As children, we take the world as we find it, not suspecting it could be different. During adolescence, we think the rules were made neither by us nor for us and we’re busy believing we’ll write them all anew.
Then we enter adulthood and usually, the questions hit us. What is the meaning of this? Why is this happening? Who am I? What is my purpose? Is there a god? Why am I here? What am I doing? Welcome to the sempiternal search for the Meaning of Life.
It is a human trait but most people I know seem to have found, if not their answer, at least parameters within which they can live comfortably.
To me, these questions are ever present, nagging me, gnawing at me, dizzying me. I’ve lived with them for about nineteen years and I’m not an inch closer to answers. How many times do I sit on the train commute, staring through the window, trying to make sense of it all, while people around me discuss, recipes, kids, or the latest at the office.
Bring it up during a lunch conversation, and I get odd looks. Friends patiently try to humour me but I can see in their eyes that it’s pretty far from them, not part of their daily reality or consciousness. Most people either seem to have found their goal, their purpose, their intent, their reason for being…or don’t seem to wonder about it.
I passionately envy those who are too busy living to be plagued by existentialist questions. I do wish I could shut off the little pondering observer on my right shoulder and lose myself in life. But I suppose asking questions, seeking answers is just an intrinsic part of my personality and I’m stuck with that for the rest of this life. It gets very tiring sometimes.
This brings me to a difference I have found between France and North America. In France, people enjoy debating ideas and concepts for the sake of it, like flexing and exercising their brains, their powers of reasoning and logic and deduction. It can make for long, sometimes abstract but fascinating exchanges.
Here, it seems taboo to exercise your brains in a strictly intellectual way. People get a little embarrassed, uncomfortable. They might go along with it for a while, but they are visibly itching to get back on safe and superficial subjects. There are exceptions, of course, but in a general way, intellectual debates are not popular. I think I live in a society where my brain is under stimulated, one of the reasons I surf the web like a maniac. Shallow conversation is safe, but deep conversation and clash of ideas are INTERESTING. Amen.
I have a girlfriend who is so beautiful I can do nothing but stare when we get together. The men stare too. She’s from Lebanon. Her father and sister are over there right now. On this first day of the construction holidays, she’s pretty distraught by the small matter of bombs, evacuation, civilian targets and mute embassy.
I have a friend who was planning to take his little family and join his extended family by the ocean in the States, for his two- week vacation. One week ago, their vehicle was broken into, considerable stuff stolen. They had to cancel the vacation. They were scheduled to leave Saturday night. Had the thief known that his action would result in the loss of a much anticipated vacation for a whole family, would he have cared?
As for me…I keep struggling with understanding my fellow beings, even though, alleluia, I have been given the chance to solve the mystery of Zidane's aggression. One thing is for sure: where there is no communication, no understanding is possible. If you don't talk to me, I cannot know. I can wonder from dusk till dawn but I cannot know.
Which is basically why my cats and I are always on the same wavelength. We communicate totally and absolutely.
Me: "I adore you."
The cat: "I know. A bit to the left."
You just can't go wrong.
I'm on the organizing committee of the seminar of a youth network.
The dynamic of the committee is very different from the usual Company stuff. We are all volunteers so there are no bosses. Leaders, yes, bosses no. So we try and reach most decisions by consensus rather than one chief making an executive decision or going along with the majority. Of course, it sometimes takes quite a while to reach a consensus. But there are no ranks, no hierarchy. Each voice is as important as the other. On a group dynamics and psychological point of view, it makes for rather fascinating observation and practice. You learn to chose your battles, when to go with the flow and when to put your foot down.
You observe the personalities: the flexible and the rigid, the driven and the relaxed, the original and the punctilious, the taciturn and the chatterbox, and there's no right and wrong or good or bad. It's not a perfect system by any means but I find it an outstanding exercize in social skills.
I'm driving two hours both ways tomorrow for an out-of-town all-day meeting with the committee. It will take me away from the office and I love traveling on my own, especially with a large cup of coffee planted beside me.
