Samers

One of the characteristics that many of our Uturn tenants past and present share is avoidance. Avoidance of people, relationships, obligations, duties, responsibilities, blame, shame, work, and the list could go on. You're all smart folks and you get the point.

This avoidance is frustrating at times. It's, pull out your hair and bang your head against the wall, maddening at times. I've uttered the phrase, “just help yourself!” more than a few times over the past 5 years. If only they would do the simple things, the easy things, the path could be smoother. Low lying fruit is your friend, just grab it. Getting paperwork filled out to extend Social Assistance Benefits, showing up for a meeting to get into a training program, calling the boss when you're legitimately sick, for the love of what's pure and good, HELP YOURSELVES!

Ok, park that that sentiment for a moment please and walk this way.

This week has been less than stellar for me. The past two mornings have been, uh, well I'm just going to say it, shitty. Please excuse my potty mouth.

Let's start with yesterday. I wake up, get ready, go to fill up my coffee mug for the drive to Brandon and as I peer out the kitchen window I see my front tire completely flat. Hmmmm, that's disappointing. I fill said tire and decide I can make it to Brandon. An important bit of information to receive is that I had 4 perfectly good tires on rims in the Hilux that were going to replace the four suspect tires currently on the truck. I had drove around with the tires in the Hilux for a number of days and I had the tires in my possession since the middle of February. When I was in Brandon I would get the tires switched over.  So with in your mind I'll continue.  I got as far as Austin and a strong pull to the right let me know that the tire was not going to make it to Brandon. No problem, I thought. I pulled into the Co-Op parking lot to change the tire and continue on only to find no jack in the truck. Excellent (by the way, that's not exactly what I said). After loading all the tires back into the truck that I unloaded in my vain pursuit of said jack I filled the tire up to return to MacGregor. This too was in vain as the tire gave up the ghost approximately 2 miles from the tire shop in MacGregor. After taking a quick look I decided that since the tire was a lost cause I would limp the Hilux to the shop. 2 miles doesn't sound like a long way, and it really isn't. But when you're beyond comprehension furious and you're feeling so embarrassed that your neglect has put you in this place, 2 miles is a very, very, very, loooooong drive. Thump, thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump, thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump, thump. 2 miles of 10 km/h of that. I finally get to the shop after my 2 miles of shame and walk back home where my foul frustration and embarrassment bubble over at my wife. A short, but very animated and intense tirade ensues with me taking the van to Brandon, brooding all the way. Now I'm frustrated and embarrassed about my neglect AND about how I treated my wife.  If only fill my mind.  

This morning I get dropped off at the tire shop to pick up the Hilux. As it warms up I am reminded that I need to put some fuel in before I head to Portage. The “low fuel” light has been staring at me for some time. As some of you know I use used cooking oil as an alternative fuel to diesel in my truck. This has somehow made me even more illogical than I usually am, believing that a low fuel warning is of no consequence. I start driving and before I'm halfway to the gas station (less than a mile) the truck starts slowing down, starved of fuel. It's like I could hear the that sound of a child sucking furiously on a straw in an empty chocolate milk glass; seeking, seeking, seeking without finding goodness. “Oh dear,” I thought (again, not verbatim). As I figured I had enough momentum to carry me to the bowsers I turned the truck off and glided towards the driveway. “I'm really going to make it”, I said out loud to myself, laughing. I was actually laughing at this point.  I then chose a side of the pumps which turned out to be my undoing because I realized, too late, that both diesel pumps on the one side had little plastic bags. I swear that on the bags someone had scrawled, “Wayne, you tool. You're screwed.” As I stopped I knew that the diesel hose on the other side couldn't reach. The truck was too heavy to push on my own and there was no one at the station that could help me. A phone call to a good friend for a push, some diesel in the tank and I was away. Luckily I could let my first client of the day know I was going to be 15 minutes late so little harm done. Don't tell that to my pride. He's licking his wounds from the last couple of mornings.

I am no different than any of the tenants in Uturn, past or present. I am an avoider. I won't get into the why of it all, but I am. I put things off that don't need putting off, that would take literally minutes sometimes to do. I don't fill up my fuel tank when it's clear that I will need fuel sometime again in my lifetime, but I put it off. I put off maintenance and spending money on things that are unavoidable. I put off making simple phone calls that have little consequence to me. 

I. Put. Off.  Some times I wonder if I have a chance of making it through life without dying because I just won't bother getting to it.

So I have a renewed appreciation for those I work with. In many respects I don't have a leg up on them or have it more “figured out”. My margin for error is greater than theirs and perhaps my avoidance isn't as extreme or as frequent but I can easily see it from here if that's indeed the case.  

