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The road to here

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Sometimes you meet someone and their journey through life intrigues you. They share a glimpse of their history and you realize that you can’t really fathom what it would have been like to have had their experiences. You can hear of defining moments of good or bad luck, or even seemingly minor choices that end up with very significant consequences. Moments that alter a single life or many lives.

One interesting note is that it seems people who experience great hardships are often open to sharing them more openly than you would expect. I had one such encounter yesterday when I met a friend of a friend. Within minutes of meeting him I heard a story from his past that was from a dark part of his life, and so profoundly different from anything that I’d ever experienced that I felt I was listening to a movie plot, not an actual story from someone’s experience.

Sorry, I won’t be sharing the story. It’s not my story to tell. But it got me thinking about the road to here. About how every person is on a completely different journey. Each of us carrying with us the the successes and also the emotional as well as physical baggage that shaped us.

How different my journey is from someone born the same time as me in another part of the world… If I were to take a snapshot of the lives of myself and 8 others born at the same instance, I’d probably be in the top 1/3 financially today. I’d also be in the top 1/3 of those lucky to have a privileged path to my current life… with hardships that do not compare to the bottom 1/3, 3 people sharing my birthday, my birth second, but far less fortunate than me.

I think there is something therapeutic about hearing the stories of others. Appreciating that someone’s path is one you’d rather not have travelled is humbling. There isn’t judgment, just an appreciation that you had your own path, your own road that you travelled. And while the road can seem challenging, so many others face challenges you can’t imagine.

It’s wonderful to share the road, every now and then, with someone who has taken a completely different journey than you. To hear of their path to here and now, and to understand that we have a lot to appreciate about our own journey.

What are your defining moments on your road to here?

Lines in the sand

I recently listened to ‘Awareness‘ by Anthony De Mello. In this book, which is actually an audio recording of him speaking to an audience, he shared a story that goes something like this:

An Indian man is imprisoned in Pakistan. His captors take him on a field trip to see his homeland. They drive him into the countryside and pull up to a ridge overlooking a beautiful valley. The passenger of the truck points out to the valley and says, “Behold, your homeland.”

The prisoner sheds tears of joy as he looks out at the forested valley, looking upon his motherland. A couple minutes later, after conferring with the driver, the man who pointed out his homeland says, “Our driver made a mistake, we aren’t at the border yet, we have to travel another 30 minutes to the South-East.”

It’s amazing alarming how much we pay attention to worry over lines in the sand.

Neighbors – 1952

A hot dog and a story

“The shortest distance between two people is a story.” ~ Patti Digh

It was 1993. I had recently moved to Vancouver and I was looking for a job. I replied to this ad in the paper about selling sporting goods. The interview was a joke and I walked out on it. A group sales pitch to sell knives to your family and friends. I might share that experience another time but this is a story about meeting a Vietnam war veteran before the interview.

I arrived downtown almost an hour early for the interview, and 1/2 a block from the entrance of the building that I was heading to was a hotdog vender. I love ‘street dogs’ and decided to get one with all the toppings, hot peppers, sauerkraut, fried onions, and Dijon mustard. There was a water fountain or statue nearby and I sat down on the edge about 6 feet away from an elderly gentleman who was also eating a hotdog.

Now, almost 30 years ago, I don’t remember how the conversation started, but I ended up halving the distance between us so that we could chat more easily. This man was mostly bald with white-grey wisps of short hair near his ears, very pink in complexion, and overweight with a belly that looked more square than round. He had a cane, that sat next to his legs, which were showing between his white, pulled up socks and his tan coloured shorts. His shirt was just a extra large, plain white T-shirt with without a logo.

After some small talk he told me he was a war vet, and he shared that he saw things no one should ever have to see. Then he shared one of these stories.

He was in a sandbag bunker on the outside of a government building they were guarding and a young boy with a backpack was slowly approaching them. The boy couldn’t have been older than 12. His Sargent pointed to the boy and said, ‘Shoot him’.

He looked at his Sargent, puzzled, and the Sargent repeated his command louder, “Shoot him!”

He was still fairly new to this post and Sargent and was hesitant to shoot a kid. His delay angered the Sargent, who took out his side arm and pointed it at his head, “Follow my orders and shoot him or I’ll shoot you!”

And so he shot the kid… And the kid, still about 50-60 feet away, blew up. “I couldn’t believe what I saw, it didn’t seem real.”

Apparently, kids were being used as suicide bombers in the area and the Sargent saw something that made him suspicious.

He only lasted another few months at that post then he was hit with shrapnel from a missile. He showed me the back part of his calf, with an 5-inch scar that deformed the muscle, and he said it went up the back of his leg, but he didn’t stand up to show me. Then he said, “Another big piece got me here”, and he lifted his T-shirt to show me a huge scar that dented his brick shaped belly.

