KINETIC MOTIONS Why January 27th Matters - FEELING THE ENERGY THAT MOVES US

January 28, 2025January 28, 2025

Why January 27th Matters

On Sunday, January 27^th, 1946, my paternal grandparents got married. Born and raised in Montreal, they grew up in post-World War 1 Canada, with the highs of the early 1920’s and lows of the Depression in the 1930’s. My grandfather served in the military during World War 2, as a member of the Canadian Air Force to protect the coast of Newfoundland.

My grandparents shared many stories with me about life in Canada during World War 2, a little about their courtship and some details about their wedding on January 27^th, 1946. They were married mere months after the end of the war, when the world was recovering from such devastation.

I never asked my grandparents why they chose that specific date for their wedding. January 27^th, 1946, was the one-year anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, the Nazi death camp in Europe. In 1946, commemoration, memorialization, reflection for many, about the atrocities in Europe, wasn’t, for the most part, done.

For my grandparents, January 27^th, 1946 must have been a joyous day, with family, friends, music, dancing and celebration. The war was over and the future was bright for them, in their tight-knit community in Montreal.

Seventy-nine years later, my grandparents are no longer alive, but I quietly celebrate them every January 27^th. What they had was true love. I remember how my grandfather (we called him Poppy) always looked so lovingly at my grandmother (we called her Nanny). For my family, January 27^th is special.

But, also in my head is January 27^th, 1945. That was the day when Soviet forces liberated the Auschwitz death camp. Over 1.1 million people were murdered there, most (but not all) of them, Jews. Some people may feel that liberation is a reason to celebrate. Because the death camp was liberated, does it mean the people there were free? Did they feel they had a future? Were they excited about going home, or building a new life?

For those who survived after the Auschwitz liberation, it took many years for many of them to settle in a new home. While maybe January 27^th, 1945, was the start of their liberation, one year later, most of the survivors were still struggling to survive. Communities in Montreal, Canada were far away.

Is it fair of me to even ask, did my grandparents know? When they set their wedding date, did they know it was on the first anniversary of the liberation of what may be the most infamous of the Nazi death camps? Did they understand, in 1946, what happened to the Jews of Europe? Why does it matter what date they got married?

I’ve been asking myself these questions over the last 24 hours, as world leaders, educators, historians, and even some survivors, gathered together on January 27^th, 2025, at Auschwitz, to commemorate the 80^thanniversary of the death camp’s liberation. I have been poring through many news articles, from journalists pointing out hypocrisy to offering history lessons to stories of survival and renewal.

The thread across everything I read is: we must remember. We must talk. We must educate and share and learn and listen. January 27^th matters. Eighty years after the liberation, with so few people left to tell us what they experienced, we need to keep their stories alive. It is horrific to think that at one death camp, over 1.1 million people were brutally murdered. When it was liberated, on January 27^th, 1945, it is estimated that about 7,000 were found alive.

These are people, with names, families, and stories. Yesterday I read about Tova Friedman, who sees the liberation day as her birthday. Leon Weintraub spoke of still seeing the Nazi symbol in Europe today and how important it is to never let this kind of murder happen again. Learn about George Reinitz or Miriam Ziegler. Listen to 96-year-old Howard Chandler.

I have visited Auschwitz. I joined thousands of teenagers, when I was just 15 years old, on Holocaust Remembrance Day, as we walked between the labour and death camps of the massive complex. I walked under the gate that stated, “Work makes you free.” I saw huge mounds of hair, shoes, clothes, passports and more. I sat with survivors who told me their stories.

When I stood at Auschwitz, so many years ago, and I hugged survivors and cried with my friends, I remember thinking about my grandparents. I remember thinking how lucky they were to be born in Canada, that they didn’t have to experience this horror. I also remember thinking that I could never forget how I felt that day.

January 27^th matters. Maybe it is a day of celebration. Maybe the people liberated in 1945 didn’t know it at the time, but for many it was the start of a new life for them. One year later, on January 27^th, 1946, it was also the start of a new life for my grandparents. For all those no longer with us to tell their story, may their memory be for a blessing.