The bottom line is I'm a fortunate soul that has had enough framework around me to support my avoiding nature.  My friends in Uturn haven't benefited from similar framework.  It's always more complicated than that, but that's one of the many parts. 

So I pledge to grab the low lying fruit.  It's often about my height anyway.  That makes the week look better already...

The Smallest Part

This past week we had a tenant leave Uturn.  In the "biz" it is technically known as "bailing".  By the way I say that firmly tongue in cheek.

A fellow staff member checked in on Ed's apartment to find a unmitigated disaster; serious cleanliness issues, damage to almost every area of the apartment including a couple of doors off their hinges and a eerie lack of belongings.

When she reported what she found she wondered if perhaps Ed had flown the coop and I quickly put an end to the wondering with a declaration of, "he's gone."  I hung my head.   Frustration, sorrow creeping in around the edges.

A very short time later our director saw Ed outside the building checking his mail and alerted us.  My colleague jumped into her squad car, turned on the sirens and sped down the stairs to meet Ed out in front of the office.  As she asked about the state of his apartment and the lack of his clothes and bedding, Ed suggested that he took his clothes to get washed.  All of them.  And all of his bedding.  All at the same time. Oh!  That makes perfect sense.  My colleague made an appointment with him to show up the next day to clean the apartment.  When she told me and my director this plan we smirked.  He's gone we suggested. He likely was checking his mailbox for his cheque and hoped to be a sight unseen.  My colleague suggested that she was earnestly praying for him and that Ed would be back the next day.

And then wouldn't you know it, he friggin' showed up the next day for his appointment.  He even apologized for being late and when Ed and my colleague went to his apartment the damage, the garbage, the food on the counters was all gone.  Ed had done a pre-clean.  Miraculous?  An answer to prayer?  Dumb, blind luck?  Perhaps all of the above.

Go figure.  Ed showed up when all signs pointed to Ed being another one of our tenants that, for a variety of reasons decide that they "need" to exit without notice.

When I went to chat with Ed the next day, it was clear that Ed did end up bailing.  No bed, no belongings minus some kitchen items and cereal on the counter.  Ed was history and to be honest, my cynicism did a small fist pump.  "Yes, I was right!  How's that for an answered prayer?"  Not proud of that, just sayin'.

On Sunday the parable of the Mustard Seed was reference in church.  You're likely well aware of the story that speaks of the Kingdom of God is like the tiny seed that, when matures, grows into a very large tree with broad boughs that carry a wonderful load of life.  As I heard it I melted a little and thought of Ed.

Perhaps the answered prayer was that Ed came back one last time.  Maybe that was the miracle, that Ed was in the presence of love, acceptance, caring and support one more time.  My colleague told him that she was proud of him for cleaning up, for taking care of some things.  When our tenants are in her presence they feel like a somebody.  Maybe a tiny, miniscule seed was planted in that time together.  Maybe the Kindgom of God will produce something wonderful in Ed yet, something that produces life, goodness and wholeness.

As it goes, we'll just keep on planting the mustard seeds and I'll work at keeping the cynic in me at the edge of the property while inviting faith, hope and love permanent residence.

Young Minds

So I'll suck you into what I've been learning recently.  There's a wonderful educator by the name of Dr. Gordon Neufeld, perhaps I've referenced him before.  He's the one that coined the phrase that I use on a regular basis, "Everyone gets older but not everyone grows up."  Neufeld focuses on emotional maturity as a key ingredient into mental and emotional health (that's simplifying it a great deal).  He suggests that emotional maturity is a potential for every human but is not a given or guarantee nor can it be taught or instructed (that's contrary to much of what most of us have learned in the plethora of parenting literature over the past 40 years).  Neufeld suggests that our chief role as parents is too provide an environment that is suitable for maturity to occur and nature will take care of the rest (that's a really rough Coles Notes version).

Much could be said on that but here's the focus for today; the ability to hold two thoughts/ feelings of opposing force at one time is only capable by a mature/ maturing mind.  Neufeld gives the illustration that you will never hear a toddler say, "on the other hand..."  Those of you who have met a three year old laugh at the suggestion!  Whatever they are feeling/ thinking at the time is too big to share their little minds and bodies with anything else.

I'm not going to bore you with the science behind this besides saying that people typically get their "mixed feelings" between the ages of 5-7 if the conditions of safety and security are met at home.  This allows people to be able to say, "a part of me wants to buy a new TV but a part of me thinks we should pay down some debt."  Equal in strength but opposing in direction, these two things can occupy a mature mind.

