Destiny?

Deb: I’ve been thinking about death lately and, in doing so, have been thinking about life. Ultimately when you lose someone in an untimely fashion, it raises the question of the randomness of the universe and, as such, the randomness of our lives. By that, I don’t mean to say that our lives themselves are random. Most of us have rich lives filled with purpose and plans, dreams and determination to succeed.

It’s just that after our friend Paul died I couldn’t help but think about fate. Destiny.  Was his death pre-ordained? Was that the day he was supposed to leave this life? Or was his death random? Was it literally an accident and all that “accident” implies? I couldn’t help delving into this concept in my mind and in conversation with my husband this week.

Paul had asked us if we would come up to his town, which is two hours away from our home to do an improv show with him. We had done the show before and had a wonderful time. He called it ImPros Versus Joes and it lovingly pitted professional improvisers against willing and talented student improvisers. The thing is, he asked us to come up the week before Christmas. Much to our regret now, we did not go. My Mum had been in the hospital for eight weeks, only getting out a few weeks before Christmas. That left us with very little time to get Christmas together and we simply had to beg off, saying we would come through the winter or in the spring. Of course that is now an opportunity lost forever and there is nothing we can do to change that. That isn’t the heart of this post, but I was just using it as an illustration for my ponderings around this concept. Colin and I got into an interesting discussion about this the other day and I will tell you before I go any farther that neither of us settled on an answer. Not that there is an answer for this. But neither of us settled on our answer, our definitive thoughts. As such, I want to include you in the discussion. 

I got to thinking, What if we had gone and done the show that day? What if, in doing so, we had a fun laugh-filled dinner with Paul and Linda, which led to writing a show for the four us, which led to the four of us working over the Victoria Day weekend when Paul died, far away from the scene of his accident. So. Would he have died anyway? Would something else have happened because it had to, because it needed to, because it was his time?

I don’t mean to indicate that our presence might have saved his life. What I am trying to put forth is the concept of the universe shifting. Our going that day would have shifted it. A little or a lot, but it would have shifted it. Or in the real case scenario that day, Paul’s turning the car around at the end of his driveway to go back for the cell phone he forgot would have shifted it. It would have shifted it by seconds or minutes, but would it have changed the outcome?

Is death random? Is our life pre-ordained? Is it all mapped out for us? Or do accidents happen? People talk about going toward the light and then turning back, only to wake up after surgery to find that their heart stopped for x number of minutes. The prevailing thought is “it was not their time.” Do you believe that? I had a full day of chores today and in the middle of them ran into my friend Ed whom I adore. I called his name out on the busy street three times. He heard me on the third shout and we stopped and chatted for a half hour. The conversation quickly turned to our friend Paul and this very subject of the randomness (or not) of the universe. Ed said to me, “That is so odd that you called and called to me because when I was a block away from you I thought I heard a man calling me and I looked around and no one was there.” Then he said, “I am so glad you kept calling me because I thought it was just my imagination again.” So I asked him, “Do you think that our personal universe just shifted, yours and mine?” We both agreed that it probably had. But to what degree? I wondered as I drove home about just how much it had shifted. Was it simply two friends who were destined to meet up? Would something awful/wonderful/silly/ exciting have happened to one of us if we had not met each other and lingered over a chat? Did one of us save the other from being hit by a car or from falling glass from a building? Or were we both invincible no matter what transpired as it was just not our day to die?

Death brings thoughts of death. So I pose this question to you? Would you like to know when you are going to die? Or would you rather it be random? Would you rather the kind of randomness the universe seems to scream when you lose someone suddenly? For my part, I choose random. Do I seize the day every day as I would if I knew exactly when I was going to die? No, not all of it. But I try to, and the ignorance around my demise is part of what makes life bliss for me.

Barbara: Well, then is it fate/destiny that you wrote this post at a moment when I have joined dearest friends at a wake and funeral of a beloved who died—from an illness—but suddenly and unexpectedly? And that you started this post before you knew I’d be going to this funeral? And that I have been pondering this very thing? Why have I been pondering it today? Because this beloved died at what can only be described as a “serendipitous” time for her beloved family. Not that there is anything “good” or “fine” about this death—it is sad, difficult, shocking and will in many ways be life-shifting for some of the family in terms of the future. But there are many amazing things about the timing—for instance, her brother and sister, both of whom live hours away, “happened” to be in town; and a niece is off to Africa in a week for an opportunity of a lifetime and will be gone for two years—at least this young woman had a chance to say goodbye. And these are just two of many strangely synchronistic alignments. How could I not ask the question you are asking? Like you, I don’t have an answer.

