Mana's Musings

This Friday I’ll be getting on a 10 hour flight out of Vancouver International Airport, bound for Tokyo’s Narita Airport, on a trip that will take me through Tokyo, Nagoya, Osaka and likely Kyoto.

I’ve been all over Canada and the US before, and quite a few countries in western Europe – England, France, the Netherlands, Belgium, Italy, Norway, Denmark, Sweden. But never before have I travelled outside of the “western world.” Asia is a whole ‘notha ballgame. I’ve spent some time reading up on these cities, the culture, all of that. But until you actually find yourself in a destination, you just can’t truly know what it will “feel” like.

There are so many subtle nuances that colour the feeling, the vibe, the flavour of a destination. The subtleties in the architecture. The current fashion trends you see in the streets. The way the locals walk. The way they interact with you (or don’t). The local cuisine. The way the air smells. The way the air feels.

Take Los Angeles. When I think of LA I think of the hot California sun beating down on my skin. I think of the humid air and all the ferns and other foliage you see as soon as you step out of the terminal and onto World Way. I think of the unmistakable smell of the salty ocean air. I think of the Mexican-influenced cuisine everywhere, with huevos rancheros, salsa and beans invading the menus of nearly any restaurant you might walk into. And I think of that underlying vibe that everyone there either knows someone, is someone, or is fighting like mad to be someone.

And as I get ready for my trip to Japan I can’t help but wonder what the feeling of these places will be like. What does Tokyo smell like? What’s it like on their local metro system? What are the people like? Will my blond hair make me stand out in a crowd, or has globalization made that sort of thing irrelevant?

I can’t wait to find out.

“I am too much of a realist to become an artist.”

She said this to me as we sauntered across the park, leaves crunching beneath our feet.

“My brain is down-to-earth. Matter-of-fact. Artists aren’t like me. They flit about at poetry slams and galleries and other curious things without regard to the banal realities of life’s daily course.”

She lowered herself onto a bench and absentmindedly collected an errant leaf between her thumb and forefinger.

“Artists don’t walk like me. Certainly, they do not walk as the rest of us do. Rather they glide, pushed and pulled by whatever colourful whim is pulling hardest at any moment. Me? I walk.”

She rose and stomped her feet on the pavement, as if to prove they did indeed connect with the ground below.

“I do not live in a trendy artist’s enclave in Montmartre or Greenwich Village. I do not have a loft filled with ancient typewriters and busts of long-dead poets usurping table space from mundane things like cups and dishes. No, my home is a typical two-bed flat in Islington with particleboard furnishings from Ikea.”

Again she sat. She looked up and blew a stray curl out of her eyes, then sighed heavily.

“I am none of these things. I am not – I am not capricious enough to believe that if I just pursue my passions all will be right in the world. I have no sordid, tortured stories of abuse or heartbreak to use as justification for an absinthe addiction or as a muse on a moonless night.”

She clasped her hands together, as though seeking strength or maybe affirmation for her own words. Across the park children played hopscotch and an old man moved along the path at a snail’s pace.

“I am in limbo between two worlds, two identities. And yet I know what draws me. I know I am the sort who overanalyses interest rates and remembers to take my vitamins. And yet I yearn – no, rather burn to create. I am drawn to those who dress in black and design stage shows and stay up until the morning birds because they have an idea they simply must give birth to before it fades with the morning light. Those people are my kind, even if I am not theirs.”

That bothersome curl had found its way across her forehead once again, dangling in front of her brown eyes like a spring.

Again she blew it away and deftly picked up another leaf.

And she fumbled the leaf between her thumb and forefinger as only an artist can.

A friend of mine recently opened an account on Ancestry.com and started poking around family trees. After poring over birth, marriage and census records she uncovered a goldmine of interesting connections including American presidents, British royalty and Walt Disney himself. Dig far enough and one can find Mayflower passengers and even connections to Charlemagne.

This got me thinking about my own family history. I sat down and sketched a quick tree, going back to the last generation where I knew anything at all: my great-grandparents. It soon became apparent that I know precious little about those people. I never met any of them that I can recall. Only one of their lifetimes intersected with mine – a Ukranian great grandmother on my mom’s side of tree – and she passed away before my second birthday. Through my parents I’ve managed to fill in many of the blanks including maiden names, years and countries of birth, and years of death. But beyond these basic facts, I know absolutely nothing.

