I grew up during as time when the wearing of bicycle helmets wasn’t really a thing. And how could it be? I couldn’t wear a helmet while wearing earphones to my walkman, now could I? This was long before the advent of earbuds but honestly, as long as I was wearing a ball cap to protect my scalp from the sun and I was home before dark, my parents never imposed the wearing of a bike helmet. These days? Depending on the community you live in, the requirement of a bike helmet may be law. But there isn’t a day where I don’t see multiple people cycling in heavy traffic areas without a helmet.
It is what it is. Some people are more apt to follow rules and best practices than others. But the curious thing is, what purpose does a bike helmet serve? If you’re a young child and you happen to topple sideways on your bike, a helmet may save your skull from cracking on the edge of a sidewalk; no question. But whether you’re a child or an adult, you’re helmet won’t save you from any significant incident, such as getting struck by a moving car. This makes one wonder why it’s considered so necessary on most cases. And this post is about all of those little “rules,” not just bicycle helmets.
The reason behind certain rules and regulations isn’t always clear. And more often than not, it can seem unnecessary and perhaps even excessive. Especially if you find yourself on the receiving end of a penalty in relation to any of it. One good example is last week, when I was issued a traffic ticket for performing an “illegal” turn. I won’t get into the specifics of the ticket, other than to say that I definitely performed the alleged action, and the section of legislation does render it unlawful. So I really can’t argue the traffic ticket. But I couldn’t help but feel that I had done nothing wrong or unsafe and that being issued a ticket because of it was rather ridiculous.
The point behind today’s particular rant, is that even though it seemed perfectly safe and acceptable to me, doesn’t mean that it would be to everyone. In most cases, an incident likely occurred that led to that action becoming unlawful. By that logic, it becomes important for people to observe those laws and abide by them. Not only for their own safety, but the safety of others. At the risk of opening my comments section up to a plethora of argumentative points of view, this concept applies to a lot of rules, regulations and laws that are being enacted in response to the current state of the world. Some of them may seem unfair or excessive, but they all have the aim to protect and safeguard the population as a whole.
Most people can’t discern the difference between their “rights” and doing “what’s right.” The two often don’t go hand-in-hand and don’t always apply to one another. And sometimes, we need to abide by certain rules in order for society to continue to function normally. This is the cost of living in a modern society where we live in mass gathering of populated towns and cities. I’m quite certain that if a vehicle clips me while I’m out cycling, my helmet likely won’t do a damn thing to save me. Just like wearing a face mask “may” do nothing for me or the people around me. But I acknowledge two things: the first is that I can still observe my rights as a person while abiding by the rules. The second is that it costs me nothing, which tends to make peoples’ theatrics over most of these issues more than a bit ridiculous. this is why you’ll always see me do both those things, so long as it’s required of me. Food for thought… ☯️
It’s a dark, warm morning. The alarm blares loudly at 3 am, shaking me out of a fitful sleep and summons me to begin the routine I require before making my way to the airport to start the first leg of the my trip home. I shower, shave and pack my meager backpack as best I can, seeing that there are a few few snack and drink items I had purchased at my arrival on Sunday that I won’t be able to bring onto the aircraft. Always loathe to waste food to money, I hesitate as I leave the items behind, cognizant that they wouldn’t‘ make it past the security check in. My last energy drink, which I cracked open as soon as the alarm went off, will be fully consumed before I check in. I step out into the morning’s latent heat, which surprises me a little, since the sun’s not up. But it’s already 18 degrees Celsius and the local forecast promises a hot day with minimal clouds. There should be no inherent issues with my initial flight out of New Brunswick. Let the shit show begin…
Second to last name from the bottom, but it’s always nice to be recognized.
My travels of the previous day went by relatively easily. I travelled down to Bathurst to visit Sensei’s son Guillaume using the old highway, which takes a little over an hour to drive through, versus the highway which would have only taken forty minutes. But when visiting a Maritime province, part of the journey is enjoying as much of the ocean as one can. Hence, I drove along the coastal line. The houses, rolling grass hills and open ocean were sights to behold. I sang pleasantly along with the music in my car, content on the moment and trying not to dwell on the long day I would endure tomorrow. As I reached Bathurst, I wandered out to a small place called Middle River, which is where Guillaume resides. We enjoyed some good conversation, a few laughs and memories, and even discussed our recent 30-year high school reunion, which neither of us attended. Given that we chatted for almost two hours and it was already 3 o’clock in the afternoon, I got back on the road, fervently aware that I still had a couple of hours of tetanus time ahead of me.
I hammered down the highway in an attempt to make the best time to Moncton that I could. Sure, I wasn’t going anywhere once I got there and would mainly be hitting up the hotel and crashing. But I was very aware of the 40-minute detour I would encounter in Miramichi as a result of the Centennial bridge closure, which would require me to cut westward then come across a causeway bridge. This was the only other access through the area, so ALL traffic was diverted to this location. It was an absolute nightmare. I based the forty minutes delay on my arrival on Sunday, forgetting the detail that it was 9 pm when I drove through. This time, it was about 4:30 in the afternoon on a weekday, and many people were already commuting home from work. My the time I cleared the bridge and got back on the main highway, I had lost over an hour. Tired and frustrated, I stopped at gas station along the main drag and managed to find two slices of meat pizza and a bottle of soda for only $6. Unaware of when I had ever seen such a cheap meal option, I pounced. I got back on the road and ate my pizza in silence.
Moncton Airport
I got to Moncton relatively without incident and decided to get a leg up on the evening by filling the tinsel car’s gas tank now, as opposed to trying to find an open gas station at 3 in the morning. Besides an initial misunderstanding at the first gas station over requiring that I pay before I pump, which I totally understand having been a police officer, I got the tank filled and made my way to the hotel. Of, right! I should mention that the misunderstanding resulted in the police being called on me. But i cleared that up pretty damned quick. That’s a story for another post, since this one will be long enough without those details. I got into the room and laid out the clothing I would wear and organized the toiletries, which would also be left behind once I showered. At about 8:30 yesterday evening, I laid my head down for the last sleep in New Brunswick for the trip. Given the importance of being able to wake up alert and ready to move with the alarm, I opted out of my evening supplement, which usually encourages sleep, as well as the daily CBD gummy I usually take to help sleep through the vast kaleidoscope of PTSD nightmares I usually get.
Because I skipped all things that help with sleep, I only fell asleep around 10:45, which was much later than I ad planned. As a result, I barely got four hours of sleep when the alarm shook me back to consciousness. In recent years, I’ve always made a point of starting my morning off slowly, calmly, and at a relaxed pace. This has been an integral step towards maintaining my physical and mental wellbeing, and has served me well. Given the importance of not being late, this morning was different. I bolted out of bed, cracked a can of energy drink, slugged a few deep drinks and jumped into a hot shower. The warmth of the water beckoned me to return to the bed, curl back up and fly another day. But i had already been away from my family for too long and couldn’t miss this flight. Plus, given the way airlines tend to behave in recent years, I couldn’t risk losing the money on this ticket and being unable to reschedule. So, here I am.
