I make no secret that I am an addict in recovery, and this has meant devoting myself to, in the words of the AA literature, “clearing away the wreckage of my past.”  Compared to many other addicts who are recovering from addictions like gambling and sex addiction, drug and alcohol addicts who embark upon an honest recovery experience an almost immediate improvement in their quality of life.  In fact, you’ll hear many addicts in 12-step meetings say: “I got sick and tired of feeling sick and tired.”  Even now that I’m over 17 years clean and sober, I’ll never forget how liberating it was to wake up in the morning not feeling nauseous and hung over, and not having to apologize for the chaos I caused the night before.  I jumped head first into recovery and did all of the do things recommended to maintain my sobriety—I got a sponsor, went to meetings daily, and began actively healing the relationships around me.  Another important part of the puzzle for me was to get physically active and start addressing years of neglecting my body.  

A common theme in most early recovery is to introduce stability and regularity into your life—something that is sorely missing in the realm of an active addict.  I’ve been employed as an English teacher with one of the school boards in the city for over 20 years now, and sobriety has allowed me to build up trust by both dependably showing up for work every day and fulfilling the commitments asked of me.  I am immensely grateful for everything sobriety has brought into my life. In fact, I had the word Gratitude tattooed on my arm, so it’s with great trepidation, that I make the following public declaration—Despite the success I’ve had in my career, I find my job neither challenging nor soul-affirming.  It feels almost sacrilegious to tinker with success, but like every other piece of my life, if I’m not growing, I’m regressing.

I’m currently at the precipice of a substantive career change, and coupled with all the excitement of taking on new challenges and pushing my limits, comes the inevitable anxiety and self-doubt, in other words, the ugly face of fear.  The late Maya Angelou said:  “Success is liking yourself, liking what you do, and liking how you do it.”  It’s worthwhile to note where she starts from--liking yourself.  I have a tendency to beat myself up for not making a career jump sooner, but maybe I was just doing more of the groundwork involved in “liking myself” before I felt ready to look beyond myself.  

There has been a lot of talk around our house lately about career burnout and to whether or not it’s even reasonable to expect a sense of fulfillment from a career.  Through these challenging conversations, I’ve been able to crystallize in my mind what I want in a new career by making the distinction between a job in which you sacrifice yourself and a job in which you offer yourself.  The teaching profession for me has been a career in which my success is realized in the success of my students, but it has been a “sacrifice” in that it is a job that does not nourish my soul.  I’m in the process of crafting a new career that will allow me to be of service to others, but in a way that feeds my inner passion—and it’s in this space, that I make the distinction between “sacrificing” and “offering”.  I thought I’d share with you the following checklist that I devised to help frame the next chapter of my working life.

1.  Is your career aligned with your passion in life?
There is an ongoing debate about whether you should do what you love or learn to love what you do.  I’m not naive enough to believe in some kind of divine alchemy that will magically transform my passion into a lucrative career, but I am convinced that aligning my career with my core values allows me to be open to the possibilities of where that passion can lead me.  The one caveat I would add is the importance of self-directing this passion based on your skill set, and in so doing, your new career becomes more about exploring your passion than about exercising your hobby. Through this lens, I’ve identified that I am comfortable talking openly about the uncomfortable, and that throughout my life, I’ve been able to harness adversity as a stepping stone to growth.     
 
2.  What’s the composition of your tribe?   
Our ability to find our tribe is critical in that it offers us a sense of validation and can relieve us from the isolation and alienation of modern life. I like what American writer and entrepreneur Seth Godin says about tribes. “Instead of focusing on arguing with people who say no, it might easier to get near the people who like to say yes.”  I spent almost 40 years of my life hiding the fact that I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, and as a result, much of my behaviour involved pushing people away or masochistically seeking out people who made me feel unworthy and ashamed.  Since publicly disclosing that I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse last year, I have been actively cultivating a soul-affirming tribe in my life. I’m surrounding myself with those who are supportive, those who I aspire to be like, and those who challenge me to step back, reevaluate, and lean-in.  

3.  Has your comfort zone become a smothering zone?
By staying risk averse, I become growth inept.  Escaping the comfortable for the possible has a lot to do with who your tribe is and whether or not they push you towards growth, and as you encounter inevitable setbacks, provide you a safe place to land.  In the words of motivational speaker Chris Murray,  “Allowing yourself to be a conduit for opportunity requires a brand new outlook on life. Lady fortune cannot enter a locked door, you know.  And contrary to that well known saying, she has rarely been known to knock.”

4.  Are you doing what you “should” do rather than what you “ought to” do?
If this past year has taught me anything, it’s that being authentic in my interactions and writing has opened a door to like-minded individuals who have reached out to me as supporters or fellow travelers.  I've have begun to evaluate the parts of my life that involve the most “uncomfortable” interactions, and then I determined whether I was allowing my authentic self to be present in those interactions.  By doing nothing more than being present and honest about how I felt, the negative people have turned away, and this has provided space for the right people to find their way into my life.    

