Finding My Groove: From the Dark Green Forests, to the Cold White Arctic

I have this vision for myself when I write. I see myself in a small cabin surrounded by kilometres and kilometres of dark green forests, and the subtle sounds of birds singing so eloquently that their songs can only be heard if I listen for them. I imagine I am sitting at my desk in front of a large picture window. Occasionally I glance out the window, just one look rejuvenates me. The words I write always illustrate the great freedom I am feeling every time I breathe the inspiring tranquility that surrounds me. This imagery is all I need to keep my pen to my paper, or my fingers to the keys. The environment I write in can be anywhere: a busy office or cubicle, a crowded noisy library, my personal office at home or even on a big bus with a notepad. There is something liberating for me that emanates from blank pages that will soon be covered in words. Writing feels like freedom. Sharing my words with others is exciting. I write in hopes that readers will experience the same feelings I did when I filled those blank pages one thought at a time.

Writing is not merely mushy feelings and birds singing; there are many types of writing. I recall writing an essay on climate change and not knowing anything about the topic. In order to simplify the topic I decided to narrow my perspective slightly and focus on a specific issue of climate change: polar bears. I was always fascinated with their massive size and their intimidating presence. I find something courageous about an animal trekking alone in the cold blowing snow of Earth’s most northern region, trusting itself to go the right direction with every step it takes. By narrowing my topic in the essay from climate change, to the effects of climate change on polar bears, the essay suddenly seemed more manageable. Like the polar bear navigating through the Arctic with a purpose, I now had a direction; I was no longer wandering.

As I began my research, the proverbial doors began to open. One fact led to another fact and in a very short period of time, the essay was practically writing itself. This left me with a great feeling. I began the essay early, so I would have time to revise, and it was a good choice. By the time I handed the work in, my essay was a representation of the dedication I used to write it. My final mark on the essay was 85 percent (I think!). At the risk of sounding cliché, I remember the feeling of accomplishment I got when the instructor handed back my work. I felt I did a great job and so did she. The instructor even asked me to email her a copy so she could use it as an example in her future classes.

Looking back on the essay in the above example, I realize I was enjoying the work because I focused on what I wanted to accomplish. Realizing any goal means knowing what you want to accomplish. Focusing on what I want automatically sets my pace and forces me into the type of groove that inspired this page of words. I look forward to the many blank pages that await me tomorrow.

Sunday Drivin'

We veer left off the number 10 highway somewhere west of Balcarres; we head south. The paved road did not take long to transform into a dirty, dusty back road. An upcoming junction in the dust indicates a decision had to be made, and it was. Had we not gone east we would have drove to the Motherwell Heritage site: a stone house and farming property that has become an important piece of the Canadian historical puzzle for reasons beyond my understanding and knowledge, despite having gone there on a field trip in Mrs. Edwards’ grade four class over a decade ago. But there was no time for Motherwell, not today – that’s for sure. After one more turn, we head south once again.

Dusk grasps onto the hills of the surrounding valleys for as long as its grip could hold – 20 minutes, maybe. We pick up speed and kick up dirt seeming reluctantly certain that we are going the right direction. Guided by our faith and a dirt road, the crunch of gravel beneath the tires of the red 2008 Impala slows as the trail dives and twists downwards. I slip ‘er into third . . . “Whoops! That’s neutral . . . There we go.” I slip ‘er into third.

Anybody who says South Saskatchewan has got nothing to see hasn’t driven through the grid road valleys on the cusp of clear and colourful sunset. Orange, amber and if your lucky, even purple; colours so brilliant that the greatest poet would not dare to rhyme them. The scenery is vivid; I continually remind myself to keep my eyes on the road. We carry on through the dips and dust, trusting whatever direction the road steers us.

Finally, the dirt trail straightens for the time being. Confident and calm from the soothing sunset’s subtle withdrawal only minutes ago, our speed increases. On either side of the road we can see hidden farm houses through the tall trunks of their matured shelterbelts.

