Musings – KINETIC MOTIONS

December 2, 2024

Defying Gravity

Something has changed within me

Something is not the same

I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game

Too late for second-guessing

Too late to go back to sleep

It’s time to trust my instincts

Close my eyes….

And….

Leap!

This is the opening verse from one of my favourite musicals, Wicked. I was inspired by the story, the characters, and the music years ago, when I first saw the production, and I have only grown to love it more this year, when I saw the stage production again this spring, and the movie (part 1!) this past weekend.

There are so many themes running through the story, many of which are rather dark and others that are more warm and joyful. One can enjoy the play, or movie, just for the music, dancing and great costumes (which I did!), but one can also use Wicked to think, to reflect, to take action, or as Elphaba sings…. To leap.

The opening verse of the song, Defying Gravity, really affected me when I heard it sung this weekend. I came home and listened to it again, and I even played it on my piano this morning. Even as I typed the words here, they jumped out at me. It was like a higher power was speaking directly to me.

Something has changed within me. I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game.

One thing I know about myself is that I speak my mind. It’s not that I question everything people tell me or what people ask of me, but I am not a “yes-woman.” Just because a person in a position of authority tells me to do something, I don’t just do it. Just because someone in a position of power over me thinks they know better, it doesn’t mean I will follow.

I have been criticized for this, and it’s a game I won’t play.

I don’t always know what is best, and maybe being contrary or questioning an order hasn’t always been the best idea. But I stand by who I am and my choice to sometimes be different. If it means I have to be part of a game, with rules designed by a person or people or organization that don’t match with my beliefs, I don’t want to participate.

For many years I thought I wanted to play the game. I perceived there would be rewards and recognition for participation, and that my unique skills and talents would be appreciated. But instead I learned that it was the game that mattered most.

It’s not because of the movie that I chose to not play the game. But thanks to this song, I can feel confident to share that indeed, something has changed within me – something is not the same – I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game.

I’m through accepting limits ‘cause someone says they’re so. Some things I cannot change but ‘til I try, I’ll never know.

I don’t like the status quo, and when I see boundaries, I push them. When I look back at my career, or my friendships or even my hobbies and passions, I have never accepted the limits that anyone placed on me.

I won’t live up to what someone else believes is what I can – or should – achieve. I can’t change people, but I don’t have to let them tell me what my limits are. I admit, I’ve allowed that at times, and then I remember who I am and I push back.

If there’s no game, if I can be myself, where there are no limits, that’s even better. I need to remember that I won’t play the game, when it’s presented to me, and I will never accept limits just because someone says they’re so.

My life would be much easier if I didn’t care so much

This line was actually spoken by the Wizard, when he first meets Elphaba in the Emerald City. While I really don’t identify with this character or the weasel he turns out to be, I was still very struck by the words.

Throughout my life, when I have received feedback about schoolwork or a job, people have described me as passionate, or that I care a lot. It’s a fair assessment. But would my life be much easier if I didn’t care so much?

As a parent, I care so much about my children, no matter how hard that is. I still feel a tinge of sadness when my 8-year-old scratches her knee, and my heart sinks when my 14-year-old tells me she’s feeling anxious. My life would not be easier if I didn’t care so much about my kids.

I feel the same about my extended family, and my friends. Caring about them makes my life richer. It offers complexity and challenges that I would never want to change.

So, how about my career, or the jobs I have held? Would my work have been easier, would I have been more successful, could I have accomplished more or been more efficient, if I didn’t care so much?

The answer is: yes.

Would I change who I am, that I care about my employees, my colleagues, clients and everyone who relies on me?

Absolutely not.

I care so much that I know it has hurt me. But I have no regrets. For sure, in recent years, I can think of many examples where it would have been so much easier not to care so much. But I stand by my choices and the people to whom I stayed and will stay loyal.

It’s time to trust my instincts close my eyes and leap

This line in the song, Defying Gravity, is the one that resonates the most with me. I won’t play the game. I won’t accept limits established by another person. I will always care. But what will I do about that?

I need to trust my instincts. I must remember that I know what is best for me and how and where I will succeed. I can’t let someone else determine how far I will go or what I am capable of. I need to trust myself and be confident about that.

But that’s not all. I need to leap. I need to act. Knowledge is one thing. Action is another. My first step is here, at Kinetic Motions. Writing is powerful, and for me it’s incredibly empowering. I’m ready to leap.

Am I going to Defy Gravity? Keeping reading and you will find out

November 25, 2024

Sunrise

Last weekend, I was fortunate to spend a few days in Miami. I decided to book one night in Miami Beach, so that my son and I could experience a bit of the South Beach vibe, the unique and historical architecture, and most important, the ocean.

I’m not a fan of swimming in the ocean or lazing at the beach for hours. Between the saltwater and the sand, that finds a way to get into every crevice of the body, it’s not for me. But the sound of the waves and expansive views of the bright blue water really invigorate me. I was drawn to the ocean and how it made me feel.

I’ve always loved sunset over the ocean, when I visited places where the ocean sits to the west of the land. But in Miami, the ocean lies to the east. I woke up early in the morning (I never sleep well at hotels, but that’s for another day), and I walked to the beach to watch the sun come up over the water.

It was spectacular.

I didn’t see the deep colours of pinks or oranges that are hallmarks of sunset, but I did see the sun’s rays beaming through some clouds, lighting up everything they touched.

I walked to the edge of the water and I sat down. People walked by, dogs were running and workmen were setting up loungers. I just sat there and watched the sun rise over the ocean.

Every day, the sun rises.

The start of a new day brings fresh promise of what may lay ahead for us. Staring at the rising sun gave me the sense that I had a special superpower, that each morning I can press refresh. It made me feel excited that with each new sunrise I could achieve anything.

