The moment my life changed

{July 13, 2011. The day after Andy and I made a powerful decision that promised to change the course of our lives, I took a rare hour to myself to think, to write and to set some personal goals. Now that we're through the learning curve and living our changed life, I look back at this journal entry and all of it makes sense. I now know that our journey has cleared a path for us to create the life we choose. Here is what my headspace looked like in the moment we embraced the change.}

It's awfully hard to be patient with life sometimes.

Even under the very best of circumstances, as I am. My home is stable. I have joy in my days, a clean bill of health, and the love of my amazing family. We want for nothing - we live in a free, safe, democratic, and clean country. We are on good terms with family. We have a car for the first time. We have a vivacious toddler boy and a brand new baby girl in our lives. I wouldn't know where to begin counting my blessings.

So maybe it's this incredible love and stability, elevating me, that compels me to see farther and want to follow a path toward self-actualization. Last night, our scheduled creative night was hijacked by a business opportunity. And while it was incredibly exciting, part of my heart was reserved for writing in my journal. That part of my heart couldn't leap with anticipation for a profitable career last night... it only wanted to write, and write, and I was terrified that I'd lose the creative momentum I've been building. The only person who is going to write my words is me. The only person left to make or break my vision is myself. I am so scared of letting it go again. Of letting other concerns overshadow my writing time. I must keep my pen moving in order to carve out my future.

Today, now, both sides of my heart seem to be communicating again. I can pursue the career that allows me the lifestyle with ample time and means to write. I will make responsible financial and professional decisions to help protect my children. And I am creating the words, characters and stories that illuminate my life. Writing is the act of living consciously. My writing will help me to inspire Gabriel and Ariadne's imaginations. I can only hope my words will help them shape their world view.

It's fascinating to live consciously through writing. When I began moving my pen today, I had been sitting downtown and people watching. And I couldn't help but notice that every woman on the SkyTrain and walking downtown seemed better dressed than I am. Accessories sparkled in all directions - golden bracelets, stylish purses, summer shoes, ethereal scarves. I look at these women and I feel hopelessly... outdated. I'm 8 weeks postpartum and nothing fits. I haven't bought clothes in a serious way for years. And there's a distinct pang- a millimetric shadow of a feeling, like a distant cousin of grief and longing, that catches in my throat when they walk past. It was this microdespair I actually wanted to write about.

And then I began taking stock of all the reasons I have to be grateful. My disappointment is a prime example of a first-world problem. If I feel envy at these downtown women, what more of the rest of the world? How does my reaction compare to real envy? Real grief, longing, disappointment? How many people might feel those things when looking at my life? And what in life besides these modern wardrobes makes my real wish list?

If I had to write the wish list down, here's what it might look like. Mornings running in the forest with Andy. A year travelling and teaching our kids world history, on location. Unpacking a brown box containing my very first published novel. A home with a garden and a library. The means to continue writing while working in a meaningful job. True leadership. Laughing with Gabriel and Ariadne. Seeing them graduate from university. Contributing to the world through philanthropy. Living a life that inspires Andy to write music. Dinner overlooking a vineyard in Tuscany.

And maybe, just maybe, a pair of pants that fits.

Why I Do What I Do

As all the best explanations deserve, let me begin with a story.

It was a beautiful June day, and splashes of dappled sunshine shone green in a forest clearing. I was crouched low to the ground, my hands covered with dirt, and I found myself looking into the huge brown eyes of a tiny five-year-old student. “I found a ladybug,” she whispered to me conspiratorially. I smiled at the colourful little beetle in her bug jar. We looked at the ladybug through the jar’s magnifying lid, we carefully counted its legs, and we guessed at what it might be doing on this lovely afternoon in the forest. The little girl smiled at me shyly before leaning in and asking, “Can I keep it?” I laughed and explained that it needed to return to its home; we found a quiet spot together and gently let the ladybug go before the little girl rejoined the rest of her class.

Within thirty seconds of this encounter, her teacher and two adult supervisors came rushing up to me, breathless. They couldn’t believe the young girl had spoken with me. They explained she was a selective mute – she had not spoken to her teacher or her classmates the entire school year! But somehow here, in Stanley Park’s green forest, hunting for bugs on my Nature Detectives program, this little girl had found her voice and her smile. She had connected with nature, and the experience had transformed her profoundly.

This is just one example of the innumerable, incredible connections I have seen children make with the natural world in the course of teaching environmental education programs across BC and Alberta. My challenge is to engage kids with science, inspire them with hope for our forests and oceans, and motivate them with creative, compelling programs - all while helping teachers to make everyday science lessons leap to life.

A former classroom teacher, I now work as the manager of education programs in Vancouver’s Stanley Park. Capitalizing on a series of fortunate career misadventures, I’ve spent the last 10 years brewing up the perfect storm of a skill set:

• teaching to all ages, from kindergarten to adult professional development;
• design, development and delivery of creative curriculum-based school programs;
• science writing, research and editing skills paired with a vivid imagination;
• naturalist and environmental science knowledge;
• graphic design, layout and illustration;
• community building, management, governance and team leadership.

My passion for my work has led me to a swirling confluence of technology, education and design. I have taught over 50,000 children environmental education programs across BC and Alberta, and created teacher resources for the Vancouver Aquarium and Stanley Park. I currently act on the executive of the Environmental Educator Provincial Specialist Association of British Columbia, am an active member of the Lower Mainland Museum Educators Association, and serve as a current director and past President of the West End Community Centre Association, providing community services to the densest residential population in Canada. I was honoured as the recipient of a prestigious Vancouver Park Board Volunteer of the Year Award for my contributions to community leadership in 2008. I can chair an annual general meeting, command a conference of teachers, or get down on my knees in the forest with a handful of five-year-olds.