I’ll close by sharing something I recently heard in a podcast interview with Terry Tempest Williams, in which she posed a very thought-provoking question—one that I believe gets to the heart of what I have been struggling with for so long.  Many of us go about our lives with blinders on, never questioning what we do and why we do it.  Ms. Williams makes the point that next time you're at a get-together making small talk, instead of asking What do you do? consider asking What do you see?  If we all paused for a moment, we might just be surprised by what we see and where it leads us.         

If the purpose of life is to awaken, then we really have only two choices to make—We can make a conscious decision to learn from joy and freedom, or we can choose to be mired in pain and defiance.  I’m sure you’ve heard the expression happiness is and inside job, and I would venture to say that seeking any type of substantive change in my life is bound to be more fruitful if I turn the lens on myself rather than trying to change all the other chess pieces on the board.  I think Anaïs Nin said it best:  “We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.”

I believe in seeing the positive in every negative, and this is very clear when it comes to my addictive behaviour.  Because I have an addictive personality, I focus on things, I obsess over things, and I take everything to the extreme. But on the upside, this addictive behaviour that plagued me for so many years as I struggled to come to terms with my drug and alcohol addiction—these potentially self-sabotaging character traits, are the same things that have kept me sober for the past 17 years, one day at a time.  The longer I have stayed sober, the more addicted I have become to feeling healthier and clearer of mind.  

My favourite AA slogan, and you'll hear it in meetings taking place around the world, is “Keep it simple.”  Ironically, some of the most intelligent people I’ve met over the years in recovery are the same people who seem to struggle most with staying sober.  Addicts are typically very ingenious when it comes to lying and deceiving those around us, but we forget, we are equally disingenuous when it comes to deceiving ourselves.  There is always this soundtrack playing in the background of an addict’s mind with the dangerous refrain:  “You’re different.  You’re not like the rest of the addicts in this room.  Just have one drink, one line, one pill…”  

If I distill my problems with drugs and alcohol down to one basic premise, there is a greater chance I can stay sober one more day.  Simply put, addiction is a habit—It’s a self-destructive behaviour that I default to.  Like any habit, a drug/alcohol addiction is formed when the behaviour is repeated and a neural-pathway is established in our brain.  In his book The Power of Habit, Charles Duhigg says that every entrenched habit involves three elements:  the cue, the trigger, and the reward.  He goes on to say most people fail when they try to get rid of a bad habit because they focus on the cue or the trigger.  Therefore, as a recovering addict, if I simply tinker with the cues by isolating myself from certain situations and people, and remove the trigger, the drug or alcohol, I am not addressing the underlying “default” behaviour etched into my neural-pathway.  In other words, willpower alone will only temporarily mute those cues and triggers.  Instead, I will have better success if I focus on the perceived reward I get from the drug or alcohol.  For me, the reward always came down to one of two things—numbing uncomfortable feelings inside or attempting to connect with those around me.  In battling addiction, real success comes from displacing a destructive behaviour with something more positive that generates the same reward that the drugs and alcohol provided.  By doing this, I circumvent the old “default” behaviour and create new neural-pathways.  

Whatever bias you have against 12-step programs like Alcoholics Anonymous, they are incredibly effective for many suffering addicts.  They can help establish routine and accountability in an addict’s life.  More importantly, recovery meetings give addicts like me, the “rewards” we were seeking in the drugs and alcohol—It’s a safe place to make connections with others, and through sharing our struggles and fears with other addicts, we are given a cathartic release that quiets our restless mind.   

It’s with all this in mind, that I have a heavy heart when I look at the fiasco of Toronto Mayor Rob Ford.  After a very disgraceful public implosion, Mayor Ford entered a two-month treatment program to address his drug and alcohol addiction.  Having just been released from the treatment program, Rob Ford barely missed a beat when he resumed his position in municipal politics.  If his current antics are any indication of what’s to come, I think it’s safe to say Rob Ford is primed for a relapse.  I opened this piece by saying that change has to come from within, but all we are seeing from Mayor Ford is his lashing out at everyone and everything around him.  The cynic in me sees his stay at the treatment centre as a charade to garner public sympathy for his run at reelection later this year.  However, the addict in me, sees his behaviour as what is characteristically called white knuckling it.  He’s hiding behind the clinical diagnosis of addiction being a “disease”, and thus, he’s but a victim of this disease who shouldn't be held accountable.  I’ve seen this script play out so many times during my 17 years in recovery, and sadly it always has a tragic ending.  

I suggest there is still time to write a happier ending to this sad saga, but it will require the same actions that so many other recovering addicts have taken to rebuild their lives—Admit you have a problem.  Own up to the chaos you’ve caused around you.  Build your future by rebuilding yourself.  And finally, give the gift of grace that you’ve received to others so that they too can live a life free of destructive addictions.   

I’d like to leave you with the words of Eckhart Tolle:  “If you get the inside right, the outside will fall into place.”

Deep down, we all long for the feel of the warm sun on our face, a cool breeze on our neck, the undulating ground under our feet, a blue-filled sky, and the gentle songs of birds above.  But a sense of place is not simply the landscape that surrounds us—It’s also the memories and experiences etched into the place, and the cherished people who anchor us even in times of unease.  Sometimes a sense of place can leave a scent on your skin, or trigger a smile on your lips.

