of all the shit people say, the shit yogis say is my favourite..

Parenting requires a lot of patience...it is not a simple task...a constant endeavour, an opportunity for growth. We often think of children as another kind of person, not as little people just trying to figure this place out, which is what they are...tiny, hungry, curious, short-tempered, extremely literal, more demanding versions of ourselves...
Some days it's easy to get down on ourselves as parents - especially when we lose our patience. We start to feel as if we're failing them, letting ourselves down and sometimes, on those - you know - really mind-bending days... we can even watch as the picture-perfect version of the kind of the parent we thought we would be walks out the front door in protest of negotiating yet another round of  MINE!

Because we didn't know, we think we were wrong; because we think we are wrong, we grow irritated; because we are irritated, we lose our patience.. and because we do that...well, just about anything can happen. I've been known to lecture (annoying), to take away the object of affection (backwards), to leave the room and put my faith in Darwin (cold), to raise my voice (pointless) and when the going gets really rough, I've even succumbed to a blatant refusal to cut the crusts off their PB & Js... (how...um, childish).

I have sat on my kitchen floor before and stared at the all the hand prints along the cupboards and wondered if I was really cut out for this mothering gig. How does anyone ever know if they're doing it right? I know many of you have done the same thing..maybe in the bathroom, maybe at the car wash or perhaps in the change room at the nearest department store while you struggled to clean up poop and simultaneously keep a toddler from tearing every single bra off the store rack...it can be embarrassing, it can be agony and it can torment your sense of survival - ALL - in one day.

I love my children more than sunshine. I know they love me. But sometimes, I stop and wonder, "is it all really soaking in?... is there really any point in me telling them to play nice or sit straight or to... Stop.Saying.Like!" Most days, it's a shot in the dark, but then sometimes, once in a while..or on a full moon, something happens and tonight was one of those nights. Sequoia had to unwrap her hoop for rhythmic gymnastics - a trying, time-consuming and sticky job. It was past her bed time, she'd been up since 5am this morning for training, just finished two hours of homework and dinner at 7pm and there she sat in a kitchen chair, desperately picking away at the gummy, tough tape. As I hurried to tidy the kitchen so that I could help her, I thought for sure her eyes would simply fall like giant marbles right out of her head and roll across the floor...

"I'll do it for you," I said and begged her to get to bed, but she refused. Suddenly and to my surprise, Liam  - brother and arch enemy - emerged from his cozy, warm bed and asked, "can I help you?"
"Okay... I guess." was the gracious, shrug-accompanied reply. ("Yes Please" and "Thank You" don't yet fully register in her vocabulary.) And, as I slowly turned around from the sink what I saw were my children working together to accomplish a task neither of them really wanted to be doing. Without complaining. Without fighting.

After a few minutes I went over and joined them and together we picked, chipped, cut, pulled and tugged at that tape. 45 minutes of laughter (and internal cursing on my part) later we were done and it took all three of us. When we got to the last piece of tape, Liam insisted that we all pull it off together.

The now plain white hoop had brought us together in a circle with a common goal and the accomplishment of that brought all of us joy. It made we wonder if in today's world where it's so easy to find a family sharing a room but each person staring at a different, individual screen, where we are constantly busy and driven to go places and do things, that it is the simplest of tasks that we miss. If in the old days when families would sit around the fire at night, or in the seventies when they would play a game of Yahtzee together instead of individually  texting or gaming, would that bring a greater sense of closeness and understanding between siblings?

As I wondered these things, there was a cry from the bathroom: "Leeeee-Am, DON'T!!" Nothing like a little reality to snap me out of my idealistic ponderings...but I have to admit, it was nice while it lasted.

In the past two days I've had - and then lost - five terrific article ideas... after forgetting my most recent brilliant idea a mere two hours ago, it's occurring to me now that I might need a new system. Clearly at 36 my memory isn't as reliable as it was at 26 and it's a real shame because it seems wrong that things like memory should get worse with age... The passing of time should make us stronger, smarter and more brave, but it seems this isn't always, if often, the case.

As I write this I'm sitting in a cafe known to any Vancouverite - Benny's on West Broadway is a small, two storey, rustic and unpretentious icon in the Kitsilano community. Benny's is known for its bagels, late hours and unique art. I haven't been here in at least ten years, yet at one time in my life this was the place my friends and I would camp and discuss how we would one day change the world to better suit our needs. Though I can remember the laughter, the occasional tears and a few, precious awkward moments, I cannot actually recall the content of any conversation in particular. I recognize the stained glass Jesus over the front door - still holding a rather, large joint - the wooden floors, doors and tables....I recognize the sound of youth that surrounds me at this moment but what is new to me is myself, sitting here no different than before, but with nothing familiar about me.

