I’m regularly challenged to strike a balance between comparing for motivation and comparing in envy. I live a privilege life in numerous ways, both in the tangibles and in the intangibles. Yet there are still things I long to hold, to experience and to share. Where is the healthy line?

I accept that my brain is constantly trying to make connections to every piece of information absorbed. Survival and learning depend on tying new stimuli to memories, whether in delicate or obvious ways. Comparing and contrasting are two of those essential practices. So how do I manage this comparison instrument? I’m not sure I can filter my response at the instinct level. Is that even what I want?

Sometimes, it’s only when I compare to others that I can measure my progress. Some benchmarks are paramount to my growth or to my diminishment. Was I as generous as my neighbour? Did I express genuine joy at someone’s good fortune? Do I wish that great idea had been mine so people would recognize my accompishments?

Using positive self-talk might help redirect my thoughts. Taking the time to label those comparisons may put them in perspective. Could I teach myself to embrace motivational comparisons and to step away from those originating from envy?

If I’m unable to cease the comparisons, I can name them and try to reduce the ones related to jealousy when they soak through my brain cells. I can hold off the self-judgement and try using a mental mantra to analyze the origin of each comparison. This could take time and effort.

Practice makes perfect; then again, perfection is measured by comparison.

I Walked Among Them

I walked among them last night

People of purpose

I kept silent as grass in my isolation, witnessing connections

Posing, I was hardly an obstacle on their way

I saw battles, tugging at tethers

I saw dances, stretching their strings

I walked among them last night

People of purpose

I remained confined as shadows to the light, enying dependents

Pouting, I was invisble to the determined eye

I saw offerings, shining from their structures

I saw demands, burrowing into their base

I walked among them last night

People of purpose

Brian Toner April 2019

My friend has a neurological condition that he is compelled to disclose sometimes. The label grants him access to some programs and much needed supports that can help level the playing field in society. On the other hand, many don’t peel back that label to see the person and instead make limited judgement. Case in point, he met a new co-worker a few months back. This colleague learned about my friend’s condition, singled him out by offering him a drink and by loudly explaining that he had a sister with the same condition who also needed special attention. The gesture of the drink was meant to help, but instead it dismissed my friend and made him feel embarrassed in front of others. The giver was attempting to make a connection both to his own world and to my friend. It was driven by sympathy and not welcomed. As painful as it was, the event was not without merit. It demonstrated the desire to connect but was carelessly executed.

For another example, consider the strong bond we create within our close relationships. The more we dedicate ourselves to the attachment, the deeper the impact on our lives. Sadly, many of those relationships break down. The experiences cause deep hurt and require lots of healing. Yet most would agree that the intimacy was not without merit.

Throughout my regular and not so regular, daily obstacles, I continuously struggle to recognize the merit in these challenges. Then I wonder if perhaps the search for merit actually gives birth to it.

Just…This…Breath

This one is through gritted teeth. This one I’m letting go. This one taste bitter. This one goes unnoticed by my company. This one was lost for a moment.

Unique in a pattern of vital repetition, enough to sustain me for this moment,

Merit in just… this…breath.

This one is slow and easy. This one stretches my chest. This one I can hear with my eyes closed. This one is holding my head above water. This one needs me to dig deep.

Unique in a pattern of vital repetition, enough to sustain me for this moment,

Merit in just…this…breath.

This one is short and unsatisfying. This one prepares me to shout. This one I’m holding onto. This one tickles my throat.   This one shrinks my anger.              

Unique in a pattern of vital repetition, enough to sustain me for this moment,

Merit in just…this…breath.

B.Toner January 2019

I find myself outside more often in the late summer evenings. Something inexplicably draws me outdoors when the sun goes down. It feels like an old friend showing me something new. Maybe it’s because I can still stand outside without 17 layers under my parka. Maybe it’s due to the knowledge of the summer’s pending battle loss to autumn. Nevertheless, there I am sitting outside on my back deck or standing still on my front step. It’s peaceful and intimate.

Thick in my thoughts during these moments is the expression about “enjoying the simple things in life”. Not doing anything but listening to the muffled night sounds supports this concept of getting back to basics.

Are these joys really the simple things though? They create experiences that are very complex and stir intense contentment.