January 16, 2025

People first, enabled by technology

Earlier this week I caught up with a former colleague, who had left the corporate world and started his own business. It was great to see him again, and our conversation was warm and friendly. While we discussed his new, and growing business, the journalist in me asked him directly, what do you do? It’s not that the services he offers aren’t interesting, I wanted to get to the heart of why he’s doing what he is doing and the impact he hopes for.

What he shared didn’t surprise me at all. His business is about people. He and his business partners are focused on helping people. They recognized that technology is changing, our reliance on it is growing, often exponentially, but people’s grasp of that technology or their embrace of it, is much slower.

As I listened to him, I started to think that as technology plays a larger role in our lives, that we can’t discount the importance of people and our desire to connect and lean on each other.

I admit that while I, like most of us, heavily rely on technology, I still have so much to learn about how to use it. For example, I have only scratched the surface of AI and how it can help me, as a writer, or how to produce simple videos, and so much more! I have played around with social media and actively use it, but I’m not an expert.

There’s automation, apps, software, hardware, programming, development and so much more related to technology. It’s everywhere, and savvy people have found ways to harness its power. I’m committed to learning more about how technology will help me, both personally and professionally.

But technology alone is not enough. Not only that, I have observed that as we lean more on technology tools, from our smart phones and tablets to AI and social media, many of us crave the human touch. We don’t want to become automatons, and we don’t want to stare at a screen all day.

The art of what human beings can achieve is not just lingering, it’s as strong as ever. Live theatre, for example, whether it’s Broadway or a small community production, is thriving. Swifties of the world don’t just want to listen to their music on iTunes – they want to see Taylor Swift, live. Baseball stadiums or hockey arenas are packed. We pay good money to be in person, to watch the best of the best perform.

Plays, concerts and sports have been around for a long time, and they bring us together, as people. The “show” that we watch, live, in front of our eyes, is now enabled by technology, but what brings us there is the experience.

Have you read a good book lately? No doubt, I could easily use ChatGPT or another AI tool, put in a query, and moments later it can give me a book. It will be written well, clean grammar, maybe even some interesting parts. But it’s not personal. It was not written by me. It may not tell the story I want people to know.

When a writer tells a story, they hope for a visceral reaction from the reader. A great story pulls at our emotions. It’s an art, and it’s something deeply human. Technology has enabled writers to be more efficient – a computer is quicker than the typewriter was. AI tools can help enhance a story, and spellcheck? I mean really, many of us love that it catches so many errors!

Back to what my former colleague shared with me about his focus on people. His clients, who are businesses of all sizes, are purchasing tools or products from other businesses. Their learning curve, to implement and use the technology, is often steep. The clients seek out the human touch, to teach and guide them and empower their employees to feel confident in the technology.

While technology, in all its forms – the car, machinery in factories, the washing machine, computers, cell phones, and more – will continue to change our lives, what won’t change are our human connections and desire for them. There are some careers or jobs that don’t exist at all anymore, but others have evolved. I believe that professions that help bring people together, will always be part of our society – a restauranteur, musicians, artists, athletes, and yes even writers.

And don’t discount nurses, dentists, doctors or lawyers. Technology has enabled us to benefit from these professionals in new ways, but their personal knowledge and expertise will always be invaluable.

People and technology work hand in hand. When individuals, and to take it further, organizations, embrace first their people, and enable them with the right technology, they will thrive.

January 8, 2025

Introvert or Extravert: or can you be both?

Earlier this week, Justin Trudeau, the Prime Minister of Canada, announced that he will resign as the leader of the Liberal party, and of course as the Prime Minister. I am not going to use this space to weigh in on politics or express my opinion on our current Prime Minister. I read many articles and listened to even more interviews about Trudeau, the person, and I was struck by one particular theme running through the analyses: whether he is an introvert or extravert, or maybe a mix of both.

The more articles I read, in particular, Susan Delacourt’s excellent opinion piece in the Toronto Star, the more I looked inward. I reflected on how others see me, and how I view myself.

Society has created a rather defined idea of what an introvert or extravert is. When I searched for introvert, I found descriptive terms such as reserved, quiet, often shy, introspective, and prefers to be alone. I read that an introvert needs to expend quite a bit of energy to survive and thrive in social situations.

