There’s nothing more entertaining than a traditional family gathering (when we could) and having the entire extended relatives pack into a small space to get riled up.

While endless plates of food get passed along, each with their own unique scent and salivating qualities, beverages are poured and the conversation escalates to levels that put rock concerts to shame.

Then, of course, there’s always that one relative that everyone gets nervous about as they start their path of inebriation. Sure enough, they don’t disappoint and everyone politely smiles while waiting for the moment when they are taken home.

And yet, trying to get a word into any conversation is akin to merging onto a major highway. If there’s a thought percolating in the mind, you rev up and accelerate to beyond highway speeds just to merge safely. If you’re loud enough, there’s a chance you will be heard or carry the conversation in a different direction.

We fear silence in those situations because your chance to get into the conversation is over. Or we use silence to stay out of it.

While enjoyable and memorable, these are rarely the ground-breaking conversations that move society forward. It’s endless shouts of gossip and emotional fervor sparked by the combination of food and beverages. No one leaves that room thinking differently.

And yet, this is the conversation we commit to on social media every day.

Maybe we should find other ways to listen to each other.

The final words were put on the document, ready to be sent off for the weekly assignment.

It’s been a long time since I felt this much flow in my writing, really allowing myself to get out of the way and have fun with it. I was a student within a workshop being guided along. As a teacher, it’s nice to abdicate the teaching responsibility once in a while.

(It might also explain why I spend so much time learning from others)

However, before I could send it, I needed the eye of my most trusted reader: my wife.

“Take a look and let me know, if at any point, you leave the story. If you do, tell me what line it was.”

That editing technique was something I picked up from the brilliance of Kristine Rusch. Drawing your reader into the world and having them live the story is the objective of writing. Everything else is secondary.

“Right here,” she said.

My wife then articulated very clearly what went on in her head and what caused her to leave the work. She also added extra details about unfinished projects around the house since she was already speaking in direct mode. I had to kindly remind her that when a husband says he’ll get something done, he will. You don’t have to keep asking him every six months.

This is the part where you might want to leave the story. The line didn’t land well.

However, how often do we leave the story of our own life?

Are we observers, passively waiting until something jarring comes along to take us from it and see it anew? Or do we absorb ourselves in the stream of every waking moment to experience everything we can?

The scented candle upon the table. A vivid red colour reminiscent of cinnamon hearts candy, which in turn is a reminder of Valentine’s Day. A day to show love… or our understanding of it.

It’s the fragrance of wildflowers, even before they are lit, that brings me through the memory of time. A true time travel experience where I’m transported to the flower shops of my dating life, clumsily selecting pre-picked bouquets in hopes this will be enough to show I’m at least trying. It was the nervousness of carrying the paper-wrapped parcel, crumpling in my hands, just to see the joyful illumination in their eyes. For a moment, a feeling of elation knowing that I was able to brighten a day.

Then I’m off to my teenage years when I would burn incense in my bedroom to overcome the stuffy smell. You know, rather than doing something useful like opening a window or, wait for it, actually cleaning my room.

And then it’s the distant memory, slowly creeping in, of my childhood and the flowers which my mother would place as the centerpiece of the table. Gifts from those who were showing their appreciation for all the work she did, placed in the same green, glass vase she used every time a new bouquet came in. It was the smile on her face as she proudly put them on display that, for some reason, made me happy as well.

Which brings this trip full circle.

And I’m back again, at the table of my home, staring into the scented candles on the table and wondering what journey this will bring my own children to in the reflective years of their life.

Things are never simple and yet, they absolutely are.

Just give me the facts.

That’s all I want. Give it to me, the points I want, then let me be. I’ll extract what I need from the sources and be on my way.

This is how we’ve trained ourselves to read in today’s information overloaded world. Small snippets–scanned, extracted and used out of context, only to wonder why we have such a shallow understanding of things.

And, because we’ve fallen into the trap of this type of reading, we’re training ourselves to write this way as well.

Forget leading the reader.

Forget opening them up to the possibilities and taking them down the garden path as that is a waste of people’s time. We’re all too busy and heaven forbid we should spend longer than seconds digesting. The closest you’re going to get to longform writing that people will read is the same re-hashed copywriting seminar style that exploded on the blogging scene over a decade ago in an effort to lure people into sales funnels.

Highlight your main points, add some filler to meet a word count, and spend all your efforts on the clickbait headline.

Pardon my cadence if I sound bitter, but we are quickly being trained to provide (and look for) dopamine hits rather than content meant to satisfy, challenge, enlighten and consider.