I don’t want to knock sunset. It’s beautiful, and it gives me a chance to reflect on my day. Sunset is that time of day when everything comes to a close, when the body is tired, signalling it’s time to slow down. There is something peaceful in that.

But, sitting on the edge of the ocean, watching the sun push its way up into the sky, I felt energized. Even if I didn’t accomplish half of what I thought I could that day, during sunrise it didn’t matter. Anything is possible at the start of a new day.

Anything is possible at the start of something new. Sunset is synonymous with shutting down and closure. Sunrise, on the other hand, is about starting something new, and fresh and opening new doors that may not have been there the previous day.

I don’t live near the ocean, and I really can’t see sunrise most days, living in the middle of a big and dense city. But I can picture it, and I know what it means to me. I look forward to sunrise each morning. I’m excited about what each new day will bring and how I can be part of it.

Sunrise makes me feel optimistic about the future. I’m ready for whatever that future may be.

November 15, 2024November 16, 2024

He’s Growing Up. Part One.

June 19^th, 2006. This is a date that I will never forget. Two significant things happened on this date, over 18 years ago. First, that was the date that my beloved Carolina Hurricanes beat the Edmonton Oilers, in 7 games, to win the Stanley Cup. Second, it was the day I learned I was pregnant with my first child, Matthew.

I’m not going to write paragraph after paragraph here about my love affair with the Hurricanes. I did that when I first launched this blog in 2017. You are most welcome to re-read that post. Today I want to journey back to that moment when I first learned about Matthew.

Back in June of 2006 he wasn’t yet Matthew. We didn’t even know that he was a “he.” What we had was “Obie” – short for our baby. I was superstitious and was only focused on doing everything I could to give birth to a healthy child. Months later, Matthew was born. And he was perfect.

So, why am I writing about my son’s birth today, in the middle of November? It’s not his birthday and today he didn’t achieve any specific milestone. But, today was a special day, for Matthew, and for me.

I’m writing from Miami, Florida. Matthew and I flew here on Thursday evening, so that we could spend a few days here to visit potential universities. For me, it’s been a very emotional day, and memories of learning I was pregnant, and his birth, came whooshing back.

He’s growing up. No, he’s not grown up yet, and I don’t know when I will be ready to say that he is a grown-up. I have raised an intelligent, mature and responsible person. He makes good choices, he’s focused on doing well in school and is ambitious. But the little boy, who insisted on his “tzetzi” (pacifier) to be plugged into his mouth at night, or the child who said “merote” instead of “remote” until he was eight, is still there.

On this short trip, it’s just the two of us. We are visiting two schools in the Miami area, both of which offer programs within the discipline he wants to pursue – sports management, analytics and administration. He knows what he wants to do, and he’s known that since he was 10 years old.

It was seven years ago that Matthew and I went on our last mom and son trip together, to Chicago. I took him on a special visit there, to see the Toronto Blue Jays play the Chicago Cubs, and as a bonus, Toronto FC was also in town to play the Chicago Fire (soccer). We got tickets to both. It was a wonderful few days. Little did I know that his visit to Wrigley Field, with its history, rickety seats and funky smells, would be where his love of baseball and career aspirations really took shape.

Over the past seven years, Matthew’s love of baseball grew, as did his love of so many other sports (I won’t whine here about his strict adherence to watching 3 NFL games at once on Sundays!). He dove into the data, the rules, the history and unique aspects of baseball. As he watched games on TV, he considered players’ body angles, running agility and pitch speed. His analytical mind went to places I didn’t know were possible with sports.

He wasn’t just a little boy anymore, who played T-ball or threw the baseball around with his grandmother. Matthew didn’t just watch games on TV or enjoy a Blue Jays game at the ballpark. He was building his future.

As we walked around the university campus today, Matthew looked like he belonged there. Okay, so the palm trees were nice, and the green lawns, warm breeze and blue skies were great. But when we met with an associate dean at the school, that’s when he lit up. He explained how advanced mathematics, along with data analytics, can play a role in baseball. I sat there, in awe, as he told an experienced university academic how math formulas can be solved, not just to throw numbers on a page, but as a path to solve problems.

They engaged in a conversation about the power of data, and how it can help inform decisions but can also be dangerous if not handled responsibly.

It was in that moment, at the university, when it really hit me, that he really was growing up.

Most of his university applications are complete, and in the coming months, Matthew will decide where life takes him next. I am feeling so many emotions – excited and yet scared. Happy but sad. Confident and yet nervous. For him, and for me.

I want my children to dream big, and I want to do everything I can to make their dreams come true. June 19^th, 2006 was a big day. So was November 15th,, 2024.

Watch for He’s Growing Up, Part 2, when he goes off to University.

October 1, 2024

“It’s perfect because I made it”

Last week I participated in something wonderful – a group Challah bake. I admit, I kept giving myself excuses of why I shouldn’t go, why I was too busy or too tired, or even not interested enough, to be out, on a Thursday night. It was another very busy week at work, my kids had activities, homework and tests, my dog was needy (you know those sad eyes they give when they want attention?), and somehow I had been out every night of the week. But, something nagged at me to go. And I’m so glad I went.

Many of you reading this are thinking….. what is a Challah bake, and why do you need a group of people to bake anything? Let me explain.

All three of my children have attended (the youngest one still does attend!), the same, small, community-focused downtown Jewish Day School. As an alumni parent, I was invited to connect with other parents, to catch up, to schmooze, and yes to bake together. That’s the background of the “group” part – coming together, to spend quality time with old and new friends.

