Just another Monday

Standing atop a frozen hilltop yesterday before dawn, I beheld an apocalyptic vision… a smoking, ruinous, hulk of a city lay spread out beneath me, its jagged skyline blurred by countless plumes of thick grey steam. A thousand tiny yellow licks of flame glowed bright against the blackness – a thousand twinkling windows.  Man, it was cold out.

A short note on the importance of context…

An inukshuk in Banff, Alberta - Larger than life?

How wide do you stretch your frame of reference? Not just in photography, although these Banff pics do make a snazzy allegory, but in how you see yourself. How close do you crop?

It’s really a matter of context. How much are you willing to let into the picture? One word on a page is black and white, but it’s funny how quickly the paper turns grey as you add to the story. It takes real courage to rip yourself out of a nice, cozy, swaddled reality. As we extend our frame of reference to include the motivations of other people, cultures, and histories, we are forced to surrender (albeit incrementally) the security of control – a hard sacrifice for those who prefer to direct their worlds, and be justified by them.

I’m not talking about abandoning yourself to some universal “flow”, but more about finding a way to exist as a secure self in an open, ever changing world. The first step is to allow yourself to be justified (validated) by an outside source – Gödel was onto something. I know I’m being biased here, but I highly recommend God. The next key is to give up a little of that control. Can you hear it? Yep, that’s the world, and it’s still  turning, a miracle, I know.

Get to know yourself, without judgment or regret. Just be honest for a minute, within the context of only you. Who are you? What do you really want? Ok, so maybe a minute is cutting it a bit tight, but you get the idea. This self-knowledge can take away so much of the questioning and vulnerability of “big picture” living. Once you’re ready to open your frame of reference, you’ll be amazed at how the scale of everything changes. Sure, in the grand scheme of it all, you shrink down almost to nothing, but you’ll be amazed at how many new, big, bold possibilities can squeeze into a big life.

Hmm... not so much. ~Special thanks to leg model G~

 

How to toy with your position in the hierarchy of the universe

It was a standoff in the park. The man stood firm, arms crossed, waiting.  His dog sat ten feet away with an orange, freshly fetched Frisbee clamped tight in his jaws. Neither would budge, each waiting for the other to  submit and take that first step forward.

I put my stroll on hold to watch what would happen next. After an incredibly long and awkward ten seconds, the dog made the first move. He crossed the grass and dropped the Frisbee at his master’s feet, then sat back on his haunches and thumped his tail on the ground with what I took to be obvious relief. With his position in the universe reaffirmed, the dog was free to once again relax into his role of loved and dutiful pet.

Here’s a game I play to toy with my own position in the hierarchy of the universe…

As a woman, not to mention a blonde (which has its advantages, don’t get me wrong), I’ve noticed that certain middle aged men, especially those wearing expensive suits, expect me to give them right of way when we’re walking towards each other on the same track lane of sidewalk or hallway. A few years ago I realized I was, unconsciously, nearly always shifting, albeit subtley, to give them room.

Well, not any more. I walk straight and strong without giving an inch. What happens? Most of the time they realize it’s not worth playing chicken with a girl whose gait suddenly has more in common with John Cena than Audry Hepburn. When they do take the risk, and it’s always the ones who (you just know) trim their nose hair at least twice a week, what happens next is inevitable (and oh so gratifying). I lower my shoulder, in classic football style, and drive right through. I never look back; that would imply I was concerned, or even (the horror!),  somewhat apologetic.

I’m fully aware that it’s only a matter of time before this ‘inocent’ game blows up in my face. Is it worth it? Yes! I do it out of solemn responsibility to my sex, to let the world know that times have changed and the old hierarchy is dead. Of course, it’s a whole lot of fun too~wink. Now if only there was a way to break my husband’s monopoly over the remote control. All I can say is never underestimate the power of a healthy bodycheck.

A short note on the injustice of other people eating bacon at 7:10AM

My walk to work takes me through one of Calgary’s swankiest neighbourhoods. Wandering through The Better Homes and Gardens Theme Park so early in the morning can be pretty demoralizing to those of us not booked on a flight to Cannes this week. I can deal with picturesque window treatments and carefully landscaped lawns. Current model BMWs cutting me off on the sidewalk? No problem. But…

A line was crossed today. There is one house on the route so magnificent, so architecturally breathtaking in all its cedar shingled glory, that even its Home Depot outdoor potters transend our reality to honour the sublime. Anyways, that house, that family, was cooking bacon at 7:10 this morning! Is it really so much to ask that there be just a little pinch of justice for those of us with empty stomachs trudging by in beat-up sneaks? 