I believe that my own everyday experience, and the ongoing opportunities I am given to speak to thousands of children, teachers and community members, charge me with a tremendous responsibility to learn everything I can from every person who will teach me. My work and volunteer lives give me the ongoing opportunity to affect education and change on a scale from classrooms to communities. My vision embraces a future where technology, education and design can be used to connect children to nature and to create diverse, sustainable communities in Vancouver with strong leadership at every level.

Chilean fjords

bright sun - clear skies - 25 degrees Celsius - bikini & deck chair & warmth & breeze





The sun is sparkling off the teal blue waters of the Chilean fjords, lighting thousands of points of shimmering gold in the beautiful waters around us. We're surrounded by rounded, rolling hills bursting with verdant green, the foothills extending like a lizard's back toward the snow-capped Andes behind.

Our ship has slowed to a stop and dropped anchor in this place with its unrelenting beauty. A passenger on board had a medical emergency last night, and the captain has diverted the route to allow him to disembark. And so, under the deep azure of this afternoon's cloudless skies, over the green-blue of the fjords, toward the forested mountains, a tiny orange boat is cutting a snow-white wake through the waters and carrying one man to safety.

Around me, the upper deck has filled with people, emerging into the open air with their cameras and their curiosity - all waving to the little orange pilot boat, wishing the gentleman well and hoping that he recovers.

I don't know what happened to him, nor do I know where he is going. I wonder if he's okay; I wonder if his worried wife is holding his hand on the orange boat as it disappears through the labyrinthine channel. It's a heartbreaking study in contrast for me, especially because Andy and I have embraced this journey as a step towards wellness for ourselves. We are among the youngest passengers on board, the cute newlyweds, in a group of largely older, long-married men and women from all over the world and spanning the full spectra of health and happiness.

I am deeply touched to imagine another passenger's anxiety on a day of such happiness for us. I am touched by the gravity of his illness as Andy and I find our health. I am touched perhaps most by the story aboard the tiny orange pilot boat in blue waters beneath green mountains, adding its narrative to the rich tapestry of this place at this moment.

Our ship is once again sailing north toward Puerto Montt, gliding on the calm waters and adding its own shining white sparkle to the channel. Each time I look up at the passing mountains with their rounded, glacier-carved peaks and the lush forests painting the landscape from sea to sky, they seem more and more vivid. It's as if the landscapes I used to imagine as South America have found the perfect conditions, blossomed into three dimensions, and pulled me in, head over heels. I almost expect to hear pan flutes serenading farmers as they walk llamas along the hills.

I am pensive today, but happy, so happy in this moment. I wish my fellow passenger a safe journey home, send him as much of my happiness as my heart can bear across the channel, and contribute a small piece of my own story to the world here in the fjords.

finding the essence, at sea

{ The practice of soulful travel is to discover the overlapping point between history and everyday life, the way to find the essence of every place, every day... }
~The Art of Pilgrimage

As I write, I'm looking ahead at the horizon: an endless expanse of roiling blue sea reaches up toward layers of grey upon grey, where a palette of clouds hangs heavily with the weighty task of containing the bright sky above. Our ship is tossing, rolling, riding each undulating wave, and as it carries us forward it feels as if the motion is the sea's language channeled into me through the vessel, its messenger.

Many of my fellow passengers are visibly green with seasickness. They smile weakly at me, holding rails, closing their eyes, vainly fixing their gaze on the Andes rising to our east. The breakwaters are huge, and each swell slaps the side of the boat, sending foamy spray up several stories to splash against the porthole glass.

My own stomach quite enjoys the movement. For me, it's like being on a gentle rollercoaster, with a cup of tea in one hand and a pen in the other. The upward pressure as we ride a swell, the exquisite pause as the wave crests, and the gentle release are all comforts. A hand carrying us, lifting us over the ocean. A cradle and its lullabies.

I imagine that this place, these waters, have sung this same song for an age, and brave travellers have pondered its language for thousands of years. How lucky I am to be here.

Soulful living

{Soulful travel is the art of finding beauty even in ruins, even in inclement weather, even in foul moods. Like art, pilgrimage cannot wait for the right mood to appear. Like poetry, pilgrimage is beyond time and space. It happens now, or it doesn't happen at all.}
- The Art of Pilgrimage


Does this idea limit itself to pilgrimage? I'd argue that soulful living is about finding that same beauty every day - beauty in ruins, in the everyday, in the majestic, in the mundane, in the sublime. Soulful living is about seeing everything as if for the first time, smelling scents as if newly discovering them, celebrating the quiddity of each object, landscape and experience. Marvelling at the transparence of a pane of glass or cellophane wrapper. Feeling the strength and texture of an oak table and romancing the idea of its story, from seedling to harvest. How many storms did this tree weather? What families of birds and squirrels called its branches home? Who felled this oak, where did it travel, how was it chosen to fit a designer's blueprint, and how many layers of stain and shellac immortalized its grain? How many hungry souls have been comforted by a meal here? Where will it go, and how will it eventually return to the earth?

Ficus once showed us a gravel parking lot on Mount Seymour. To all appearances, it was an area that held no hope for life. Humans had removed the trees, bulldozed the land and covered the levelled earth with gravel. But when we knelt closer to the ground and really looked, we could see tiny hemlock saplings poking their way through the grey desolation. A forest in miniature.

The experience of that moment spiralled my imagination into a hurricane of perceived possibilities. I no longer see weeds growing out of cracks in the asphalt as convicting evidence of poor maintenance on the part of property owners... I see the unfolding of Mother Nature's latent forest in an area temporarily disturbed by man. Life finds a way.

The world is heartbreakingly beautiful when seen through the eyeglass of possibilities and impossibilities.

How can I express this? How does one share the enlightenment of beauty with everyone one loves?