So, what is challah? If you have never had the privilege of tasting it – well, quite simply, it’s bread. But it’s not just any bread – some call it egg bread, some call it sweet egg bread. It has a few unique ingredients (like eggs and sugar), and it is a traditional Jewish yeast-based baked item made for the Sabbath or Holidays. For me, fresh, warm, beautiful challah is one of the tastiest treats.

I have been a challah baker, on my own, for many years. My mother and my sister also bake challah. It is part of my ritual on Friday afternoons, to get my dough going, then a first rise, then shape it, then rise again, then bake it. I get pings on office chats every Friday, as my colleagues ask me if my challah is out of the oven yet, or can they see a photo, or will I ever bring in samples to the office!

You may wonder then, what is the point of a group challah bake? It takes hours, from start to finish, to make challah. There are many steps, and many places, where things can go terribly wrong if you don’t know what you are doing. But as I experienced last week, being in a room with other women, preparing our dough, just like our ancestors have done for generations, was extraordinary.

We were led by a knowledgeable and oh so patient bread-baking expert, Rebecca Rogers. Our group of about 18 people was a mix of semi experts to novices to newbies. Rebecca explained the history of challah-making, the nuances of preparing dough, and when someone was a bit anxious or nervous about adding the right ingredient or kneading their dough enough, she smiled and told us to just remember and say, “it’s perfect, because I made it.”

Do we put it all that sugar to make it sweet, or just a bit? Should I leave out a bit of flour, in case my dough is sticky? Maybe I should crack my egg in another bowl, to make sure there’s no shells in the dough. How long do I knead my dough (answer: a long time, just keep going, and put your whole body into it!). And that was just the first part.

As we added our ingredients and had a full body workout kneading our dough, we laughed and we chatted. We reminisced and planned for our children’s futures. I have been part of this school community for a dozen years, and I have known some of these women even longer. Our children grew up together and many of them are still friends. We didn’t just bake challah – we had a special evening, just for us – away from the demands of life.

We were reminded over and over that there was no right or wrong – that each of our challahs would be perfect – because we made them.

I’m not one to toot my own horn too often. Okay, there are a few things where I’d say, sure, I’m a bit of an expert. I’d put myself in the “semi-expert” category of challah baking. I know the ratios of the ingredients and how to knead dough, to get it to the right texture. I know how long my dough needs to rise and to bake, to make it tasty and luscious. But I learned a few new tips and tricks at the group challah bake that I have already put into action. Here’s a few:

Dough gets anxious, just like people. It rises and bakes best when it’s relaxed. If the dough seems difficult, leave it alone for 10 minutes, and it will relax for you.
The air can dry out your dough really fast. A cotton cloth is okay, but the best way to protect your dough while it rises is to cut a heavier duty large Ziploc bag in half and drape it over the dough. That locks the air out.
There are so many ways to shape challah dough! You can make it round, twist two strands, braid three, four, or gasp, even six strands! Yes, challah can be a work of art!
You can take your challah’s temperature when it’s in the oven! Stick that thermometer in and get that bread to a nice 88 degrees Celsius if you want to ensure it is baked inside.

I brought my dough home, tightly sealed in plastic wrap, put it in a large bowl and threw it in the fridge for the night. I removed the dough on Friday afternoon, cut it in half, super sealed half of it (put that half in the freezer) and in front of me I had a beautiful piece of dough, ready to have fun with and shape.

I went for the new technique I learned – four stranded braid. I tried, I looked at videos, and I couldn’t figure it out. So, I did my own version of four braids, placed it in the oven. It rose, it browned and it was beautiful.

It was perfect, because I made it.

For me, baking bread is calming and peaceful. I’d even say it’s empowering. I feel good when I’m kneading my dough, or shaping it and wow, the glorious smell in my house when I remove the challah from the oven. Wow! And oh, that first bite into fresh challah. That is something special.

If you are reading this and are craving challah now, I think that’s a good thing. I’m happy to share my recipes or teach you how to make the perfect challah. I promise you, your challah will be perfect. Why? Because you will make it!

July 14, 2024July 14, 2024

Stimulating Conversations from a Summer Road Trip

My family loves road trips. It is perfectly normal, especially in the summer, to drive for 8, 10 or 12 hours in a single day, to travel to a destination. We have visited many parts of Canada, all in our car. During a recent 8-hour drive, from our family country home in Quebec, to Toronto, with my husband and son, I thought about the interesting behaviours of people while in a moving vehicle.

I started to chuckle as I remembered the “party bus” with my office colleagues last summer. You can take a group of mature, often serious adults – put them on a bus – and they turn in to rowdy, and silly, toddlers!

So, what happens to people when they are strapped into a car for hours? Does the mix of people matter? How about the intended destination? Or maybe does the length of the trip make a difference? The weather? The kind of road? Traffic?

I put these questions to the test during the recent drive. I will set the scene:

Starting location: Saint Donat, Quebec
Destination: Toronto, Ontario
In the car: My husband (David), my son (Matthew), our dog (Olie), and me

We left mid-afternoon on a Saturday, with clear skies and high temperatures. If we drove without making a stop, it would be a 7-hour drive. But I knew we’d stop for gas or snacks or to change drivers, so we planned for 8 hours.

With just 3 people and a dog in the car, we had lots of room. No one felt crammed. The roads were clear, and we were all set for an easy drive (which it was).

Fifteen minutes in, I look over and see David is already tired. Really? Our first conversation focused on how a grown man, who knew he’d be driving for hours, chose to not have a good sleep the night before. He just yawned. After a stop at Starbucks – which included a five-minute nap – we were back on the road.