And I find it fascinating to stare at these names sketched in pencil on a sheet of paper and envision each name belonging to an actual, complex human being, someone who lead a full life and went on to have children of their own. Who were these people? They had childhoods and favourite foods, personality traits and physical attributes, and yet I know nothing. Consider Annie Lipinski. She was my great-grandmother and all I know is that she was born in the Ukraine and married a Polish man by the name of Mike Worobetz. But who was she as a person? What was her life like? What was she like at my age? How did she meet my great-grandfather?

And, whatever happened to her many siblings? I’m fairly certain none of my great-grandparents were from single-child families. So all these faceless names are themselves branches of trees in familes that often included five or more children, many of whom went on to marry and have children of their own. Assuming a conservative estimate of three siblings per great-grandparent (since I haven’t yet organized the actual numbers) that’s 32 different individuals who may have headed their own families and created lines of countless people to whom I share quite close family ties, all things considered; direct family ties. And yet I don’t know any of these people. And this is only four generations. These eight great-grandparents obviously had parents of their own – sixteen different people who are my great-great grandparents, and I don’t even know their names. And those 16 people had parents and likely siblings of their own – and on, and on, and on.

Within four generations I’m directly descended from people who spent most of their lives in at least five different countries, speaking five different languages (none of which are English) and leading lives that I can’t even begin to comprehend. These people exist in my genes, in my DNA.

Just four generations and their lives are reduced to nothing but names and dates sketched in pencil on a sheet of paper. And in four generations hence, I’m sure nothing will have changed.

I recently finished reading one of the most inspiring, relevant, significant books I can remember reading in a very long time. As soon as you’re finished reading this blog post, click on the cover image for an Amazon link to order your own copy. Shameless plug, yes, but this book is that worth it.

In If You Have To Cry, Go Outside NYC public relations powerhouse Kelly Cutrone shares her story of a life that started with a childhood in Syracuse, New York and involved various bumps and adventures on the way to where she is today; that is to say, running fashion PR house People’s Revolution from Manhattan with locations all around the globe.

In all honesty I’d never heard of Kelly Cutrone before I picked up her book. She starred in a reality show called Kell on Earth which apparently showcased life on the inside of her company, but to the best of my knowledge it hasn’t yet aired in Canada. Anyway I was browsing at my local Chapters store and picked up the book because of its grab-you-by-the-balls title. I flipped through a few pages and came to the start of chapter eight:

My friends and I joke that I look like a homewrecker–the person who’s going to fuck your husband and eat your cat. Au contraire: I am a woman’s woman.

That’s all it took for me to spin on my heel and head for the checkout line.

A few days later, after slogging through a rather tedious and condescending book on personal finance I picked up Kelly’s book. By the end of the introduction I was riveted, and would end up cracking open a bottle of wine and reading the entire thing in a single evening. From the first chapter this book is shaped by her ballsy, straightforward I-take-shit-from-no-one attitude, and it was thoroughly refreshing.

Kelly Cutrone tells of leaving home at 21 to move to New York City, against the wishes of her parents who were intimidated by the city and all the chaos and moral failures contained within its limits. But move she did, based on nothing more than an inexplicable yearning to be there. She writes of her first visit to NYC at the tender age of 16:

I will never forget how, in that first visit, the energy of New York captivated my every sense. It was like I had stepped out of a boring silent film and into the greatest musical of all time, with the Radio City Rockettes kicking to the tune of Frank Sinatra’s ‘New York, New York,’ while seven thousand angels cried: ‘Kelly! You are home!’ I was hearing the sound of my inner voice, and it was not subtle. On midtown’s crowded streets, I felt electric, vibrant, and alive. I’d never seen a place where people from all over the world spoke different languages, where gay people walked down the street holding hands, and where acceptance was king. I sensed a purpose and vitality in people’s lives, not only because of how they looked and dressed, but by the way they walked and where they were going and how they were getting there. They were doing real things; they weren’t just circling the town in their station wagons, slowly growing old. Here the game was on, and if anyone didn’t like it they could just fuck off. I loved that.”