For many of us, we take a sense of place for granted.  We associate our childhood home with fond memories of being loved, engaged, and sheltered.  It’s a magical time of what seemed to be a string of endless summer nights and long lazy weekends.  It’s this grounding in our past that tethers us to a future of possibility.  Just as this story is true, so too is the tragic fact that many children living among us do not have the luxury of this secure tie to their surroundings.  For them, their childhood lives are filled with fear, shame, and insecurity.  The adult-child bond has been breached, and left to fill the void is a deep well of loss—a world of sharp edges and broken trust. 

I can so clearly remember the afternoon that the trauma of childhood sexual abuse shattered my childhood innocence, and as everything was breaking inside of me, all my ties to a childhood home that had grounded me in a sense of place were severed, and I was let adrift like a balloon floating away from a toddler.  Much of my adult life was spent vainly trying to reclaim that sense of place that I so desperately longed for.  The years battling drug and alcohol addiction, and the subsequent depression, were mocking reminders of my futile quest to reclaim a connection to myself and, ultimately a connection to others. 

A new study, funded by Little Warriors and conducted by Erin Martin and Dr. Peter Silverstone of the University of Alberta has shed a stark light on the prevalence of child sexual abuse, as well as the need for programs to help adults recognize the signs of abuse.  It’s estimated that 95% of cases are never reported to authorities.  What may be even more alarming is that 1 in 3 girls, and 1 in 6 boys experience an unwanted sexual act.  

I invite you to take a moment to digest these findings.  These are not simply statistics—They are our daughters, or sons, our grandchildren, our neighbours, our future spouses, partners, and friends—They could be you and I.  This is a pandemic that is taking place in our homes, in our schools, in our locker rooms, everywhere in our community.  So many of our children are walking around lost, afraid, no longer connected to a secure sense of place.      

In the words of the writer Joan Didion: “A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radically that he remakes it in his own image.”  I would offer that this is what Glori Meldrum and the remarkable people behind the movement to build the Be Brave Ranch are doing.  “The Be Brave Ranch, set to open its doors this fall, is a facility that will offer a family-oriented treatment program that combines multiple proven therapies for children ages 8-12 who have been sexually abused.”  It’s a special place built out of love not to resemble an institutionalized centre, but rather a place infused with the warmth and comfort of a safe home.  Within this sacred place, child victims and their caregivers will receive treatment and healing of the mind, body, heart, and spirit.  As the young survivors of child sexual abuse are moving along their healing journey, the Be Brave Ranch program will offer the families affected by this trauma the space and the resources to move beyond the horror of child sexual abuse, a means to deal with grief, guilt, and profound anger so that they can be there to support their children.  

It’s been well documented that a critical component in the successful recovery from early childhood trauma largely depends on “whether or not the family was responsible for the victimization, how the parents responded to the child’s disclosure, as well as the caregiver’s own history of trauma and psychopathology.”  I know that from my experience with disclosure, that seeking the resources and professional support was but one part of my coming to terms with being a survivor of childhood sexual abuse.  Bringing in support for my family has helped us heal and grow together.   
 
It is through this healing process that I have come to discover who I really am—not a boy afraid in his home, not a teen embarrassed of who he was, not a man ashamed of who he had become.  With the love of family and friends, the guidance of professionals working in this field, and a life-affirming embrace from other survivors, I have been able to reclaim my sense of place in this world.  My dream is that the Be Brave Ranch is the spark that will ignite others to reach out to a lost, scared child and help supplant the pain of trauma with a comforting sense of place. It’s through this sense of place that we anchor ourselves to the connections we need to thrive, and by which we orient our inner compass in our quest of humanity, our search for greatness.

I stumbled upon this quote from the British writer, Brian Aldiss that is brilliant not only for its biting sarcasm but for its frightening truth.  “When childhood dies, its corpses are called adults, and they enter society, one of the politer names of hell. That is why we dread children, even if we love them, they show us the state of our decay.”

Those of you who have been following my posts throughout the past year are well aware of the extent to which I have been delving into the trauma I experienced in my childhood and its resonating impact on my adult life.  If I asked you to close your eyes and to imagine the word "play", most of you will construct an image of a playground, or an open field filled with laughter, and I’m fairly certain that those images will be populated by children, not adults.  But why?  If play is so intrinsic to the life of a child that withholding it is often used as a punishment, why as adults are we so hesitant to allow ourselves the luxury of play?  

Psychiatrist Stuart Brown says play is akin to oxygen—“It is all around us, yet goes mostly unnoticed or unappreciated until it is missing.”  One of the most constructive pieces of advice given to me came from an old-timer in a 12-step meeting early on in my sobriety.  This wizened gruff man, who reeked of coffee and cigarettes, took me aside and said:  “You’d better stop all that intellectualizing… It’s your thinking that got you drunk in the first place.  Keep it simple and get back to the basic rule of eight—8 hours of sleep, 8 hours of work, and 8 hours of play.  If your life starts to feel uncomfortable, chances are one of those 8s is out of whack.”  I’ve been clean and sober now for over 17 years, and I’ve sat through hundreds of 12-step meetings, and to this day, I’ve never heard better, more practical advice.