But then again, what a wonderful way to find out, at 7:10am, that yes, it is possible to have everything.

Not so different after all…

North Americans are the biggest hypocrites! We Canadians readily submit ourselves to a meteorological climate so hostile that merely revealing an ear to the world can lead to permanent injury.  The picture on the left was taken this morning, on May 20th. MAY! Here I am, bundled to the hilt, in a society that would happily let me skip around in little more than a couple of spandex triangles.

How dare we judge our sisters, whose own climate, albeit cultural, dictates an identical costume. Her and I are both madly in love with our countries and our families; why shouldn’t we dress for the best chance of success and acceptance in both. What is freedom? Do I really have the freedom to run through the snow in a bikini? Can my personal choice to expose my body to frostbite ever be comparable to the cultural reprimand one of my sisters might face if she rebelled in similar fashion?

Hmmm.

 (hijab image source)

Grab a biscuit on your way out…

I cut under the entrance awning of the retirement home beside my office building on my way to work this morning. There was an ambulance parked in front, right outside the home’s dining lounge windows. I took a peek at the breakfast crowd as I darted by. I know the drill; an ambulance that early in the morning usually means only one thing: there will be one less tea biscuit on the tray.

There was a smattering of elderly residents in the lounge, some chatting, some alone, all nibbling on delights far more tasty than the frozen peas with cheese that were waiting for me next door (don’t ask). One woman was sitting close to the window, all by herself. She was looking past me absently, chewing on the end of a thick butter coloured biscuit. Her wrists were wire thin, and the dyed reddish curls on top of her head were politely spaced with plenty of breathing room in between each translucent twist.

I couldn’t help but wonder if it was one of her table-mates who wouldn’t be making it down for breakfast. The woman didn’t seem all that concerned about the ambulance, or even all that interested in what she was eating. What did the scene mean to her, if anything? With mortality waiting just outside the window – I kept asking myself – why wasn’t she savouring the darned tea biscuit? There is so much I don’t yet know about life, but I can tell you one thing…

My frozen peas with cheese were absolutely delicious.

The tea biscuit circle of life

(image source)

Who says Vogue isn’t relevant!

“They were charming eccentrics with marvelous imaginations, and there is so little room these days for wonderful people like that.” – William Norwich, April Vogue 2009

Norwich may have been writing about East Hampton’s two reclusive Edith Beales, circa 1976, but his comment on our culture is remarkably shrewd. When did we stop valuing creativity? Imagination? When it stopped making money, that’s when. So… why did we decide to stop buying?

The Dorian Gray Snowman

I saw a perfect snowman on my walk home last Thursday. He had black button eyes, a carrot nose, and a jolly hollowed out smile. The snowman stood, proudly postured, with his well proportioned stick arms throwing a happy hug to the world.

This Monday morning on my way to work, I passed by the snowman again. He still stood on his frosty lawn, in front of the same ludicrously expensive, beautiful, home. But… Oh what horrors of debauchery that family must have gotten up to over the weekend!

Not only had the snowman had been stripped of his arms, but he had had his eyes plucked out and his nose torn away. His proud stance had melted into the awful droop of a being who has given up on the world, with his head lolling back on sloping shoulders and the rest of him sinking slowly into the earth. And his mouth, that was the most gruesome transformation. His jaw gaped and his bulging lower lip was sagging low, off to one side, halfway down to his chest. I could almost hear the wretched thing howling at me from its slushy maw as I trudged by on the sidewalk.

I must admit the scene cheered me, in a way.

So often we walk by large lovely houses and imagine large lovely families living large, and lovely, lives inside. What a relief it is then, to see how they might not be so perfect after all – that a single one of their weekends could leave a portrait, albeit in snow, so ruined. Of course, the weather did warm up a bit on Saturday, but that wouldn’t have anything to do with it ~wink.

Elevators are treacherous in this economy

So… I happen to get in the elevator this morning with one of my office’s biggest oil company clients. I recognized her, despite red eyes and wild this-$34-a-barrel-is-killing-me hair, as Peggy-Ann, a charmer from the 17th floor. And I, as a dedicated and motivated employee, proceeded to make small talk. Groan - that’s when everything went so wrong…

 

“So I guess you’ve heard we’re moving,” I said.