Boarding passes? Check! In to security to get felt up…The quiet calm of a small “International” airport
there were only a few people waiting to check in and the security line was quite short. So, I got into the secure area where my gate was located quite quickly. Looking at all the time slots for everything, I was suddenly quite glad I came in as early as I did. Despite the fact my flight only departs at 6:05 on my itinerary, my boarding pass showed a boarding time of 4:50, with departure time at 5:30. If I had slept another hour, I might have encountered long lines that may have created more stress than my fractured, sleep-deprived mind could handle. I settled in to wait for boarding with a hot Tim Horton’s coffee. Although it never really seems to happen much these days, I was praying for a reasonably empty flight. This usually makes boarding quicker, departure sooner and better odds of making my connection in Toronto.
I’d like to say I have some interesting stories but if I’m being honest, it almost felt as though the airlines and airports were making up for all the delays and issues I’ve faced in the past several days. For Canada was definitely on top of its game, with boarding and processes running smoothly and on time, with no delays, flight rescheduling or otherwise. We even landed in Regina at 8:45 this morning instead of 9:05 like my itinerary indicated. My family was waiting in the arrivals lobby to greet me as I came down the runway. It was its to get home, be among familiar streets, enter my home and have some of my own food. I was up at 3 am New Brunswick time to make my flights. Conceptually, that’s midnight in Saskatchewan and I landed just before 9 am. So I was up at midnight and have been up ever since. Around 1 o’clock, I blacked out hard and slept for about an hour and a half. The depth of that nap was as such that I haven’t felt in a long time.
All in all, it wasn’t a pleasant trip. Hey, I did say “all in all.” I had some pleasant times, visiting with friends, enjoying the Maritime ambiance, etc. But the big lesson I learned this time around is that Northern New Brunswick isn’t home anymore. While it was good to see my parents, that connection is broken. I have Minimal reasons to ever go back, unless it’s to bury my parents. Eventually, and if you’ve left to live elsewhere, you really can’t go home. Although I can safely say that every visit carries an augury of emotion, this one was harder than most. And I can’t argue the fact that I feel I’m getting too old for the long distance travel, the delays, the rushing, the cost… everything. As beautiful as Northern New Brunswick may be in the summer, my original home town really is the place where time stands still. And I’ve gotten too spoiled with living in a city where I have immediate access to everything that’s needed. And maybe that’s on me. But there may underlying reasons why everyone usually leaves the area. And perhaps that’s on them. But I digress… I’ve made it out and made it back safely, got to see my parents, enjoyed time with dear friends and accomplished my goals. Perhaps that’s all I need to focus on. Food for thought…☯️
Well, here we are, folks! Departure day! The trip is far from over but today is the day that I check out of the hotel and start making my way south to return to Moncton, where I will catch my return flight to Saskatchewan tomorrow morning. I COULD have spent an additional day in Campbellton and visited my folks again. The issue is that my return flight departs at about 6 am tomorrow morning, which means I would have to start driving from Campbellton around 1 o’clock in the morning in order to make boarding. In all honesty, I’m getting too old for that shit. On my last trip here, I travelled to Moncton a day early and spent a night there, allowing me to drive 30 seconds up the road to the airport. It made for a much more restful departure and I didn’t risk smacking every moose in the Province by traveling in the dark. But I digress… I’m going to do the tourist thing in this post, considering it was my last day wandering around, yesterday.
A quiet heron perched twenty feet from the shoreline
My day yesterday once again started with breakfast with a friend, followed by a slow, relaxing drive down the coastline to Dalhousie. It’s one of those things where you don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone. After all, I spent almost thirty years in this area and drove that road more times than I could possibly count. But during in youth, I never appreciate the immense beauty of the open bay, rolling Appalachian Mountains or the wonderful views scattered all about the area. It isn’t until now, as an adult, that I’m able to look at all these sights and ask myself how/why I ever left this place. I was quickly reminded, mind you. But the thought was still there. You see, living in a bigger city has spoiled me, after all fashion. If it’s 10 o’clock at night and I decide I need a pizza, I have tons of options. If someone in our household is sick and needs something, i know of at least three 24-hour pharmacies in my city. There are no such availabilities in my home town where time has literally stood still, and the sidewalks almost literally roll up around dinner time.
The “Bon Ami” rocks
Once I reached Dalhousie, I got right down to business; visiting my folks. It’s been a difficult run this time around. My mother has become so tiny and diminutive, she’s almost the size of my 11-year son. She was semi-awake, but not responding to me in any meaningful way. She frowned and stared at me, almost as though she was wading through a very deep pool of memories, trying to determine who I was. Having learned my lesson on my last visit, I didn’t press her or try to explain that I was her son. I learned fairly quickly that it won’t help. I sat with her for a time, said my goodbyes and stepped out of her room. She didn’t even move enough to see me off or acknowledge my departure. I usually describe on these trips how strange it feels to come “home” with no home to come back to. After all, in the past, I would always go to my mother’s home. Always the steady rock of the family, she was always the one that arranged meals, gave me a place to sleep and took care of me when I visited. Now, I’m 100% a tourist in the very town I grew up in.
But this time, what I’ve realized that it’s far harder to recognize that the woman who was an absolute anvil, loud and full of life, who lifted me up and cradled me as a child, was now a tiny person the size of one of my own children and the person I knew is already forever gone. It’s a sobering thought that slaps one in the face with a dose of reality that life is short and fleeting. Things with my father weren’t much better. He’s now permanently on oxygen and doesn’t budge from his bed. He barely spoke to me, despite being awake. According to the staff, he’s also beginning to show signs of dementia, but I was able to converse a little with him. It felt like he was more focused on his television than on me. At one point, I even asked him if he wanted me to go so he could watch his show. All he did was grunt. I stepped out shortly after. The icing on the cake is the care home staff, who sit in their little alcove that covers all the entrances that one could use, who always seem to need to ask, “Leaving so soon?” Fuck off, dude. I don’t need your snide comments. Moving on.
The famous Dalhousie light house. No longer functioning (and no longer needed)
I moved through my afternoon by walking around the Inch Arran beach area, snapping the photos you’re seeing in this post and reminiscing about all the good times I’ve had when I lived here. The passage of time doesn’t change. The sea and the mountains don’t change. At least not on a scale that one perceives within their lifetime. But the one consistent change is the lack of familiar faces. No more locals that I knew or could connect with. I had the opportunity to visit with some dear friends but ironically, all of them except for my Sensei reside outside the immediate area. The biggest and headgear lesson of all is gaining the realization that despite I kept labeling this trip as “coming home,” this I any longer my home. And no longer a place that holds any purpose in coming back to. Obviously, my folks are still here and there will continue to be intermittent visits until they’ve passed on. But the charm and value of this place no longer exists for me. I miss my actual home. And my family. It will be good to get back.
Baie Des Chaleurs (Chaleur Bay). The mountains you see is the Province of Quebec.