Then there is the extravert. This person may be defined as outgoing, sociable, high energy, talkative or even outspoken. They gain energy from social interaction, and this is interesting, they may be more concerned with external reality than inner feelings.

These definitions seem harsh to me, and I think we quickly judge people and place them into one of the two camps: introvert or extravert. If someone is a bit loud, or gregarious, in a group setting, we point and say they are an extravert. But, maybe all the talking is really just a façade for a person who feels anxious in the group, who is working extra hard to please everyone. Maybe, once you get to know this person, you realize they are extraordinarily shy and they over compensated, just to try to fit in.

Then there is the quiet member of the group. They don’t say much, and they sit off to the side. We assume this person is an introvert and is unable to “get out of their shell.” But maybe it’s situational. Maybe in the right place, with the right people, that person is chatty and outgoing and in the centre of the action.

As I read, and now as I write, I really can’t place myself on either side of the debate. If you have interacted with me at work, I am sure most people wouldn’t hesitate to say that I’m an extravert. I’m talkative and usually very outgoing and sociable. I’ve always been the person to raise my hand to participate in something new, and the more I invest, the more energy I gain.

I’ve been described as passionate, tenacious, with a can-do attitude. But I work hard at that. Like an introvert, I expend a lot of energy in social situations (in my career and personal life). I’m actually a natural home-body, and no matter what I do, I’m a planner. I think about all the steps I need to take to accomplish anything, even if it’s just to drive to the grocery store for milk and eggs. I think carefully about the route I drive to any destination, and I work backwards in my timing when I need to complete a task. I feel instant anxiety when I am not prepared or lose control of a situation.

What does this have to do with whether or not I’m an introvert or extravert? Well, I work hard, and I carefully plan, how, even why, I’m talkative or outgoing in a group. I think about the people with whom I will interact and how I must carry myself. I’m quite chatty among my peers, offering suggestions and sometimes a strong opinion. If I’m in a room with people who may be more senior than me, or more experienced, I’m quieter. I listen more, and while what I say will always be genuine and honest, I will say less.

It doesn’t mean that I’m not thinking and planning out every moment. And depending on the formality of the situation, I may loosen up! If I know the group well, I will speak more, be a bit louder and take in the energy of my surroundings. Put me in a space where I feel intimidated, like a party where I only know a few people or a networking event when I know I need to interact with key individuals, I’m nervous. I will even go as far to say that I’m often anxious. My inner introvert may take over and convince me that I don’t belong or that staying quiet is the better course of action.

I don’t think I’m unique. I think most of us are a mix of introvert and extravert, but it’s not necessarily balanced 50/50. Human beings are complex, and we display many different behaviours or traits, depending on the situation or the people we are with.

That’s true of Canada’s Prime Minister, many multi-national CEO’s, celebrities, professionals, skilled labourers, and yes, me. Social interactions are hard, no matter how a person is defined. It’s easier to stay home, be alone, read a book or watch TV than it is to put yourself out there in the world.

This blog, Kinetic Motions, is one of the ways I put myself out there. Writing is freeing for me, where I’m comfortable and happy. But it doesn’t mean I won’t continue to work hard at being the best version of me, as introvert or an extravert.

January 3, 2025

Don’t Let the Light Go Out

As I began to write this, it was the last day of Chanukah. It was January 2^nd, 2025, or on the Jewish Calendar, the 2^nd of Tevet, 5785. As we lit the candles on Wednesday night, our Chanukiah shone bright with its nine candles. I stayed back after others walked away and stared at the candles, as they began to melt.

There was something warm and wonderful in the light of the candles, and as they melted, and finally fizzled out, their light quickly turned to darkness. The light of the nine bright candles on the Chanukiah, followed by the dark when they were gone, felt like a metaphor of our world right now.

Are we living in a Dark time right now? Will history remember the early part of the 21^st century as a harsh time in history? I feel like one person after the next, when I ask them about their feelings, or hopes for 2025, give me the same answer: “Well, I hope it’s better than 2024.” Or, “The world has to gone to hell, it just has to get better than this.”

Whether it is a personal pain, challenges in a community or an existential threat of a nation or a group, it’s hard to find to many areas of light in the last five years for so many people.

