient me started into it.  The cleaner was removing the spot, but there was one part not quite disappearing.  So again, instead of patiently continuing to scrub, it seemed like a good idea to use a bit more persuasion on it. Well, you guessed it, off came a piece of paint!

Now, I was really beating myself up.  If only, I had left if for Bruce – he is a patient person and it would have been fine.  If only, I hadn’t taken a knife to it!

Then I tackled my other work and it was downhill from there,  as first my printer, then his, went on the fritz and I could not complete what I needed to do that day.  At that point, I had my meltdown; started to cry.  While crying the voice long ago internalized in my head, heard over and over as a child was saying: “You’re too quick.” I always hear this judgemental comment in my head when I find myself in such situations.

So I have been waiting a long time to learn patience.  But it is not only that.  I realized through my tears that inside is also a “little girl” who felt she needed to do it all by herself, and that translates into my life now, even when help is readily available.  So two things happened that day:  I realized that practicing patience and receiving help, even if not exactly on my time schedule, might make my life a little more gentle, even easier.  As well, like the season we are in now, taking the time to savour what is beautiful, and sometimes what is painful, will enrich all of life – just as those weeks of spring rain are all part of the beautiful shrubs and flowers.

If you are still reading this, and have read my previous blogs, you have been waiting for a long time for this one.  While people tell me I “should” blog every week or at least more often to “grow” my “business,” to do so at this time would feel like one more pressure to do things “too quickly” and as you can see, that is a habit I am struggling to break.  So stayed tuned, but I can’t promise when the next burst of new life will emerge.  It will be a surprise to both of us.

Toronto's "EYE WEEKLY"

It is the fashion these days to declare war on anything or anybody we dislike or disagree with.  “War On God”, the headline on the front page of Toronto’s Eye Weekly, January 6-11, 2011, caught my eye.  I do not usually retrieve one from the street-corner box, but this title encouraged me to take a copy.  Why?  Several reasons.  The first is simply that I am very weary of the constant use of  ‘war on’ language pertaining to everything from cars, bikes, terrorists, drugs, disease, and now even “god!”

For a moment, let me focus on this so-called “War on God.”  We must first recognize that the notion of “God” differs significantly between individuals, as well as within and between faith traditions.  Our understanding of “God” comes out of the history of each religious tradition; of each culture’s attempts to explain who we are and how we got here.  This is the territory of myth and metaphor, and the function of these is to make sense of what is ultimately unknowable from a strictly rational perspective.  What had been understood by the church as reflecting and embodying such understandings came to be seen, particularly in  Western Christianity after the Bible became available to the public, increasingly as literal truth, as a historical record: there it is written in the Bible –  it must be exactly so.  Ideas, among them those of “God”, became “articles of faith”, unquestionable beliefs.   I was raised, as were many of North American “Christian” upbringing, to imagine “god” as male, parental, loving and judgmental, (those two often confusingly in opposition).  This is the God we learned about in Sunday School in the 1950’s and 1960’s.

As I think happened to many of us who were raised in a faith tradition, in my late teens and twenties, this God of my early years and all the dogma attached no longer made sense in the real world.  In my twenties, as a student of both feminism and psychology, those disciplines were far more compelling; their insights life-giving.  It was now the 1970’s and the women’s movement was in full force.  My childhood understandings of God and the patriarchal, hierarchical, understandings of organized religion were being severely challenged, and excitingly, more often than not left in the dust.

While my understanding and experience of the divine has not stayed at the 1960’s Sunday School door, I suggest that for many others who walked away from organized religion, or have only been subjected to it through popular culture, it has.   This is a little like those who leave a place to live in another, and who cling to the original as unchangeable, believing that the culture they left remains as it was, not realizing that it has matured and changed in their absence.  The same applies to the religions.  God grew up!