 

Her eyes went wide with obvious shock and horror. “Matrix is moving????!” 

 

This is where yours truly entered panic mode. Ah yes, the full-on arm flailing, the sheepish grinning, the hopelessly hole digging sputtering… and it all happened so fast - ”just down the street…we’ll still be super close…you didn’t hear it from me…” Ohhhhh the agony!!! Did I just give out a corporate secret? Did I just somehow sabotage our company’s biggest contract? What does one do in this type of calamity?

 

Well…one fesses up to one’s boss in the office kitchen while trying to look extra “dedicated and motivated” by rearranging the pop cans in the bottom of the fridge. End result? Life…somehow…goes on. Turns out it was no biggie. And, as a bonus, now all the logos on the pop cans are lined up.  Um…wooopi?

The one thing I will not wait for…

I wait patiently for traffic lights to turn, for water to boil, for my hubby to take me play-by-play through his latest round of golf ; ) Yes, willingly, even joyfully, I twiddle my thumbs through it all. But there is one thing I refuse to wait for, even for a matter of seconds. I will not wait for Porta-potties to be unloaded from a construction site pickup truck while I stand freezing on a snowy downtown sidewalk on my way to work. I was caught in just such a situation recently – hence the descriptive detail lol. My fellow pedestrians were grumbling and kicking at the snow, when someone finally spoke up: “Are we really waiting for Porta-potties?” The closest construction worker nodded sheepishly.

Well forget that! I took off for the nearest building entrance and made my way up to the +15 (Calgary’s raised downtown walkway), where, promptly, I got lost.

Sigh. First time dignity’s ever made me late for work.

Heli-potty takes flight…a much better delivery method!

(Image source)

I’m so ashamed…

It’s finally happened. I thought growing up with a 13inch black and white, constantly snow screened, cableless TV would immunize me. No such luck. I thought only those poor souls black’buried’ under cellphones and laptops would be afflicted. Nope. I never felt the change – that’s the scariest part – of my brain and body slowly rewiring under constant sensory assault. I never felt it happening, only the horror of realizing it was too late. The damage is done. Our pace of life has been jacked up to max and our attention spans have petered out to mere milliseconds. Case in point?

It’s 8:02AM. Already late, I jump in the first elevator that opens (out of the bank of eight) in my office tower. I press ‘29′, and my eyes immediately search out the in-ride plasma TV. But it’s blank! And I, truly, no joke, the kid who used to be able to play with a bag of buttons for hours, make a dash for the closing doors. Somehow, in that instant, thrusting my body between two giant slabs of squeezing metal (not to mention being that much more late for work) was preferable to the agony of being without sensory input for 30 seconds. Luckily, I clued in to my idiocy just in time and pulled back.

Was the ride boring? Not at all. I had a good solid 30 seconds to contemplate my insanity. Which, as you can imagine, was about all the time my attention span could afford lol. What’s usually on the elevator plasma? Prices for stocks I don’t own, news I don’t follow, reviews for movies I’ll never see, and a small logo in the lower left hand corner of the screen – Captive Entertainment…wooops, my mistake, Captivate Entertainment. Guess it’s time for some new contacts, cause I sure ain’t seeing what’s right in front of me. Or maybe I am… ; )

After the crash: Looking beyond the stock market to the new “Microconomy”

The next mutation, or evolution (depending on your creed), of our Western economic model will consist of a major upheaval in the trend of monopolization. Instead of localizing our needs geographically, as shown by the proliferation of big box one-stop shops, and administratively (all those endless mergers), we will see a dramatic shift towards a new model – the “microconomy“.

The microconomy will be a gradual reversal of monopolization, facilitated (if not necessitated) by the Internet. Historically, monopolization has been favoured for its ability to reduce operating (parts manufacture, administration, shipping, communication) costs and to boost the perceived “authority” of the parent company. This concept of authority was vital in the old economic model, because it fostered feelings of security and trust in the minds of both customers and employees. For example, the stock market used its perception of authority to secure seemingly endless investments from a naturally near-sighted public and from fellow money monopolizers (aka fat cats).