It’s like the light is going out in the world. I recently wrote about that wonderful feeling at the start of a new day, and how it brings possibility. I felt the same this past week as we lit the Chanukiah each night. On the first night, there was just a bit of light, with two candles (the “shamash” or helper candle, and the first candle). Each night we added a candle, and with that, more light. It was small, but I felt a greater sense of optimism and hope each night, as our candelabra grew brighter.

The bright candles made me think about how I, or any individual, can help make sure we don’t let the light go out. While the candles melted and fizzled out each night, each additional candle gave more light, and together the candles gave off a beautiful glow.

But, no matter how hard I tried to think about the light, the darkness was there too. I didn’t have to look too far to see the darkness working hard to overtake the light, to suppress it and make it fizzle, like the candles.

The problem is, darkness is easier than light. It’s so much simpler to break something than fix it. Try to stop. No problem. But to start again – much harder.

It takes a lot of work to make light, not just for a candle or a lamp. For many people, it takes a lot of work to be happy and find joy. A fight may happen quickly, but it can time, work, and a lot of patience, to come to a compromise or make up.

Is that why it seems so dark in the world right now? Are we letting ourselves fall into anger and fighting, and we won’t let the light in, to bring calm and joy? How is there so much hate? Does every generation say this, or is the darkness particularly bad right now, and getting worse?

I keep thinking back to how I felt, when the room was bathed in light a couple days ago, by the nine candles of the Chnaukiah. It’s a similar feeling to seeing the colourful bulbs of a Christmas tree or the diyas (small oil lamps) that may line a walkway on Diwali. They all bring light to the darkness.

The light brings people together, and I really believe it has the potential to make good things happen. Think of the Olympic flame, which shines bright over the iconic games. Thousands of athletes, from diverse cultures and races, for the most part, put controversies or disagreements aside to share in the joy of sport. And overtop, especially at night, is that beautiful flame, reminding everyone that with light comes optimism and joy. It pushes us to do good things.

So, we can’t light Chanukah candles every night (though my kids would love that, as that means a gift every night of the year!). But, metaphorically, we also can’t let the light go out. We need to imprint that light in our heads, remember that wonderful feeling of the warmth of the glow around us, when the candles are burning bright.

We need to wrap our arms around the light, and together, we need to make it easier to live in a world with light than darkness. I want 2025 to be better than 2024. Let’s release some of that anger and hate. Let’s try to bring a bit of peace to the world. Let’s give people a chance to succeed and thrive.

We can do it. Just don’t let the light go out.

December 27, 2024

Tales from a Snowboarding Novice

Why am I doing this?

I asked myself this question, over and over again this morning, after I strapped the snowboard to my feet. I had some absurd thought that learning a new sport, one in which an individual flies down a giant snow-covered mountain on a single, large board, would be a good idea.

It’s fun, I was told. Or, the learning curve is really steep, but it’s worth it once you get the hang of it. And then there was the, it’s so much cooler than skiing.

Let’s take a step back for a moment, so I can explain how I got here.

I have been a skier since I was four years old. I am comfortable on skis and can very competently go down any kind of terrain. I put my kids on skis when they were two years old, and yet somehow, all three ended up snowboarding (some younger than others). Everyone in my extended family skis or snowboards. It’s just what we do in the winter.

I love to ski, but I’m always looking for a new challenge. So I decided in the off-season, why not try snowboarding this winter?

I ask myself now, after my first full 90-minute snowboarding lesson, why didn’t I pick something easier, like chess, or fencing, maybe bobsledding? Did I have any idea what I was getting myself into?

Thanks to my sister, I was set up with great equipment, from the boots to the board. I had key padding, like wrist-guards built into my gloves, and most important, an industrial-level butt pad. That’s right, I was warned that I would fall hard, often on my behind, and that I needed the right armour to protect delicate parts.

So, I looked great this morning as I walked toward my adult beginner snowboarding class. When the instructors asked me my experience with a snowboard, I proudly said, none! I was a newbie. And my gosh, was I ever a newbie….

Putting on a snowboard, standing on a snowboard and moving on a snowboard is not intuitive. After a few more questions, the instructors figured out I’m a right-foot-forward, also known as “goofy.” That clearly was a perfect description of how I felt as the class begun.