My evening concluded with a visit to my aunt and uncle, who made a wonderful spaghetti for supper. We shared great conversation and stories, my uncle showed me their new SUV and I even had the opportunity to go on a short drive on his side-by-side. I’ve never been on one before and it was quite fun. We wandered the woods, only for about fifteen minutes but he showed me all the functions of the machine and how fast it could go. I enjoyed it. Once the sun went down and it started getting dark, I respectfully bowed out and prepped to leave, especially since both of them were yawning intently and I knew they would both be up at dawn to go to work. Once back at my hotel room, I crashed unceremoniously and enjoyed the only day this week where I managed to sleep in past 7 am. Of course, I’ll have adjusted to this time zone just in time to fly back to Saskatchewan, which is 3 hours behind the time here. That should be entertaining.
I’ve often heard the expression “You can’t go home again.” I’ve never really understood that expression before because I’ve always believed that of course you can! It’s costly and takes time and effort, but one can totally go home. The real problem is that eventually, home isn’t home anymore. THAT’s the reality that people usually fail to understand. But I’ve learned that lesson this time around. When I leave New Brunswick tomorrow morning to head back to Saskatchewan, it will likely be for the last time except for coming back to bury my mother and father. A sad reality of life that can often be hard to swallow. But such is life. It will be good to be back with my family, and even go back to work. Hopefully, the place held up in my absence. I’m on my way now, stopping in to visit Sensei’s son and my “brother,” Guillaume, on the way. It will be good to see him. Tomorrow’s post will be the last Odyssey entry for this trip, but I’m sure I’ll have plenty to bitch about regarding the flights, travel in general and all the people I’ll have to deal with. Que sera… ☯️
Damn, it’s already here… My last day in the North Shore. I’ve would have thought the time would be long and I’d be bored to tears. But these past brought of days have actually flown by quickly. Yesterday was cold as hell, meaning I spent most of the day with the car heater running at every location I drove to. My best idea eggs grabbing a cheap hoodie at a local Walmart. Yesterday, much like the day before, flew by in a flurry of back and forth driving between Dalhousie and Campbellton. My morning started with a lovely americano at a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop called The Early Bird Company. It was tiny and there was very limited seating, but we managed. I was sitting right next to the door and people kept coming in and out. The cold air was annoying as fuck, but it was counterbalanced by the lovely, rich flavor of my americano. This was a followed by an early lunch at the local McDonalds. The biggest surprise thus far was the fact that McD’s has started serving Red Bull. It seemed to be quite a matter to celebrate…
I mean, I didn’t HAVE any Red Bull, between the energy drink I woke up to and the americano. But it was definitely funny to see all the advertising in a place that’s intended to sell fast food. In recent years, I’ve come to figure that most well-known eateries have been trying to do too much. Seeing Tim Horton’s trying to sell pizzas was my breaking point but the good news is they’ve started carrying their grilled cheese sandwiches again. Let’s put a pin in that for a moment and get back to my day. Once we finished a lovely and inexpensive McChicken, I headed down to Dalhousie. It was strange to see my old work location (the McDonald’s) as quiet as it was over the lunch hour. When I worked there, the noon hour was akin to going into battle. The flood of people that would cycle through that place was nuts. But there was barely a trickle of less than a dozen folks.
After heading down to the Dalhousie area, I tried for the second time to stop in at a little bakery called Le Moulin a Cafe, or Coffee Mill, in English. One of the key things I try to get done on any visit to my parents, is to enjoy a slice of sugar pie. For some reason, no one outside of New Brunswick seemed to know what the hell a sugar pie IS. Essentially, and depending on the recipe one uses, it’s basically brown sugar, condensed milk and melted butter combined into a pie crust. It’s rich, decadent and delicious. I’ve been told there are similarities with butter tarts, but the size of a pie instead of tiny bullshit. And there are no raisins or pecans in it like a butter tart. But I digress… It’s without a doubt the worst thing that a Type-1 Diabetic can eat, given how fattening and sugary it is, but it’s a once every couple of years’ sort of indulgence. So, I make my peace with enjoying a slice when I’m in Northern New Brunswick.
The lovely, melty cheese miracle that is Tim Horton’s Grilled Cheese
Anyway, I rolled up on the coffee shop for the second day in a row and for the second day in a row, the damn place was closed. ON A MONDAY? During the summer? With all the campers and tourists floating around? That’s a fair amount of lost income for that business. And people wonder why nothing that opens is ever successful in this area. Bloody hell. I was meeting an old friend of mine, who ironically is named the same thing as my uncle. But this particular individual not only graduated high school with me but also did karate with me for several years and came to Japan with Sensei and I. I’ve known him for decades and he still lives in the area. For some reason, I don’t always remember to drop him a line when I’m down here, which is an oversight I need to correct. But we met at Tim Horton’s and enjoyed coffee and good conversation. We caught up on things nicely. It was good to see him.
This was followed by an extremely short visit to see my father, who was sleeping heavily. The staff at the nursing home kept offering to wake him, but given the pain he’s in, if he’s actually getting some sleep, I’m inclined to let him do so. Since there was no conversation to be had and I’m never one to just sit there and watch my father sleep, that’s where I ventured out and tried to get some sugar pie. But I substituted with a stop at a drive-in food canteen that I actually worked at when I was a teenager. I was jonesing for a cheeseburger. The burgers there are butter-seared on a flat range and served on a toasted burger buns that was toasted by laying in on the range with butter, as well. It’s a fatty, decadent burger that tastes like childhood. I’m starting to notice that the items I tend to have when I come back home are all ridiculously bad for me. But que sera…
My day wrapped up with a coffee meeting with an old karate friend. Once again at Tim Horton’s. Yet another person I’ve known for Swansea and that I try to connect with on every trip. Once I was done with Dalhousie, I came back to the hotel and crashed unceremoniously. And now, the last day on the North Shore can begin. Tomorrow will see me check out of the hotel, load up the car and reached south to Moncton. I’m the way, I should be stopping in to modify Sensei’s son to catch up with him. Then, a short night’s sleep at a hotel next to the airport before I board a terribly early flight back to the Prairies. It will be good to go home. As predicated during my Day 1 post, being here has elicited too many emotions for my cast iron personality to handle. ☯️
So, yesterday was pretty decent. After a night’s sleep, I had some breakfast would. Dear friend, which filled me enough until supper time. Good ol’ Ozempic; that shit’ll kill your appetite. But I had a classic omelette with bacon and toast. Quite delicious. This was followed with a drive around Campbellton to see what;s changed, which turned out to be quite a bit. Once I dropped my friend off, I made my way down to Dalhousie. As is usually my habit, I stopped in to see my brother first. Buried in 1991, I always make a point of stopping there first since, despite the fact I lost my only brother when he died, there’s no planning involved, no scheduled visits; it’s come whenever you can and go when you’re ready. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing my own name on a headstone, though. To explain a bit, my mother had the foresight a few years ago to have the ENTIRE family engraved onto her and my father’s headstone. So despite my brother being buried in the plot right next to where my mother and father will lie, she had his name and mine added onto their stone. No idea why. And she came down with dementia before I could ever get an answer out of her.
Messed up, right?