Take the idea of holding the door for someone; certainly a simple and rewarding act. More than that, it creates in both parties,  feelings of gratitude and familiarity. It’s only a moment, but the effect can linger in your thoughts, can alter your mood and can even pause stress. Additionally, think about what circumstances needed to align for that specific event to occur.

What about those times we run into an old friend unexpectedly. We take time to catch up, to live momentarily in the nostalgia, to extend on the connection and maybe even to make plans for the future.

Returning to my evening of solitude in my backyard, there are moments when I  can hear my son inside the house, talking to his friends. The spontaneous feelings of love and gratitude for these things in my life come to the surface in a powerful way. I am able to take stock of all of my blessings, family, home, career, etc.. Add to the experience, the night skies twinkling with stars that are light years away. They cross time and space to appear at that moment. Simultaneously, I realize how comfortable the weather is and how quiet the breeze blows. All of these conspire and inspire in innumerable ways. They create rich and intricate connections that can touch all of us deeply. Maybe that’s why we acknowledge them repeatedly and try to articulate them in a basic expression.

It turns out these simple things in life that we strive to hang onto are rather complex.

LONELY FOR THE STARS

I was concerned those celestial lights had other plans. Standing in my back yard that night, a vigil of my own design. I blinked several times to confirm that my eyes were indeed open. Even the distant streetlight seemed reluctant, casting only blended shadows. The darkness was not the company I had been seeking.

I waited patiently, gently for the smallest reward. Almost inperceptively it came, a twinkling connection from a giant light years away, so far away. My only company tonight, a vision more clear in my peripheral.

My hope gathered  momentum as more constellations joined in. I remained planted, afraid to move. Worried my acknowledgement might frighten them to burn out and to  leave me stranded under the night blanket. They seemed unchallenged by the distance, by my presence.

Their numbers steadily increased and I felt my tension dissipate under their care.

No longer lonely for the stars.

B. Toner

Sept, 2018

 

Another Christmas has come and gone. Now we find ourselves in the dead of winter. I can appreciate that this season of snow blankets and frosty breath has much to offer. Postcard sceneries magically cover up a multitude of bland corners of the neighbourhood. Skiing, snowshoeing, ice skating and even sleigh-riding, which were impossible under the summer sun, can be daily occurances.

Unfortunately, underneath the snow, I often harbour a sentiment of “getting through” this tough season in order to enjoy the warmer months. These gray days build character and make us proud Canadians, but I secretly anticipate spring.

Today, driving home from work, I pointed out this scenery to my son and realized it had become the norm. Driving by evergreens with fluffy whip cream on them, watching the sun reflect off the ice in the bay and even scraping off the windshield, all now part of our routine. A routine which  is as real and embedded as applying sunscreen and swatting away mosquitoes.

So why do I insist on dreaming of the normalcy of better days when this quarter of the Earth’ s orbit is as regular as the other three? I consider myself a positive thinker (for the most part). Therefore, my growth lies in becoming a present thinker; an enjoy-the-moment kind of person. Not simply in the things that I do, but in those circumstances that surround me and influence these things that I do.

I can appreciate the January Sun.

 

O JANUARY SUN

I can see her even now, but we’re not as close. She’s more distant, less welcoming. She mopes across the sky with a touch of hopeful warmth; not carefree warmth as it was a few months past.

She keeps more to herself this season. Silent, she is less intrusive. Content to rise late and rest early. Her winter dance is lower and less dramatic; as if she has partially retired from her duties.

I miss our summer affair when I would sweat under her constant attention, sneaking brief moments to hide under the shadows she splashed. Today, I am careful not to be blinded by her cold reminders, reflecting off every frozen surface.

O JANUARY SUN! You soldier on in purpose. Barely threading us through a white winter until you once again take your mark at center stage.

B. Toner – January, 2018

POROUS WALLS

In the housing business, the construction of a wall is paramount to the success of the building. I’ve heard that houses need to breathe. The goal, however, is a tight seal. Walls that let harmful substances leak through are damaging to its durability. Weak walls result in weak houses.

Public schools can also be tightly sealed in their control of programs. They try to protect the learning that takes place inside with a strong roof and thick walls. More often though, numerous outside parties now influence the academics of the students. Some positively, some negatively. Although still rigid, our classroom walls have become more porous. I’m at ease with that image; a strong structure with small spaces for drafts of new ideas.