Having grown up in an insignificant mid-sized city with not a whole lot going on, I can completely relate. I’ve had moments like that in both Los Angeles and London, and it was refreshing to read another person’s account of having one of those “Yes! This is where I belong!” moments. The book winds its way through Kelly’s experiences in her twenties, dealing with a failed marriage and drug issues before her 30th birthday. But even as she relays the moments where things seemed to go horribly awry, she paints a picture of herself as a woman with an unwavering, deep-seated tenacity – and acceptance. When things weren’t working, she changed them. So what? You live life, you make choices, and if they don’t work you make new ones. Onward and upward.

I think all women need a voice like this in their lives. Whether you’re 19 or 49, we can all benefit from someone with a kick-ass attitude who tells you to quit snivelling, get yourself together and make your life work for you. That you don’t have to be a slave to whatever ideal anyone else in your life thinks you should aspire to, or what society tells you that you should be. That you can make your own rules and draw your own maps, figuring out what works for you and throwing back the rest. And Kelly’s book is 195 pages of that.

While reading it I whipped out my trusty pink highlighter and noted so many interesting passages that a significant portion of the text is now pink. This book is now my how-to manual for life.

In closing I’ll leave you with some of my favourite highlighted bits. Then just go buy the book, ‘kay?

“…This is when I learned you have to give up your life as you know it to get a new one; that sometimes you need to let go of everything you’re clinging to and start over, whether because you’ve outgrown it or because it’s not working anymore or because it was wrong for you in the first place.”

“If this book inspires you to do one thing, I hope it’s to…go balls out on intuition and follow your dreams. Dreams won’t always take you on a straight path to destiny, but they’re usually related to what your soul wants for you. They’ll force you to ask yourself the hard questions, they’ll kick your ass, and most importantly, they’ll turn you on.”

“If you don’t know exactly what fits into your life and what doesn’t, the best way to figure it out is to follow your inner voice away from what feels wrong and toward what feels right, whether that means moving to New York City on a whim at twenty-one, quitting your accounting job at thirty-five to be an actress, or ditching your job in fashion to swim with dolphins in Hawaii. These experiences won’t always take you on an express train to your true purpose and calling in life, but they’ll teach you lessons you’re supposed to learn.”

By now it’s no revelation that we’re living in a digital era. 160 character text messages and 140 character tweets have replaced phone calls, letters, and even in-person vists. This is the world we live in; this isn’t a new development any longer.

But every now and then someone will get up on a soapbox and mourn the death of written communication as we know it. Text-speak, they invariably argue, is taking over new generations and rendering today’s youth incapable of communicating in a formal or businesslike manner.

Like, OMGZ! RU srs? Wot do u mean its 2 l8 2 lrn to cmnct?

I can’t help but roll my eyes at the idea of people growing up and truly not comprehending that text-speak isn’t appropriate for anything but the most casual situations. If someone wants to throw a “l8r” and few “OMGs” into a cover letter, great. Consider it a form of career Darwinism.

The problem I have with online communication isn’t that it’s hampering my ability to write – in fact, my problem is quite the opposite.

I’m forgetting how to talk.

I’ve always gravitated toward the written word, well before online networking became our default method of social interaction. Just ask my high school boyfriends who would inevitably receive long, drawn out letters analyzing our relationships in the way only a teenage girl can do, rather than a simple phone call. (Sorry guys).

Then came MSN messenger, and my college days spent sitting in lectures chatting with friends – sometimes in the same class – via IM rather than opening our mouths. This was seven years ago, and from there my reliance on written communication has snowballed. I got a job right out of school where phoning clients was frowned upon. The protocol was to always send an email and copy the VP on the message in order to leave a “paper trail” for all communication. Three years of this left me seasoned in business email writing, and a total novice at verbal communication.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to call up my friends or spend time in person with people from my inner monkey sphere. But when it comes to more challenging, less “social” conversations I’ll sooner write a Facebook message, an email, a tweet, a DM or a forum post before I’ll pick up the phone and call someone. My brain has become wired to appreciate and even expect that precious moment to organize my thoughts that digital communication affords.