Despite the morbid nature of that initial stop, followed by some random elderly lady asking me if I was “there for the burial,” (I didn’t stick around long enough to figure out what she was talking about) the weather was beautiful, the views were amazing and I enjoyed a nice, quiet, nostalgic drive through the area. One of the beauty parts is that I have reached a point in my life where I can make my way through the area I grew up in without encountering anyone from my past. This makes for a much quieter tour. The memories were great and I managed to grab a couple of items that I didn’t find on my way up upon my arrival. It amazes me how dollar stores and pharmacies in a city of 18,000 people seemed to have less items available than a small town of approximately 3,000 people. That’s right; Dalhousie only has about 3,000 people, none of which seemed to know who I am. I stopped in at a little coffee shop in Charlo called The Coffee Mill, which serves the absolute best sugar pie I’ve ever had in my fuckin’ life. Unfortunately, since it was Sunday they were closed.
I followed up by buying a few packages of tortillon cheese, which is a firm, overpriced cheddar that I can only find in New Brunswick or Quebec. I snacked on some last night crusty I crashed. I stopped in on my folks. My mother was out like a light and my dad was rather out of it, but I got to see them. I got to chat with the care home staff about my father, who is slowly joining my mother in secrets. Great! And he’s now on oxygen permanently, which is helping prevent further unnecessary hospital trips. The only uncle I have left in the area invited me to dinner but I already had plans to visit Sensei at 5 o’clock when I was done with my parents, so we rescheduled for Tuesday. Hard to believe how someone with no one to see and nothing to do in the middle of small-town-in-the-middle-of-nowhere New Brunswick has so many plans. So figure.
The view of Dalhousie from Charlo Beach
I stopped in at Sensei’s house at 5 o’clock sharp. I had emailed him prior to flying out and asked when a convenient time would be. He mentioned eager evening, so I asked if 5 or 6 would be best. He never got back to me and in keeping with my obsessive gambit of always being early or else I’m late, I showed up at 5. His wife was unfortunately in the middle of prepping supper for them, which made me feel bad, so I offered to come back in an hour. But they insisted I join them for supper and she was making a seafood spaghetti, so I couldn’t refuse. I mean, getting actual fresh seafood of any kind in Saskatchewan is impossible, so I had to indulge. Supper was amazing and the conversation was good. We shared stories of the past and Sensei even discussed some of his time during his policing years, which he’s never done before. It was fun, nostalgic and touching, with a mild, minty hint of plenty of work to do as far as my karate training goes. He even offered to correct one of the katas I had been having an issue doing properly. We chatted well into the sun going down and I left his home much later than I had planned.
I had initially intended to have a late dinner with another local friend after I was done at Sensei’s, but I left late enough that I just came back to the room and called it a night. I should have known better than to make plans on the same evening as meeting with Sensei. Time melts away when we talk, and trying to make scheduled plans never work out. In fact, he seems to be the only individual with whom I will completely ignore the outside world and even neglect looking and/or answering my phone. It was a good time but I will admit that the time difference between here and Saskatchewan was impulse to tire me out so I passed out like a toddler once I got to the hotel room. One bonus during my liturgy drive around, is seeing the childhood home that I was born in…
It was a little disheartening seeing the state of the place, bearing in mind it was only bout in the early 1970’s. But having lived there until I was about four, vividly memories came back of playing on the deck and some of the shenanigans I got into in the back yard. Unlike most people and for some reason, I have memories as far back as when I was about two years old. Although most “experts” claim that should be possible, but they’re there nonetheless and I had those memories confirmed many years ago. So, those experts can go fuck themselves. I know what I know. Anyhoo, as I’ve wrapped up my first full day in my home town area, I need to prep for another visit to my parents and coffee later tonight with my good fried Ricky. It’s pouring rain here today, which will make it colder than it was yesterday. I had the foresight to purchase a zip up hoodie for $10 at a local Walmart. But I don’t have a fucking rain jacket, so my Lululemon windbreaker will have to do. Yes, I wear Lululemon gear! They have guy stuff, so don’t freakin’ judge! But if you’ll excuse me, time for a nice, hot shower before venturing out into the rain. Let’s get the second day of the shit-show started… ☯️
Alright, I finally made it to the North Shore of New Brunswick. It was a hell of a day, and I’m going to start by telling you all about it. First and foremost, my departure flight from Regina was delayed. Go figure. The flight was reasonable. I watched a movie on my iPad and the folks sitting next me to slept the whole way through. Perfect. Once I landed in Toronto, and reactivated my phone, I got hit with a plethora of texts and emails from Air Canada. “Your flight has being delayed to 14:20.” Then, “You’re flight has been delayed to 14:50.” FML. Every little bate later I am on the tail end of the trip delays my ability to drive the three and a half hour drive from Moncton to Campbellton where I would staying during my stay. It was almost 4 o’clock by the time I finally boarded the last flight of the trip, uncertain if my car rental would still be waiting for me when I arrived in New Brunswick and contemplating my alternatives while I flew.
When I finally arrived in Moncton, I was like most of the people who walked off the plane; I was tired, exhausted, and not quite sweaty but yet, somehow still sweaty. The kind of condition that only comes from being someone with PTSD cramped in a confined space while surrounded by hundreds of people. All I wanted to do was get my rental vehicle and get the last leg of the trip out of the way. No such luck. My vehicle was delayed. First, it was only supposed to be “10 to 15 minutes.” Says them. I used the washroom. I took a walk. I spoke to some of the locals. Can’t back to the counter and was told, “We’re still waiting on some of the vehicles to be ‘brought up.’” Oooookay… I wasn’t certain what the fuck that means, but I’m not a big fan of waiting, especially after Enoch on the go since 3 am and it was already after 7 pm, meaning I wouldn’t reach my hotel room until after 11 pm. An old man like me usually tries to hit the sack by no later than 9 pm. Not tonight, dear reader. Not tonight.
Mao of the bridge through the Miramichi River
I thought that once I had my rental vehicle, I could put all the delays behind me and just get to Campbellton. No such fuckin’ luck. I had planned on stopping in Miramichi for dollar store supplies and snacks for the hotel room. Turns out, the Centennial Bridge that crosses the Miramichi River was closed for construction. Maybe it was the delirium setting in from traveling all day, but I started to feel as though fate was conspiring against me to prevent me from reaching my destination. To add insult to injury, the detour required an additional 40 minutes of driving to get around to the next bridge. Traffic didn’t help. I shouldn’t need to tell any of you how messed up it can be, when you redirect hundreds of cars to a singular detour point. And we all know just how much I love waiting on others. Once I crossed the detour bridge and made my way back into town (or I guess they call it a “city,” now that they’ve amalgamated), I stopped at a local pharmacy chain for some travel supplies. I don’t like being civilly liable, so I won’t say which chain it was. But y’all are smart enough to figure it out.
I grabbed the basics. Soap, shampoo, antiperspirant, toothbrush and toothpaste. I grabbed some Skittles in case my blood sugars dropped and a large bag of Ruffles chips to chew me through any snacking cravings I get during in stay. What would have normally cost me about twenty dollars getting all of this stuff at a dollar store or Walmart, it cost me almost sixty dollars at this pahrmacy. Despite it being the same stuff, same size, just a different location. Great. Next, I needed food. The last I had eaten was a small tray of sushi rolls almost nine hours previous. I tried stopping at a Tim Hortons for a grilled cheese melt. I’ve been dying for one of those since they came back on the menu. But such chance. Doors were locked. I encountered the same issue with Burger King. What. In. The. Actual. Such. It’s Saturday night, folks! And two major fast food chains are closed and locked before 9 pm. I finally found success with a local McDonald’s and grabbed a coupe of sausage McMuffins.