Ten to fifteen years ago as we sat here sometimes through the night, with our cigarettes and our poetry, we never wondered what it would be like when we were forty. We didn't have iPhones or laptops with us; Mark Zuckerberg had not been named the most influential person of 2010 by Time magazine; Facebook didn't really exist. In fact, email was something that was still spoken of with amusement ...it was a different time.

It makes me wonder in what other ways the past decade has changed us. Even though I'm not as naive as I once was, have all those Facebook updates made me any wiser? It would be hard to imagine that getting one's heart broken, giving birth to children and building a business haven't inspired some level of growth; however what I mostly see in myself and in others is life making us more mature and responsible...not to be confused with wiser or more self-aware.

I live in a world where people "have everything" - a life with a job, a partner, couple of kids, couple of cars... A.Life.That.Makes.Sense.

We have allowed ourselves to be vulnerable in love and life to get this point, but the goal it seems, has been to find security - not adventure. This is the daily grind of desperately seeking ordinary: it is the security of a mortgage, a boss and a school calendar that fences us into routine. Every day lived within this security blanket is lived within the confines of a very structured, typically suburban and globally unique articulated way of life.

I might not be able to remember all of my conversations of inspired youth, but I know none of them had to do with a life of sensibility or mortgage payments...maybe that's why I don't update my Facebook status very often.. what is there really to say?

...

An hour later I was down the street in a hot yoga room, sweating out my unfound self when it occurred to me that maybe none of us really ever know the answers to who we are or why we are here...maybe that's why we all try so hard to give each other and ourselves the impression that we do...mostly in very material, superficial ways...

Financial security does give the impression of stability and confidence, but I often wonder if we confuse having stuff with knowing stuff? When I was young, I had nothing and thought I knew everything. I knew what I wanted from life and it had nothing to do with credit ratings. It had to do with experiencing life unbound by these things.

Now I have so much and at times, feel like I know nothing. It gives me and some of my friends, anxiety. It's depressing. And, maybe that is why more than half the yoga room is filled with those of us over 35.. one day we wake up and realize that life has taken over and we aren't sure we like it. We need to stop, connect with who we are again and one breath at a time, find that strength, those memories and take the opportunity to reconnect to the life we really wanted...a life we want to Facebook about.  

Perhaps it isn't just passing the time that makes us more courageous and self-actualized; perhaps we need to be experiencing minutes and hours in a way that keeps us facing fear rather than turning away from it. Maybe I don't need a new system as it seems to me at this very moment that the systems are what keep getting in my way. If I was more in the moment again so that when I had an idea, I stopped and wrote it down instead of worrying that I might be a few minutes late, I wouldn't lose those moments one can never recreate...no matter how good the system.

...

A week later I was back in Benny's with an old friend. He and I have lived very different lives over the decade that has passed since we last sat here, poetry and cigarettes in hand.

Though he has never married or had a family, ironically, he finds himself in many ways in a similar place to myself. ...searching for meaning, lacking enthusiasm about the" best years of our lives", feeling inwardly lost despite outward purpose and success. It really makes me wonder, what does it take to be fulfilled and happy?

How do we ever know when we are on the right path? Will we ever find out if we cannot be brave enough to leap over fences at any age and try new things?

Age can be a mental block. The best years of our lives are probably not lived sequentially but rather, when we are 110, we will be able to look back and pick out certain years throughout our lives that were the best... a few from our youth, at least two from our thirties and possibly many more from our forties, fifties and beyond...I don't think there will be "a time" in our lives, as in a particular decade, that overshadows all other times completely, but there will be years, like certain vintages of wine, that stand out and remind us that we were brave, we listened to our hearts and effected the kind of change in our lives that brought us forward to another level of fulfillment and happiness. The kind of happiness that can only come from being really true to ourselves, no matter how old.

I've been thinking a lot about worth lately. Such as, how do we ever really know when something we buy is worth the money we pay for it? How do we know when a new endeavor is worth the effort? We say to each other all the time that, nothing good or rewarding is ever easy... but does this mean that all good things must be hard and, for that matter, expensive?

When I was a teenager, my best friend and I used to argue all the time about the difference between the cost of something and its worth. I was (and still am) convinced that you couldn't get quality - in design or craftsmanship - without paying for it. She, a tall, sophisticated and gorgeous girl with infinite style, vehemently disagreed with me. Simone would shake her head at me for spending a month's babysitting wages on one shirt...in fact, I distinctly remember the words "are you crazy?" coming out of her mouth on more than one occasion.