What about humans? People like me work very hard to build walls. I keep out what I detest or what I fear. With highly developed talents, I live within my well-defined space. I’ve constructed a solid belief that I can control what and how things affect me.

It takes an incredible force to break down a human wall, my walls. When it happens, it’s explosive! Damaged walls remove your sense of security. It’s almost impossible to rebuild when you can’t recognize the old, protective framework. Trying to force down another’s defenses usually results in irreparable destruction; a broken spirit.

Contrary to house walls , I think I need to make my walls more porous, – to let things seep through gradually, –  to avoid patching every hole perfectly. Experiences that drip through, may mark up the furniture, may taint the colour of the room, but they only change the atmosphere in small ways. They make me only a little uncomfortable. They don’t destroy the support beams. It’s much easier to adjust to a small fissure than to recover from a wrecking ball.

In turn, to influence another, I must finds ways through the cracks in the bricks or to gently chip away at the armoured space. Take my time to explore for tiny openings where ideas can squeeze through. Trying to knock it over with force will only leave someone with a pile of rubble and no safe place.

If I begin with the premise that our walls are porous, I can make a place for the thoughts of others and maybe leave my mark within their shelter.

The next time I feel a draft, I’ll try to recognize it as the easier alternative for change.

Porous Walls

It’s bone-crushing work! Taking a sledge hammer to your wall or an anchor brace for mine. I’m blocked by bricks neatly stacked in place or wrecked into piles. I’m either damaged from a head-on collision or lying in rubble. The sturdier I try to make it, the harder it is to keep standing. Pressed up against it, I can feel it shake. That’s when I need to steady myself and look for cracks. Discover peep holes and take in the widest view possible. Feel for a draft and suck in that supply of air. That tiny view, that small breath can save my wall. Can save me.

B. Toner – April 2017

Like most people, I enjoy closure. Please, I want no stray glasses when I’m finished doing the dishes. I place the cap snuggly on the pen. I say definitive goodbyes. I complete the last chapter of most books before picking up the next one. I invest emotionally in a movie and expect the cliffhanger resolved before the credits roll. When the game is over, there is a winner and a loser.

On the other hand, I can learn from loose ends.

I can dream in anticipation of when I meet her again and plan what to say to impress. I can tell myself that I will finish writing that book and believe it! I can refrain from responding to a friend’s unwelcomed comment and instead discern its countless meanings. I can resist eating all the brownies in the tin, leaving some for my son, (maybe not).

Although they stretch my level of stress, these loose ends often teach me patience and some semblance of self-discipline. Possibilities become endless when I’m missing the end. To compensate for this state of incompletion, I am forced to draw on imagination. My creative side fills in some of the gaps with unexpected details. What I leave unfinished welcomes more input. I design for or wallow in what might happen.

I can genuinely learn to appreciate loose ends for what they bring to me. Hope. I can stew in hope.

Loose ends

Every thread in the cloth weaves a purpose, even the loose ones. Tightly connected, they create a design. Dangling loose, they dance in the wind. Both draw our eyes to their creativity. One for their pattern – one for their spontaneity.

Harness power and direct the outcome. Surrender power and embrace the unknown. Strengthen blood through bonding. Increase blood flow through freedom. Both paths lead us through life; one through ambition and one through faith.

Tie up loose ends….loosen up tied ends.

B. Toner                 December 2016

Checkmate!

A crisp word that signals the end of a battle. Even with the exclamation point, it’s just a statement of a situation. Simple – two syllables usually pronounced with a steady voice and very little emotion; accepted by the receiver.  The game is over. Shake hands and reset the board.

To be fair, in the game of chess, I get warning signs. “Check!” My call to action; to make attempts in hopes to prevent my loss.

Would that I had those omens in life before being dealt devastating blows.

On the other hand, maybe I do receive signs, but choose to ignore them.

You’re staying up too late for too many nights. Check!

You’ve eaten too much chocolate. Check!

You’ve put off making that difficult phone call. Check!

You’ve busied yourself right out of the quality time with loved ones. Check!

Similar to chess, there’s always a strategy directing me to a victory or to a loss. Those combinations of choices that lead to consequential and not innocent circumstances: habits, decisions, responses to others.

If someone were to whisper “Check!” at the tipping point, (not a lucrative career I admit), then maybe I wouldn’t fall so hard. Having a “check”  “mate” as it were. Even in losing, maybe I would accept it better having been prepared by my check mate. Checkmate! Clear the board, move on.