While a group bus experience brings out the toddler in adults, that’s not the case of the car. During a long road trip, one has the opportunity – whether good or bad – to discuss topics at length, some of them to exhaustion. What I learned was that when my husband and son are together for such a trip – without my two young daughters – wow do they ever find a way to beat a topic to death. Here’s some of what they discussed:

Who knows more about Math and Science?

This topic lasted well over an hour. Where do I begin? It amuses me, and it brings David great pride, that our son has a knack for math and science. Matthew just completed grade 11, which included two math courses and physics this past year. David grilled Matthew on whether or not he knew this concept or that. I’d include what those concepts were, but it was clear early on that I not only know less than them but also don’t care. Trigonometry? This or that law of physics? Or, can you explain why such and such plus this or that make sense or don’t? Back and forth the two of them went. I felt like that dumb kid in high school who sat at the back of the class and doodled all day.

What is the most efficient energy source?

This was a very exciting conversation that must have lasted at least half an hour. I believe it began as we passed some field that was covered in solar panels. How efficient is solar power, they asked each other. I learned: not very. So, they just had to know, what’s more efficient? Matthew pulled out his phone as they came up with various ideas, to see their percent efficiency. Hydro? Nuclear? Wind? I don’t even know what they decided was most efficient, as I drifted off into my own thoughts, as the conversation became more boring by the minute.

Is there alien life?

I believe the alien conversation flowed from the energy conversation. You don’t even want to know how that happened. They went back and forth asking each other “tough” questions whether each think there is some kind of intelligent life out there, beyond our solar system or universe. That turned into a deeper conversation about just how big our solar system really is. Their deep thoughts included the idea that we (as in people of Earth) have sent out signals that just may not have reached other intelligent life yet. But what if some society, smarter or more advanced than ours, gets our signal? Will they come and destroy us? That was pleasant.

Was Matthew hungry?

I admit, I participated in any conversation that included food. I like to prepare various snacks for our drives. And the food I bring mainly depends on what my starting point is. Sometimes I bake muffins or cookies, if I start from home. Or I like to cut up vegetables or have fresh fruit on the ready. And then there is the bag of snacks. Chips, chocolate, candy and other easy-to-consume foods. Matthew made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with fruit or vegetables, or any homemade baked goods.

Was there a Tim Hortons at the next exit? Did I throw in enough of those small packets of Brookside chocolate? What variety of chips could he grab from the snack bag? Was David starting to nod off again and needed a square (or ten) of dark chocolate? Did the dog have any water? Does anyone need coffee?

University Applications

Since Matthew just completed grade 11, it means that this fall it’s time for him to formally start to apply to university. Let’s put aside this huge life milestone and just get to the car conversation. Matthew is an ambitious kid with aspirations to enroll in a Sports Management program, preferably at an American University. We’ve done our research and already visited some schools. So what’s to discuss in an 8-hour car ride? So much. Even if much of it is repetitive. What are his top five choices? What schools do we still need to visit this fall? On what date later this summer does he need to sit down and formally start the applications? Did he secure the references he needs from school (yes, he did)?

Politics

In 2024, no 8-hour road trip would be complete without a rousing conversation about politics. I won’t go into the nitty gritty details of what was discussed as it may either send your brain into a tizzy or put you to sleep. Let’s just say that over the last year, my son and husband have come together on where they sit politically. They both like to quote all kinds of pundits, writers or other politicians, to convince me that they’re right. I will say that I don’t always disagree with them, but wow, I’m not that kind of passionate.

We jumped around to many other topics during this particular road trip, some light hearted and amusing and some more serious and sometimes upsetting. The conversations were very rich, and I think I will remember this particular drive quite fondly.

The summer is still young, and my family and I have many hours ahead and highways to conquer. Coming up are more back-and-forth road trips on Highway 401 between Quebec and Ontario, a drive East to pick up our daughters in Halifax, and a new special drive after to Boston and New York.

There will be laughs and for sure there will be tears. There will be memories from road trips of old to share and new ones to write. Aren’t summer road trips great?

July 5, 2024July 5, 2024

A Place Where Time Stands Still

Is there a place in your life, or maybe an experience, that is so clear to you, that the thought of it, or the memory of it, is brilliantly vivid? Did you travel someplace in childhood that’s still a part of you today, or is there a person who was – or is – important to you and has impacted your life?

These questions popped into my head as I was paddle boarding on a beautiful lake deep in the mountains in Quebec. Whether it was this lake, or another, I’ve been traveling to the Laurentian region since I was born. With maybe the odd exception, I have spent time on a lake in this area every summer of my life.

I looked around at the magnificent vista and said to myself, “this is a place where time stands still.” Does it? Or in my mind, have I created a story of what’s around me and hold it so sacred that time seemingly stands still?

Let me explain and give some context. As I write, I’m sitting on the deck of a house that’s been around for 75 years. Back in 1949, my husband’s grandfather purchased land, with a partner, and with very limited funds, started to build a small home on one of the plots. He hand-picked the spot, with 180 degree views of the lake and mountains.

Over the next few years the house was completed, and it was enjoyed across all seasons by the family. As the children married and had children, more people benefitted from this magical place. 75 years later, multiple generations return in the summer, to be together, to suck the goodness.

Whenever I am here, no matter what is happening in my life, or the world outside, I start to feel that this house, actually, this whole region, feels like it’s a place where time stands still. As I start to really think about it, I have always felt this way around here.

My extended family also had homes in other parts of the region, which is why I was fortunate to spend parts of the summer or winter around here. As a child, I remember a special smell that always hit me when I arrived at my grandparents’ country house in the little village of St. Adolphe. I associated it with wonderful memories (I only realized later, as an adult, that the smell was really just mustiness or mold, which would have been solved with a dehumidifier!).