Authority is a universal concept, modeled for eons by families, governments, and religions, as well as in our present day globalized economy. But there’s change afoot. The recent popularity of political democracies is part of a relatively new global trend. Its evidence can be found everywhere, from the rejection of organized religion, to the breakup of the nuclear family. This trend, the gradual focusing on the individual, on his/her opinions and his/her personal power, unavoidably leads its subscribers to a bloated sense of individual entitlement and a rejection of authority – two traits that ‘just don’t jive’ with our current economic model. Why? Personal entitlement (ex: Loreal’s slogan “you’re worth it”), mixed with innate human greed, fueled the stock (and morgage) bubble, and our rejection of these conglomerates’ unquestioned authority (and therefor their contingent security) popped it!

So what’s next? Our generation has grown up in online communities linked by common interests rather than geography or generalized class systems. A new market model, without getting into all that nitty gritty supply/demand graphing, is on the horizon. The new “microconomy” will use personal entitlement to motivate both buyers and sellers in a net-based network of individuals using their “soft-skills” to meet each others needs and wants. Authority will not be assumed, but will be dynamic and trackable, based on individual sellers’ records (much like Ebay ratings), customer comments, and with how prominently they are linked in the network.

The microconomy will take people out of the conventional workplace and allow them to transition to the soft-skills marketplace of the home and like-interest groups. Skills and interest groups will connect on the network, but will travel and meet physically within the local community. In the old system, we are overly connected, not to people, but to transient images of people. In the microconomy, these people become real and whole.

Convenience and personalization are two key components that must be highlighted in this new model. The microconomy will be about sourcing the best of what we need/want, and making energizing person-to-person connections with new interested minds. The closest analogy would be the ol’ town square. The geographic convenience of a Walmart will be replaced by the logistical convenience of a local network of sellers of “hard” and “soft” goods. People will have the opportunity to specialize in their areas of expertise and interact in enriching ways, while eliminating so much of the “busy work” inherent in administrating and operating our present conglomerates.

There is an unbelievable glut of information, skill, talent, passion, and, yes, even money, circulating in our present economy. The microconomy will eliminate the “middle man” and connect people within their communities in meaningful ways. We are the first generation trained on the tools that will bring it all together. Now if only we could find the time…

(Note: This opinion essay is an original work by Cymbria Wood and should not, in a perfect world, be quoted or posted without a reference to this blog – thank you)

Feelin down? Try this today…(but please look both ways first)…

Working in gray downtown in gray November can get one feeling, well, a wee bit gray. If the symptoms are left untreated, they can progress quickly into the much more dangerous condition of cog-itis (inescapable sense of personal insignificance in the dull gray gearing of this capitalist machine, accompanied by frequent misfiring of tear ducts and a mild throaty cough). What’s the quickest way to regain one’s sense of personal power in this grand ol’ gray world? 

Try this quick remedy next time you’re standing at a crowded intersection, listlessly waiting for the “walk” light to come on: LOOK BOTH WAYS, then confidently stride out into the crosswalk with dignity and purpose – a good few seconds before the light changes. You will be shocked at how many other cog-ites blindly follow you off the curb. Now that’s power. Slightly stupid, maybe, depending on the traffic, but real power.

People follow purpose, and what’cha know, they’re following you!

(image source)

Hop a Calgary city bus to…Tuscany?

A Calgary city bus cruised by me on my walk to work this morning, route number 30, destination Tuscany. Tuscany?? The bus was full of dreary fall jackets and grim faces. Imagine getting on a bus every morning promising escape, joy, sun and relaxation, and then being dumped off in some dark forsaken corner of the same city you woke up in. The cruelty of it. The inhumanity. That’s one joke I never want to be a part of. It takes almost an hour to walk my route to work, and an hour back, but I’ll choose sneakers over that kind of heartbreak any day! Note: I walk for a myriad of other reasons too, and yes, I know it’s crazy ; )

Oh dear…

Mitch - one feisty little guy

I happen to be very affected by what I read, and even more so by what I write. I really should have kept that in mind before beginning my current novel project. Why? Because this is my main character…

I think, and I’m sure my husband would agree, that I may be starting to take a little too much of his character home with me. After a full-on writing session, I see that same ever-so-darling face staring out of the mirror at me (but with more hair, or course) ; ) All I can say is, I better get this book done quick!

Why must riding the elevator always be so socially awkward?

Just asking.