So you’ve received an email, a Facebook message, a YouTube comment? Not sure how to reply? That’s perfectly fine! Even in the most time-sensitive situations, people realize these methods are a form of asynchronous communication and an immediate response isn’t expected. Even in instant messaging conversations, meant to be taking place in real time, one has the luxury of waiting a moment or two before replying. There’s no uncomfortable dead air, no ums and ahs and other filler, no nervous babble to fill the silence.

The unsurprising result is now, when I do get on the phone or meet someone in person I feel out of my element. Oh noes! This person just said something that threw me for a loop! Eek, that’s not what I was expecting. Quick, you’ve got five seconds to formulate a perfect response before the silence becomes deafening.

I think verbal communication is like pretty much any other skill – use it or lose it. I finished school and entered a world where digital communication was already king, and as a result I never really took the time to nurture verbal communication in the way someone would have been forced to even 15 years ago. This overdependency on the written word stands to cause problems in situations where a phone call or a face-to-face meeting would actually be more appropriate, despite not being my go-to method of communicating. But on the other hand, the ability to communicate clearly through text-based means has served me well.

And I can’t help but wonder – why aren’t they teaching this in high school? Why is it that everyone needs to know the ins and outs of quadratic equations, but no attention is paid to balancing all the different methods of communication one needs to embrace in order to be successful in 2010?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an email to write, some texts to reply to, and mailing list to read. Ttfn and c all u ppl l8r.

I found this band browsing on iTunes. Their music sounds vaguely familiar, even though I don’t think I’ve heard them on local radio.

They’re called Carbon Leaf, a five-guy band out of Virgina, USA who have been together since 1992. They’re described as “Celtic-bluegrass rock,” and despite being an amalgamation of three distinct genres they somehow make it work. It’s melodic, catchy, and reminds me of other nineties bands I loved (Sister Hazel comes to mind).

Tidbit: the first video below features a pre-fame Katy Perry. Small world.

Learn to Fly

Life Less Ordinary

You get a job. You show up for work. Immediately you’re given a series of tasks to complete – the responsibilities of your role. And over time, you learn how to prioritize. You learn which requests should be dealt with first, which ones can wait, which ones can be completed in a short time frame and which ones will require more effort. I think prioritizing is a learned skill, but one that can indeed be nurtured with time.

But how do you apply that to life as a whole?

As I write this, I’m 25 years old. At 25, there are a lot of items on my to-do list for the next, say, 10 years. And after reflecting on it for the past while I’m starting to realize that by not prioritizing the things I want to accomplish/achieve/experience, I’m merely staying in neutral.

I want to get into a career that I genuinely enjoy. Call me a princess but I’ve had the experiene of waking up in the morning and wishing I was going in for dental surgery rather than going to my job, and I don’t particularly want to find myself in that situation again. I’m starting to get an idea of the sort of career I might really enjoy and succeed in, but it’s not something that happens overnight. And it could involve working for years at quite a low rate of pay. But then I have to consider what’s best from a purely financial perspective. While we lead a relatively comfortable lifestyle, my husband and I have financial goals we haven’t met yet. Financial goals that would benefit from me making as much money as possible in whatever sort of work I can find, even if it’s just to pay the bills and isn’t what I really want to do. So right off the bat I have career dreams conflicting with financial goals.

Then there’s geography. I don’t want to keep living in the same city – the same 15km radius – that I’ve lived my whole life. My husband and I want to move abroad. Which, of course, is a huge financial concern in its own right, and obviously affects our careers as well. On one hand it would be more financially responsible to stay put in this city where we already own a condo and have established roots. On the other hand, the idea of staying in this lifeless city with barely a fledgling cultural scene feels like it’s stifling me. The idea of waking up at age 40 still here in this city makes my stomach turn.

And then you add kids to the equation. My husband and I both want kids someday. Although we’re both quite certain that today isn’t the day for that, we’re aware that it’s something we’ll have to start thinking seriously about within the next five years or so. And kids affect all of the above considerations: career, finances, and geography. If we’re going to move somewhere we will want to be financially stable and settled before having kids. But we don’t exactly have all the time in the world for that.

Career, money, kids, geography. All important, all interconnected. How to prioritize? I don’t want to stay in neutral, but I’m also not ready to accept the idea of settling.