The messed up detour in Miramichi
I finally got on the road and reached the doors of my hotel around 11:30 pm. I was checked in by a very nice young man that I was pretty convinced was outside smoking up when I arrived. While it’s no longer illegal in Canada and I have no issues with someone doing it, doing it while on the job and making me wait at the very tail end of my journey when a bed is literally feet away and waiting for me was more than my recently-found calm could manage. My veneer cracked. Luckily, I made my way into my room and unceremoniously crashed after quickly downing my evening meds. The big thing being today’s post is that travel, even domestic travel, is no longer a guaranteed and safe means of making any destination in a planned manner. It didn’t matter that I had car and hotel reservations waiting; my flights were ridiculously delayed. Didn’t matter that I was tired and still had over three hours of driving to do, roads had me detoured. None of that really mattered to any extent. I surprised myself by maintaining my calm, not yelling at anyone and not losing my cool.
This morning, I still woke up around 7 am, which is fucked up considering that’s only 4 am back in Saskatchewan. You’d think that the time difference would have seen me sleeping in at least a little bit. I tried a different hotel than my previous stays because I wanted to change things up and it was a touch cheaper. Now, I know why. After grabbing a hot shower and getting my clothes unpacked of ride next few days, I discovered that the walls are quite thin. At least everyone was quiet during the overnight hours. Now, I’m off to see what delicious, gourmet breakfast I can find in my previous home environment. Then, I hope to kick things off by visiting my folks and possibly seeing Sensei this evening. The first day on the North Shore is already planned and mapped. We’ll see if at least one thing can go according to plan.
The view of Sugarloaf Mountain through my dirty hotel window
As I wrote in yesterday’s post, a lot of mixed feelings about being here. Memories and old landmarks are pulling me back to a couple of decades ago. Many things have changed, including a number of towns and villages along the main highway that weren’t there before, even a year ago when I was here last. Old businesses have made way to new ones, some buildings that have been there my entire life have been demolished or rebuilt. I’ve often heard that you can never go home again. Well, that’s only partially correct. You can go home; it just may not be the home you remember. I’m looking forward to seeing my parents. We’ll see how well THAT visit goes. But that’ll be an update for tomorrow’s post. ☯️
Yes, buckle up folks! It’s gonna be one of THOSE posts. As seems to be the routine every year for the past few years, I’m currently awaiting to board the first of two flights that will take me the long way home to New Brunswick to visit my mother and father. I’ll be gone for a number of days and as is my custom, I’ll be sharing thoughts, experiences and walking my readers through what’s happening on the East Coast’s North Shore on a day-to-day basis. I already have some friends and family set up that I will be visiting during the trip, and there should be some augury of positivity to go with the negative. So hopefully, I don’t get bogged down in a week-long bitchfest about traveling. But as most of you know, if you’ve been reading my posts over the years, I’m not a big damn of flying, being around large crowds and being contained in tight spaces. An airplane covers all three of those things…
It’s already been a bit of a harsh morning, waking at an hour that sees most people still quietly sleeping without concerns of the outside world. I awoke about ten minutes before my 3 a.m. alarm; an unfortunate byproduct of being Type-1 Diabetic and wearing an insulin pump. Last night’s installation of a new CGM sensor required a second calibration at about 2:50 this morning, rendering the last ten miners of sleep you’ve pointless and getting me out of bed all that much earlier. Not like I was exactly sleeping deeply anyway. My family were absolutely on the ball this morning. More so than I was, in fact. My boys were already out the door with shoes on, piling into our car, before I had even finished getting dressed. I drove to get us here, and was comfortably impressed at how easily my city streets are to navigate and how quickly one can reach places when it’s the middle of the night and there’s no traffic. It made me nostalgic for my policing days, when I would patrol municipal streets during the wee hours of the night, no other vehicles or traffic with nothing but the quiet streets to keep me company. But I digress…
This trip is intended to look into a number of concerning items regarding my parents that apparently can’t be dealt with by email or telephone. I won’t get into the nitty gritty of those concerns. I’ll only say that after calling twice and emailing once, over the course of the past two months, and getting no reply, I felt it was time to go out and determine what’s happening myself. Family is great and I do have some family still out there, but they can and should only do so much. After all, they’re MY parents and as the only child, I have a direct responsibility for ensuring the folks who gave me life and raised me are well looked after. As I’ve written on previous trips, going home is a strange experience for me now. Having lived in Saskatchewan for almost 20 years at this point, I always had the comfort of safe Harbour when I returned home. A warm bed in my mother’s home and family greetings that included home cooked meals and attentions paid. Such is not the case any longer.
Now, when I travel back home, I do so alone. The rising cost of airline travel coupled with vehicle rentals, accommodations and incidental costs make it far too expensive to rationalize bringing my entire household with me, even though exposure to the Maritime air and energy would be great for them. When I make my way home, I no longer have a home to go to. This means that the only way to see my mother and father is to modify them within their care home. My mother has dementia and no longer understands she still has a living son. My father is beginning to show signs of dementia but historically, when I visit him, he’s sleeping with little to no chance of waking him. It makes for a difficult dynamic and tends to bring equal amount of emotional pain to whatever small vestiges of nostalgia I may be experiencing. So much has changed during my absence from in home Province. My home town is still recognizable; I can wander some of the places I used to live as a kid, wander or mountain and drink in the beautiful views of the open bay against the Appalachian mountains.
But in the end, I’m still very much alone. I should have the opportunity to visit with Sensei, along with a couple of close friends who are still there. Otherwise, it will be a packed few days of sorting through my parents’ affairs and ensuring everything is in line. While it will be a visit slotted within the duties of a son, there shirts nonetheless be some time for the beauty and calm that only the North Shore can provide. I have a long day of airports and waiting ahead of me. Such is the way of it, any time I travel home. Here’s hoping the trip goes smoothly and I have nothing “exciting” to write about. That would, ultimately, be the best thing that could happen over this trip. But stay tuned; I’ll keep y’all posted. ☯️
I’ve certainly never professed to being my own version of Mike Tyson, but decades of knuckle push-ups, striking exercises and frequent use of a makiwara have made it so I can pack a pretty decent punch. Not “break through concrete” kind of punch, but definitely a “fracture your bones or knock your shit out” kind of punch. Your body strength with strikes has always been a bit more of a forte for me than kicking. While I enjoy, employ and appreciate a good kick, I usually prefer punching. This fits well into my style’s generalized philosophy that if the opponent is outside arm’s reach, why would you strike? But that’s a whole different concept for another day. Today, we’re talking about my punches and the subsequent issue it caused me a little over a month ago. Quite a few years ago now, I invested in a standalone steel-framed stand and an 80-pound punching bag. I set all of it up on my garage, since our archaic garage isn’t big enough to house a modern vehicle and we mostly use it for storage. The garage has quickly become my refuge, allowing me space to enjoy the nice weather without being exposed to summer heat, puff on a nice cigar without disturbing my family and gives me an environment to burn through my inner rage on the bag without shaking the house’s foundations.
