#94- Sunsets

I found myself sitting on a dock in Muskoka cottage country, beside my girlfriend, last weekend watching the sun set on another great day and another amazing summer. 

It was a bittersweet moment, knowing that summer was done and I was leaving Ottawa and everything that city meant; my home for the last four years, memories, lessons learned, cute Parliament cats and of course my girlfriend who lives and works there. 

Even with all that in the back of my mind I just couldn't find it in me to be sad. Maybe it was the promise of s'mores, or the smell of BBQ wafting from the cottage (you can tell I like food).

But really I think the reason was the sunset. Next to its beauty, as the sun slipped behind the tree-covered hills and calm waters, the sunset signaled, as corny as it sounds, the beginning of something new. If I've learned anything it's that new is scary, but arrives at your doorstep anyways and should be embraced if you want to enjoy life.

The sunset is a moment to reflect on what has been, the day that has passed, the moments, the things you've learned, the obstacles and the triumphs you've had. It is a marker to prepare you for what is to come; a great night full of fun or a dark few hours to persevere through.

It is the end to one day and the promise that a new one will emerge, it is an end so a beginning can emerge. The daily example the sunset gives is important to me right now, on the cusp of a transition from school to applying my lessons to something that is hopefully progressive and helpful to society. It shows me that maybe new isn't just scary, but a chance to venture into another era of darkness, light and, at the end, another sunset that I will lament, but take joy in as well.

And most importantly the sunset is there to give hope. When the sky paints itself in colours thought unimaginable it shows that the impossible is not so impossible, that anything is within reach, that there is something that is still good in the world even if it seems like everything is crumbling around you.

So I am grateful for sunsets. I am grateful that I have been around for 8016 of them so far, out of car windows, airplanes, from desks, stores, porches, patios, half way around the world and right at home, 

wherever that may be. I am grateful for the way sunsets signify change and the opportunities that it brings, chances to have fun, be strong, achieve the impossible, reflect, get better and give thanks. 

#93- Losing My Bus Pass

Last Friday morning could not have started any worse. 

It was horribly and and unseasonably cold for a summer morning and I sat shivering at a table on the patio of a coffee shop. I was tired and still had to work that day. As I got up from the table I patted my pocket, a reactionary tick I have to check if I have everything. Where there was supposed to be a bus pass there was only a piece of crumbled paper and the feeling of utter despair. I desperately rifled through my backpack only to come up empty again. I had lost my bus pass. 

So much for T.G.I.F.

After a violent mood swing that featured more cursing than an R-rated movie and exaggerated "why me" moments fit for the stage, I accepted that losing my bus pass was not that big of a deal. It was in fact a blessing in disguise.

Losing my bus pass meant less sitting on crusty, blue seats watching the world go by and more walking around in the sunshine, taking in the world around me. 

I explored my new neighbourhood, I noticed interesting new nooks in a city I thought I already had completely figured out. I stopped to look at books at the little, independent bookstore around the corner from me. I saw a lady sing about an American privateer, whatever that is.

I had been stuck, stuck on buses, going about the daily grind and not noticing all the beauty that summer in Ottawa had to offer. Losing my bus pass was a ticket out of this rut.

So I am grateful for losing my bus pass. I am grateful that life made me stop and realize its beauty when I refused to do so on my own. And even though I know I will need to get a new bus pass for next month, I will always remember that part of summer my own two feet were the best transportation around.

#92- Fatherly Advice

I know, I know, I missed Father's Day, by a long shot, but I'm going to try to make up for it by giving homage to what just might be one of the best things about fathers worldwide; fatherly advice.

It seems to me that fathers have it hardwired into their brain to impart the cumulative wisdom of their years into bite-sized nuggets of information for their offspring. As a former student journalist it is astounding to me how concisely dads can put huge metaphysical queries into one or two sentences or a witty phrase.


On the eve of my departure to Kenya, almost four years ago, my dad and I were talking, probably about the Blue Jays or something, when he suddenly gave me some of that fatherly advice. He told me that when I faced adversity on my trip, when I had a bad day or felt like I couldn't or didn't want to continue, I should remember one thing; why I was there in the first place.


I nodded and thanked him, but I gave the advice a mental brush off, stuffing it in the back of my brain. Why would I need that, I thought, I'm on a once in a lifetime trip with friends, doing something good. I won't face any doubt or hurdles, emotional, mental or physical.

Of course I was wrong, as arrogant teenagers often are, and mustered up that sage wisdom of my father's more than once along my journey in Kenya, and was 1000 times better off for it.


And now I keep that advice close at hand in whatever I do. Whenever I start to grumble and get discouraged at the ice cream store where I work, I try to remember why I am there. I am there to serve ice cream, I am there to make people smile, help a family connect, a child find the extraordinary in the ordinary and give a sweet end to a sometimes bitter day. And when I remember this I realize the smiles and laughter much more and my tired legs and negative thoughts much less.


So I am grateful for fatherly advice. I am grateful that wisdom, kindness and knowledge can be passed from generation to generation to make this world a better place.    

#91- Lost and Found

It was one of those moments that was full of what I would like to dub the Sad Clown Phenomenon. I had had an amazing day, going out for lunch, a trip to the museum, and now a $2 dollar comedy with my girlfriend and had all the reason in the world to be loving life. And yet I was very, very sad. That's because, in my sheer stupidity, I had left my beloved J-school hoodie somewhere in the mall and was convinced that I would never see it again.

I managed to forget about it and enjoy the movie, but was still sad enough to refuse candy from my girlfriend, a sure sign that the Sad Clown Phenomenon hadn't totally relinquished its grip. After the movie, however, I started to slip back into it until my girlfriend, a true optimist in her perseverance and determination, told me I should look in the mall's lost and found.