“When they hit you, all you feel is the burn, and you can smell your skin burning, the metal is so hot.”

In the 25 minutes I sat with him, I just listened. He had a lot to share, and he kept the theme going of, “The things I saw there, nobody should ever have to see.”

I didn’t want to leave, but I had an interview to go to. Had I known the interview was going to be such a joke, I would have sat and listened to this war vet tell stories all day. But when I left the interview the man was gone. Like me he just sat down to eat his hotdog, and to talk to a stranger he’d never see again.

What a great day it is today

A few years ago the Ministry updated their student management system from something called BCeSIS to MYEDBC. I hated BCeSIS, which I affectionately called BC-Feces, and was looking forward to the change. But it wasn’t a smooth transition. What made it worse was that it did not take into consideration students working online, starting and finishing their courses outside of scheduled semesters.

As the principal of the online school this was frustrating for me, but even more frustrating for my secretary. She would spend hours updating student files, then the next day her work would disappear. Gone!

I wanted to do something for my secretary, and knew that she wanted a rainbow bowl to put candies and treats in on her desk. I had no idea how hard that request would be? I looked everywhere for a rainbow bowl and could only find something cheap and plastic, or something expensive and ugly.

Then I was ordering some mugs for the school and decided to make her a rainbow mug. At that time, with the frustration she was facing with the student management system, I had a Thursday morning tradition. On Thursdays mornings we had district principal meetings (that were not online) and I’d get to school after the secretaries. On this day I’d walk into my office and declare, “What a great day it is today!”

So, this might was born:

Every secretary has had one since, each one with a different colour on the inside, so we can tell them apart. I still use mine every day, and it will continue to be a gift I give any secretary I have.

The secret to happiness

It always seems to be one or the other, (read the parable below). This truly is the secret to happiness. I read The Alchemist a half a life ago, but this parable has never really left my thoughts. I’m going to listen to the audio version again this year, in fact, I have an Audible credit and think I’ll get it after posting this.

Also, if you read the parable below and want to read the book, I’ll buy it for the first 3 people that contact me. It will be my pleasure to share this book with you.

The two drops of oil

By Paulo Coelho

A merchant sent his son to learn the Secret of Happiness from the wisest of men. The young man wandered through the desert for forty days until he reached a beautiful castle at the top of a mountain. There lived the sage that the young man was looking for.

However, instead of finding a holy man, our hero entered a room and saw a great deal of activity; merchants coming and going, people chatting in the corners, a small orchestra playing sweet melodies, and there was a table laden with the most delectable dishes of that part of the world.

The wise man talked to everybody, and the young man had to wait for two hours until it was time for his audience.

The Sage listened attentively to the reason for the boy’s visit, but told him that at that moment he did not have the time to explain to him the Secret of Happiness.

He suggested that the young man take a stroll around his palace and come back in two hours’ time.

“However, I want to ask you a favor,” he added, handling the boy a teaspoon, in which he poured two drops of oil. “While you walk, carry this spoon and don’t let the oil spill.”

The young man began to climb up and down the palace staircases, always keeping his eyes fixed on the spoon. At the end of two hours he returned to the presence of the wise man.

“So,” asked the sage, “did you see the Persian tapestries hanging in my dining room? Did you see the garden that the Master of Gardeners took ten years to create? Did you notice the beautiful parchments in my library?”

Embarrassed, the young man confessed that he had seen nothing. His only concern was not to spill the drops of oil that the wise man had entrusted to him.

“So, go back and see the wonders of my world,” said the wise man. “You can’t trust a man if you don’t know his house.”

Now more at ease, the young man took the spoon and strolled again through the palace, this time paying attention to all the works of art that hung from the ceiling and walls.
He saw the gardens, the mountains all around the palace, the delicacy of the flowers, the taste with which each work of art was placed in its niche. Returning to the sage, he reported in detail all that he had seen.

“But where are the two drops of oil that I entrusted to you?” asked the sage.

Looking down at the spoon, the young man realized that he had spilled the oil.

“Well, that is the only advice I have to give you,” said the sage of sages.
“The Secret of Happiness lies in looking at all the wonders of the world and never forgetting the two drops of oil in the spoon.”
~ from the book “The Alchemist”

A day of learning

Today is the first Professional Development Day of the school year. It is an opportunity for educators to pause and reflect on their own learning journey.

When I started my career, I got to work at a school where 14 of the 30 teachers were teaching for their first year, another 2 had only a partial year under their belt, and still 2 more were in their second year of teaching. We were both struggling and thriving as we muddled through our early years of teaching. We had a handful of teachers that, with just a few tears under their belt, we brilliant and very supportive. We had a leader who encouraged us to focus on students and gave us opportunities to lead. But more than anything, we had each other.