I do mostly feel like we have a predestined time-line. It doesn’t feel logical to believe that, but I do. Usually. And if I believe that, then to answer your next question: would I want to know my end-time? Absolutely not!!! I am definitive about that.

I want to thank you, Deb, for bringing up this subject. It is a tricky one, but it’s one I think most of us contemplate in our own ways at some point.

The Biggest Little Decision

Barbara: The other day I was talking on the phone with my daughter (yes, I’m hanging in there) (she, btw, is flying high) about her course choices at university. She was contemplating how overwhelming and sometimes confusing the sheer volume was. And I found myself telling her that if she didn’t worry about opening herself up to new experiences, if she really paid attention, really listened, she might find herself learning something critical from even the most unlikely course, something utterly unexpected that could impact her whole life.

Later I told my husband about this discussion and he reminded me that he’d wanted me to watch the Steve Jobs video of his 2005 commencement speech at Stanford (you know, the genius behind Apple and Pixar and other such minor accomplishments.) So I did (and I’ve attached it at the bottom here), and within the first five minutes, Steve describes a calligraphy course he dropped into at college out of random curiosity and how that calligraphy course ended up informing the signature design esthetic at Apple (and, as a result, at all their competitors too).

I’ve made a lot of huge decisions in my life. I can feel the whoosh of that leap of faith in my gut. And those big leaps are great and important. But I started to count all the things that have come into my life thanks to seemingly random and innocuous events. And I realized just how many so-called little moments in my life turned into huge turning points.

For the sake of brevity, I’ll describe one—maybe my favourite. On a whim, out of creative boredom maybe, maybe just for the excuse of a girl’s night out, I went to a series of seminars with my dear friend, Angie. They were interesting and informative, but never ended up changing my life in and of themselves (there was no light bulb moment, no epiphanies, no major shifts) … until Angie and I found ourselves in conversation with a director looking for a project and a team to produce it. Angie happened to have a wonderful story idea that she threw into the mix—and a team was suddenly created, a film was soon born. Out of nowhere, out of nothing but chance and curiosity and, of course, creative flow. Now this film went on to be blessed with not just that one stroke of amazing synchronicity, but with many others as the cast, crew, and financing came together in probably record time for film world. Within less than a year we had wrapped production on a little indie film called Expecting that ended up touring the North American film festival circuit (and even won some prizes and accolades along the way), being made into a DVD, and still sometimes airing on Canadian television.

And the cherry on this cake of a story? That project is where I met and fell in love with Deb McGrath and Colin Mochrie. And while the film itself may be far from the buzz now, the memories and this friendship topped all my expectations. Not all our random conversations or crappy course choices will necessarily turn out to be that important, but I can say this: that random conversation certainly ended up changing my life. 

Deb: Barb, to remember that seed of a friendship, growing from such a time as 9/11 still amazes me.  Our friendship quite took me by surprise as you well know. I didn’t notice it at the first snap of the photo, but when I looked later at the picture, it was stupendous.





And thanks to Karen Frazier who just found the trailer for Expecting!

Brotherly Love

Deb: I am six years older than my brother Craig, aka Egg, Eggish, Egghead, The Egg. I gave him the Egg moniker when I was around 8, further cementing myself as one of the great wits of our time. Name is Craig/call him Egg. Brilliant. Genius even. In kid world, a rhyming nickname is all we need to put ourselves on the map.

Egg, Deb, and Deb's dad, Jim

 He is my baby brother and to this six-year-old girl, he became my living doll. He was a precious toddler––all boy, as they say. He used to walk around with nothing but a dirty face and a diaper filled with Matchbox and Dinky toys. He would walk, squat, pull the little cars out of his diaper and start playing instantly. The owners of the cars would always always have the same names. Bill, Frank, Joe. “Hey, Joe, I like your car. Thanks, Frank. Here comes Bill. Hi, Bill. Hi, Joe. Hi, Frank.” After this scintillating exchange, and some good car crashes, he would pick up the cars and imaginary guys, stuff them in his diaper and he was on his way to scout another location. Precious. Cutest little thing in the world he was.