So this talk of “War on God”, and high-profile debates such as that between Christopher Hitchens and Tony Blair, are arguing about a something that does not fit with how I see life, with my experience of what I have come to call Divine Mystery – and yes, ultimately it is just that, a mystery.  All human constructs that serve to limit the nature of this mystery, religious dogma, images of God, rules and regulations, all richly deserve criticism.  What is deadening to the Spirit in any tradition needs to be let go.  However, bringing the “war” metaphor to this and the many other debates hurts us all.

Here is why.  War is the ultimate in sanctioned violence and killing.  Engaging in it only perpetuates hate and violence.  Many of course would argue that throughout history there have been times when war has been a necessity.  Early Christian theologians had to find a way to justify warfare and killing, despite the clear injunction not to kill in the three Abrahamic religions – unless God says to, and there is plenty of that.  That is a different discussion, but for the purpose of this one, it is high time for humans on this planet to wake up to the realities of continued warring.  I have heard American theologian Matthew Fox repeated say that “war is obsolete.”  With the capacity to destroy human civilization with our stockpiled weapons, no doubt this is true.

But let me bring it down to the personal level.  When we declare war on things such as drug, cars, illness, or God, are we not declaring war on those who use or who believe, or who simply happen to be there?  If we fail to understand, is it OK to attack?  I would argue that declaring war on anything is ultimately declaring war on ourselves.  While not employing the word per se, we eagerly embrace military imagery to keep fit or shed a few kilograms – “boot camp” is another current cliché.  There is a harshness in these words that says we are fighting, or must fight, against ourselves, against our human nature.

It is very common to hear the phrase “I’m spiritual but not religious.”  No matter who we are or what our religious tradition, if any, we all encounter the big issues around life, love and death.  To engage these at a deep level can take us to a place of deep mystery.  Some call this ultimate mystery God, others do not.  More important than the naming is the experiencing.  There is no place for warring against this depth of life, this deeper self that is in each of us.

Must we continue this “war” on – everything including ourselves?  ‘War is Us’ is really ‘war On us’.  Or can we find the courage, first as individuals, in our own lives, and then as communities to end the warring in our world?

Writing and sending the link to my first blog was a daunting experience.  It was also fun!  The fun part was hearing from those who not only took the time to read it, but also sent a note.  The website was not ready to receive comments so they came to my e-mail, and have become my second “post” – Continuing the Conversation –  which you are now reading.  The engagement with technology is slow, but progressing.  I wanted to acknowledge and thank everyone who did write.  I have not been able to ask permission to use names as they were sent to my personal e-mail, I am summarizing here to share some of what has been said.

Several commented that they were introduced to blogging and some expressed:

• What a story and what an outcome!
• I am practically computer illiterate, thanks for the encouragement.
• Hurrah for opting to participate.  I still drag my heels at some of the technology, but do know how powerful it can be.

I continue to struggle with just how much I want all this technology in my life.  I’ve ordered an I-Phone!  This is a really big step; I am someone who has always maintained I’m not important enough to need a cell phone.   Do I need one more “thing” to check during the day?  I don’t keep track, but I know I am spending far more time with the computer and internet than ever before.  What am I not doing because of it? It’s currently 9:22pm – I’m usually in bed reading or watching television!

At least three responses went something like this:

• You wrote this just for me.  This is exactly what I needed to hear right now.
• This “Epiphany of Despair” message is for me.  It resonates with me at this time in my life.

Special were notes not only thanking me for the reflection, but also reminding me of an earlier time when something I did, said or offered had been particularly significant in that person’s life.  It is so easy to go along and not really be aware or able to hear at the time the impact of my being on others.  No doubt this can be both positive and negative.

Someone wrote: “What a great beginning for 2011!!!!  I feel a surge of energy from you! Should be an interesting year!!  Another:  “wonderful blog.  It was you at your very best: with something to say, clear and articulate.  Thank you so much and good luck on the new phase of this journey.” Another: We are trying to figure this out also, you give me hope we can do this!”  “Thanks for sharing it in a way that supports and empowers the rest of us.”  If my struggles with life can give you the courage to do what you need to do, then it is worth being honest and vulnerable.