So many of our tenants in Uturn don't have this ability yet.  Yes, they are between the ages of 19-29 in body but not in mind.  They can become soooooo consumed with an idea that there isn't the ability to hold anything else within themselves.  This becomes really problematic in relationships.  I recall a few weeks ago having to try to intervene in a feud between Steve and Laurel (a former Uturn resident who rents one of the revenue apartments in the Uturn building).  Laurel and Steve had an agreement that he would help pay her internet bill if he could tap into her Wi-Fi.  All went well until Steve blocked Laurel's friend on Facebook (Oh the stories I could tell about the horrors of Facebook drama).  Laurel became incensed and quickly changed the password on the Wi-Fi.  Steve flew into a low level rage and began yelling at screaming at Laurel's door, consumed with his foul frustration.  This was the same day Steve was supposed to start a new job.  I went to Steve's door and knocked, listening to heavy music pounding out of his apartment as I waited.  Steve cracked the door and wondered what I wanted.  He looked like someone had set off a grenade in his heart.  I asked if he wanted to talk and he briskly turned me down.  Almost pleading with him I said, "Steve, don't let this ruin your whole day."  His answer highlights my point; "Too late.  It already has.  My whole day is wrecked."

There was no room in Steve for any understanding of Laurel (a portrait of a struggle with mixed feelings in her own right), of her perspective, no room that while this was frustrating that it was something that perhaps could be resolved in a few hours.  "I'm never talking to her again.  I'm done with her.  Finished" was Steve's declaration.  Consumed with frustration and anger, Steve couldn't even imagine anything more.

And on and on it goes.  So many instances that, once you begin to see it, show evidence where there isn't room for opposing thoughts, feelings and opinions.  So many instances that, once you begin to see it, reveal a lack of environment of caring, love, attention and security.  There wasn't space for many of our tenants in the early years to emotionally mature.  That takes safety and too often safety was a luxury unavailable.

Some times I look at myself and I see a man who, while I've aged, there have been parts of me that have not kept up with the rolling years.  I can become very consumed with single thoughts and emotions, feeling like there is no end to them, no room for anything else.  In reality it has really been only the last year or so that I've seen this as something that perhaps could be adjusted and different.  Perhaps I have the ability to captain my own ship in my emotional storms instead of just riding out the waves while hoping the mast will hold and the sails won't tear. At times I think I get it right and at times I come out of it stinking of saltwater and seaweed.  And I have a relatively solid foundation to work from.

So how much more for our tenants whose houses have been built on foundations that are suspect, unfit for the "big build" and not of their own choosing?  The good news is that they are not destined to be young minds forever.  It will take work, intention and focus but their minds can catch up with the rest of themselves.
And the same is true for me.  I just had a picture of my mind running after me, "Hey, hey! Wait up!  Slow down!"  The good news (for me) is that I'm starting to wait for my self with compassion and patience.  Not always mind you, but this "big build" of living seems to take a lifetime.

Stuck

This will be brief.  I've got 30 mins before I get the boot from the coffee shop that I call a second office while I'm in Portage.  But come hell or high water, I'm going to get this done. And this may be a bit of an exercise in narcissism... you've been warned.  

I've been feeling creatively stuck over the last few weeks.  I haven't been able to write anything on this blog "worthy" of hitting that orange PUBLISH button.  I haven't been able to write any lyrics for the couple of songs that I have melodies and progressions for.  This week I have really struggled with trying to write my newsletter that I send to people regarding my work with Youth For Christ.  

I sit down to do some of this creative "work" and it's like I open the door to what I assume will be a finely 

appointed room and it's a vacant warehouse.  Wide open, no defining decor, no furniture, not even a broken down crate to sit on.  Just a wide open space that doesn't say "look at all the opportunities", rather it cries out "there is nothing here to offer."  

Nothing to offer.  That's fitting I think of how I have been feeling lately with my work, ie. the day job that pays the bills.  There are times when I meet with people and feel like I have offered something of benefit, something of worth, something where I feel like I've earned my paycheque.  And then there are seasons where I wonder if the person across the floor is thinking, "you must be joking.  That's the best you have?"  

That doesn't mean that I've been in a low spot emotionally, I really have been feeling pretty well.  So the good part is I feel just fine about being inferior and useless.  That sounds more awkward than intended.  

I've learned a lot recently about a friend of mine who is highly creative and a musical whiz.  He's the kind of guy that I love hearing what he's working on and excited for him while at the same time trying to figure out if there is some way I can magically suck all his creative genius out and steal it for myself.  I'm not proud of that but there it is. What he has taught me is something of what he has recently been putting into practice.  That is you sit down and you do the creative work even when you don't feel like it.  Even when it feels like your ass has 50 pounds of lead in it you pick up your blunt instrument and go up the hill.  