Maybe it’s a certain kind of design, or decoration, that I see across the homes in this area. Or maybe the décor hasn’t changed in the 75 years some of these homes have existed. I often jest that my husband’s family home is a perfectly preserved retro home from 1952! To paraphrase from a family friend who wrote an article on the home in the National Post 15 years ago – when the home turned 60 – from a dark and cramped kitchen come gourmet meals – well, besides the new shiny fridge – the original kitchen is still there.

The floors creak, the mattresses are lumpy, and unless I turn on the dehumidifier, it’s musty…. I’ll just say it – it’s not exactly the most comfortable home. And yet, and yet, I don’t think anyone would want it any other way. Time stands still here, in our little bubble.

This is a concrete example where time stands still. But what about memories or experiences that have been placed in a vault in your head? Could it be that cute hotel by the beach you stayed at 30 years ago, and in your head – even if a city has grown up around it and it’s commercialized, it’s still a tiny shack by the water? Maybe it’s the elementary school you went to until grade 4. The chairs in the classroom still seem big in your head, and wow, the teachers were tall. The slide in the playground is long and scary, and it was so many steps to get to the second floor of the building!

Time can’t really stand still. But I love that I have a place – both in my head – and in real life – that when I’m here, I look around – and I swear, I feel like nothing has changed. And that brings me comfort. My children grow up. My jobs have changed, or my career has gone in a new direction. Politics and wars have overtaken our lives, and families have moved around the world. The people who built some of these homes, 75 years ago, are physically gone. But they are here with us every day.

When our family sold my grandparents’ country home, we took my grandfather’s canoe and moved it my husband’s home nearby. We now call this canoe, the Zaidy Lou, in honour of my grandfather. Every time I see this canoe, I half expect my grandfather to appear, asking me to join him on the lake.

When someone bites into a peach, I immediately conjure the memory of when my husband’s grandmother taught me how to pick a basket of peaches at the local Provigo grocery store in the village. I remember she said to me, “Alicia, they sell the peaches by the basket. Make sure you pick the best ones, even if you have to move peaches between baskets. And when you think the basket is full, put one extra peach on top!”

These memories, of my grandfather canoeing down his lake, or my grandmother-in-law teaching me how to buy peaches, or so clear in my head. They are a moment in time that are still very alive today.

Where does time stand still for you? Is there a place, a moment, or a person? I would love to hear your story.

July 1, 2024

Be Kind

At the start of every summer, I am fortunate to escape the city and head to our family country retreat in Quebec. I’ve written about this special place many times. We were thrilled to get in the car this weekend and make the multi-hour drive from our home in Toronto. We encountered heavy traffic and on-and-off rain, and in between the skies cleared and we flew past towns and small communities across Southern Ontario.

Suddenly, during one of the periods of rain, the driver’s side windshield wiper flew off the car. At over 100 km per hour, it disappeared fast, off to the side of the road. Luckily it didn’t hit another car or anything else. It was just gone. The rain was coming down, and it was hard to see.

There was a town not far away, so we got off the highway and headed to a larger gas station. Could we find a replacement wiper? Maybe just move the passenger side wiper over? My husband parked at the corner of the gas station and considered our options. He looked at the wipers.

A man walked over, who clearly lived in the town, and politely asked if we needed any help. He held a fresh bottle of Pepsi in his hand, and he was headed back to his pickup truck. My husband hesitated, then explained what happened. The man paused, then he quickly jumped in to help. He grabbed a tape measure from his car and advised us on the exact wiper we needed -which he knew was sold at that gas station.

My husband went in to the station’s store, bought the wiper, and the man waited to make sure we were okay. He even offered to help put the new wiper on. His tone was gentle yet confident. He exuded warmth. Quite simply: he was kind.

Why did something so simple as this affect me so much? What did this man do that was so special? On the surface, it was nothing really. It was a rainy early summer afternoon, and it was easy to offer help. It was only moments of his day, and he then he moved on. He was a stranger, and he didn’t have to help us. He wasn’t obligated.

And yet he did. It made me think about kindness and how there just isn’t enough of it in our world today. I often feel that the world has been overtaken by hatred and anger. Instead of offering a helping hand, people offer negativity and vitriol. Instead of helping you succeed, they go out of their way to ensure you fail.

I don’t just read about this in the news or hear anecdotes. I experience this in my own life. I brace myself every day in case I have to face any barriers – from a fellow driver cutting me off in traffic to someone who shuts the elevator door instead of pressing the open button. It’s witnessing protestors shutting down a street or screaming hateful words instead of keeping an open mind and considering having a dialogue. Or it can be a workplace culture that, on the surface, exudes warmth but instead instills fear in its employees.

Being kind is not always necessarily the only option. I’m not naïve. But it’s rarely a starting point anymore or even a consideration. I tell my children every day how important it is to be a good person – to care for others, respect people around them, and yes, to be kind. If it’s the one thing they learn from me, then I would consider myself to be a good parent.

Am I fooling myself that this is possible anymore?

So, here is my ask, if you are reading this. Let’s all make an effort to be kind. Some examples:

Say please when you want something.
Then say thank you.
Say excuse me if you want to get past someone or if you accidentally shove them.
Don’t cut people off in traffic. Go a step further, and slow down to let a car in.
Hold the elevator door open for the person running towards you, even if you’re in a rush.
If you are in a leadership position, help your subordinates. Raise them up – don’t bring them down.
Buy your colleague a coffee.
Offer to help carry that giant stroller down the stairs when you see the parent struggling.
Even if you disagree, keep an open mind and listen to a different perspective.
Take your child paddle boarding (added this one for fun – I just did that today!).