And I loved him. Adored him really.

But as with all good things, that love came with control. He was my little puppet and I was his loving but demanding puppet master. And yet, he loved it! Translation––he was too young to know what I was doing.

So we played our games. Every day. Little tiger, little lion. I was the owner of the animal and he was the tiger or lion, depending on his master’s whim. I tied a scarf around his neck and attached it to a rope and lead him around calling out instructions. “Time to eat, little lion, time to drink, little tiger, time to jump off the chesterfield, little lion, time to leap through the hoola hoop, little tiger.” And we played for hours.

I like to think I had something to do with developing his imagination, but I am sure I didn’t. The Egg was born with a vivid imagination. I remember hearing him on the landing at the top of the stairs playing with the hockey guys he had cut out of the newspaper. He assumed all roles in that game from the trumpet playing “Oh Canada” to the roar of the crowd to the comments from the coaches. He would play for hours on end and it is one of my favourtite memories.

He is creative, he is an artist, he is athletic. And all through his adult life, he has had ideas. If just one of his creative ideas had come to fruition, he would have been a billionaire. But they didn’t and he didn’t. He has a good solid job which pays him well and which he enjoys to a degree. But it was not what he envisioned for himself at all. In the meantime, he became something I never would have suspected of him. He became a devoted, loving and selfless Dad. After the party decades, I never thought I’d see the day.

I know that he had big dreams and I know he has struggled with them not coming true.

But as I watch him today I think, “Isn’t it funny how we never dream the small things––as if success in these things is not really success in life.” We never dream of being great parents who work hard to give our kids something we never had. We don’t dream of how satisfying that will be and how great the rewards. We dream of being rich or famous or hugely successful in our chosen field and we are right to dream those dreams.

But I look at my brother today, healthy, married to a loving wife, with two gorgeous kids, and I see his riches. I have such admiration for him and his devotion to his good life. I watch him become the loveliest parts of my Dad and I thank God because I know I will always have my Dad in him. But mostly I am a fan. He would never know this because in our society we tend to judge each other by what we do for a living and how glamourous it is and so he would never suspect my deep admiration. I wish it weren’t so. I wish we judged each other solely on our hearts and wits and empathy. But we don’t. Even if we mean to, we don’t. I love my brother. If his heart was measured in gold, he wouldn’t be able to stand.

To view my cute as a button brother and his loving but bossy sister, enjoy these old super 8 snippets. My bossiness knows no bounds!!! How we laugh at these in our family!

Barbara: Oh, Deb, are these ever precious!!! I have no super-8 video of my childhood, but I do remember how much we all enjoyed a good family slide show.

Yup, I was the bossy one too, as my sisters will attest (although they have claimed they liked it—not the “bossy” part so much, but the time we shared together and the love they knew I felt for them). I was forever commanding performances and directing them and making them my babies (or the Dads, because, you know, I had to be the Mom.)

But I think the emotional centre of your piece today is that part about your brother’s dreams not turning out quite the way he thought, and the value we place on abstract, professional accomplishments. I know I get caught up in that too. Not judging people on their triumphs so much as judging myself on my lack thereof. I think this whole notion is the crux on which midlife rotates. You got this far and suddenly wonder if it's far enough, or you're absolutely sure it's not. So now what? Well, the axis keeps rotating, and you keep turning with it.  And, if you're lucky, you've got a whole slew of satellites orbiting with you, reminding you of the simple beauty of ... this.

I love when you say: “I wish we judged each other solely on our hearts and wits and empathy.” And I actually wonder if in our heart of hearts this isn’t exactly how we judge people. Because so often it’s who we touch, not how we touched them, that lasts, rippling down through generations.

Oh, my heart is just warm and glowing right now! Thanks, Deb, for a beautiful testament, but also for a loving, true and profound reminder. You, too, are worth your weight in gold, my dear. Mwah!