All of this got me evaluating the role of play in my life, and what I discovered is that I have a guilty association with it as something I use as a vehicle to escape from the real problems in my life, or as just another activity that I have to throw myself into in order to master it.  As you can probably surmise, I’m a classic Type A competitive individual.  If my year of self-discovery has taught me anything, it is that when I venture down a path to where I think I know the destination, invariably I’m left wandering in a place I hadn’t expected, with that cloying feeling of discomfort yet again.  In this case, it was no different—I’d always assumed play for me meant release, but truth be told, it was just another “project” in my life.  

In his TedTalk “Play is more than just fun”, Stuart Brown offers some incredible insights into the significance of play in adult life, and how important it is in not only the obvious boost to creativity and relaxation but also as a medium of social regulation and personal growth.  In fact, there have been many studies documenting that adolescents who are denied the opportunity to play become more aggressive as adults.  He makes an interesting point by saying that the opposite of play is not “work”, but “depression”.  When you frame it that way, you begin to understand that the Holy Grail of inner peace we are all seeking may be eluding us in our denial to release ourselves to the beauty of play.  

In this TedTalk, I was introduced to my new “favourite” word--neotony.  The Oxford Dictionary defines neotony as “the retention of juvenile features in the adult animal.”  Many evolutionary biologists such as Stephen Jay Gould, believe that our ability to retain some “juvenile” features into adulthood has played a critical role in human evolution. Play begins when a baby responds to a parent making googly eyes, and it stays with us as we explore our the playgrounds of our childhood and later in life when we enter mating rituals when selecting a life partner.  

For me, this past year has been a constant process of peeling back the layers of an onion, trying to get to that authentic part of me that for years has been wrapped in layer upon layer of shame, a toxic byproduct of childhood sexual abuse.  The antidote to this shame is joy, and I believe that this joy can be found in play.  As we all know, joy can never be held in or tethered—It can only live if we release it, and it is within this release that my freedom will be found.  

I invite you all to close your eyes and go back as far as you can in your life to a happy memory you associate with play.  What you may discover is that rooted in that memory is the key to unlock the passion in you as an adult.  Passion is rocket fuel for joy, and a wellspring of joy will feed your soul, especially when adversity and vulnerability arrive.  We can all benefit from a little less structure in our life, and play by its very nature is uncertain.  I never thought about it this way before, but maybe that’s why I’ve always been so attracted to the unstructured flow of jazz.  In the words of the immortal Miles Davis, “Don’t play what’s there, play what’s not there.”  

It was Carroll Bryant who said:  “The shattering of a heart when being broken is the loudest quiet ever.”  I spent over four decades screaming in silence as my heart was shattered first by the childhood trauma, and later by my vain attempts to numb the parasitic shame buried inside me.  That deafening silence was shattered last year when I declared to family and friends that I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse.  From that moment forward, I unlocked a dormant part of me that has become a sacred beacon for personal healing, and most notably something I never expected—The calling to be of service to others still living in the deafening silence of childhood trauma.    

I believe in serendipity, as I have witnessed its mystery at various times in my life.  There are undeniable occasions in which the right person, those I call parachuting angels, appear when I need it most.  The arrival of the incredible woman, who would eventual become my wife, set my life on a very different trajectory, and without her steadfast love and support, there is no doubt in my mind that I would not be alive today.  17 years ago, I lay ravaged by addiction and depression.  Walking out of yet another AA meeting feeling abandoned and hopeless, I was approached by a young lady from the meeting who sat down beside me on a park bench, and she gave me the one thing I so desperately needed--hope.  That lady would go on to become my sponsor.  Hidden under the mask of my addiction issues was the core issue of childhood trauma, something I never expected I would be able to address.  The truth is that I was sober, but I was not free.  Hearing the former NHL tough guy, Theo Fleury publicly disclose that he too was a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, gave me another lifeline to cling to—A seed had been planted in my mind that one day I could step forward out of the shadow of the abuse.  

Most recently, another angel has parachuted into my life, giving me the confidence I need to continue on my healing path.  Through this angel, I was introduced to Glori Meldrum, who is also a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. In 2007, Glori formed Little Warriors a charity dedicated to “preventing child sexual abuse through awareness and the promotion of adult education.”  Glori has worked tirelessly to raise millions of dollars to open the “Little Warriors Be Brave Ranch”, located just outside of Edmonton.  Beginning this fall, this incredible space, created entirely without government funding, will become a reality as the ranch opens its doors as a “a spiritual oasis where neglected survivors can find the tools they need to heal their bodies, hearts, spirits, and minds.”  

This past weekend, I had the pleasure of meeting Glori and some of the countless individuals who have selflessly spearheaded this transformational movement.  The culmination of the weekend was a charity fundraising banquet attended by some of the most influential Canadian power brokers and philanthropists.  Towards the end of the evening, something so raw and beautiful unfolded.  A gentleman stood at the front of the room and openly declared in front of his peers that he too was a “Little Warrior”, and he invited other “Little Warriors” in the room to step forward and join him.  You could have heard a pin drop in the deafening silence of this grand dining hall—That’s when the magic happened.  Among the survivors who stepped forward were I and two other men looking directly into the faces of those still sitting in the room, and declaring simply by our presence that we will no longer be enshrouded by the shame of childhood sexual abuse—These few steps towards the front of the room represented our “walk to freedom”.