But the truth is, tonight, I see everything in black (I know -change of tone). I'm so discouraged about a whole bunch of things that there is only one thing to do, I shall bravely do it, and on the double: go to bed and get some much needed sleep. I'll try not to have nightmares of kittens being eaten by sharks, as I had this weekend. I don't even feel coherent at this stage. Spellchecking and editing will be tomorrow.
Curtain.
I don’t get it. I don’t get it I don’t get it I don’t get it I don’t get it.
What irks me is that very likely I will never get it. Can you really lose sight of the facts that you are a team’s captain, that you’re playing the world cup final, that billion of viewers are watching, that you are a model and hero to million of youngsters, that your team and your country are counting on you, and that this is your last game, the way you will be remembered for?
I honestly don’t know. Apparently you can.
What was Zidane told that was so unbearable that all the above suddenly ceased to matter? What short-circuit suddenly took place in his nervous system? I, the ever-curious amateur psychologist, will never stop to wonder…
« Mommy is where? »
My son will be nine in September so he’s not exactly a duckling anymore. But he likes to have me around. Just so he can burst on me every ten minutes with an inconsequential joke or revelation. Much like I like having the cats around, I suppose. Something to tease, and torture, and give a hard time to, to keep one busy.
But of course, mommy works. And these days, mommy goes back out and works out. My son feels like mommy is away a lot. Not that he would do anything with her if she were around, but he wants her around nevertheless. And by gosh, he most certainly has the right to feel that way.
There goes the concept of cloning. Brigitte model A, the professionnal, earning our keep, working long, devoted hours. Brigitte model B, the mommy, always home to greet her son, home when he gets up, home when he leaves for school, home when he comes back from school, home when he goes to bed, available to take him to every appointment. Brigitte model C, her own woman, who can take care of Brigitte’s needs for health, exercise, friends, love, hobbies, activities, and her own appointments and errands. There’s enough stuff for each of these clones to be busy full time.
Reality check: I’m not cloned. So it often feels, when I book my days: “Ok, who’s losing out today?”
I’m not sure whether Brigitte model D, the wife, would split most of the other clones’ workload or whether it would just add to it. But all I know is that I deal daily with very conflicting needs in very limited time and I simply don’t understand why I haven’t been handed an Honorary MBA in Management yet!
(Yes, all this just to get a dig at McGill University who is clearly just sitting there doing nothing.)
Long live the modern woman!
Sometimes, the self-centeredness of my blog concerns me a little. Then again, self-centeredness is sort of the essence of a blog. After all, what point of view can we share but our own?
Some weeks ago, one of the Company’s handicapped employees came in for a meeting. He’s legally blind so he came with his seeing dog, a black Labrador. For a short while, it was taken off the harness at which time we were allowed to pet it and fuss over it (the dog, not the owner) which we did profusely.
There was a semi-circle of five of us and the dog went dutifully to each in turn as if to avoid creating jealousy. “Hey, X, you’re so popular!” joked someone. To which the blind man calmly, resignedly answered: “It’s not me, it’s the dog.”
Unfortunately, that was perfectly true. It got me thinking.
I’ve had animals in my workplace a few times. Dolphins and dogs in the Bahamas. Parrots in Honduras. I worked in two home offices in Mississippi, one to which I brought a cat, the other where I kept company to the sweetest Doberman that ever lived.
Here in Quebec as well, at the production company, two of the producers used to come in with their dogs, which I would page on the intercom to get a few laughs.
I don’t smoke, I try to limit my coffee consumption. When I take a short break, nothing unwinds me and resources me like petting or playing with an animal for a few minutes. And I believe this is the case for a lot of people (although I can think right off the bat of two best friends for which it’s not. Bah, they’re the exception to the rule).
Thus, therefore, hence and consequently, it should become a standard for companies to include animals in the workplace. Them poor souls who are allergic or don't like them would be segregated to special minority "pet-free" companies. The rest of the workforce would be happier, more productive with lower blood pressure. It's a fantastic idea. I totally agree with myself.
