My Daughter

February 2012

My daughter is possibility, she is potential cocooned and untapped
She is a perfect bundle, her blueprint written but unread
A careful consideration in the dark
She is a dropped stone in a still pool that has yet to be tossed
Ripples of impact that only she will make
The world does not yet know how it will be changed

My daughter will create her life; she will have choices
She will be raised to be grateful for that choice 
And to feel outrage for those daughters without it
Her voice will be heard and her opinions will count
Her father will bend down to listen to her thoughts
Her mother will stop to explain

My daughter is a tightly wrapped package, sweet and silent
But with every practiced breath and stretched limb
The world should brace itself
She is a storm on the horizon, a wave about to break
A gift, a contribution, an endless possibility

She will be change and creation and she has already begun

Testimonial for James and a Year in Review

Testimonial for James Boileau – Life Coach www.jamesboileau.com

When asked by my good friend and life coach James to provide him with a testimonial for his newly renovated website, it got me thinking. I started looking back at the past year and a half to see just what I (with his help) have accomplished.

I have been working with James for over a year as a client. He originally asked me as a friend to work with him a couple of times to critique his style and content, but the tables quickly turned as I recognised the value of his input in my life.

One of the first things that struck me is that life coaching is not the same as a therapy session. Sure, you’re welcome to throw your woes on the table and talk about what’s not working, but a good life coach won’t let you dwell too long in victim-hood. James acknowledges the persistent complaints that you are there to change and then gets right down to it, giving you real, tangible changes that you can take with you after every session.

We started by defining my identity. Not the identity that I think the world sees, but the identity that I would want said about me, the person I want to be. James explained that only by being the person who attracts the things you want in your life (career, relationships, joy etc) would those things be attracted to you. Until then, you attract the level of things from your current place of who you are being. He linked the fearful, uncertain, resigned person I was being to the job and relationship I was in, both of which were unsatisfactory and unfulfilling.

James asked me, “What do you daydream about?”

Then he said, “Why aren’t you doing that?”

He helped me to get clear on what exactly made me daydream, and helped create action items that would help me achieve that. By understanding what makes me happy, I understood what I am naturally passionate about and committed to. James also encouraged me to stop choosing things just because they are in front of me, but to go after the things I want. This advice came while I was in the midst of a career change decision. Two companies badly wanted me to work with them but I was lukewarm about both opportunities, neither being in a field that interested me, nor a role I was excited about.

In the short term I didn’t take James’ advice choosing a safe job with one of them, but his words stuck. So much so, that after a month in the new, safe job, I threw my hat into the wind, leapt off the edge and pursued the role I really wanted. Once I got over the fear and actually took the first step, it took exactly three phone calls, two interviews and ten days to find and land my dream job!

So what were the goals I set out you ask? What identity did I write down? Here they are, you tell me if it was a success – and then call James to make an appointment with him!!

(May 9, 2009)

Who I am & Who I Want to Be:

• Generous, witty & a good listener
• Approachable and dependable
• Living a healthy lifestyle
• Committed to being, and living for, the present
• A good friend
• Committed to my family
• Someone who is always growing, always seeking knowledge
• Not afraid of change or challenge
• A person who listens to and trusts herself
• The kind of person others want to be around
• Grateful for what I have
• Someone who makes others feel included, important, heard
• An abundant life
• A woman who is not “completed” by a relationship
• Free to do as I want, not trapped
• Always steps up and makes the right change, even if its uncomfortable

Career Goals:

Sucessful Interior Designer (in May ’09 I was still in corporate recruiting!!)

• Company Owner
• Solid client base of happy customers
• Lots of referral/repeat business
• Joy in my career

In July 2009 and after taking Landmark Education I revised my list again and added:

• I am the possibility of continuous new business and freedom in my work
• I will do 4 colour calls per week (It was my first week in my new job)
• I will only work 4 days per week
• Within 4 months (November), I will be making money doing design work

I achieved the first two within 1 week of declaring this possibility and achieved the third by September!

Write down the identity that you want for your life!

Declare the things you are committed to and tell others!

Hire a life coach!

My mother told me that as far as we know, we only get one go around, and this life is not a dress rehearsal, so if you’re not living your version of your life, what are you waiting for??

My Sister Maud and Facts about Snail Reproduction

I'm going to tell you a secret and you must promise to keep it between us. It is a story of my sister, Maud.

My parents had a diverse group of friends; wild and wacky, they were a combination of boat people, firemen, artists and the off-beat drifters my mother has always liked to collect and invite to family dinners.