Other comments: “Thanks for some reminders Anne, this is just fantastic! You delivered many interesting points to ponder.  My favorite is that the only way through tough times is right through them. Congratulations not only for overcoming your E of D, but it truly is inspiring for those of us who like you, hesitate to call what we do a business. Just what I needed right now.”

In a moment of inspiration, I sent my blog to Mitch Joel, the writer of the book with the header: “changed my life.”  I didn’t really expect an answer but there it was – the next morning.  He wrote:  “Wow… what an amazing and kind email and a very awesome Blog post about the story! Thank you Anne! I sent it on to my literary agent and my publisher as well.  I often tell people that buying a book is easy… it’s reading it and doing something with the content that is the hard part. I’m actually working on book #2 right now, so let’s keep our finger’s crossed that it all happens soon.”  Thanks Mitch!

Lastly, there is a quote by Frederick Buechner, which suggests that the place where we are called to be by Divine Mystery is the place where our deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.  The place of deep gladness for me has always emerged from those times of deep despair.  Stay turned!  I don’t promise to write every week.  I do promise to write when I feel I have something to share that might speak to the world’s deep hunger.

If you saw my initial, post you may have noticed that this looks different: I have a new blog site, another great leap forward.  You can now leave comments using the link at the bottom of the post!  Please do!

In November 2010 I had an “epiphany of despair!” Throughout the fall, I felt an undercurrent of things shifting in my professional life that I had not fully identified or articulated to myself. The truth is, I was discouraged, as professional opportunities that had fallen nicely into place for me over the last several years seemed bit by bit to be falling away.

However, a workshop that had been scheduled for November at a Prairie retreat centre had been in place for a year and a half. In September I heard from them that four people had registered; they would be in touch when there were enough participants to make it happen. About 3 to 4 weeks before the workshop, I got the message that there were enough registrations; to go ahead and buy my airline ticket. As a result of the late date, the ticket was quite expensive, more than the centre’s budget permitted. After much deliberation, and because, as the wife of a retired airline employee I could travel ‘stand-by’, the staff at the centre and I agreed that, to save money we would take that risk.

I planned to travel a day and a half prior to the event, as this gave me the chance to get on 5 flights. Should be No Problem! The workshop was scheduled to start at 7pm on a Monday evening. I headed to the airport Sunday to catch a 4:30 flight. The plane left without me on it. I remained at the airport for the 9:30pm flight. That flight did not board until 10:30 and again, I was not on it. I was still not too concerned as there was an 8:30 flight the next morning, Monday, that would still get me there for the start of the workshop. You guessed it: that one also went without me. The next flight was scheduled for 4:30pm.

At this point I realized that I was not going to get there for the beginning of the workshop. When I called Sue, the staff person at the centre, to tell her, I got a little teary. I was upset! I am a very responsible person, and to not show up for a commitment made over 18 months ago was beyond my comprehension. I was also pretty mad at myself for suggesting this alternative in the first place.

I did not fancy hanging around the airport all day and my husband generously came to take me home for a few hours. I had told the centre that I would send electronically everything they would need to start the workshop without me the first evening. I still had a chance to get there for the second full day and final half-day of the event. When I got home, I sent the material, and went for a walk. Arriving at the airport later that day, I was at my lowest moment of despair – feeling angry, helpless and foolish to have ever ended up in this situation. It felt like my entire professional reputation was at stake.