Simone was a bargain hunter and yet, in spite of this, always looked posh. It drove me crazy. The truth is, at a young age, she was the smarter of the two of us. Her closet was much bigger than mine and I wore a lot of the same sweaters and dresses repeatedly... but somehow, even then I preferred the 'less is more' idea, especially when those few items were worth it to me. What I felt about designer labels was that somehow there was an authenticity involved... If someone is willing to put their personal name on a product, they must believe it to be great....and every once in a while iconic labels like Chanel become cultural representations of an entire generation of women inspired by Coco Chanel's own authenticity.

To this day I seek out authenticity... but the rules have changed and the dilemma of worth vs cost has increasingly become more complicated and, at times, challenging to figure out. I recently purchased a new vehicle and was adamant that I get the Vienna leather seats. Sure, the name sounds lovely and reminds me of Europe... but the alternative: "leatherette"... even though it looked the same, made me feel like I'd be driving around in an imitative version of my new car... so I opted to wait six weeks until one with the leather was available. Authentic. Just the way I like it... or so I thought...

When I recently told Simone this same story, expecting a laugh, she responded with, "so... only a half a dozen cows had to die for your authenticity." I was shocked. Was I the cold-hearted bitch who slaughtered animals for the luxurious pleasure of soft, subtle leather under her ass?

Truth was I had never considered this side of the authentic equation. I had been focused on not wanting an imitation. A fake. A knock off. But instead, what I was being faced with was a knock off on my own values - or lack thereof. What does it mean to be authentic in a world where organic is better than conventional? vegetarian is better than free-range? vegan is better than vegetarian? and my leather seats were rendering me evil and shallow below all levels of socially conscious consumerism?

Did it matter that I bought a Diesel with amazing fuel economy that was good for the environment? I suppose I could have scored some points with this, but the truth is, while I may have nodded in approval when the salesman mentioned this fact, the true joy for me was the knowing that I would have more money to spend on Italian leather shoes...

While it seemed that 'cold-hearted bitch' and I were becoming rather well acquainted.... I decided to spend some time, instead of money, reflecting on some of the choices I make on a regular basis. After a couple of days of intense observation and distracted yoga sessions, where I wondered where it is written that yogis can't eat their steak too, I realized that worth, depending on who you are, has many different definitions...

For example, one of the most important things to me is that things last a long time...consider my brown leather boots, the ones I cherished for nearly six years and only this year replaced with a new pair, how I wore them every Autumn and Winter and how each year until the last, they looked better and better. I could have had six synthetic pairs and environmentally speaking, not necessarily made the wiser choice.

I could go on in defence of my Vienna leather and Prada lust.... I could, for example, point out that I buy 70% organic groceries, always recycle and double up on sweaters before turning the furnace up...that I am vehemently opposed to big box stores and support local businesses whenever I can, even if it costs more; I remember my cloth bags and buy recycled paper for the office... but even though I refuse to eat veal or lamb, I'm not vegetarian and am desperately pining for a black leather jacket...

Whilst Simone has grown to enjoy the occasional designer label almost as much as me, when it comes to labels, we still see things differently. She would choose a vegan Matt & Nat handbag over leather even though it costs as much or more, but the value system built into the brand is worth it to her. I respect her for that...and yet, while Simone loves shopping for deals in large chain stores - stocked with goods made in China by its most underpaid labourers and shipped across the world on bohemoth environmental disasters - I have no interest in this experience at all...

Amidst all these differences between us, it seems clear that since we were last of babysitting age, the issues that surround our purchasing choices have definitely become more complicated and vast..we all walk a line and every once in a while we need to reflect upon it.

The truth is I don't always know what is right and I don't actually always weigh the values of every purchase...
I buy organic milk at three times the cost because I know how bad the hormones in conventional milk are for our children - worth it.
I buy premium Earl Grey tea because the cheap stuff taste like shit - worth it.
And, I buy leather, not because it is more expensive, but because although you can still look posh in pleather, it isn't' real to me. When you put a 'p' in front of the word and call it pleather... it's like putting a mask on. Whether the 'p' stands for plastic or pretend, it's purely a pathetic attempt to prove that it is as good as leather, which it will never be. If plastic wants my respect, it should stop trying to be something that it isn't because the moment anyone or anything does that, the joy of being with it is gone forever.

I'm not sure if it's always worth it to pay more and I'm not sure that every Designer is worth their weight in salt, but I do know what it's worth when you experience something that makes you feel good and happy, sometimes maybe even inspired. Do my leather seats make me feel better about myself? Not at all. But, I realized the they also don't make me feel worse. Are they worth the extra cost? Absolutely. Are they worth the guilt...? I realize, I don't have any... What inspires me is not the leather, but the friend who was willing to call me on my shit and love me in spite of it...so perhaps the greatest worth I found in this endeavour was the realization that I can put my name next to hers and know that the friendship is authentic - really worth it.