Calgary normally gets its first taste of winter each year in November, so for December to arrive without a snowfall like this is rather unusual. It’s really quite pretty; especially as the sun begins to set, casting a blue-ish hue on the snow, silhouetting the buildings against the darkening sky.

Fancy a bike ride?

Front doors of my building

Stairs to parking garage

Into the distance

A cold wait

Snowflakes!

I’m a proud, card-carrying member of good ‘ol Generation Y. Depending on who you ask, that’s roughly defined as people born from around 1978 or so until about 1989. Give or take.

Myself and my fellow Generation Y peers are seen as being morally liberal, socially inclined, technologically savvy, and somewhat lazy. Many of us grew up with parents, teachers, and other role models who hammered the idea into our heads that we’re all special, we’re all beautiful, we’re all worth something, etc.

Wikipedia says:

The Millennials are sometimes called the “Trophy Generation”, or “Trophy Kids,” a term that reflects the trend in competitive sports, as well as many other aspects of life, where “no one loses” and everyone gets a “Thanks for Participating” trophy and symbolizing a perceived sense of entitlement. It has been reported that this is an issue in corporate environments.”Some employers are concerned that Millennials have too great expectations from the workplace and desire to shape their jobs to fit their lives rather than adapt their lives to the workplace.

In my own experience, this is true to a degree. I grew up in a world where you could still lose on Sports Day, get cut from the handbell choir or get a bit part in the school play. Then again, “thanks for participating” certificates were common. It sent the message that our effort was appreciated, even if it wasn’t the fastest/highest/strongest effort in the group.

So where does that leave us when we Generation Y members strike out into the world, and try to find a place for ourselves in the workforce?

I’m reading a book called How’d You Score That Gig? by Alexandra Levit. In the intro Ms. Levit writes:

“We twenty- and thirtysomethings today, though, are rather different in our expectations regarding job satisfaction. Our parents carefully nurtured our talents and self-esteem from babyhood and told us we could be anything we wanted to be. As adults, our career desires are directed toward finding meaningful work that helps others. In essence, we want to be “paid volunteers,” to join an organization not because we have to, but because we want to, because it allows us to do something significant with our lives. We’re highly concerned with our professional development and want to have the opportunity to make a significant impact at a young age.”

I was sitting in a café when I read that excerpt, and I actually exclaimed aloud to my book (much to the amusement of nearby patrons). “Yes, that’s exactly it!” While I think it’s inaccurate to suggest that an entire generation came of age in a world with parents who nurtured our talents and self-esteem, I think it’s fair to say that a number of us certainly grew up in that atmosphere. The “you can be anything you want to be” mentality is so pervasive that even if any particular set of parents didn’t buy into it, their Generation Y offspring grew up absorbing that message from other sources; friends, teachers, other community members. It’s ingrained.

The result of this is a generation now gaining a foothold in the workforce whose core beliefs are at odds with those of generations prior, baby boomers in particular. Baby boomers tend to believe that work is meant to be hard; it’s a badge of honour to toil away, punching the clock day after day at a job you don’t particularly enjoy just for the honour of getting a paycheque – no matter how unpleasant the work or how paltry said paycheque may be.

I can’t speak for my entire generation, but I just can’t seem to subscribe to that mentality. Maybe it’s basic Generation Y entitlement talking, but I’m firmly of the belief that I didn’t spend five figures on a post-secondary education to toil away at any old job just because it provides a paycheque. Our generation was immersed in the message that if you put in some effort and get an education, doors will open for you. And as a result, the idea of working just for the sake of working doesn’t resonate with me, or with many of my peers. Simply, we want work we get something out of; we don’t want work to feel like work.

My baby boomer mother recently told me to get a job as a Wal-Mart greeter. From my mother’s perspective, a job as a Wal-Mart greeter is no different than a job in corporate communications, journalism, entertainment management or promotions (all fields I’ve either worked in, or aspire to work in). In her eyes, a job is a job; it doesn’t matter if the work is engaging, if it pertains to one’s interests, or if the pay is more than minimum wage. She can’t wrap her head around the idea that to me, a job as a Wal-Mart greeter would feel like settling for less than I need in terms of career options. (No offense to all you Wal-Mart greeters out there; I hope you enjoy your work, and get some measure of satisfaction from it.)