I, being full of Sad Clown, still despaired. Of course it wouldn't be there, no one would have turned in my sweater, it was probably being eaten by a pack of Ottawa's infamous hungry groundhogs by now.

Long story short, it was there and I had my sweater back and wore it, draw strings pulled tight for added security, all the way home in the summer heat.

And today I am forever indebted to Lost and Found boxes everywhere.

They are themselves a great thing, a chance to reclaim lost objects of significance and trivial appeal alike. But they are much more than that. They are a symbol of hope, a last bastion of promise and optimism that relief will come; that you will find what is important to you.

It is also an assurance that humans are indeed inherently good creatures. Lost and Founds are a sign that people will do the right thing and want, deep in their hearts and minds, for people to be happy even if they don't know that person and will get nothing, not even a thank you or a look of joy, in return for their good deed.

So I am grateful for the Lost and Found. I am grateful that they are always there, like a network of kindness and hope and human decency and selflessness, when you need it most. And I am grateful that it helped remind me that these things exist in the world and rose me up and out of the pessimism I had given into and back to seeing life like a glass half full.

#90- Dandelions

A couple weeks ago I was walking along the Rideau Canal and to keep my eyes and mind off what was potentially floating belly up in the water a few metres from me I set my eyes upon the thousands of dandelions that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Let me tell you, it was a beautiful sight.

Yes, dandelions are weeds, but they are not the putrid green, hand pricking, soul-sucking weeds that seem to ruin your every attempt to grow a small backyard herb garden, but nice yellow sprouts lining the various paths you walk on to work or school or a Sunday evening jaunt.

Sure they have their downsides, just ask people with allergies. But at least they are nice to look at, even if you have to take your eyes off of them for a few seconds to sneeze.

To borrow a quote about another, more loved plant: "You can complain because roses have thorns or rejoice because thorns have roses."

In other words, focus more on the positives of dandelions, the beauty, the good luck they bring when you blow their seeds into the wind, etc., rather than the negatives because as much as you try, they are always going to be around.

So I am grateful for dandelions. I am grateful for the splash of amazing colour they bring to any landscape. I am grateful they defy the normal perception of a weed as awful and harsh. And I am grateful that they stand as testament to a very important lesson I have learned in my life; focus on the good in everything rather than dwelling on any of the negatives that are bound to pop up and it'll brighten your day even when it's cloudy out.

#89- Aloe

My old photo instructor at Centretown News would be proud; I sacrificed my body to get the perfect photos for my new job.

Last Saturday I bravely weathered the harsh heat of the sun to take pictures of games all day for the rugby club I'm working for and I came away with a couple of things: a sense of pride and joy at having taken some decent looking photos and a wicked sun burn that hurt at the slightest touch.

I try not to think of the pain and the peeling, but instead of the duty I have to take great pictures, although this is kind of hard to do when a slight wind causes so much pain and you look like Elmo with blond hair.

No it's not easy being green, but I would say it's much harder being red.

But that's why aloe is such an amazing thing.

When I put that creamy, cool, slightly weird smelling lotion on my burns I swear I could see steam coming off my skin, but I felt an immense relief and praised that prickly little plant for producing something as heavenly as aloe lotion.

And although the aloe didn't completely heal my burns, it helped decrease the pain and damage to my skin. It prevented the peeling that makes me look like a human snake just in time for graduation. And it allowed me to put my arms down to my sides when before I couldn't even do that for the pain touching my shirt would give burns.

So I am grateful for aloe. I am grateful that when I was so very stupid to forget to put on sunscreen, it was there for me in my time of need and too-late repentance. I am grateful that aloe is nature's sunburn nurse that helped me counter nature's branding irons. And I am grateful that the aloe vera plant abides by the don't-judge-a-book-by-its-cover mantra because its spiky exterior hides an amazing medicine.

#88- Paramedics

Nothing says "Happy Sunday" like a head injury!

While that may be slightly (or largely) untrue, it was nonetheless my mantra this past weekend.

Here's the story: I was walking home from work, minding my own business, talking to my mom on the phone, when I heard a mysterious pop-pop-pop noise from the street. This noise caught my attention as it was vastly different than the natural sounds of the Glebe; hipster music, babies crying and patio chatter. I didn't have much time to think about it (maybe a split second) before something slammed into my head. The next thing I know, I have blood pouring from my head and I'm thinking, "Man, this is really going to make my glasses all smudgy."

In the end I was alright, and it was mainly because of some very kind-hearted people. My friend (who was randomly, perhaps fatefully, coming out of a store when I was running down the street) called 911 and my girlfriend came running over to do whatever she could to help (several Olympians would have been shamed by her speed and hurdling abilities at that moment).

But I want to thank the pros who were on the scene that day, the paramedics who came and treated my injury and took every precaution to make sure I was alright and able to get on with my day. These paramedics were complete strangers who cared about me and my well-being. They were calm and nice and very good at their jobs. They also put me at ease when they told me my sunburns were probably more of an issue than the head injury (sorry skin).

Before this weekend I have never had an encounter with a paramedic (I count myself blessed for being able to say that), but now that I have, I feel even better about this world knowing there are completely selfless and giving people out there like the ones who helped me.

So I am grateful for paramedics. I am grateful for the job they do. I am grateful that they can remain positive and caring in a job where there is so much hurt. I am grateful that they will do anything to stop this hurt, even if it's affecting people they have never met and will never meet again. Thanks to everyone who helped me this weekend, and, if you happen to read this, a big thank you to the paramedics.