Ask any woman about the value of a great hair stylist and she will surely agree that the worth of having one is greater than any cost involved. Women will do almost anything for fabulous hair...the value...is immeasurable - the worth of fabulous hair is priceless. The ideal stylist may charge $60 or $600, but if they know you well, treat you like a best friend and are incredibly talented at making you look fantastic, cost and value cease to be related. Clearly, the worth of such a treasure far outweighs the cost.

Now reverse that. What is the value of a good customer? Someone who regularly patrons your business - such as your salon - and does so by spending hundreds of dollars every time she comes in, tells her friends all about where she found such amazing products and loyally returns to the same place cut after cut... Without a doubt, it costs the owner money to run the business and keep customers happy... and, as with any business, there will be times when a bit of extra cost is involved but is outweighed by the reward of having such loyal, happy customers.

Good stylists must be paid well, salons need good atmosphere and great products - all of this costs... But, what about that great customer? What is that great customer worth? And, when they are unhappy, what are you willing to do to maintain their worth to your business? ...hmmmm, obviously there is a story here...and it all started one month ago at just such a salon.. there was me in my own most determined way to always have fabulous hair, and my stylist and one simple conversation that at first, seemed to be all about worth, but we'll get there...

Today as I drove away from this same salon, I was surprised to find myself unusually less than enthusiastic about my hair, without so much as a blip in my ego or any greater sense of sexiness upon me. How fucking disappointing! Once again I'd spent around $300 on getting my hair cut, streaked, styled and, of course, a generous tip, but unlike previous visits where I felt happy and rewarded for spending my hard-earned money on this usually, most joyous of occasions, I left feeling deflated, ripped off and - the worst - unappreciated...

It all started one month ago.... on my previous visit. Whilst fully immersed in the smell of hair toner and the energy of of those around me who were all vibrating with the excitement of  "a new look", my thoughts of perfect side-swept bangs were briefly interrupted when my stylist asked me how I was enjoying the new conditioner I had bought ($29). ...oh... that stuff, I thought to myself. Should I lie and not tell her that the texture made me feel like I was putting cum in my hair? Or should I tell her the truth? That paying over $30 for a tiny bottle of "superior" conditioner had left me feeling that butter would have been a better option for my money...? Finally, I opted for a gentler version of the truth.

I told her that I was surprisingly disappointed by it. Unlike the other products I'd tried from this salon and loved, this conditioner was runny, like (ahem) milk.. She was shocked and apologized profusely. "Oh, it must be a bad batch," she insisted.

"Bring it in with you next time and we'll exchange it," she insisted.

"But I've (tried to) used a lot of it," I said.

"No problem," she said. "We will get you a new one. Just bring it back." OK. Point taken. I was worth more as a customer than the cost of a new bottle of conditioner. As it should be. Great.

So...today I returned with the half empty bottle of conditioner and was anticipating delight at trying the proper product. Problem was, I didn't receive the same consideration on today's visit that I had when I first told her about the conditioner. Today, I was met with sideways glances and peculiar questions like, "why is so much of it gone?" and, "why didn't you come back sooner?"

Suddenly, I felt the need to explain myself. As if I was trying to get something I didn't deserve. Explaining how busy I was and reminding her of what was told to me last time, I quickly felt my sense of worth fading and eventually ceased to exist when I was told that the product was too old to return. My sense of value had been replaced with feeling like a cheap, bargain hunter hoping for something I wasn't supposed to receive. The cost of the conditioner was clouding my stylist's and the salon manager's ability to look beyond the loss of worth that would result from this transaction.

After a few feeble sentences where I tried to remind them that I wouldn't have brought it in if they hadn't insisted and that I really didn't care if they exchanged it or not, I stopped talking altogether. I was stunned. As a business owner myself, I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that this salon owner was going to belittle and refuse to make happy the thousands of potential future dollars that stood before her simply asking, "am I not worth a proper product?"

Of course, yes.. I could have raised my voice. I could have made a fuss and threatened to tell everyone I know, but seriously, what is the point? I know hundreds of people in this town and I possess a set of Stylists' names the length of my eight year old's Christmas list who have been recommended to me...most of whom I wanted to try but have been too loyal to seek out. Clearly...my bad. It made me wonder, in today's world of constant change.. what are the rules for breaking up with a stylist?

I drove to my favourite cafe replaying this turn of events in my mind and to my amazement, immediately pulled out my iPhone and booked an appointment with a new stylist at a fabulous salon on the other side of town, because even though the salon I had just left had temporarily lost sight of my worth as a customer, I hadn't. And besides, the experience of getting my hair done is much too rewarding to waste it somewhere where cost is confused with worth.