Two of their closest friends were Sue and George Fisher. George was a ginger-haired tugboat engineer with an easy laugh and a snail farm where he bred and sold BC's indigenous snails to overseas restaurants. Fascinated, I asked George to explain the secrets of the snail mating ritual in more detail so that I could use it as my science project at school. Henceforth, I set up an elaborate habitat in an old fish aquarium in Mom's kitchen and watched the maniacal little mollusks do their thing, taking detailed scientific notes. It was no surprise that I got an A. My teacher was astounded to know that not only are snails hermaphrodites, but foreplay in their sexy, slimy world, lasts between two to twelve hours! I suppose if you only move at 55 yards an hour and have been around for 60 million years, it should come as no surprise that you are a self-protective species fairly committed to reproduction. Even now when I see one of those inauspicious fellows cruise by at their steady pace I stop to give them a knowing look. But really, if Liza Minnelli can continue to benefit from a long line of suitors without public outcry, then who are we to deprive snails of the intense, prolonged lovefests they prefer?

Sue was an outrageous Aussie, with a booming voice that liked to shout things like, "Look at these calves, Barbara-Ann!! Have you ever seen more incredible calves?! I've been working out like a fiend and I feel FABULOUS!" Mom, no shy church mouse herself, could only make placating noises and smile at Sue, loathe to try and compete with such explosive Antipodean enthusiasm. Sue and George also had two red-headed teenaged sons that made my pre-teen heart swoon. The boys taught Morgan and I how to play Foosball in the back room and in an effort to gain Gorgeous Bradley's undying love I became the fiercest Foosball competitor the island has ever seen. Unfortunately, with hand-eye co-ordination that came naturally even at age 6, my pint sized brother shamed me in front of my true love's eyes. I blamed him when, by age 12, Bradley still hadn't proposed and my dream of three perfect mini-gingers was irreparably shattered.

So it was (and as with most boat people), Sue and George couldn't fathom living far from the ocean and had a beautiful home on the water in Lanztville, on Vancouver Island. They took full advantage of their fabulous pad and hosted regular, earth-shattering parties that lasted well into the night and echoed out across the bay, scaring the loons. Morgan and I were well used to these sorts of events, being the offspring of such social people, and had grown to love Sue and George's house. We taught our Chesapeake Bay Retriever, Juno how to play hide and seek among all the cars parked out on the back lawn beside the vegetable garden. We would tell him to sit, stay and close his eyes as we ran, frantic and giggling to find a spot where he'd never find us. Juno, being a intelligent fellow with a tracker's nose and keen sense of logic, would simply crouch down and peek under the entire group of cars, spotting us both immediately. Then the race would begin, the two of us crashing into side mirrors and bike racks as we tried to outrun Juno back to the house. We always lost and he always whined pitifully after, so stressed with the responsibility of not only protecting us from the Fisher's two villainous cats, but also not losing us on his watch. Why did we always try to escape?

It was on one such occasion when the true crux of this tale occurred. On an unseasonably warm evening in late November 1985, Sue and George hosted a huge family reunion. My parents, childhood friends, were in attendance and knew everyone there. After several hours, the party was noisy and crowded and people were spilling out onto the sand that jutted up to the front porch, claiming logs and starting beach fires. Alcohol was in abundant supply and the generous hosts were keeping everyone's glasses full. It was amid the din of a raucous sing-along and under a smudgy blue haze of BC bud, that some sharp-eyed guest first spotted furtive movements further down the shore. Much elbowing and shushing conspired to bring the whole group's attention to the tiny dinghy that was casting off the shore and stealthily heading out into the dark. The almost silent dips of the oars across the midnight-flat water were clearly heard on shore as it was a windless night under a full moon. Laughing and speculating, someone called for George and demanded he bring out his high-powered nautical telescope and sets of binoculars as it was now becoming clear where the cast-away lovers were headed.

Maud island lies a mere two kilometres from Lantzville and is home seals, sea birds, eagles, sea lions and many species of fish. The short journey off the beach is well worth it for true wilderness enthusiasts and perhaps this is the excuse they were planning to relay once they returned to the party. In any event - and to the eternal glee of twenty five of their closest friends - no excuse was necessary after all, as George's telescope captured in vivid detail the true motives behind my parents' escape. Though an outwardly charismatic and popular couple, they were certainly not the sort of people who could stomach witnesses to events of an amorous nature. Alas, their sincere wish to maintain their dignity under these inconceivable circumstances, was in vain. As their dinghy pulled back to the beach, they were surrounded by jovial, back-slapping well wishers and lewd winks. Their worst fears were made a reality.

The ripples of the evening did not end with their boat ride; nine and a half months later, on September 9, 1986, my sister Bridget was born. Already the butt of endless jokes, their friends begged them to name her Maud and though my parents briefly considered it, the embarrassment surrounding her conception was just too fresh to laugh about yet.