Our school based pro-d days were so special. One of my favourites was the October retreat we would go on. It was always themed and we would arrive at the retreat all dressed up the night before our day of learning. We were grouped into sitcom characters from tv shows, we were dressed for the 80’s, we we rock stars. The night would be filled with activities and games that made us feel like kids.

Then the next day we would come together and co-run the day’s events, filled with ideas to engage our minds and the minds of our students when we went back to school.

Those early experiences helped me realize that people need to be part of their own learning journey. Learning is most enriching when participants help create the journey. When we realize who owns the learning, that’s when learning really happens.

A lesson taught with dignity and respect

My grandfather, Leon Bernstein or ‘Papa B’ as he was known, was an amazing man. As I shared at his funeral:

Papa B. is a Giant!

Like many of you, I know this because he told me so.
Papa wasn’t boasting when he said this, he was just telling you the way it is. If you were to measure a man by the legacy he leaves behind Papa would come as big as they get. In this way he is still a giant and always will be.

Here is a lesson that he taught me, wrapped inside of another lesson. It speaks to his character, and to the kind of person I want to be, that I strive to be. It’s a lesson he taught me when I was about 14 years old.

It happened at a family gathering at our house, it was the weekend and both sets of grandparents and a few aunts and uncles were over. It wasn’t a special occasion, our family often connected without a specific reason. I specifically know that it wasn’t a special occasion because I went for a bike ride with a couple friends, and if it was a special occasion, like a birthday, I would have had to stay at the celebration.

When I finished my ride, just before dinner, I came home and I remember that I was going very fast. I reached my driveway and I didn’t slow down. I made the sharp turn on my neighbour’s shared driveway and kept my speed up as I headed to the garage. But at the speed I was going I couldn’t make the turn and I hit Papa B’s car. My handlebar scraped across the car door leaving a scratch longer than a ruler, over 12 inches or 30cm. Then I fell to the pavement and scraped me knee.

It wasn’t a bad scape but standing up I looked at the scrape on me knee and then the large scratch on my grandfather’s car and I started to cry. I went into the house crying and I told my story of riding up the driveway and hitting the car. I didn’t admit to going too fast.

A few adults came outside to look at the car. I still had tears in my eyes as we looked at the large scratch on the front passenger car door. There was a remark about how big it was and the tears flowed. My grandfather spoke up, “It’s all right boy, the important thing is you weren’t hurt. Your knee will heal and the scratch can be fixed. All good.”

And with that we all went inside, me hobbling with exaggeration behind everyone that came outside. I got a bandaid from my mom, and the scratch on the car wasn’t mentioned again that night. I had convinced myself when I scraped the car that I was going to get in big trouble, but my grandfather said it wasn’t important, what was important was that I was ok. It was ‘All good’.

A couple days later Papa B came over and he asked me to come outside. He took me by the hand, something only he could do to a 14 year old in a way that felt natural. Holding hands was something Papa B did with all his grandkids. We walked to the passenger side of the car and he pointed. “See that,” he said pointing to the scratch I had made. “The scratch is horizontal. You were going too fast. If you were going a safe speed, the scratch would have pointed down as the bike fell, but you turned too fast and this scratch tells me so. It’s ok, I know it was a mistake, but I wanted you to know that I know you were going too fast.”

That was it. We went inside and it was never mentioned again.

This has shaped the way I have spoken as a teacher to students in my class, and now as a principal to students in my office. Papa knew all along, but he didn’t want to share this in front of an audience. He waited and taught me a lesson with dignity and respect. It’s easy to be angry and heated and forget to be like this.

That isn’t to say that I always choose to deal with things this way. And sometimes it’s good for students to see you upset, or disappointed with some emotion. But my default is to strive to be like Papa B. To choose a moment that isn’t public. To be gentle and respectful, but also to face the issue rather than let it pass.

Students make mistakes. People make mistakes. I make mistakes. When I remember this story, I remember that how we react to a mistake can be as much of a lesson as the lesson the mistake has to offer. Others deserve the same respect that my Papa B gave to me.

The voodoo of being skilled

I’ve been dealing with a pain in my left shoulder that starts in my bicep and spikes into my shoulder when I move it the wrong way. Unfortunately ‘the wrong way’ meant about 80% of anything I wanted to do. Awaiting my physiotherapy appointment has been debilitating as I’m not able to do the simplest of things without feeling like someone is poking my arm with an ice pick.