I easily mastered the first challenges put to me. Strap the right foot to the board. Check. Place the left foot on the board just beside the binding. Easy, check. Bend the knees and shift the weight as both feet are on the board. Okay I can do this. Do 360 turns (on a flat surface) with the board. Wow I can do that too!

And now time to move. Try pushing off with the left foot behind and in front of the board. Push push glide. That worked too! Hike up, just a bit, up the hill, to start to feel how to move on the board. Hm…. That’s a bit harder. What, I’m supposed to actually move on this giant board?

What the ears hear, what the brain comprehends and what the rest of the body does don’t necessarily correspond. The very seasoned, wonderful and patient instructors showed me how to gently place my left foot on my board, look forward, bend my knees a bit and glide along a short distance.

First it took me a few minutes to get the confidence to try to move. My legs were like cement. My body seemed quite content to just stay put. One instructor asked me, “what’s your anxiety level right now?” I stood there, embarrassed, as I said, “very high!”

He laughed at me, told me to smile, and to just give it a try. I did. I relaxed a bit, smiled and let myself go. I moved two feet. I did it! I moved!

Somehow my instructors saw my accomplishment to move a couple of feet as a big deal, that I was ready for the next step – a big step: The Magic Carpet!

Surrounded by dozens of 3-5-year-old children on skis and snowboards, all of whom seemed to be flying down the hill with their 14 and 15-year-old expert instructors, there I stood at the precipice of the mountain. What is literally not even a beginner hill, really only a man-made hillock for beginners, I had to face my big fear: strap two feet to a giant board and move!

Lean on the toes. Lean on the heels. Slide. Push. Glide. Hips toward the trees. Turn! Stop! Everything seemed like a jumbled mush to me! I am a very logical person, and every instruction I was given made perfect sense. Keep my weight even and bend my knees. Deep breaths. Stay calm. Don’t panic as I start to move.

I learned today that I have muscles in the inner part of my thighs that I never knew existed. I also learned that when you are a novice, and one foot isn’t yet strapped in, you can very easily get your legs into the splits, while you, on your board, are traveling down the hill.

Pain. Searing pain.

Why am I doing this?

snowboarding — I’m perfectly happy just sitting.

I sat down. On the children’s hill. As yet another 3-year-old flew past me. Could I get past the pain? Could I learn how to glide and stop with my toes then stop with my heels?

As I sat there, looking down the hill, my snowboard strapped to my feet in front of my me, memories of childbirth flashed in my head. I was set up in the perfect position to give birth, and with the pains shooting down my legs, the memories were vaguely familiar. But I digress.

I took a short break, with my patient, and really, so kind instructor, and because of her positive encouragement, and helping hand to haul me up, I gave it another try. Back to the top of the Magic Carpet.

I didn’t always go the right direction, I fell forwards and sideways and on my behind (thank you, butt pad!), but I made it down.

I even hiked further up the beginner hill (called ABC) to learn the preliminary stages of sliding down. That actually went okay. Is it normal that hiking up is easier than sliding down?

By the end of my 90-minute class, I was sweating profusely, slightly out of breath with legs that seemed more like Jell-0. My mother picked me up from my class (just like the 3-year-olds, it’s important that one’s mother drops you off and picks you up!), and I shuffled my way back to my locker to remove my gear.

Here’s a few things I learned on my first day of snowboarding:

It’s a steep learning curve.
Doing the splits on a snowboard is a bad idea.
Padding on key spots of the body is very important.
You need to multi-task: bend the knees, keep the weight even, look straight….
Small children have a clear advantage, being closer to the ground.
I am not so young anymore, and I have pain in previously unknown parts of my body.
Success is very much determined by mind over matter. Don’t psyche myself out.

So, day one on a snowboard is complete. I did it! My level is closer to sub-beginner, I’m tired and in pain, but it was worth it. Will I go back tomorrow for my next lesson: yes!

Keep reading to follow my journey, as I write my Tales of a Snowboarding Novice.