Two days after the event, as my wife and I drove through the majestic Rocky Mountains on the way back to the Calgary airport, I became acutely aware that all the struggles I’d overcome in my life had prepared me and delivered me to the precipice in which I was standing.  I had come to that moment where I knew for certain that my life would never be the same again.  My mission, or my calling, lay before me—I need only to trust in the uncertainty and embrace the freedom of possibility.  In the process of letting go, we have to learn to be comfortable with the uncomfortable.  We need to let go of the idea of  the “control” that we always equated with safety.  My path forward is clear, as I now know that I am to act as a beacon for other men enmeshed in shame, fear, and rage—Together, we can change the dialogue and build authentic relationships between men, and men and their partners.  I must always remember that “hurt people, hurt people.”  Freedom comes through healing and acceptance.  I’d like to end with the guidance of Rumi.  “Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”   

In her TedTalk, acclaimed writer Isabel Allende said the art to fleshing out characters for her stories involves layering them with frailties and passion.  As she puts it:  “Nice people with common sense do not make for interesting characters.  They only make good former spouses.”   She goes on to say that she inhabits her stories with a sprinkling of “mavericks, dissidents, adventurers, outsiders, and rebels.”

This got me thinking that the one thing we are most afraid of in ourselves—the piece of us we bury and cloister deep inside—may indeed be the most attractive part of us that when exposed, acts like a beacon attracting the goodness and love from those around us.  Since making a very public disclosure last year that I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, I’ve been struck by two reactions:  the incredible love and support that has filled my life, and the realization of the overwhelming pain that so many people carry in their soul.  

I often find solace in the words of Carl Jung, and this occasion is no different.  “We know that the wildest and most moving dramas are played not in the theatre but in the hearts of ordinary men and women who pass by without exciting attention, and who betray to the world nothing of the conflicts that rage within them.”  The shadow self was Jung’s construct of the part of us that we conceal and deny existence to.  As society becomes increasingly superficial, dominated by the cult of celebrity, news in sound bites, and social media self-promotion, we further distance ourselves from our shadow, comprised of our fears and uncertainties, the nuances so beautifully misshapen—the hidden gears that lie beneath all our social interactions and personal reflections.   

It’s only recently that I’ve begun to interpret my disclosure of childhood sexual abuse not as a letting go of a toxic soul-destroying secret but as a journey into the shadow that has been my constant companion for so many years. It’s this very journey into that with which we we are most afraid to examine that Jung believed holds the key to our personal freedom.  By reintegrating our shadow self, we embrace all parts of us, even those which cause the greatest discomfort.  I view the process akin to an oyster enveloping an irritating grain of sand, and eventually delivering a magnificent pearl to the world.     

Before embarking on those first trepidatious steps into your shadow, you might consider the following:

1.  You have to discover who you are before you can show the world who you can be.  
Ask yourself, What am I most afraid of exposing to those around me?  If you dig deep enough, your bound to discover that shame lies at its core.  Remind yourself that you’re turning towards your shadow, and like any shadow, the faster we move, the faster our shadow moves—Start with where you are, and give yourself time to peel back the scar tissue that has become a veil to keep others from truly connecting with you.

2.   Perfect being perfectly imperfect.  
When I stop comparing myself to others and instead begin identifying with others, I begin to build bridges where there once were walls.  Just like Isabel Allende, I see the joy in populating my life with “mavericks” and “outsiders”.  When my back is against the wall, it’s authenticity in myself and in those around me that will ultimately guide me.  

3.   Allow some space to grow.
Meaningful transformation happens when we allow ourselves and others to slip in and out of different skin until we find the one we're most settled in.  Walking into my shadow this year has meant questioning everything and everyone in my life.  It’s been an elastic year of regression, progression, resistance, and ultimately freedom.   

This intrepid journey into our darkness is not for the faint at heart, and as Jung would lead us to believe, this journey to the “shadow-side of human nature verges on the impossible. Consider for a moment what it means to grant the right of existence to what is unreasonable, senseless, and evil! Yet it is just this that the modern man insists upon. He wants to live with every side of himself-to know what he is. That is why he casts history aside. He wants to break with tradition so that he can experiment with his life and determine what value and meaning things have in themselves.”

I spent the first eighteen years of my life living with a stranger—my father—and since the birth of my son 24 years ago, I’ve been slowly getting to know that “stranger”, as I am gradually becoming him.  Sadly, my father passed away only a few months before my son was born, yet his presence appears stronger with each passing year, as I see my father in almost everything I do.  With Father’s Day quickly approaching, once again I have cause to connect the dots in my life and reminisce about how my relationship with my father has cast such a wide shadow over my life.