As serendipity would have it, on Wednesday I had to cancel Thursday’s appointment with my Physio due to a work appointment that I couldn’t switch, but that very morning a friend came by and recommended a Physio that he goes too, and he told me to look him up on my web browser. So, the moment I canceled my schedule-conflicted appointment, I went online and saw that this new Physio had a time slot just after my conflict time and just before my dinner meeting.

This new Physio asked me a lot of questions about my lifestyle and goals for recovery and put me through a series of mobility tests, moving my arm in different directions, sometimes with resistance. Then he told me, ‘it’s one of 3 muscles’ and started me on an exercise regimen, after three of these, he said, “It’s down to one of two muscles, but they both do the same thing, and the treatment is the same.”

He then had me squeeze my fist as tight as I could and punch above my head 10 times slowly. After that he had me move my arm in directions that minutes before would have sent a spike of pain through my arm, but now there was just mild discomfort. He then ran me through 2 specific exercises that will not just help me heal, but will also strengthen the muscle. And he told me to use the punching-the-air-above-my-head move twice a day, and again if I felt any twinge if pain,

“Think of this as pain relief exercise instead of pain relief meditation. I know it looks weird, so you might want to find somewhere private to do it.”

I told him my secretaries were used to weird, and maybe I’d even play some disco music while I punched the air above my head ten times, just to see their reaction. 🤣

The process left me feeling like I had just visited a voodoo doctor. I was expecting 2-3 weeks of progressively less pain, if I was lucky. Instead, I walked out with instant relief and an exercise rather than pill-based pain reliever. It’s amazing not just to watch, but also to experience the skill of a knowledgeable practitioner. This reminds me of a favourite story that I often share:

“There is an old story of a boilermaker who was hired to fix a huge steamship boiler system that was not working well.

After listening to the engineer’s description of the problems and asking a few questions, he went to the boiler room. He looked at the maze of twisting pipes, listened to the thump of the boiler and the hiss of the escaping steam for a few minutes, and felt some pipes with his hands. Then he hummed softly to himself, reached into his overalls and took out a small hammer, and tapped a bright red valve three times. Immediately, the entire system began working perfectly, and the boilermaker went home.

When the steamship owner received a bill for four hundred dollars, he became outraged and complained that the boilermaker had only been in the engine room for fifteen minutes and requested an itemized bill. So the boilermaker sent him a bill that reads as follows:

For tapping the valve, $.50 x 3: $1.50
For knowing where to tap: $398.50
TOTAL: $400.00”

The last chapter of a book

I’m listening to a novel right now. That’s unusual because I usually wait until holiday breaks to read for pleasure, choosing instead to read (or listen) for learning. But I was done my last book and my new credit on Audible isn’t available for another couple days, so I picked up a cheap and popular Sci-Fi novel for a bargain on Black Friday.

When I get on the treadmill at about 5:30am this morning, I’ll put my headphones on and listen to the final chapter. I’m looking forward to this, but I’m also saddened by this as well.

I love the journey a good book takes you on. It doesn’t have to be a happy book, it just has to be an adventure. The heroes journey often takes the protagonist home at the end, but the journey is unforgettable. The last chapter is seldom climatic, it just offers resolution and closure. The rollercoaster ride is over, and you are parked back at the start of the ride, but there is time to reflect on the ride before the safety belt unlocks.

I love a good adventure, I don’t really enjoy ending it. Closure is melancholy to me. I remember reading once that the two things humans struggle with most in life are beginnings and endings, of these two it is endings that I struggle with more.

It’s time to get on the treadmill, and to close the final chapter of this book.

The story of an ebook thief

Dear eBook Publisher,

I read 'Book 1' of a great series from a great author and thought… 'Wonderful! I want to read the next book! 

I wanted to read these digitally on my ereader, as I'm heading on holidays and don't want to lug around bulky books. I went online, found the books in my favourite ebook store and clicked "add to cart":

"Warning: The eBook you just added to your cart has geographic rights restrictions. The billing country indicates that you do not have the right to purchase this eBook due to restrictions by the Publisher of the eBook." 

I really WANTED TO PAY for, and read this book… I really did. So I tried another online ereader seller and guess what? I can't buy it there either. 

I shared this frustration with a friend and he was on his computer, typing as we spoke. Moments later in the discussion he asked me, "Do you want all 4 books in the series?"

"I just need the last 3."

"Done! Do you have a zip drive?"

"Yes, here it is."

And so, dear ebook publisher, your restrictions lost you a sale, not on one, not on two, but on 3 books that I would have been very happy to pay for. Instead, my friend 'found' a copy online.

Why does it matter where I live… take my money… please.

Kind regards,
An avid reader. 

ps. I notice that the author provided an address at the end of the first book. I think I'll send him some money as thanks, thus just leaving you out of the equation, but giving the author, the artist, his well-deserved payment.