I could go on and on, for pages, hours, or days. It has become harder than ever to be kind. It seems easier to dismiss someone, or their idea, or to ignore them outright. People skip any niceties and go directly to cruelty.

But not everyone. A stranger stopped to help us. He smiled, and he waved. He stopped whatever it was that he was doing, just to be kind. I think we are all capable of this. If we only gave it a try.

May 12, 2024May 12, 2024

Dichotomy

Have you ever eaten a Sabra? It’s a prickly pear. On the outside it has rough edges, almost sharp. But once you remove the skin, underneath, is a soft, gentle fruit that is delicious. The sabra is often used as a metaphor for Israelis. It was during my recent visit to Israel that I realized just how true this is: sharp on the outside, but as soft as can be inside. A dichotomy.

A dichotomy is what I would describe as my time in Israel. I experienced highs and lows, great joy followed by sadness, and a sense of security mixed with fear. This is what life has been like in Israel for the past seven months. Until I was there, until I could see it for myself, I would never have believed it.

I felt it the moment I arrived. As I strolled towards passport control and saw one of my favourite signs, “Bruchim Ha’baim” (welcome), I walked past sign after sign, names, faces, ages, of people being held hostage in Gaza. Around the airport were signs warmly welcoming me, surrounded by reminders that over 200 people had been kidnapped. How could I be so excited to arrive in a place I love so much, to be with family and catch up with friends, with all of this suffering?

Instead of letting the sadness, the pain or the fear overtake me, I embraced the dichotomy of what Israel is today and focused on joy. I actively sought out the Israel I know and love, to remind myself why this place is so special.

I am not a fool, and I know that huge numbers of people around the world hate Israel and everything it stands for. It is the home of the Jewish religion, the Jewish people and the Jewish nation. And while it is far from perfect, it’s also the protector of other religions and peoples.

You will find the most advanced, high-tech society that leads the world in innovation, and yet the sidewalks are uneven and it seems like no road is straight. In one neighbourhood there may be an ultra-religious community, while next door are secular Jews. You will eat the freshest, juiciest watermelon in the local market, then step on rotten oranges a block away.

As the traffic light goes green, you had better step on it and drive. If you hesitate, the horns will honk. They will tailgate you and cut you off on the highway. If you aren’t fast enough, you will lose the best parking spot, and grown adults will push a child aside to get their breakfast first. You will be yelled at for no apparent reason, and good luck finding anyone who will stand in an orderly line.

But.

They will give you the shirt off their back in an instant. If you are hurt, they will stop and help you. They will give you some extra chips and salads, just to make sure you eat enough. Ask for directions, and you will get a story about how their brother’s wife’s aunt lived in the house next door. Smile and you will get a smile back. They will give their life for you.

How can these two extremes exist together? How can one person be both aggressive and gentle? It is the story of Israeli survival. I saw it everywhere I went on this most extraordinary trip.

When you live in a place that you have to fight for and defend every day, maybe you love it just a bit more. You appreciate the land and the people so much more. You need to be tough, and yes, a bit rough around the edges, to survive. But you feel warmth in your heart, and grateful every day, to be living in your ancestral homeland.

Now that I have left Israel, and I’m back to Toronto, so many dichotomous moments are swirling around my head, and I don’t want these memories to fade….

We visited the grave of David Ben Gurion, Israel’s first Prime Minister and a founding father of the nation. He’s buried in his beloved Negev desert, overlooking a canyon. I think about the beauty that surrounds his final resting spot and the fierce battles that must happened throughout history on this exact spot.

We spent a day in Jerusalem, possibly the most fought-over city in the world. I lived here for 6 months, many years ago, and I love to show my kids my favourite spots around the city. As we happily walked along Jaffa street, on our way to the Old City, suddenly we heard sirens. Police cars. Ambulances. Racing past us. One after the next. I froze. I was terrified. My kids had no idea, but I knew there must have been a terrorist attack nearby. I was right. We never made it to the Old City. We pivoted and instead visited the pedestrian mall and a market. We went from fear to joy in a matter of minutes.

The beaches of Tel Aviv are of the most beautiful in the world. This is the modern Israel, with hundred-year-old Bauhaus buildings mixed with glass-covered skyscrapers. A walk along the soft, white sandy beaches is like stepping into another world. The Mediterranean Sea is a magnificent blue, and on land there are bright white apartments. The city is alive, with hip restaurants and wide boulevards, but also great street food and tiny winding alleyways. Every turns brings you a new surprise.

Then there’s our family and our friends. As they shared with me, there were days not long ago when they ran to a protected stairwell or shelter, and waited, for the sirens to end for the incoming rocket. They cried, not knowing what tomorrow would bring, or when they went to a funeral for a fallen soldier or the shiva of a friend’s child or grandchild.

But our family also celebrated a wedding a few weeks ago, the birth of a new baby a year ago, new jobs, graduations, and so many other personal achievements. We hiked and walked together, we ate one spectacular meal after another together, and we laughed together. Oh did we laugh.

They told me that life must go on. It is the story of the State of Israel. We defend and we protect. We are scared and sometimes we cry. We must be tough, and yes a bit prickly with sharp edges. But we live to the fullest every day. We sing and dance, and smile and laugh. They reminded me, we are warm and kind and caring.

I understand this dichotomy now. I trust it and believe in it. I’m so happy that I was able to be in Israel again. Chazak chazak v’nitchazek. Be strong, be strong, and we will strengthen one another.

April 25, 2024

Numbers

5:30 am. There is a hint of blue in the sky. I’m standing on the edge of a canyon, waiting for the first rays of sun to rise over the horizon. It’s hazy. The sky begins to lighten, and I wait for the red and gold streaks of light to appear before me. It gets lighter. No colours in the sand.