Regardless of the haphazard planning behind her arrival, Bridget became the freckle-faced jewel of our quirky family. One of the two loves of my life and a soul who presence I can't imagine the world without, she is precious beyond compare. We three are all as different as they come, Morgan, Maud and I, but we are bonded by a childhood of rich adventure and self-expression; sealed with a love cemented in our adult lives. We are a gift to our parents, but only because of them do we truly appreciate the complex nature of life and our places in it.

How I Came to Be (and other interesting tidbits)

At first they attributed my mother's acute illness to the most obvious diagnosis. After months of building a boat together in a muddy, poorly ventilated ship yard in Richmond, it was no wonder she came down with fiberglass poisoning. It wasn't until more obvious symptoms became apparent - like a growing tummy - that they considered the startling alternative.

Convinced that they were having a boy and resigned to the reality of imminent parenthood, daydreams of flowing day dresses and a sweet-smelling, cooing baby boy filled my mother's head. They named me Maxwell - Max for short - and knew I would grow to look exactly like my handsome, dark-haired father. It was with a smug nod that my father observed my thick head of black hair as I emerged into the world; I am sure he whispered lovingly to my mother, "Here comes our son, Sweetheart".

It must have come as a terrible blow when the rest of me slithered into sight and he first realized that crucial bits were missing from this son of his and a mix-up had been made. In the wee, sleep-deprived hours that follow a long labour, perhaps they even wondered who exactly was responsible for this boo-boo? Regardless, being essentially good people, they accepted the gaffe with good grace.

As there exists no female version of Maxwell, my parents scrambled for a new name. Never conceiving of the possibility that Max wasn't Max at all, Mom reached deep in to her exhausted mind and came across a book she had once read as a teenager. Forever Amber chronicled the lascivious lifestyle of a 19th century British whore who slept her way right up to the throne, showing tremendous cunning in the face of hardship and adversity. This was the perfect name for their little bundle.

Dad, a soft-hearted man, took to a girl with surprising alacrity, lavishing his toddling daughter with down quilts, white rabbit fur coats and beautiful dresses. Mom a practical Capricorn and with somewhat less enthusiasm, strapped me into a life-jacket, cut my hair so that I looked like a little boy and signed me up for swimming lessons in case I fell off the boat.

Despite all attempts to toughen me up, including providing me with a baby brother who tormented me with cheerful regularity, I bore no evidence of tomboyish qualities. My imaginary friend, Big Girl, was a willowy brunette, my barbies made regular, passionate love in the back of Ken's pink car and my maternal instincts manifested themselves clearly in my devoted care of Basically Baby, my doll.

Luckily for Dad, his next daughter proved to be made of tougher stuff. My sister showed zero interest in dolls, stoutly refused to conform to any kind of bathing regime and liked to dress up like Mr. T . She also loved to go for long meandering walks, canoe in the wilderness and looked at me with wary suspicion when I begged her to wear the frilly dresses and outfits I made Mom buy her.

If not for my siblings and had it been up to my free-wheeling, bohemian parents, my life would have continued in a very different vein. Camping trips for three spent in the front basket of Mom's bike. Roaring across Georgia Straight in a Boston Whaler, the wind whipping the breath from my tiny lungs and turning me blue. Regular, unplanned trips off the end of the dock and into the oil-slick water of the marina where our boat was moored.

As it turned out, and despite the unfortunate reality of my pronounced girl-ness, all these things were still possible. Indeed, my resourceful parents managed to teach all three children to jump start an outboard motor, work the bilge pump on our boat, gut salmon and clamour over beach logs. An unplanned life, a course they may never have chosen for themselves but a rich life indeed and the story of how I came to be.

1/2 the Story and Badcat's Buzz

How embarrassing. She starts a blog, declares "salty balls" as the catch phrase for 2009 and then forgets to tell the end of the story.

Well the end of this story, which also happens to be the beginning, is that I quit. I decided that contrary to whatever security-minded voice told me that selling wheelchairs would be my thing, it in fact wasn't. I knew this for sure the day I shadowed another salesperson to the occupational therapy unit of our local hospital for people with spinal cord injuries in order to fit a patient for a new wheelchair.

I stood in the middle of the room, not sure where to sit down, what to do with myself and saw that I did not fit in. I was the only person in the room wearing high heels and makeup and felt about as appropriate as a clown in a morgue. How very frivolous to wonder if you're wearing the right shade of lip gloss as you drive to a place where the inhabitants are battling their own bodies for every hint of mobility they can coax and re-learn. A reminder to express gratitude for our lives and health and to appreciate the circumstances of others.

In any case, the story of my departure and safe landing in the perfect job is worthy of another post and my full attention. I will continue this thought. Sooner rather than later...like perhaps tomorrow night.