I am the youngest of five children, and there is gap of 17 years between my eldest brother an me.  After my mother left when I was nine, I was raised by father at a time when single-parent families, let alone ones headed by a father, were not the norm.  My memories of my dad are very different from the memories of my older brothers and sisters—It’s as if we were raised by a different parent entirely.  I thought I would share with you a letter that I wrote to my father containing three important life lessons I learned from him.

Dear Dad:

Not a day goes by where I don’t feel your presence in my life, and ache at your absence.  I see you in me when I look at the prominent veins in my hands, wrestle with my thick head of salt and pepper hair, or even catch a glimpse of my pronounced French-Canadian nose.  When I was sorting through some of your things after your death, I found your hidden stash of Aqua Velva cologne tucked away on a shelf in your closet.  I can vividly remember giving you each and every one of those bottles for Father’s Day, and how year after year, you received my present like it was a gift from the Magi.  

I’ll never forget the day I broke your heart.  It was the night of the year-end hockey banquet, and I was receiving an award from the league president.  Once again, you managed to escape from work for a couple of hours just to be with me.  In my childhood self absorption, I chose to spend the evening sitting with two of my friends, and left you sitting surrounded by people you didn’t know.  The morning after the banquet, mom took me aside and told me how upset you were.  That was the first time I realized that even a little boy like me could could wound a big man like you.  It’s a lesson I never forgot, and one that I took to heart with the birth of my own son.  

You commanded so much respect from those around you, but little did they know that you had a poor, alcoholic upbringing.  There is no doubt that you managed to build a life and a family even though the odds were stacked against you.  You battled your own demons of depression and alcoholism, but at no time did you allow them to destroy you.  One of the greatest regrets in my life is that you were not alive to help me battle those same demons.  Even though you are no longer here physically, I draw on the strength of your lesson daily, as I’m reminded that I am not my past, and that I have a choice to build any life I want.

You were an incredible paradox because to many, you were a man of commanding power and authority, but to the few who knew you dearly, you lived a very “small” life—You were most at ease when you were home surrounded by your children, and so you rarely traveled far afield and seldom were a guest in someone else’s house.  Maybe it was the simple fact that you came from “nothing” that served as a constant reminder that extravagance and comfort were not to be trusted.  As you lay dying of cancer in a palliative care unit at the age sixty, you taught me one more lesson before your passing.  I have come to treasure every moment I spend with my wife and son, and I’m ever so careful not to miss the opportunity to enjoy a “comfort” or “extravagance” with them while I’m still able.    

I love you dad, and I carry you wherever I go.

Your son

Like many men of his generation, my father was an enigma when it came to deciphering  the nuances of his moods.  He appeared to vacillate between being a practical joker and a moody depressive.  I can remember the frustration I felt as child trying to figure out why my father was in a bad mood, and more importantly, whether or not I was to blame.  Having a relationship with my dad was like going on a archaeological dig—It took a lot of time and patience to unearth what you were looking for.

Now that I am the father of a young man, I see that I too an guilty of slipping on that skin of enigma that my father so steadfastly wore.  The difference being, that I desperately want to cultivate an authentic relationship with my son, something I never achieved with my father.  There is no denying that we are a product of our childhood, but I don't believe this fact relegates us to a carbon-copy life replicating that which was imprinted on us during our childhood.  The definition of insanity is “doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting a different result”, so if I’m eager for change to happen, conscious action will be required on my part to break this stagnant perennial father-son relationship.  

Whenever we want to witness real change in our life, and I’m not talking here about “tweaking” or “tinkering” with breaking habits, we have to adopt the mentality that change does not come to us, but rather, we come to change.  An awareness that a change is necessary is a critical first step, but it’s just that—a step, not a destination.

This past year has been transformation for me because it has been a period of intense introspection precipitating drastic changes in my life.  As I step back and observe this process, I can note the few occasions in which I was able to bring about a significant change with the least amount of friction and the greatest possibility for success.  The desire for a change typically comes from a place of inferiority—often enmeshed in shame or perceived inequality.  I have found it helpful to put some positive thoughts, or self-talk, into my “emotional bank” before embarking on the process of bringing about a change in some facet of my life.  The easiest way for me to approach change from a place of strength and confidence is to ask myself a couple of self-affirming questions.  If you’re anything like me, you might find it helpful to write your answers down on a piece of paper.  There’s some alchemy that occurs when we physically write something, as it allows us to internalize that which we write.  Here are the questions I asked myself and the answers I recorded.

• What is your greatest strength—in other words—Why wouldn’t you be “voted off the island”?     I have a great sense of humour which allows me to defuse even the tensest of situations.

• What is your greatest accomplishment?   I have been able to stay clean and sober for over 17 years.  I am stronger than I give myself credit for.

• When it comes to making this change, what is your greatest FEAR—and by this I mean the acronym, “False Evidence Appearing Real”?    I am afraid that the type of “authentic” relationship I want to build with my son will somehow subvert the societal norm of a parent-child relationship, one in which a parent should not appear vulnerable.  The truth is that for me to cultivate the change I am seeking, vulnerability will be not only the catalyst but also the new “norm”.