December 9, 2024

Musings on a Dark, Damp and Dreary December Day

It’s a dark, damp, dreary December Monday in Toronto, and it would be so easy for me to write about how hard life is, not just at the start of a Canadian winter, but in general in the challenging world we live in. I have a “blog notes” folder in my phone where I jot ideas down all the time (sometimes in the middle of the night!). When an idea comes to me, I don’t want to forget! As I read some of my recent notes this morning, I knew I had to write, but none of the topics, most full of deep thoughts, inspired me. I’ve been writing about some heavier topics lately, and I realized I really need to lighten up a bit!

My thoughts keep going back to the slightly absurd conversation I had with my 8-year-old daughter last night. I’ve written about Nessa before. She is a ray of sunshine – full of energy and ideas, kind, generous and always amusing.

As I did with my older two children, I have been reading the Harry Potter books with Nessa every night at bedtime. And when I say reading, yes, I am the parent who really gets into it, with voices and accents and sound effects. We are only in the middle book 2, and I think Nessa enjoys this nightly activity.

But, she is only eight, and at times she gets distracted, or confused, or just plain silly. Just as I was reading about the first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, with none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, Nessa asked me a question:

“Mommy, if I had a play date with my friend – if my friend came over at 11:00 am and left at 4:00 pm, how long would my play date be?”

Before I could even respond, she continued, “No, don’t tell me. Hang on. Oh, five hours!”

Okay, I said, and as I was about to continue to read, she then said, “What do you think Professor Lockhart looks like? I have an idea in my head.”

This is Nessa. Full of ideas. And random thoughts. And questions. The words and phrases and questions that come out of her head are so amusing that a few members of my family created a texting chat group we call “We Love Nessa.” There is so much content that I could probably have quite the busy feed on X/Twitter!

Last week: “I wish dogs could live a long time (as she hugged our dog). Like us. To 100. I know of a person who lived to 205.” I asked her who, and she responded, “Abraham’s father (as in the Jewish patriarch, who she must have learned about in school). How did he do that?”

And here’s one that makes me both smile and yet also question how smart my child is…. I reminded her a couple months ago that she was going home with her friend that day because there was a half day of school. I said, “Nessa, school ends at noon tomorrow,” and she then responded with, “But they told us school ends at lunch.” And when, I asked her, when is lunch? Her response – 12:00. “Yes, noon,” I said.

Her question: “What’s that?”

In our digital age, it’s almost too easy to jot down a conversation and share it, or to snap a photo of a moment in time, that you can save in your phone. Or sometimes, your child says or does something that you don’t want to savour, and yet, you don’t need to write it down to remember.

Take my 14-year-old, for example, who no longer feels the need to keep a routine bedtime. It was 12:08 AM. Yes, the time is seared into my brain. Unlike much of my family, I like to go to bed early. So at 12:08 AM, I’m typically asleep.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy,” Julia yelled into my dark bedroom.

Of course I popped up, thinking something was wrong. Her voice sounded concerned, or at least it did to me, in my semi-comatose state.

“I can’t find a towel. Where can I get a towel?”

I will not quote exactly how I responded or where I told her she could find a towel. I understand that being a parent is a 24-hour job. From the moment they are born, no matter how deep a sleep you are in, there is a small piece of you that is always awake and ready to help your child. But not with a towel at 12:08 AM. Or to listen to Taylor Swift’s final concert at almost 1:00 AM.

Or, in the case of my 17-year-old son, to hear a play-by-play, at 1:30 AM, of some amazing overtime goal or a really bad trade during baseball’s off season.

Here’s a few more “We Love Nessa” moments that I hope will make you smile:

On a plane this year, overnight flight, across the Atlantic Ocean, “Are we in space now?”

Following a cereal party in French class at school (no idea what they did), and she wanted me to guess her favourite cereal. “It starts with the letter S, and the first word is ‘Cinanum.’” (Think on that one for a while, and no, the answer is not synonym.)

She tasted a (beef) Corn Dog recently. She ate it, thought about it and said, “I don’t think I liked it. It tasted almost vegetarian.”

Sometimes we just need to smile. Re-reading the texts I shared about Nessa definitely puts a grin on my face. I hope reading this makes you smile too. Especially on a dark, damp and dreary December day.

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!