A little over a month ago, the weather started moving to a nicer temperature, which allowed me to move on a few different fitness steps. I cleaned up my bicycle, greased the chain and prepped my carry bag for what will hopefully be some reasonable mileage throughout the summer. But I also took the time to tidy the garage floor, clear away all the winter storage and clean the dust off of the punching bag. I started having my usual bag workouts out there a couple of times a week, which usually involves 30 minutes of 1-minute-punching-30-seconds-rest, followed by another 30 minutes but on the bike. It makes for a solid sweat, exhausts me nicely and allows me to burn off a lot of stress and pent up anger from the world outside. However, recently while working out on the bag, I may have allowed my zeal to take control and after a few focused strikes that really struck home (pun FULLY intended), the chain links holding the bag up onto the steel frame snapped, sending the bag tumbling to the floor.
My poor bag sitting on the floor… I know, I know, I heard it as soon as I said it…
Ignoring for a moment the fact that I don’t secure my frame to the ground, which would likely be helpful as it would keep it from sliding along the floor as you see in the photo, I was reasonably lucky that the bag simply fell straight down from the frame, the frame didn’t tip over or knock anything over and most importantly, nothing fell on me or injured me. As a side note, the bike got put back into place where you see it AFTER I stopped the workout because the bag fell. Now, I faced an interesting conundrum. Where to find a replacement for a double looped swivel link to replace the one that broke. Unfortunately, as I would come to learn, such a singular, specialized piece wasn’t so easy to find. I started with some local sporting goods stores where punching bags are sold. I don’t like leaving myself open to comments being interpreted as litigious, so I won’t name the stores, but I was somewhat surprised that none of these retail locations, which sell punching bags and related equipment, sold any replacement or spare parts of any of the hardware. Alright. Fair enough.
The broken link…
I had the option, of course, of purchasing an entirely new punching bag, which would include the swivel link I needed. But my current bag is still in good condition and will likely last another few years. My next step was to hit up some hardware stores. After all, what could be more basic than getting chain hardware from a hardware store, right? I stopped at two locations, one of which is a large, national chain that has orange as its primary color (wink, wink). I found similar chain links, but they had significantly low weight tolerance. We’re talking less than what the bag itself weighed. Factor in striking the bag repeatedly and sometimes having it swing in every which direction would mean this thing would barely last one workout. IF I was lucky… I don’t live in a MAJOR metropolitan center, but we are in a city of about 270,000 people. So, one would be inclined to think that there should be SOME availability of hardware like this. But nope, nope, triple nope… Couldn’t find it anywhere.
Finally, I resorted to my least favorite means of retail shopping: online. I’m not trying hard to age myself here, but I always prefer to do my shopping at an actual retail location. That way, I can see, touch and check exactly what I intend to purchase and I know exactly where to go if something needs to be returned, replaced or repaired. This is not always the case when one purchases online. But, it is 2026 and sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do, right? I found a swivel link on Amazon for $20. This thing is twice as thick as the previous one that came with the bag and has a weight capacity of (allegedly) 1,200 pounds. Perfect. Good price, good specs. That’ll do in a pinch. Add to cart and a week later, I got it in. I even had the foresight to order an extra one on the unlikely chance I managed to pop this one. With a little help, I managed to get the bag set back up and even followed it up with a family workout, using the bag, punch pad and makiwara as stations.
A punching bag is not only a good way to get some passive cardio in and burn off stress and frustration. I’ve long believed it’s a necessary training step for any martial artist who trains extensively alone. After all, you can only swing the brush through empty air for so long before you need to start touching paint to canvass. In the same vein, you can only do form and shadow boxing for so long before you need to strike an actual surface to start developing. And since I don’t currently train in any dojo, my sparring partners are few and far between. This makes the punching bag and striking pad all the more important. Plus, nothing makes you feel quite better than burning off steam on a bag after a long, hard day’s work. Totally meditative. I’m glad I got the bag repaired and cancel in action. It does humble one when considering the fact that given enough time and enough strikes, even steel gives way to flesh. Food for thought… ☯️
It’s a scenario that may be familiar to many… The alarm clock blares and shakes you out of what was likely a very deep sleep. You slap it silent with a deep tinge of annoyance. You stretch, roll and try to bring life into your still sleeping body. You throw your legs off the bed and sit there for a moment, wondering if you’ve lost your mind or whether you should just roll back under the covers for warmth and further slumber. As you finally will your body to move, you take the first tentative steps into the new day. The usual morning ablutions ensue, along with using the washroom and grabbing an energy drink to kick off your morning. The few sips of caffeine do nothing to clear the fog from your mind. You change into some fitness gear, still questioning whether you’re making the right choice or not. As you make your way to the workout area, you recognize that the rest of the household is still peacefully adrift in dreamland, a place you long to be at that moment. You stretch. You warm up. You break into some weight repetitions followed by your kata and some shadow sparring. You end it all with a quick, 30-minute run on the stationary bike. You finished in a hot, sweaty huff, no linger feelings the last vestiges of cold your body experienced by shedding your blankets for the world outside.
For some of you, this is pretty routine. It’s something you’ve trained yourself to do every morning and may have been doing so fairly consistently. For me, the concept of waking at an early hour to work out is difficult at best. For the most part, finding the time and opportunity to work out AFTER work is just as challenging. Once the work day is complete, I often face a plethora of different challenges that include but are not limited to, exhaustion from the work day, delays from stopping for groceries/errands, supper is ready when I walk into the door and the lethargy and full stomach that accompanies eating said supper. Pair this off with having a couple of young children in the house who are vying for daddy’s attention once he’s through the door, and my evenings tend to fill up pretty damn quickly. I often push against routine and make a point of hammering out an hour’s worth or exercise, but the consistently needed to maintain benefits (and karate skills) just isn’t there as it used to be. This presents challenges to someone who needs to work hard towards maintaining one’s health.
Working out first thing in the morning would seem to be the obvious option, although finding it obvious and willing one’s body to get up and comply are two entirely different things, hence the scenario described in the opening paragraph. While I’ve tried, on occasion, to get my crusty ass out of bed in the wee hours of the morning to exercise, various factors will come into play against that concept. Most nights, at least the ones where I’m not constantly shaken awake by PTSD nightmares, sees me having fluctuating blood sugars, frequent visits to the washroom to urinate, restless leg issues and the various pains and discomforts that come with almost four decades of full contact karate and operational policing. All of these things have a tendency to not only inhibit and prevent a proper night’s sleep. It usually leaves me in a state where, once the alarm rings, I find myself unable to will my body to respond or find the motivation to actually get up and get moving. In fact, the prospect of having an additional hour’s sleep, given all of the above, usually wins out.
With respect to this issue, I’m reminded of something Sensei told me about a year ago, while we were catching up. He commented on the fact that he wakes every morning, goes through his usual routine and then hits the road on his bicycle, working in a significant number of kilometers before returning home and facing his work day. Sensei has often asked himself if it was worth it to keep pushing in such a manner, and whether it wouldn’t just be better to sit back and relax during his morning. But then, he asks himself if he enjoys the freedom of movement, the continued mobility and the health he has maintained. The answer is always a resounding yes. He then asks himself if he wants to continue to maintain those standards to continue reaping those benefits. Another resounding yes faces him in the mirror. And for that reason, Sensei continues to push himself forward and workout first thing in the morning, regardless of fatigue, weather or how deeply the bed beckons him back to slumber.