It’s also important to note that any meaningful change in life comes with an inherent cost—You are bound to meet resistance or friction in others who feel uncomfortable with your metamorphosis.  Sadly, I’ve had to do a little people purging in my social circle, thereby surrounding myself with those who embrace my efforts and distancing myself from the naysayers.  We often sabotage any hope of change before we even begin because we allow all that negative self-talk to take over our consciousness.  If we are serious about making a change in our lives, the opportunity is always there for us to seize.  In the words of Henry Ford, “Whether you believe you can do or not, you are right.”

This past year it feels as though I’ve been moving parts of my life around on a giant jigsaw puzzle—Like any puzzle, some of the pieces just seem to slip in together logically, while others are harder to place, especially when I attempt to force them into where they don’t belong.  Having already figured out most of the puzzle, I’m left with the last few challenging pieces, that when properly placed, will bring the entire picture into perspective.  

I’ve known for quite some time that even though I’ve been working as a teacher for over a quarter century, it really was not my passion.  I’m feeling stagnant, and the little nagging spark in my soul has now become an all-consuming fire urging me to scale the walls of fear I’ve built around me.  In the words of Kurt Vonnegut, “To practice any art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow.”  It’s now clear to me that the next chapter of my life is set to begin, as it’s time for my soul to grow.

I recently watched great TedTalk by Russel Redenbaugh about overcoming adversity in your life.  For those of you unfamiliar with Redenbaugh, he lost his sight at the age of sixteen, and then went on to overcome severe poverty to graduate sixth in his class at the prestigious Wharton School.  His journey has taken him to managing a 6 billion dollar investment firm, sitting as Commissioner on the US Civil Rights Commission, and even more remarkable, becoming a Jujitsu world champion.  During his TedTalk, Redenbaugh professes that “adversity builds advantages”, and by learning to tap into that strength often interpreted as an insurmountable obstacle, we can shatter the boundaries that society puts up around us—Even more importantly, we can begin to tear down those self-sabotaging inferiority boundaries we erect ourselves.  

Crucial to Redenbaugh’s philosophy is what he refers to as the “power of declarations.”  When I look back upon this past year, every time I’ve successfully moved another piece of my jigsaw puzzle into place, it has always come on the heels of a personal declaration.  In the words of Redenbaugh, “Declarations precede leaps.”  My three core declarations this past year have been:  No longer be afraid.  No longer be ashamed.  and Place passion and mission first.

If declarations are so life altering, why haven't more of us taken advantage of their power?  I believe it comes down to the simple fact that most of us set our sights too low—and this is clearly evident in the vocabulary we choose.  How many times in your life have you set yourself a “goal”?  The dictionary defines a “goal” as an “objective” or “desired aim”.  In other words, it’s the destination of a journey.  What we fail to realize is that it’s a destination and not a “path” to that desire.  Is it any wonder many of us get lost along the way to that goal.  Another term that gets a lot of air time is the word “resolution”.  When we face the clean slate of a New Year ahead of us, it’s so tempting to make a list of “resolutions”, but what is actually taking place when we make these?  The dictionary defines “resolution” as “a firm decision to do or not to do something.”  It’s very personal, and quite often, never spoken aloud.  By their very nature, resolutions lack the failsafe aspect of accountability because no one else is there to monitor our adherence and transgressions.  Compare these two words to a “declaration”, which the dictionary describes as “an explicit announcement of the beginning of a state or condition, a proclamation.”  The author Kelly Corrigan expresses this beautifully by saying, “You have to speak your dream out loud.”  Our words hold a power, and by giving our voice to them, we can initiate change in our lives—Where we often fall short is by limiting the scope of our declarations.  

I sat down with a pen and paper a few days ago and came up with five categories of declarations, and drafted one personal declaration for each.  By sharing these with you here, I am adding a “voice” to my declarations and putting faith in their ability to precede the next leap in my life.  

One Holistic Declaration
Vulnerability is not weakness; in fact, it’s strength without wings.

One Physical or Health Declaration
I will escape from the vicious cycle of self hate that I initiate by gorging on food, typically sweets, only to beat myself up later with messages of self hate.  Over the years I’ve used food to fill an emptiness inside of me as I’ve battled with the demons of depression and drug/alcohol addiction.  

One Relationship or Family Declaration
As of today, I will now value “authenticity” in my relationships over blood ties and history.  I am learning that “family” is not a construct of those with whom you are connected by birth.  Family can construe anyone who nourishes my soul—Those who challenge and support me.  

One Career Declaration
I will no longer settle for the comfort of being “competent” in my job.  The next chapter of my working life with be a manifestation of that which “makes my heart sing.”

The Final Declaration:  One “story” about you that you will “put to bed” once and for all.
For most of my life, I’ve viewed myself as “weak” because I didn’t have the courage to tell people that I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, that I struggle with mental health issues, and that I have a history of drug and and alcohol addiction.  The truth is that for the first time in my life, I am realizing that I am not weak—In fact, I’m resilient.

I invite you to find a quiet place and sit down and draft your own list of life-altering declarations—You never know where they may lead you.  I’ll close by sharing the words of the award winning author Neil Gaiman:  “The only thing that you have that nobody else has is you.  Your voice, your mind, your story, your vision.  So write and draw and build and play and dance and live as only you can.”