A new day has arrived, deep in the desert of Southern Israel. While I didn’t see the sunrise I had hoped for, I did experience the quiet serenity of early morning in the desert, in the land I have hoped to visit for months.

The Israel I arrived to this week is not the same one I last visited in the summer of 2022. In recent months I have written about, and I have shared my thoughts, about the attack on Israel on October 7^th, 2023. And since that day, over 6 months ago, instead of fearing this place, I have longed to be here.

I’m a “words” person, I often tell people. I can take random, often unconnected details, and string them together into something coherent, often beautiful. I tell stories. I even joke that data can’t tell me what I need to know. Data is just numbers. A bunch of numbers are meaningless. It’s what you do with the numbers, how you can connect them, to create your story.

Somehow, many different kinds of numbers came at me today, in the desert, and together they are forming my story.

Hundreds of Millions of Years

That’s the approximate age of the Ramon Crater, where I watched the sun rise this morning. With its unique rock formations and colourful sands, it is central to the history of this land and its geology. I looked out at this magnificent vista, which holds the stories of thousands of years of civilizations who have lived in this land. It grounded me. It calmed me. It reminded me of where I was and why I worked so hard to get here.

Three Attempts – on Four Airlines

For this one there are so many numbers that keep swirling through my head. We were booked to fly to Israel on April 13^th, on Air Canada, non-stop. Stay with me as our saga has many twists and turns….

The flight was canceled, just after we boarded. With hundreds of drones and missiles being shot at Israel by Iran that evening, all flights were grounded. The flight was rebooked to take off the next day, but of course the rebooked flight was again canceled the following morning. We were determined to still fly (to attend our niece’s wedding), so we were rebooked, on Air Canada and Austrian Air to fly through London and Vienna.

With our second trip to the airport in two days, that flight didn’t happen either. But I didn’t give up. Our tickets were refunded and we rebooked on KLM, to fly on Saturday, April 20^th, with a stop in Amsterdam. A couple of days before we were scheduled to fly…. Yep, that flight was canceled too and we were moved to Air France, to fly on Sunday, April 21^st.

The third time was a charm, on the fourth airline, and we landed in Israel, on Monday, April 22^nd.

Twenty-Six People

We landed in Israel just a few hours before the start of the holiday of Passover. After a week trying to travel here, and two long flights, during which I didn’t sleep, I was very emotional. As the pilot announced that we had entered Israeli airspace and to please fasten our seatbelts, I felt tears falling down my face. I couldn’t keep it in anymore, how I felt to finally get there.

When we got off the plane, I immediately felt that I had arrived in a different Israel. As I walked down the ramp to passport control, looking at the sign telling me, “Welcome to Israel,” to my right and left were the names and faces of the hostages. It was these people who welcomed me, who are being held captive, and that I must remember that every moment I am here.

We arrived at my mother-in-law’s house just two hours before the Seder, exhausted. There was no time to relax, as we cleaned ourselves up, and we felt the warmth and joy to participate in our family’s Seder, of 26 people.

We came here because of our love of Israel. And we came here to be with our family. I held back the tears as the Seder began, when it slowly started to sink in of where we were.

One Scorpion

It was 39 degrees today in the desert. I’m not talking 30 degrees plus humidity. I mean solid, wall of heat, with a beating sun and no shade, 39 degrees. All we could muster up was a visit to an alpaca farm and iced coffee and popsicles. But the heat disappeared in the evening, and some of us had the opportunity to go on an evening Scorpion Walk.

You are thinking, what’s that? As we drove up to the designated spot, at 8:30 pm, in total darkness, I wondered too! You see, the Negev desert is a rocky desert. Forget gentle even foot paths. It’s rugged and not for the faint of heart. The guide handed us special ultraviolet flashlights, and the group set off in all directions (on the edge of the crater!), to literally search for scorpions!

I learned more about scorpions in that one hour walk than I had known in my whole life. They capture their prey with their pincers and snap their tail over to kill with the poisoned tip. They camouflage well with the desert landscape, but shine an ultraviolet light at them and they glow in the dark, like a fluorescent yellow light! They also don’t seem to be bothered by a couple of dozen crazy people shining ultraviolet flashlights at them and snapping their picture!

I saw one, yes one, scorpion tonight. Even I admit, that was kind of cool.

80% and 70%

As the day began to cool down, a few of us took a pre-sunset hike, along the edge of the crater. The haze was back, like in the morning, so we couldn’t see the vibrant colours pop out, but still it was a sight to see. Our guides shared their vast knowledge about the desert and the beauty that lies within it. And near the end of the hike, they challenged us with some numbers.

Two numbers stuck out in my mind, and together they brought together everything that I personally have experienced in the last six plus months: 80 and 70.

80% of the Negev desert is used for either Israel Defense Forces (IDF) army bases or training facilities.

70% of the Negev desert is protected as national parks.

How is that possible? 80 plus 70 does not equal 100%. That’s because, our guide explained, that the IDF shares its training spaces with the national parks, and the IDF rotates where they train. Both are responsible for caring for the land.

It took a moment for that to sink in. These numbers tell the story of the State of Israel, and the deep, and historical love and connection the Jewish People – the Jewish Religion – the Jewish Nation – has for this land. It must be protected and preserved. It must be defended and deeply cared for. It is a symbiotic relationship that is unique and so special.

Everywhere I turn here there are numbers, and I could write and write about how each one tells a story. I am taking in every moment of my short time here, and I’m thankful that I’m here. My children are surrounded by their cousins. My husband is surrounded by his siblings. And I am filled with joy.