Now granted, Sensei doesn’t have to contend with Type-1 Diabetes or many of the health-related obstacles I described earlier. But that’s the catch-22; BECAUSE of these health concerns, it would be in my best interest to wake, rise and sweat. Also because of those health concerns, I’m usually exhausted and without energy to engage in them. It makes for a conundrum as to how to address this properly. A bit of a chicken or the egg scenario. That being said, and I’ve written about this before, a lot of it is like becoming the little engine that could. Once you manage to get yourself up and moving and start doing it, the following morning seems just a LITTLE less torturous. This is because you’ve lost the element of unknown that comes with trying to get yourself started. Once you’ve overcome that first step and have actually hammered out a workout, the next morning may still suck. You may still want to just roll over and go back to sleep, but at least you’ve started. Once you’ve begun doing this regularly, your body will adjust and you’ll begin to feel that it isn’t such a big deal, getting out of bed while your family sleeps, breaking out a healthy sweat and then showering and getting ready for your overall day.
While using this early time in the morning to workout may seem tedious, there are several benefits to doing it this way that can be very beneficial for one’s health. In an online article posted by HealthLine.com entitled, “13 Benefits of Working Out In The Morning,” the positives of working out during the early hours can include facing fewer distractions while exercising, getting your workout in before the day’s heat kicks in, increased alertness and setting a positive tone for the rest of the day, better mood, focus and overall energy. There’s also some indication that earlier workout can help support weight loss and help with appetite control. Taylor morning workouts can also help with blood pressure AND blood sugar control, which is obviously an important factor for me. The article also suggest that it might help improve your sleep, citing, “After the morning workout, the participants spent more time in deep sleep and experienced fewer nighttime awakenings. It also took them less time to fall asleep.” Obviously, I would recommend reading the full article by clicking the link above, in order to get the fulsome information.
There are plenty of benefits to exercising early in the morning and many advantages, such as better time management, besides all the health perks. After all, you’d get all of those if you just exercised consistently, regardless of the time of day. But if you use this time where it may be quieter, less distractions, kids aren’t vying for your attention AND it gets you going and energized for the rest of the day, it’s a win-win. Pair that with the possibility that it will help with your overall sleep quality at night, that’s an easy recipe for better health. The challenge, at least for me, is getting past that first instance and actually getting my tired old ass out of bed long enough to get that first workout in. But once I can get myself started, being like the little engine that could or a rolling dynamo, it just might be the edge I need to have more energy, shed a few more pounds and have some will to do more with my evenings than binge-watch Netflix and fall asleep early. Who know? I may even end up encouraging some of my family members to rise with me and start early. All part of the journey towards better health and better Diabetes control. Food for thought… ☯️
We often hear sayings like, “They sure broke the mold with this one…” It usually refers to someone who operates or behaves outside the norm or the typical social paradigm. But what’s interesting is that this can skid apply quite often to martial arts students. One of the most interesting things about training in a karate dojo is watching the progression and growth of the other students around you. Most people never take advantage of this, solely focused on developing and training themselves. But much like observing the world around you, watching how other train and progress can provide important insight, not only on how to train better but to recognize the very important aspect that everyone learns, develops and absorbs knowledge in different ways. This becomes especially important if one is to ever become the teacher. Not many do, but the practice of observing others can also be important when it comes to sparring or practicing one’s skills on the mat.
It’s also important to remember the old saying about never judging a book by its cover. This can often be learned the hard way. I have a couple of examples. I used to train with a younger man, a boy when he started, really. He was headstrong, full of the ol’ proverbial piss & vinegar. Plenty of attitude and personality, he started out being a bit of a thorn in everyone’s side. During his first couple of months of training, I remember thinking he wouldn’t progress far. While it’s normal for a student to lack discipline when first coming to the dojo, this kid exemplified everything one should NOT do while in the dojo. Farting in class, flirting with the female students and making sarcastic comments at the worst of times, I had assumed he would wash out within his first year. When he didn’t, I was absolutely certain he would wash out during the second year. However, someone started to happen during that time. He got stronger. He got faster. He began learning the skills he was being taught and putting them positively into practice.
As his training continued, he grew to become the dojo’s most senior student (second only to his instructor and myself, on the occasions I visited their dojo), beginning to teach others and even take over class when the sensei was absent. Everything that emerged was indicative that this student would grow and flourish and rank up quickly. There were discussions on the possibility that he would become an instructor and potentially have a dojo of his own someday. This is often the pipe dream of most senseis, since the idea is that eventually the student would go on to teach in a dojo of their own. But that isn’t what happened in this instance. Instead, things came to a head when the students attitude and personality took him one step too far in the wrong direction. On an unfortunate night when the students attitude was training at our main dojo, he was part of a circuit training we were doing where one of the stations involved sparring with Sensei (my instructor, not his from his own dojo).
During an unfortunate session where he was sparring with Sensei, he started to get a little cheeky and sarcastic, choosing to cross boundaries with a man who could literally wipe the floor with anyone within the dojo. Sensei kept warning him to mind his tongue and focus on the sparring. The students response was to try and take a cheap shot and make a snarky comment in the same instance. Sensei had had enough. He delivered a very precise front kick to the gut, which sent the students attitude reeling back and tumbled to the floor. He left the dojo, citing he couldn’t breathe. His own instructor, they had attended class with everyone that night, commented later that he had the breath knocked out of him and didn’t plan on coming back. What was sad to see, was that this student had a lot of promise, had progressed quite well and was on the fast-track to testing for his next belt grading. Unfortunately, instead of recognizing the lesson and the important aspect involving dojo etiquette, he chose to let his pride get to him and walked away.
The student continued to train off and on for about another year after that but soon let go of karate completely. He came to regret it, years later, as we’ve discussed the past and our training. He often wishes he had stuck with it. The parties involved, to this day, still argue who may have been at fault and who should have been the bigger person. Regardless, karate isn’t a knitting circle. There’s etiquette and protocol involved and one needs to learn these aspects as part of their training. Not always easy for someone with a “colorful” personality. There have been times throughout the years that I’ve offered to train with him. But he’s declined. Now, the student who showed promise has become an inactive lump. This is an example of how the student who shows promise ends up going down an incorrect path and leaves the art. Now, for an example that demonstrates a bit of the opposite.
Another student, whom I had the pleasure of training with and watching grow, was not what one would call a shining star. A bit on the quiet side, carrying a bit of added weight, he was the personification of the kind of student you see at the beginning of a feel-good martial arts movie; where the quiet, harassed youth becomes proficient and brings it back against his antagonists. But over his first year, it was hard to imagine there would ever be anything around his waist but white. Sloppy and inefficient, he showed aspects that the student from the other story did not. He showed up, he was disciplined, he learned the dojo etiquette and had great respect for the skills being taught to him. What he lacked in skill, he made up for with discipline, commitment and clear desire to learn. Even through some of the harshest drills I had put him through and some of the roughest sparring he dealt with, he just kept coming back. Unfortunately, I had achieved black belt and moved on to my policing career and left the area before I could have a fulsome view o said progress.