I was watching the evening news a few years back, and towards the end of the broadcast they played an interview with a feisty elderly couple who were celebrating their 75th wedding anniversary.  When asked what the secret was to the incredible longevity of their marriage, the husband got a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he responded:  “The secret to our happy marriage is that we have sex almost every day.  We “almost” have it on Monday… we “almost” have it on Tuesday… we “almost” have it on Wednesday…” I still giggle when I picture how shocked the interviewer was at this response from this little old man.  

I’m blessed to have been married to the same incredible lady for over 27 years, and I too would credit the longevity of our marriage to that same word--almost.  We go to bed each night with the belief that we’ve “almost” built the “perfect” relationship, and what keeps us going is the belief that tomorrow will bring another day to get us closer to achieving that.  For a relationship to be fulfilling, it needs space to grow, evolve, and change.  My wife and I are not the same people who married each other so very long ago, but we have had the faith to jump into the abyss together.

Robert C. Dodds said, “The goal of marriage is not to think alike, but to think together.”  So much wisdom is hidden in those few simple words.  A lot of relationships fail because people enter them expecting the other person to somehow “complete” them—to be their “missing piece”, or some strange romantic alchemy that transforms two independent people into one loving being.  This quote from Dodds resonates with me because it turns that coalescing notion of relationship formation on its head.  The couple is not growing into one, but instead, “thinking” together.  I also identify with the analogy of what is commonly referred to as the “marriage box”.  The premise is that we approach marriage, or any other long-term relationship, like a box.  In the early days of the relationship, the box is full of trinkets and treasures, but these quickly disappear and lose their sparkle. For the relationship to continue to thrive, each partner has to contribute to the box.  I’ve also heard an analogy made to the Dead Sea and the Sea of Galilee.  Because no water feeds into the Dead Sea, nothing flourishes in the environment; unlike the Sea of Galilee, not far away, that teems with beauty and life as it is constantly refreshed by new waters.

Surprisingly, what you won’t find in your “marriage box” are the staples of any healthy relationship:  romance, companionship, love, laughter, and security—These are not even found in our partner, but are brought forth in each one of us when we commit to building a relationship.  What we place in the box is what our partner needs, not what we need.  There will be times in every relationship when one partner takes out more than (s)he puts in—This is not sustainable indefinitely, and ultimately is the demise of many relationships.  

In a previous post, I wrote about intimacy and how it is often confused with romance.  If you were to plot your relationship on graph, you’d be able to see how romance tends to wax and wane, but intimacy is the coal that keeps the fire of love burning.  I’ve been reading a lot recently about the different stages of relationships, and it’s helped me to identify four distinct stages in my marriage.
 
1.  Sweaty palms and beating hearts
There’s no denying the mind-body buzz of utter infatuation, and how it drowns out the “white noise” of the world spinning around us.  This honeymoon phase of every relationship is tinged with an air of invincibility, as both partners tend to make compromises that once seemed unfathomable.  The bitter reality is that this stage is unsustainable, if only for the sheer exhaustion it induces.  I can remember sitting up night after night with my wife when we first started dating, and then both of us crawling into work and school on only a few hours sleep.  I fear that a diet rich in Hollywood romantic comedies, coupled with the prevalence of internet pornography, has given many young people today the idea that this phase of relationship goes on indefinitely.  

2.  Taking off the rose-colored glasses
One morning you wake up and you realize that you’ve come crashing down to earth and your head is no longer in the stars.  I call this second act the “discovery phase”, which is characterized by a period of negotiation and compatibility calibration.  For any relationship to have longevity, there needs to be mundane discussion about who does what and when.  In my marriage, these are the times when little acts of kindness become echoes of love and caring.  There is something to be said about letting down your guard in front of your partner and seeing each other for who you really are.  Maybe sweatpants really are the new lingerie!  

3.  Entering a pocket of turbulence
“Life happens” to the best of us, and being in a long-term relationship does not insulate you from periods of discord, pain, and hurt.  It’s easy to be in love when everything is humming along perfectly, but it takes real commitment to weather the storms of relationship dissonance.  This is the period when you need to have faith in where you are going as a couple, and you will need to continue contributing to the “marriage box” even when it’s the last thing you feel like doing.  We all face two choices in this phase:  rebellion and confrontation, or what Buddhists refer to as “benign acceptance”.  The one truth I’ve learned in our marriage is that for love to survive, there can be no “winner” or “loser” in times of strife.  I remind myself that I didn’t marry my wife for “yesterday”—I married her for “today” and “tomorrow”.  

4.  Recovery and co-creation
If you hold on long enough to pass through various pockets of turbulence, you find yourself in what I consider to be the most transformative and beautiful phase of any relationship—synergy of recommitment to your love.  When I look back on the 27 years I’ve been married, it’s clear to me that our relationship became stronger immediately after weathering another rough patch.  Just like my wedding ring doesn’t look as shiny as the day my wife put it on my finger, I must admit all the dings and scratches in my wedding ring remind me of the incredible journey I’m building with my partner.