So we Generation Y members head out into the world, heads full of ideas about how our purpose is to find that “right” job – something that engages us mentally, that takes advantage of our natural talents, pays a wage allowing us to live a relatively comfortable lifestyle, and allows us to wake up on Monday morning feeling optimism rather than dread. A tall order in the best of circumstances; even more lofty in light of a worldwide recession.

In 2006, the city I live in was in the throes of a massive economic boom. Real estate prices were skyrocketing at unprecedented rates, unemployment was at a historical low, wages were high and headlines screamed of labour shortages. People migrated here from all over the country hoping to find streets paved with gold, or at the very least readily available work. And they found it.

And then the bottom dropped out.

Yes, this city hasn’t been hit nearly as hard as many, many other places. Compared to California’s battered, bruised and broken economy, Calgary barely has a papercut. But we’re not unscathed; real estate prices are “correcting” (read: plummeting) and jobs are disappearing.

What’s a Generation Y employee to do?

In one ear we have baby boomers telling us to accept work, any work, no matter how mind-numbing, boring or low-paying. They tell us that waiting for jobs in our field or above a certain pay level is cocky, and we should be grateful for any chance to earn a dollar. This is contradicted by a strong voice on the opposite shoulder insisting that we deserve better, that the recession is merely a hurdle; once we jump over it the prospect of finding work that we are genuinely committed to is just beyond the horizon. It’s a direct contradiction. And it’s confusing as hell.

I had the opportunity to spend an afternoon recently volunteering on a project I felt genuinely, wholly invested in. I believed in the work I was doing, in the work those around me were doing, and was motivated to do the best I could possibly do. I wasn’t checking the clock; I was checking my work, mulling over ways to make it better. And I found myself thinking, wow. If I could find half this passion in something I could be paid to do, life would be grand indeed.

I just need to figure out how to get there.

I randomly received an invitation recently to check out a concert. A friend of mine had tickets to see Matthew Good, and had a spare. I’m not a massive fan, but I knew a few of his songs and so I agreed to check it out.

The venue in question was a concert hall, the home of our local orchestra, with elegant surroundings. And sadly – chairs. About six minutes into the show, it dawned on me what was wrong; the seated audience was, in fact, comatose.

I came to the realization that chairs just don’t work for a popular music gig (and by “popular music” I mean pop, rock, country, alternative, R&B – anything “popular” with a pumping rhythm, an infectious melody, and a charismatic performer). It just seems bizarre to me to sit down at a show like this, hands demurely folded in one’s lap, perhaps taping a toe in time with the beat.

On more than one occasion during this show I felt like I was at home watching a YouTube video. I don’t want to pay for a ticket, go to a show, and feel like I’m at home in front of my computer, watching videos in my pajamas while eating a bowl of oatmeal. I want to be on my feet, feeling the music, feeling the energy of the crowd, essentially immersing myself in what I’m hearing. And this isn’t a dig at the performer – Matthew Good performed well, kudos to him. But the venue configuration can make or break the vibe, and in this particular case, the vibe was broken.

I was talking to a pop musican recently who compared a seated show at an ornate, historic concert hall to a general admission (GA) gig in slightly gritty basement club. He insisted the basement club was the best gig of that entire tour, saying that “seated gigs are just too… seated!” He was saying that the presence of seats encourages patrons to USE those seats, rather than getting on their feet and getting into the music. And after seeing that Matthew Good show, I’d have to say I fully agree with him.

Sure, it’s nice to walk up to a venue 15 minutes before the show starts, knowing in advance where your seat is. You don’t have to worry about arriving early to get an ideal spot, or that some drunk will shove you around for the whole show, stepping on your toes and trying to get in front of you. But in my opinion, the standing experience is SO worth the hassle. Because when the performer comes on stage, people already on their feet are more likely to participate rather than spectate; they sing, they dance, they absorb the energy from those around them. And the performers on stage then feed from that energy, and it becomes a circle of energy feeding through everyone in the crowd to those around them, up onto the stage, and back down into the audience. That’s how I like my gigs; energetic, raw, and far more engaging than a YouTube video.

I’ll save sitting quietly in a chair for the opera.