Tag Archives: freedom

Dads: Not just an oatmeal cookie

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A wondrous Father’s Day to all of you men and women who have provided guidance, structure and love to the next generation.

Being a Dad is about more than genetics; it’s about putting yourself out there for another human being and making sacrifices to help them be the best human being they possibly can. It’s about knowing when to cling tight and when to let go. It’s about providing rules while allowing freedom.

When you put a child on your shoulders, you put all of us on your shoulders, for the connections you make with that child today will resonate with everyone that child touches in later life.

Today, we lift you on our shoulders and say thank you for helping create so many beautiful people.

I celebrate all of my friends who are fathers and in particular, my brother Scott, who I respect more than he can imagine for what he has done with my nephew and nieces. That is the true mark of a man. Well done, bro.

And more personally, thank you Grandad. You meant the world to me.  You gave me guidance, you gave me love, you gave me beer when no one was looking. You were not perfect, but that didn’t make you any less a role model.

Waterfront birds

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Another sunny day and another errand can mean only one thing: another day traipsing around with the camera.

A few more scenery shots than usual–different lens–but this first batch is dedicated to the most fowl of Lake Ontario.

Long weekendless

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It’s a long weekend, this weekend in Canada. We’re celebrating Victoria Day, which is a celebration of either the capital of British Columbia, a previous Queen of half the planet, or a friend of mine who blogs Victoriously.

Regardless of what we call it, however, it is a celebration of Spring (welcome to Canada) and of drinking beer on patios and at cottages—the May Two-Four weekend, as some of us older folks recall it (commemorating the Canadian single-serving case of 24 bottles).

What makes this year’s version a little odd for me is that for the last year or so, every weekend has been a long weekend, for I am a freelance writer. On any given Monday or Friday, I can choose not to work. Likewise, on any given Saturday or Sunday, you are likely to find me working. Day nomenclature has ceased to hold meaning for me.

For all intents and purposes—and I have plenty of both—the only real difference between a Wednesday and a Saturday is how many of my friends can come out to play at 2 o’clock in the afternoon. And most of my friends are in entertainment, journalism or science, so even that constriction isn’t very strict.

Admittedly, I am less likely to hold an interview for an article assignment on the weekend, but those are few and far between.

Now, my freedom comes at a price…or lack of a price, as the case may be. My pay packet is smaller than it once was. I have no health benefits but what the government gives me (welcome to Canada!). I often have to make myself go for a walk to ensure I get some exercise.

However…I don’t attend meetings. If my boss is an ass, I’m probably looking in the mirror. My commute is maybe two metres. And my drinking problem doesn’t seem to be suffering (phew!).

This morning, I seriously argued with myself as to whether I was going to work on a feature due next week or take my camera out for a walk…and it could have gone either way (I strangely decided to work on my feature).

I have no family about whom to worry or of whom I need to take care, so I understand I have a luxury of options that many feel they cannot afford.

At the same time, I watch many of my responsible friends—typically the ones who can’t come out to play at either 2 o’clock—and see them dig themselves an early grave, fighting to give their families everything except the one thing their families probably want most of all: themselves.

I may die tonight—exercising that drinking problem—or I may live for another hundred years. I don’t know. But either way, I’m not worried about it. I don’t have a timer on things to accomplish.

That’s a nice feeling.

All y’all have a great series of days that may be a weekend!

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Stupid is pretty smart

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I find it interesting that most people seem to be less afraid of being stupid than they are of looking stupid.

I say this because of the inordinate amount of stupid material I find every day—the people posting this stuff obviously don’t think it’s stupid—and yet many of the brightest people I know (and not just those with whom I agree) are paralytically afraid of saying anything lest people think they’re stupid.

Now, I appreciate that stupid is subjective, but this is not a condemnation of stupid, it is a call to embrace our personal stupid and use it to move forward to brilliance.

If you watch a group of children as they age—not literally moment-by-moment; that would be stupid—you will see that they start out unfiltered and unhindered by subconscious voices that make them edit themselves. They are free to create amazing things and proudly display those things on refrigerators around the world.

As they get older, though, those subconscious voices creep in and you find the children become less enthusiastic about their art. They become more self-conscious about being seen as stupid, and so the refrigerators of the world become increasingly barren.

That is incredibly sad, and not just because the typical refrigerator is a featureless, oddly coloured box with little inherent fashion sense. It is sad because it creates a population of adults who are incredibly repressed and overwhelmingly self-conscious.

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As I have mentioned before, I have numerable friends who want to write, but they are routinely stopped from taking any action by an infernal firewall of what to write. They can’t just write anything. Writing just anything would be stupid.

No! No! No! Writing just anything would be freaking brilliant!

Writing just anything would make you a writer, rather than the non-writer you are now.

Write the word “stupid”. Write “stoopid”. Write “styupid”. Write “stewed pet”. And bloody screw AutoCorrect.

Let stupid be your creative scissors and run around the room not caring into whom you run or stab. Stupid begets intelligent, no matter how stupid that sounds.

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Besides, no matter how clever, intelligent or prosaic you are, someone is going to find your writing stupid. Stab them with your stupid scissors and move on.

I absolutely abhor the novel Crime and Punishment, routinely espousing that the crime was the writing of the book and the punishment is the reading, and yet many people find it a marvelous work of art. How stupid is that? (You can read that as I’m stupid or they’re stupid…I don’t really care.)

In King Lear (III, ii), Shakespeare wrote: “The art of our necessities is strange that can make vile things precious.”

As used in the play, this line has absolutely nothing to do with the point I’m making, and depending on how you read it, the line actually blows my thesis apart or completely justifies it. Now that is freaking stupid.

As Liam Neeson should have said in the movie: Release the Stupid!

You may just find that your stupid is pretty amazing…and even if it’s not, you’re one step closer to your brilliant.

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(Images used without permission. Pretty stupid, eh?)

Declaration of independence

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I lost an acquaintance the other day, someone who wafted into my life for a brief period, didn’t like what he saw and wafted back out. But not before admonishing me for “being stuck in one gear…first-person singular” and challenging me to “set aside the superficial…and start ranking the real priorities in your life.”

The following was my response to him, and to all others who would see me curb my enthusiasms for what they see as a more appropriate direction for my life:

[Name], I’m sorry to hear that you struggle with my humours, but appreciate that it is not to all tastes.

I have been very fortunate in recent years (the latest of my 50) to have surrounded myself with wonderful friends who appreciate the unique package I present in life–the ability to write deeply insightful poetry, starkly analytical science, ribald comedy, biting sociopolitical ripostes, and prosaic tutelage–and while I appreciate their love and support, and hope that I return it in spades, I am ultimately happy with the person that I am and require no outside validation nor light.

As I have only come to realize in the past couple of years, I have wasted too many years of my life, trying to live the life that others would wish me to follow, and was slowly driven to self-destructive distraction in my failures to live up to everyone’s expectations, well intentioned or otherwise. I now live for me above and beyond all others.

I wish you the best in your journey and hope you find the truth you seek, as each of us must find our own.

All around, the vistas were laden with new peaks to explore, heights to achieve.

All around, the vistas were laden with new peaks to explore, heights to achieve. (Mt. Baker, Washington)

Waterfalls…but only when pushed

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Considering my fear of heights (I can’t even watch a film of a cliff face), my fascination with waterfalls intrigues me. There is something about the descent of all that water that just amazes me.

Maybe it’s the power. Maybe it’s the freedom. I know there’s a thrill.

The following photos were taken in a variety of locations, including British Columbia, Costa Rica and Las Vegas.