I mean, am I missing something? Like the elevator etiquette handbook? Please let me know if anyone has figured out how to order a copy. Until then, I’m taking the stairs. Ok, maybe not on the way up. I am on the 29th floor. Hmmm, come to think about it, it’s almost time for me to go home and I’ve feeling pretty blah…so maybe I’ll start on my enclosed-space-social-ineptitude-motivated-exercise-plan tomorrow. Yep, wore myself right out just by trying to say that out loud.

Watch out Calgary, because tonight, just to make it interesting, I may leave one of my trademark unanswered-unappreciated-on-elevator-witticisms hanging in the stale air over our heads all the way down to G.

Think Chapters might have one of those books? Are they open late tonight?

Marriage: Just remember this one little secret…

“Marriage isn’t a court of law. It is a court of precedent.”- Kristi DeWolf

The most illuminating piece of marital advice I’ve ever heard comes from my genius-in-training unmarried 18 year old coworker. And to think, some people out there still listen to Dr. Phil. Get with the times people! Want wisdom? Look for a girl with face piercings and an ‘unprecedented’ ‘tude.

City’s tallest building shortest on humanity

Searching for signs of humanity on my daily 8:02AM elevator ride up Calgary’s tallest building…

First hope: News of a Pakistan suicide bombing flashes up on the elevator’s plasma screen. In a crowd of freshly creased dress pants, a woman’s skirt twitches. Her hand goes to her mouth to cover her horror. I’m touched by her honesty. She feels it too, the sudden sharp sadness, the helplessness. Her hand falls back to her side, and I see that she was only hiding a yawn.

Second hope: Two heads nod in recognition. A comment, a joke, then laughter. The elevator fills with the unfamiliar sound. The two heads have short, perfectly coiffed, fruit scented hair. But the perfume quickly turns the trapped air sickly sweet, and their laughter sharpens into a piercing cackle. I look down. Two pairs of pointy black leather toes. I should have guessed.

Third Try: The elevator fills to capacity. Everyone wants a different floor, and mine’s the highest. I groan. I always get motion sick on amusement park rides. Someone has to do something. So I stick a banana in the door. Technically speaking, I wedge one end in the doorframe, so it’s jutting out beside the number pad in all its bright yellow banana glory. Nobody said anything. Nobody smiled. No one even acknowledged that there was a big banana sticking out of the door! Oh the humanity!!

Maybe I’m asking too much from a crowd of drowsy businesspeople, who are already late to wherever they’re going if they’re on the 8:02. Sigh. When not even a banana will jazz up your office workday, there’s only one more thing left to try… (click here to get noticed on the elevator to your next job interview!)

The spider plant monologue revisited

Remember the pledge?

I made a commitment three months ago to our office spider plant. For the first time, I allowed myself to become emotionally involved with a plant and to take on primary responsiblity for its care. That’s a lot for a professed brown thumb to take on!

I’ve always been to plants what Lucrezia Borgia was to her relatives. Yes, that poisonous! They’ve always been a complete mystery to me, just like babies. I water them; they die (oops, not the babies!). I water them less; they die. I water them more; same ol’ same ol’. Can you believe I actually spent a summer working in Home Depot’s Garden Center? Don’t even ask! Pure irony. Putting on the orange apron every morning was terrifying. I was a fraud, a joke. My cash register was the stocks and, man oh man, did my customers ever let the fruit fly!

All the panic and anxiety of that summer came rushing back as I turned my cart into Walmart’s Garden Centre last week. But there was no turning back. I was on a mission of love. After finally establishing a working watering routine (months of trial and error), my adopted charge had gone and outgrown its pot! It was also time for one of its babies to start on solid food. They grow up so fast lol. I found Walmart’s potting soil, and everything else I’d heard I might need for the task, and got out of there as quick as possible.

I couldn’t believe how nervous I was when it came time for the actual operation. My heart was racing as I gently knocked the plant loose of its old green plastic pot. I turned the ball of roots over in my hands, and ever so carefully…

…I screamed and threw my precious spider plant across the desk.

No one ever told me roots can look just like gross white maggot worms! When the dirt settled, so to speak, I finished the job. The smell of the potting soil, and the feel of it under my nails was a delicious novelty. After patting down the soil and blowing the dirt off the leaves, I felt a fierce and entirely unexpected sense of accomplishment. I’d seen the same emotion on my Home Depot customers’ faces a hundred times, but I’d never understood it. So this is why people spend their weekends on their knees in the dirt?