What's the point of this rant? Great question.  I don't think there is one, I think every word on this one is the goal.  For myself, writing this has shown me that how I have been feeling as I sit with hurting people and as I stare at a blank page have striking similarities.  "I'm not enough, I don't know enough, I wish I knew more."  In the past this sentiment has sent me to searching for new musical gear ("if only I could get THAT I would play more") or scrambling for professional development seminars ("If only I knew THAT I would be better").  There's nothing wrong with new gear or development.  I love them both.  

And there's nothing wrong with me. 

And there's certainly nothing wrong with you.  

That doesn't mean that there's not more to learn, there always is.  But not knowing everything doesn't mean that we are not enough. 

I tell that to people all the time because so many people I work with have this wired in, burned in sense that they are not enough and that there must be something wrong with them.  

Sometimes we need to hear the message we tell others.  Sometimes we need the words we freely give to be heard in our own ears.  

So my apologies for the rant and the navel gazing.  But it's been helpful to this guy.  Perhaps somewhat helpful to you.  

Puzzling

Typically my days are fairly scheduled but last Monday was an exception.  With hopes of getting ahead of some learning material I was working through someone was in the front office for me.  It was Bobby and he was back in Brandon after living up north for about 10 months.

Bobby lived in Uturn for about 5 months. A very, very smiley young guy, he would often grin and nervously chuckle when he talked about hopes, frustrations, anxieties and troubling past experiences.  It always felt dissonant, like strumming a G chord when two strings are hopelessly out of tune.  He disclosed a variety of things to me, things he really hadn't let anyone else hear before.  We all want stories to share, but not these stories.  Bobby feels he has a dark cloud hanging over him, one that continually rains misfortune, missed opportunities and snake eyes.  He has a very deep, almost wired in sense that he is undeserving of anything good in his life which makes that dark cloud inundate his body and soul.

One day Bobby disappeared.  We knew that he had multiple offerings to go live with family up north and the assumption was that he finally jumped the bus and made the trek.  And now, almost a year later, he was back.

Bobby had walked that morning from his cousins place.  He had been walking around since 7:45 that morning looking for an apartment.  It was about 10:00 and it was one of the many, many freezing cold January days that we've become familiar with.  Bobby was shivering and had trouble enunciating words with his frozen face.  As we chatted the details of the latest trip gone bad came out...

Bobby has family in Manitoba and Brandon and for weeks they strongly encouraged him to come and visit for Christmas and move back to Brandon.  Since his job wasn't providing enough hours up north he thought a change might do him good.  He moved in with his brother and girlfriend and after only a couple days of searching landed a job.  Plus at New Year's his girlfriend surprised him by coming to visit and stay in Brandon as well.  They were going to try to do this all together and since there was a pregnancy involved, Bobby felt an even more urgent need to be stable and providing.  Things were feeling like they were moving in a good direction.

Then one morning while Bobby was making coffee in his brother's house he was told that he should leave.  Bobby's brother's girlfriend didn't like the fact that Bobby had his girlfriend stay overnight so she figured that he should move out.  6:00am on a frigid January morning seemed like a perfect time to her.

Bobby quickly packed his clothes in two garbage bags and threw them in a snow bank.  He and his girlfriend walked to her dad's place where she was staying and for a couple of nights he stayed there.  But with a full house and no money, this inn wasn't taking kindly to another person on the floor looking for food that wasn't there so Bobby was asked to find somewhere else to stay.  After a night walking around Brandon, ducking into ATM bank doors here and there to keep from freezing he found a cousin to stay with.  That was definitely a temporary solution and now he wasn't sure what to do.  Incidentally his family stopped answering  his messages after their insisting that he come "back down south".

We jumped in my truck and went and grabbed his clothes from the from yard of his brother's place.  Knocks on the front door went unanswered so Bobby couldn't grab the big bag of dirty laundry and his personal hygiene items left inside.  We hit a local restaurant with a great breakfast before buying some shampoo, deodorant and a toothbrush.  We started driving around Brandon, knocking on doors of family of Bobby's seeing if he could crash there for a couple of days but luck didn't cooperate.  He was worried about his job because he had only been there for a week and he had called in to let them know he wasn't going to be in that day.  He hadn't showered in 5 days and just didn't feel comfortable being with people plus the stress of not knowing where he was going to sleep was making it hard to concentrate on work.