**a worthwhile digression**

I am about to close down my Mac and settle in to my pillows for the night when I tune in to a sound. Its a soft buzzing sound, the sound of a cat at peace with the world and sleeping on my legs. As I listen, I literally get a swell in my throat and decide that this, after a day of friends and laughter and relaxation, is the best part of my day. Just Badcat and I. I, anticipating my clean sheets and She, so content that her whole body hums. Life is simple and perfect if you let it be so.

How's the new job?

The question was...

How's the new job coming along? Are you running the show yet?

And my reply...

Hey!
The new job is not good. I am working in a HOVEL Maria! There aren't even any windows near me! The air conditioner - when its working - whines, no one sits near me, they have nothing for me to do and I just took my first sip of the staff coffee and nearly choked!!!!! I am so depressed and I totally did this to myself!

LUCKILY, I am doing Landmark and so I am going to get OUT of here! I am committed to the possibility of finding something that I am excited about, that makes me want to come to work in the morning and feel sucessful. It will involve lots of people, be close to where I live and there will be nice places to eat and get coffee close by. The offices/space will be bright and pleasant, but I will only be in the office part of the time because I will be out doing something I love the other half of the day.

I will be able to wear nice things to work, the bathroom won't look like something hideous exploded in it (and that's the women's washroom!) and eventually the tall, handsome, intelligent, powerfully-communicating single owner of the company will say to me: "I can't bear to keep looking across the room at you and not have you for myself! Even though you are a wildly successful XYZ and the company will not be the same if you leave, I need to ask you to run away with me (for a couple of months because obviously my input in the company is too integral for me to be gone longer) and live a life of almost embarrassing luxury and leisure!" I will reply modestly (but knowing he is right) that I will only run away with him and live in his huge castle in (Point Grey? no, too stuffy... West Van? no, to obvious...) the older beautiful Dunbar area if he promises that a) I can park in the garage, b) my name goes on the deed and finally c) we can have fabulous parties every weekend and be surrounded by all our best friends, like Oprah, Eva Longoria, Gregor Robertson, Michelle and Barack Obama and Johnny Depp.

oh, and we'll obviously have BEAUTIFUL babies (delivered by that hot blond doctor on, The Doctors) but you won't even be able to tell I've had kids because I'll work with Gwenyth Palthrow's personal trainer and have a butt that makes Jessica Biel jealous.

so, bad news...I think I hate my new job. Good news, I have a plan.

Enjoy the beautiful day (it could be snowing for all I know!),
Amber

Salty Balls

My fabulous friend Maria has been bugging me to blog for months now and I've just never jumped on board. Not that I feel I don't have anything to say...I am not immune to the appeal of a space where I can say absolutely anything - like "salty balls", for instance.

Not that I would ever say "salty balls" I think that's crass and my mother would not approve. But just to know that if "salty balls" felt like the only words I wanted to type that day, or that that was the only phrase appropriate to express how I was feeling, then heck, salty balls!

I've decided not to recap my life up to this point - is that even what a new blogger does? - but instead to jump right in and start my thinking...and typing.

My day so far...got to work 10 minutes early (second day at my new job) tomorrow, no doubt will be different. Arranged myself comfortably in the dark, lonely hovel that is now my home and struck up a meaningful, if sporadic conversation with a fly that resides in the area. Made a mental note to never be tempted by the coffee in the staff room again. Checked for new emails. None. Resisted Facebook for 22 minutes. Succumbed. Took a disheartening call from a distraught friend and reminded myself again not to move to Kitimat. Work arrived! A spreadsheet all my own, whatever colours I choose - yes! Added columns, increased cell heights. Rearranged headings. Checked the clock. 10:23, oh my god, really?

Decided now is a good time to start a blog. Deliberated over a name for 3 minutes. Checked the clock. 10:37, hmmm. Went on Craigslist to find a new job, decided that even this is better than kiosk sales for Telus so browsed the lost and found instead. Darn, I'd hate to lose my cell phone at Spanish Banks, hope you find it. Not gonna lie, if I did find that puppy near the Gilmore Skytrain, I probably would not want to give it back. Checked the clock. 11:55 and the fly has committed suicide in my coffee.

Tomorrow, as they say, is another day and I cling to the fact that tonight is the second seminar in my Landmark Forum in Action Series. I will be surrounded by my people and they will remind me that the only meaning that exists in the world is the meaning I give it, and I have the power to change my circumstances. Once I take my self-censoring filters and my past out of my future nothing exists there except the possibilities I create and I'm thinkin' I've got to redefine my possibilities!

Cheers to possibilities. And heck, cheers to salty balls.

Amber