“WHOA!” Out of the trees dashes a big brown animal! I jerk the steering wheel left but fear it’s too late. We’re going to smash into it. Will we be okay? Will the car be okay? I accept that I am about to kill some kind of wild beast with big shoulders. There is going to be damage to the car. These thoughts and more circulate through my brain within the fraction of a second it took for this drama to unfold. It's a dog; a Rottweiler. We pass by without hitting it, but the swerve at high speeds on loose gravel and the shock induced screams from the two of us were humbling to say the least. The fear and panic of this heart-stopping moment spawns laughter. The near death experience suddenly becomes uncontrollably hysterical. Our laughter intensifies.

This triggers a flashback for Jody, my beautiful wife, passenger and part time navigator to my right. Suddenly she remembers that road. She remembers that farm house, she even remembers that dog. For her it’s like déjà vu. Apparently, the dog is so familiar with his driveway that he can run full speed towards the road and stop on a dime without actually being in the way of traffic. I am telling you, it was inches from the car before it stopped.

Even more determined than before to find our way, we continue driving; still occasionally chuckling. It is dark now and I can see us approaching another valley. The entrance to this valley is not very steep, causing us to slowly engulf ourselves in its depth and darkness. The lower we get the darker the night grows. We see one car in the distance travelling on another road, perhaps on a Sunday drive of their own; it is refreshing to see that sign of life.

The curvaceous dusty trail leads us across a bridge, then across another. Jody begins reminiscing again about how she used to close her eyes because of the steep incline that we are approaching. It was very steep; I could see why it would frighten a weary young girl. She points left and remarks that the road used to be over there when she was a kid; now wild prairie foliage grows in its place. We climb the new road and out of the dark valley without looking back, knowing for certain that we are being led in the right direction, truly confident and moving forward.

It’s after 10 pm. Lights from the Trans Canada Highway can be seen as the empowering horizon quickly draws nearer. “It’s good to know these back roads”, says Jody referring once more to a childhood memory. We had survived our Sunday evening adventure. Unpredictable, unforgettable, beautiful, treacherous and even hilarious: this is our journey. It may be the road less travelled but I would not want it any other way.

The Obama Effect: Fill in the Blank

This morning on my way to my first class I made sure to randomly greet strangers with the phrase: Happy Barack Obama Day! I noticed different reactions every time I said it. Some laughed, others gave me the same greeting back, another seemed to ignore me all together. The part that urked me to say the least is the very last greeting I gave.

I was walking through a narrow hallway as middle aged woman was walking towards my direction. As we crossed paths I said: Happy Barack Obama Day! Her response was unlike any I had heard that day.

She said: Pfft . . . How long will he last?

I said: Eight years of course.

Her next response: Yah Right.

This urked me to say the least and I went to class a little disturbed. If Obama has taught us anything it should be that the race of somebody is not important, so I will not mention the race of this woman. However, both her responses left a sour taste in my mouth.

I do not know if Obama will bring true change to a free world that seems to be on the edge of peril but I hope he does. The woman in the hallway did not believe in Obama. She may have hoped that Obama will make a difference in some portion of her soul but she did not believe it enough to get excited about it.

That right there is the problem. People are lazy and scared. They don't want to believe in change because they are afraid of what this chnage may bring. Change is always happening, even as I add words to the screen and even as you read them. However, when I asked many people during the election: What will Obama change? I was never really given a straight answer. What do we need to change?

I will tell you . . .

We, as a continent (North America) need to change our lives. We need to change our priorities. We need to change what's cool and what's not cool. Barack Obama has made politics very cool for a lot of people who never would have paid attention before. This trend must continue, not just in politics but in all aspects of life.

Don't be that pessimistic woman in the hallway. Claim the world in the name of change and begin as soon as possible. The best way to change is to learn new things.

I encourage all people to learn. Read. Write. Claim victory on knowledge.

Learning to love learning is a love I learned to love.