There’s so much good stuff out there, and just like a cherry-picker who must climb the highest branches to get the best of the tree, we must train ourselves to ignore the low-hanging fruit and aim higher as well.

It’s not always necessary to be strong, but to feel strong.

Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild

Sometimes, you wake up and there’s a quote that just sticks in your head. It sits in there and while you question how it suddenly found itself to the forefront of your mind that day, it concerns you as to why it’s showing up now.

Given the tone of the last few posts and where I’ve been mentally the past few weeks, I suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise.

While the extension of this quote is about challenging yourself at least once to see the measure of a human you are (agreed), it also calls to mind that life is going to challenge you… many times.

In those moments, you can see this as something horrible to get through, or as a challenge to grow from.

It’s a matter of asking, how can I be strong in this moment and what is it going to take to feel that way too?

When we first went into lockdown, there wasn’t an obvious marker my body went into crisis mode.

From the surface, it was a matter of holding it together and being strong for those around me, which felt right. My years of training and conferring with others in dealing with difficult situations had prepared me for the moment.

But things felt off…

I couldn’t focus on a book.
I was spending an inordinate amount of time on my phone scrolling social media (despite having no official apps for any of them).
My nights were broken and I was constantly waking up, even when the household was sleeping and still.

My body was trying to tell me something and rather than listen, adjust and deal with it, they were promptly ignored. Hence, other avenues of dealing with stress came to surface and I found my recycling bin overflowing every week with, what felt like, treasure chests for bottle collectors.

This time around, I’ve been able to catch it early.

While I originally thought another lockdown would be “old hat” with enough mental preparation to grind through, my body was speaking to me again. This time, it was heart palpitations.

Recognizing this could get a lot worse, it’s time to step back, re-evaluate my expectations (for myself and others) and ease on up before anything else might happen.

My body knows what my mind sometimes refuses to admit.

And for that reason, I’m letting go of a lot to make sure I still have something to grab when it’s all done.

Discard the rest.

Until, of course, a later time when the things you have discarded end up being useful as well. It all depends on where you’re at and what you need at the moment.

And in some cases, what was once useful is now something that can be completely discarded.

I often fall victim to looking towards the next best thing instead of going back to what has already been. The joke among magicians is if you want to show something new, go read an old book and present it with modern dressings. It’s also the reason almost all magic tricks are just slight variations on the same principles that have been around forever.

Using what is useful and discarding rest… for now… absolves you from having to take it all in at once while setting a promise to revisit sometime later when needed. It forces you to absorb wisdom with the addition of gained life experience.

This addition of time and new perspective is the also reason you can never read the same book twice. Despite my inane desire to read everything the world, it can be useful to revisit completed titles to see what was missed the previous time around.

But in all things, regardless of how many times it has been visited, just use what is useful for now.

There is no obligation to take the rest.

If history books (videos, websites, etc.) have shown us anything, is that we will get through this moment in time.

Amidst the frustration, anger, sadness, victories and all around chaos that is happening in the world, humanity will eventually end up on the other side. For better or worse, we’re going to get there.

The question to ask is whether we will have learned anything along the way.

After almost a year of being in and out of lockdown, political meandering and uncertainty of what tomorrow will bring, it would be unfortunate to get here and not have gained anything.

Now would be the opportune time to take a few minutes for reflection and ask what the last year has brought you.

What happened?
What is your reaction?
What have you learned about yourself?

And the most important question:
Have you been honest?

The answers will reveal a future we are about to walk into.

To not have learned anything will be the biggest waste of the year.

A life built on the expectations of others leads to feelings of emptiness. While we can be grateful for what others desire for us, especially when their intentions are good, they may not line up with who we’re meant to be.

Desires have a tendency to change over time, but the values behind them are rooted in something deep within our hearts. What seems good, as brought by others, may be nothing more than fleeting illusions we build for ourselves.

Even when we are lost and seek the counsel of those who we hope will guide our way, it’s not always clear. While we expect answers, the ones they provide are merely suggestions.

Ultimately, what we desire can only be answered by one person:

Ourselves.

And for that, we need to be truly honest with who we really are.

Opinions.

Nothing more than subjective terms we pass around to convince others of an idea. Many times, it’s simply relative to previous experiences or other ideas.

However, they can be dangerous if we convince ourselves of it.

We close ourselves to a broader experience, a different viewpoint and most importantly, that our own idea is irrelevant.