There are so many more details to Bobby that I won't and can't share here.  In the end we managed to secure an Emergency Shelter  for him (essentially a hotel sized room to call "home" for 21 days or less).  I found out later that for a variety of reasons, Bobby decided not to stay and I haven't seen him since. I hope he's warm and has had some food in his belly and managed to keep his job.

Later that day I was sitting with my wife in my warm and comfortable house chatting about the day's events.  We talked about how no one we know has ever, ever experienced what Bobby was experiencing (outside of my Uturn peeps).  Bobby could like point to a dozen friends, cousins, uncles that knew his current routine all too well.  We were sobered with our affluence, with our broad security net of people in our lives.  Yes, some of that we worked hard to accomplish but more than we likely wanted to admit we were simply born into it.  The number of strong, capable people willing to sacrifice and advocate for Bobby all through his life was sparse.

I've re-written the ending to this about half a dozen times, finding there is no good ending.  How fitting is that?  When we resonate with people we can end up absorbing some of their emotional experiences.  I think that's happened with me and Bobby.  What's next, how's this going to work out, what if he can't find a good place, what if he loses his job?  What if, what if, what if?

And yet, we hold out hope that the dark cloud will break just enough that one small piece will fall into place and that will bring a different perspective on the puzzle that brings additional hope.  "Oh look, look, look!  I get it now!"

Gotta hope folks.  Gotta hope.

Push The Panic Button

Steve is starting a job on Friday.  This won't be Steve's first job and it likely won't be his last.  Scratch that, it WON'T be his last.  Fast food is not the career any young man locks himself into for life.

Steve has raging anxiety. He fears he is being judged by people he doesn't know, people he first meets.  He believes that they think he's a lousy individual.  This fear is so incredibly powerful that it washes over him with what Steve describes as "an imminent sense of doom."  These panic attacks keep him from leaving his Uturn apartment at times, sometimes lasting for an hour or more.

Steve is a persistent young man who, when he gets a bee in his bonnet, can be like a hungry dog with a bone that has just enough meat still hanging on.  I've seen him get incensed at businesses and people and I've seen him lobby for change.  He can be extremely assertive (trust me on this) and he has the ability to push you until you consider saying "uncle."  He has a sharp and, at times, a very stinging sense of humor.

And Steve has raging anxiety.

Anxiety is a fascinating thing.  Without getting too much into it, anxiety is self-preservation gone awry.  "Things are really unsafe out there, friend.  Be alert, alert, ALERT! If you don't then things can go very, very bad.  So be ALERT!"  Anxiety is stress on speed.  Stress can be a very good friend of ours.  It can heighten our senses, help us be sharper when we need to be, help us not forget important items or details.  Anxiety takes that to an extreme level.  Quick reminder, all of mental illness is an extreme of normal experience.  It's not a foreign experience to the human condition, simply extreme.

Anyway, back to my friend and yours, anxiety.  Anxiety is trying desperately to keep a system safe, to keep one alive even if it is at the cost of relationships, situations, experiences.  Our body is trying to keep us safe at all costs and anxiety turns up our senses to "11" when the capacitor only goes to "10" (isn't that some sort of reference from the movie Spinal Tap?).  Sights, sounds, smells, touch, sensations, thoughts, feelings are felt at such an extreme level as to keep us on our toes and to keep us... safe.  Panic attacks can sometimes be outside of typical experience for people, the result of significant stress when the body says, "time to take a step back, son."

People and relationships are dangerous, man.  If you really think about it allowing yourself to love and be loved puts you at fantastic risk.  You can't control the person you're giving your heart and allowing you to peek into your soul.  Do you know what they could do to you? You trust because, well for lots of reasons really.  If you can do the aforementioned then you've learned that, as a rule of thumb, people are good (or good enough) and  have shown that they will honor you and that delicate (oh so delicate) heart of yours.

So what has happened to a soul that, as a default, believes (with sincerity and desperation) that people think you're worthless?  Caregivers have likely failed in creating a secure attachment, a safe home base that has allowed the soul to feel protected, safe and a place to shed tears of sadness and to be vulnerable.  But that's just a wondering...

So the body says, "NEVER AGAIN"!  When I am going to meet new people I get a little nervous, a little stressed.  When Steve meets new people he wonders how awful they think he will be.  His body says, "Shields Up", enter anxiety and panic attacks.

Steve is going to start his new job on Friday and he's not sure how to manage his anxiety outside of "it just needs to be different."

If you're the praying type, would you make a small offering for Steve?  Cross your chest, get on yer knees, write it on paper or your heart, whatever method feels like it resonates with you.  Steve needs 'em.

'Course, don't we all?