It wouldn’t be until a couple of years later, while visiting family and friends back home, that I would join a larger class and did a double take as a I realized that the student was wearing a green belt! Given my previous perceptions, I was pleasantly surprised, as much so as I was once I trained that night and saw his determination, increase in skills and discipline within the dojo. I was impressed with his growth and his ability to deliver the techniques that not so long prior, I had felt he may never master. It was humbling and impressive, all wrapped up in the student still being somewhat soft spoken and quiet. A perfect combination. Another three or four years down the road and I was further taken aback when I visited and saw a brown belt wrapped around his waist. To say I was proud and impressed is the least I could comment. The distinct irony with these two stories, is that the proficient student from the first story who quit, helped teach and coach the shy, timid student that didn’t seem to have the drive. And yet, the first one walked away while the second one stuck it out and progressed.
The lesson here, is simply what I noted at the start of the second paragraph. One should never judge a book by its cover. The same can be said of people. Did I imagine the first student would grow and progress to become a black belt and subsequently an instructor? Absolutely. Did that happen? No, an unfortunate byproduct of many different spawned, challenges, etc. Did I assume the second student would progress? I’m ashamed to say that I judged quite harshly in the beginning and assumed he would become one of the many hundred who joined, trained for a time then moved on. But he proved me wrong and climbed the grading system. It’s unclear to me where he’s at today or whether he still trains. But he reached a point where he could conceivably keep training on his own. This is particularly important, since Sensei has closed his dojo. But as I mentioned before, one of the most interesting things about the dojo environment is that you can simply never tell. Every person is different, with their own paths ahead. Not everyone is meant to be karateka. And some whom you believe may not be suited will often surprise you. That’s why it is so important, as part of your dojo training, to observe. Watch. Learn from others. This is just one small piece of the million-piece puzzle that is karate. Good for thought… ☯️
As one gets older and life carries on, one may begin to contemplate life, how it’s lived and how perspective changes over time. As a child, I wasn’t exactly what one might call energetic. Being afflicted with Type-1 Diabetes, which back then was referred to as “Juvenile Diabetes,” I was often lethargic and lacking in energy, mostly a byproduct of rampantly uncontrolled blood sugars. I’ve written about this before; I don’t begrudge my parents any damage that may have been done when I was a child. After all, I WAS a child and had minimal understanding of what had happened to me and it was the early 80’s in a small, rural Northern New Brunswick town with limited medical resources. I’m lucky I survived into adulthood. But that’s a story for another day. The point is, despite the lethargy and lack of energy, I was like most children and usually insisted on running, climbing and jumping on absolutely everything in my path. This was a sore point for my mother, with whom I spent extended time when my father was at work.
It irked her because of her concerns that I could injure myself. Unbeknownst to her, one of her most annoying (at the time) habits was irking me as well; her walking speed. Now, at the time, I simply couldn’t comprehend why my mother would always walk so damn slowly. It drove me nuts and I often tried to urge her along. This carried on well into my teens and into adulthood when I finally left home. In retrospect, I recognize that she was actually several years younger than I am now when I started to notice this trend, meaning that it couldn’t be attributed to old age. As I got older and started to raise this with her more as a conversation than a comment, her only response was, “I don’t have a reason to hurry or rush. So, why would I? This is the speed I walk. If you don’t like it, then don’t walk with me.” At the time, it seemed dismissive and ignorant. The perspective of a young teenager on the cusp of adulthood. But as I’ve grown to my current stage of this life, I recognize it as something more important.
Since I grew into adulthood and took control of my own health and wellbeing, I’ve been what many might refer to as a dynamo of energy. Every job, every karateh class and every workout I’ve ever done has been carried out with maximum effort, maximum speed and no time wasted. This habit carried on into my personal life, where chores, errands and getting things done involved hammering through them with no room or time to delay or move slowly. Certainly, my career in law enforcement has benefited from this perspective, since time and urgency can be very important elements of a police officer’s daily life. But in the past few years and since retiring from law enforcement, my views and perspectives have changed. And some of it happened without my even noticing it. It was quiet, sneaky and insidious, even. A perspective on daily life and one’s own mental health that I had never really come to appreciate or recognize before.
Some of this realization came from earlier this week when I travelled to a neighboring city for a work function. The hotel it was being held at was completely booked and I found myself staying at a different venue. For to parking availability, I found myself having to walk from the venue to my hotel. While this is no big deal, I found myself with some free time during the afternoon and decided to “dry run” the walk so that I could effectively time how long it would take me to get from one point to the other. This was so that I would risk being late for the event. I left point “A” and walked towards point “B” with the chronometer on my phone running to keep time. As I walked, I realized it was more of a casual saunter. I wasn’t rushing, I wasn’t hurrying, and I wasn’t just trying to get from point A to point B as quickly as possible. I was taking my time. I was walking casually. All in all, the walk took less than ten minutes at a leisurely pace, so I was in good shape. But this realization awoke… well, realization…
So much of modern life is rooted in rushing around, or what’s otherwise known as the “rat race.” This is a terrible way to live, considering this rat race is often one of the main contributors of stress, mental health issues and even physical ailments like high blood pressure and cardiac issues. While hurrying and carrying a sense of urgency can be important in some instances, finding the means to move casually and without rushing can help alleviate many of the things I named in this paragraph. It doesn’t mean I’ve grown slow, or age is catching up to me. I’ve simply begun to realize that setting the tone for oneself early on in the day can determine how one’s day will go over all. Slow and steady can allow oneself to remain calm, relaxed, maintain lower blood pressure and reduce stress. This is something I realized about two years ago when my morning routine was drastically changed.
About two years ago, I changed up how my morning routines have run. Prior to this change, I would wake to an early alarm, hit the ground running and could shit, shave and shower and be out the door tub under fifteen minutes. Looking back, I was actually proud of my ability to “launch” this effectively, first thing in the morning and more importantly, often without caffeine in my system yet. But I began to correct this process when I began to realize two very important details. One, this method of starting my day meant that I was stressed and harassed before even setting foot in my office. And two, I didn’t NEED to rush. I was in a position where I could actually take some time, first thing in the morning, to allow my mind to start absorbing the day and make my way to work calmly. The result has been getting to work much more relaxed and prepared to tackle the tasks of the day, as opposed to being a pent up ball of rage without even having started work yet
The point is, there is suffered in life. And with that suffering comes stress. At some point, we all come to realize that doing whatever we can with the tools we have available to reduce that stress goes a long way towards reducing our respective suffering. When it comes to my everyday life, I’ve come to realize that when I don’t need to rush, I SHOULDN’T rush. Will it be life changing? Probably not. Will it potentially revive some stress and help make me somewhat happier? Without a doubt. And in the end, that can make a great world of difference. Ask yourself, what is your slow walk? What can you do or what can you change, that will help you to reduce the stress in your life. And less stress means a happier, healthier life. And ultimately, that’s all one can truly hope for. Food for thought… ☯️
The Blogging Buddhist 