Through the ‘delight’ of airport security with no problem, with time weighing heavy and a definite lack of engrossing reading material, I headed for the bookstore. Was there anything at all that could possibly take my mind off this situation for a few hours? As I was browsing, out of the corner of my eye, I saw this title: “Six Pixels of Separation.” I barely know what a pixel is, but the twist in the title of a common phrase caught my attention. I picked it up, looked at the sub-title: “Everyone Is Connected. Connect Your Business to Everyone” by Mitch Joel. Never heard of him; and both the title and sub-title normally would have been enough for me to give it a miss. Why would that have been? Well the truth is I have been dragged kicking and screaming to use a computer in my professional life. I do it because I have to, but I’m a people person, not a technical person. In addition, I don’t really understand my work as a business, even though I am technically self-employed.

But, I was in a liminal moment – time out of the ordinary, a place I’d never been before and did not want to be. This left me open in a strange kind of way. I flipped through the book and started to read. It captured my attention. I bought it and read for the next several hours. I underlined lines such as this: “The trick is this: Don’t be afraid of technology. If you are, just take a deep breath and realize that everyone from four years olds to forty-four year olds to eighty year olds is getting more and more comfortable with these online social channels… go ahead, start using a search engine to see who is talking about your business and the stuff that matters to you. Get yourself involved in the conversation.”

After a while I noticed something pretty important. My despair had gradually turned into something else – dare I call it anticipation, almost excitement. I began to feel my energy return. The penny had dropped for me – I need to “get with the programme” as they say; accept that technology is here to stay and use it to enhance my life and professional work in ways I don’t yet realize!

It was time to return to the departure lounge for the 4:30 flight. Because of the book, I was less devastated when again the flight left without me. I called Sue at the retreat house telling her the news. I suggested I would start the workshop by phone at 8 pm from the departure lounge as I waited for the 9:30pm flight that would get me there in the early morning hours. The centre managed to hook up a phone; they were on “conference;” I was at a pay phone in the departure lounge. I do not have a cell phone!

It was a bit of a challenge as of course I could not see them, but I began the workshop as I would if I had been there. After an hour and a quarter, I assigned them a task for the rest of the evening and signed off to wait to see if I could get on the next flight. You guessed it: I did not. However, this time I was not devastated. I called Sue and suggested that to try and get the 8:30 am flight the next morning did not make sense – it made better sense to do the workshop using phone and Skype. And that is what we did. Most importantly for me, because my despair had lifted, I had the energy needed to reconfigure and use the technology available. Fortunately, they had a couple of people on their end who had the technical expertise to make it possible. They were able to view me on a large screen, so it felt like I was there, to an extent.

Was the workshop as good as if I’d been there. My first response is no, however, the evaluations were very positive and it was clear that it had been an important learning experience for the participants.

I know that the whole event was a far greater learning experience for me than if I had arrived at the centre as initially planned and intended. I’m not sure how or in all the ways, but it did change something in me. That feels like a good thing. It is a sharp learning curve. I’m still trying to figure the use of technology out and find what I need to learn. The big difference is, now I am open to it.

And then there is the epiphany of despair. I said it was not my first; it is not my worst and no doubt will not be my last. However, it was a reminder for me, yet again, of what is at the heart of what I believe about life. The only way through the dark times is through them. There are no short-cuts to healing and transformation. We have to be willing to feel the full range of painful feelings in whatever situation we find ourselves in order to receive the learning and ultimate blessings that are there for us. In the words of an art teacher who was talking about painting, and where I have discovered lurk all the really important lessons in life: “Don’t be afraid of the dark!”

At this time of seasonal darkness, that is my invitation – if this is where you find your life – don’t be afraid of the dark. Or, when that time does come, and it will as sure as night follows day, I invite you to stay with the feelings long enough to experience your own “epiphany of despair.” Thanks to Jan Hatanaka for such a great phrase.

If you have a few minutes for some interesting reading, check out this article in “Yes Magazine” on “10 Most Hopeful Stories As We Enter The New Year.”  If you read the comments at the bottom, you will see mine, which takes the E of D notion to another level:
http://www.yesmagazine.org/blogs/sarah-van-gelder/10-most-hopeful-stories-of-2010