Yes. And I discovered something else. I never knew how much life energy is held in a plant. With both my hands in the dirt, all my senses were drinking in pure chlorophyll scented “life”. I felt powerful, generous, and connected – a thrilling combination. My original goal had been only to keep my spider plant alive, and even that was asking myself to do the unprecedented. I want to do so much more for it now. I want it to grow and thrive and be as brilliantly green as it can possibly be, and I want to line up its babies in a rainbow of bright tiny pots along my kitchen widow sill at home.

I took a risk three months ago. It was touch and go for a long time, but my spider plant is alive and (as you can see below) multiplying. I’ve let a part of my identity go, the running joke is over. And I’m more than ready to move on. Goal met: I, Cymbria, can take care of a plant.

So go ahead… set a goal. Just don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty ; )

We've come a long way baby!

(photo source: Cymbria (ps.check the view!)

Risking it all to get down

I pressed the “down” button and waited for the chime.

“Ding”

The red arrow lit up over one of the doors.

I made a mad dash for it, the furthest elevator of our floor’s bank of eight, and got there just in time to jam my arm in between the doors as they were closing. There was one long terrifying moment when my arm was in the guillotine, past the point of no return (aka the elbow joint), before the door sensors kicked in.

This moment was so long, in fact, that I had plenty of time to wonder why we so blindly put our faith in technology. I came up with the answer, ruminated a bit about it, thought of some alternative arguments, all while placidly watching a giant metal vice close around my arm. At the last second, (isn’t it always the last second?), just as it caught hold of my flesh, the door released and I squeezed though.

What did I come up with? You ask. I’d love to tell you, but I was in such a hurry that I promptly forgot all my musings the second I pressed ‘G’.

*wink*

You’ll never really know your husband

I could draw you map of my husband’s back. It would take hours, but it would be perfect. I’d chart every rise of muscle and bone, every dip in between. Each freckle and follicle would be accounted for. A baby pink pencil crayon would show you the soft blush of his skin after a massage, and you’d learn his magic: that he smells like the warm, delicate layer of sand dust left on your body after a day at the beach.

My husband is a man of gentle grace and stubborn passions. I could map his past for you too, and tell you his dreams for the future. You’d find out the name of the boy he protected from recess bullies in elementary school, and why he needs to order new ‘rifle’ shafts for his wedges.

This is my husband.

But what do I know? I’m just his wife ; )

He and I were being driven home recently by visiting relatives after a supper out on the other side of the city. I was doing my best trying to give directions from the back seat, but I am a chronic pedestrian and can only guide people “as the crow flies”. And since when do crows have to worry about one way streets and highway exits! 

My “darling” husband, an experienced driver, was no help at all. He was stupidly mute. I kept waiting for him to rescue me and chime in on cue with a “left” or a “take Deerfoot”, but he kept right on with his lazy daydreaming, watching the houses whiz by out the backseat window while I did my best to keep us in the same province! 

I felt my temperature rising. Instead of directions, my brain started obsessing on why he was being so frustrating. What did he think this was? Just another job to pawn off on good ol’ pick-up-the-slack-Cymbria? These weren’t dirty dishes, these were his relatives! Don’t get me wrong, I love chatting up my husband’s Aunts and Uncles, but I also like getting home in time for work the next day! Do you want to know the worst of it? His body language was all too clear in letting me know he was getting fed up with me too! Every time I missed calling out a turn, he grimaced in a most un-husbandly way.

When we finally made it home I was fuming. He shut the front door behind him, then gave me a wicked smile that shut me up before I could open my mouth. 

“I almost didn’t make it!” he gasped. ”I thought I was done for when we turned on 17th!”

My husband bolted straight for the bathroom.

Love. sigh. What do I know?
Apparently, not much lol

Remember this one little secret…

“It is astonishing how much you can enjoy almost everything” – Agatha Christie

Yes really, it’s true. Wherever you are, just scroll through your senses until you find the one delivering pleasure. Doesn’t have to be off the map bliss, mind you, but it’s amazing how the simple sensation of a cool breeze on your cheek during your commute or your favourite music in the background of a waiting room can change your perception of reality. This “tunnel vision sensing” takes you out of your brain for a moment and lets you experience life as a blank canvas, with no history or future to colour your judgement.

Important note:“Everything” does not include doing the dishes. They fall in the “almost” category.