The again, maybe my life is better suited to checkers.

CHECKMATE!

My kingdom fallen, helpless. Who am I, why so careless? Ran scenarios through my mind. Unexposed axes to grind. Protected my flank, kept pace. Covered my back, left no trace. Misread many warning signs. Victim of my own design. Full of doubt, correcting wrong. Now defenceless, once was strong. Battle tested, battle drawn. Scars a-plenty, injured pawn. Black and blue, no longer green. More to come, more to be seen.

B. Toner, October 2016

 

“When the leaves show their undersides, be very sure that rain betides.”

Apparently, there is science behind this old adage. It’s something about how the humidity makes the stems of the leaves pliable and more susceptible to the wind. They flip in the gusts. Soon after, the rain comes.

Contrary to nature’s way, our character’s underside is exposed during the storm instead of before those ill winds. When we or those we admire show their less desirable traits, we are disappointed. Disappointed in our vulnerability, disappointed in their realism.  People see parts that are otherwise hidden; behaviours we wish would stay that way.

On the other hand, maybe they’re not truly hidden, but ignored. Like you, I imagine many unflattering responses just itching to be expressed. After all, the underside of the leaves are always there. Depending on where we stand, we can even see them on a calm day. Our bad reactions are constantly trying to get out, just under the surface. If that’s the case, some of us show amazing self-control, containing our outbursts from day to day. We deserve a medal.

I think we need to find ways to safely release these reactions more often.We don’t want anyone harmed. If we hold off and wait for the big storm though, the damage is more severe and harder to repair. Limited exposure to our faulty parts can lower their intensity and in turn repair the damage  to our reputation or self-esteem more quickly.

Perhaps you may see my character”s underside flipped more often, but you’ll be seeing more of who I am.

Under -Over

When faltering under stress, we long to be overlooked. Instead, lesser qualities are under scrutiny. We feel over exposed. Over time, few understand we are under the influence of overwhelming odds. Our underneath is unearthed. We under estimate the public cost of falling. Glossing over our reputations becomes over priced.  We begin over thinking everything; perceiving ourselves under appreciated. We hope to sweep it under and start over.

B. Toner September 30, 2016

For the most part, I glance in the mirror only briefly to check my hair (what’s left of it) or to straighten my tie. Absent-mindedly, I may notice small things as I brush my teeth.

On those rare occasions when I stop to look at the whole package that is me; however,  I’m always surprised and not pleasantly. Do I really hold that stance? Is that the posture of my shoulders? Is my waist that prominent all the time? Is this how I project myself? This is completely different than how I see myself when I’m out in the public world!  I’ve always pictured a more together person, more presentable than the reflection I witness in the mirror.  It’s like hearing your recorded voice and wincing at the sound; as if it’s camouflaging what you believe is your true message. What a disappointment! What a shock!

If that’s my real presence, it’s a wonder others take me seriously or actually enjoy my company. I sometimes feel like I’ve crafted a long- standing message only to realize I’ve been misunderstood all this time. I could try to suck in my gut,  maybe square my shoulders and deepen my voice, but I’m sure eventually, I would slump back into the reality I see in the mirror. Instead, I wish everyone else could see the imaginary me, the better me. That’s what I want them to see; not the testimony from my mirror.

On the other hand, my colleagues still choose to work alongside me. My family loves me and my friends still call. From their perspective, my presence with them is genuine and tolerable.

Perhaps they experience these epiphanies too from time to time. Maybe they too get shaken by the chasm between what’s real and what we think is real about ourselves. If that’s the case, I shouldn’t be so insecure the next time I’m awakened to the reflection that is me and I should try not to judge others.

I’ll still be disappointed and hope for a better me the next time I’m checking myself out, but I won’t curse at the mirror; or at least not with such deep profanity.

THE WATER MIRROR

On a calm day, I gently lean my head over the side of the boat and enjoy my reflection on the surface of the water. The liquid-still image is clean and clear; framed by nature and by natural light. This composition hides some scars and I appear the way I should.

Until those ripples! Those tiny waves distort my face and I struggle to retrieve even small traces of what I thought was me. The reflection was deceivingly shallow. I quickly right myself in the boat and erase the image in the water mirror.

B. Toner 2016