February 11, 2024February 11, 2024

Take Action

It’s easier to be idle, or to sit down and stay home than to stand up, be in motion and take action. I admit, I am naturally a home body, and so often there is nothing more I would like than a nice day in comfortable clothes, with a hot cup of coffee, a nice couch and maybe a book or good TV show. There is little to nothing I need to do to make a day relaxing and pleasant.

It’s rare that I can do this, as, on the surface, my life is very active and very busy. Like so many women, I have a demanding job, a family to care for and a house to run. There’s always a deadline at work, a meeting to get to, an appointment I need to book, a child’s feet just grew and needs new shoes, or a dog I need to feed. And that’s just on Monday!

Clearly I am not idle, nor do I sit much or stay home often. I am always on the go. The fact is, I really don’t slow down often enough (that’s for another blog another day!). But in recent weeks I can’t stop thinking about how I spend my time and what my priorities are. I am busy, for sure, but am I busy doing the right things? Am I balancing my time properly? Does each day feel like the repeat of the last one, almost like my life is automated?

Like being idle, it’s easier to just keep things as-is. Many would say that routine is good. It’s predictable and keeps life simple. For children it’s great, and for me, for some tasks, I think it’s important. But when every part of the day becomes routine, are you living your life the way you really want to?

So, what sparked these thoughts for me? I can’t point to one aha moment, rather a series of events in the last six-nine months, which is making me ask myself if my life has become too passive.

First, I had a great summer. I’d say part of the reason was that it was so different from the rest of the year. I spent considerable time away from the city, out in the country, my kids went to camp for six weeks, and our whole family went away and celebrated a milestone event together (so what if we all got sick after?!). I also didn’t take the easy way out after a busy work day all summer: I went paddle boarding, or for a walk, or swimming – I took action. I exercised, or I was simply outdoors. And you know what, it felt great.

The fall began and I felt energized about my future. As many of my readers know, a significant part of my family lives in Israel, and the events of October 7^th, 2023, have impacted my mental state more than I could have ever imagined. As family texted me to let me know they were okay after a siren and rocket barrage, or I watched my children enter their school in the morning through really a police checkpoint to ensure their security, I was shaken. I started to ask myself: is Toronto the place I want to live? Is this what I want for me kids? What are my priorities? Where is, and what is my future?

I didn’t act, but it’s in my mind all the time. And when a day is very routine, I can’t get these thoughts out of my head: do I need to take action? Do I need to change my life?

As the Fall continued and we moved into winter, work became increasingly busy and demanding. I am not unique, and I know that I need to do what is expected of me. People rely on me, as they should, and actually, I thrive when I am stimulated at my job and am surrounded by smart, skilled people. But, as can happen in any work environment, some things changed, and some people left. It happens, almost like a cycle.

I think what this did is get my mind going again, like it did in recent months. Was I bothered by the changes, or were they really nothing, and I still have my routine? Or, really, as I think more and more about it, is what’s irking me really nothing to do with work but more to do with my general feeling of being idle while also being so busy, all at the same moment? How can I balance these two things?

Why I am writing today is that while I don’t yet have any specific action I will take, I know that I need to take action. Most of what I realize I need to do is really simple and small. Back to where I started – it’s easier to sit on the couch in sweatpants than to go out for dinner with friends. It’s easier to take a nap on a Saturday afternoon than to exercise by taking a walk or 30 minutes of yoga. For sure it is easier to watch a new show on Netflix than to write this blog!

I need to prioritize what matters to me, and really, what I care about and what makes me happy. Just sitting here, writing this blog, helps. I’m going for dinner this week with some former colleagues, instead of rushing home from work and cooking dinner. I am going to try to do at least 30 minutes of exercise today. That’s a start. I also need to book a haircut. I mean, I really need to get a haircut!

I also need to help my kids. And I don’t mean buying them new shoes, making sure they bathe or getting their lunch ready in the morning. My son is in grade 11, and we’ve started to look at universities for him. The list of items to take action on is long – book the SAT, visit potential schools, ask my former sports colleagues about a co-op opportunity for grade 12. For my daughters, the action items are maybe a little less significant, but still they matter. I need to have a daily chat and check-in with my older daughter, and the younger one is in the most wonderful children’s chorus (she has the most beautiful singing voice) and we need to practice daily. It’s so easy to skip a day, or delay doing anything. But I need to get on this.

My husband and I need to spend more time together. We need to be adults – go out more, do things without our kids sometimes. Maybe go away for a long weekend. It’s something we noticed in the summer, when our kids were away for 6 weeks. Life was not routine. We need to make that time outside of those 6 weeks in the summer!

I need to make time for quality family experiences. As I just discussed with some colleagues last week, it’s so easy to pass on a family celebration, especially one that is far away, than to make plans to participate. In recent months, I have often chosen not to join family for dinner, as it was a school night and just logistically too hard. Or I had decided we would not attend a family wedding overseas because maybe work would be too busy or we didn’t feel safe to travel. I need to be smart about it, but I need to participate. Life flies by too fast, and you can’t get time back with family. I need to think about a ski day with three generations, or a hike in the desert with four generations. My kids need to have winter weekends with their cousins in Canada or a Passover Seder with their vast family in Israel.

I am not ready, nor do I think I need to take profound action to change my life. But every day I need to think about what makes me happy, what makes me sad, or sometimes why I need a day on the couch. Even that, in its own way, is taking action. Making the decision to not do something, to not make a significant change, is another form of taking action.

Every time I write here is my way of taking action, to remind myself that I love to write. It is my release, it is cathartic for me. I remind myself what the name of this space is: Kinetic Motions. Kinetic energy is the energy an object has because of its motion. It’s about action, moving forward. Every time I write I am moving forward with my life. I need to remember that every day.