Succeed at Embracing Failure

Leave it to the Finnish to come up with something so mind bogglingly-simple and yet fiendishly clever. I read about it online somewhere and was intrigued by the idea, one apparently inspired by the “last taboo of Finnish society”.

That taboo? Failure.

A couple of years ago a movement in Finland began and it wasn’t meant to be successful. Actually that’s a bit wrong as while the movement was hoped to be a success it wasn’t about success – it was about failure and embracing the concept of failure. It encouraged Finnish people to not go out and do the things they were already good at but to do the things they were terrible at and likely to really, really mess up – public speaking, dancing, baking, whatever it was they wanted people to fail.

Wanted people to fail? What nonsense is this, you might wonder? The idea behind it was that people are so consumed with success that they often will avoid trying anything new or different because of the big f word: Failure. We all hunger for success, for being good at what we do and accomplished, but who really wants to fail? Nobody, that’s who, and the Finns decided this fear was preventing their people from growing in the way trying new things – and failing at them, sometimes miserably – does.

So they established a day to celebrate failure. Seriously. An entire day devoted to trying things you are awful at and failing horribly and sharing the stories of your abject failure with others, maybe garnering a laugh or some sympathy. The entire idea was to try something new, or even something you already knew you sucked at, and failing – and then instead of bemoaning the failure and your fundamental inadequacies as a human being celebrating that you tried and failed.

When I read it I was immediately delighted with the idea. It is so true as just like most I am fond of my successes and far less attached to my failures. In fact I would prefer to not fail, often going out of my way to avoid the things I am terrible at to ensure I do not have to face the dreaded f word and acknowledge my lack of accomplishment.

But I think the Finns are onto something here. I think perhaps a failure movement is a brilliant idea, one designed to not only encourage us to do new things and things we are awful at but that shows us that failure is okay. Failure on occasion in fact might be exactly what we need to remind us to do the things that scare us or that worry us or that we are likely 100% guaranteed to fail at doing.

The Finns celebrate their Day of Failure on October 13, so we have lots of time to plan our failures. I don’t know about you, but I am planning to do something epic – and fail in the most spectacular and horrendous way. And I’ve never been so excited about failure in my entire life, either.

Day For Failure

An Open Letter to Premier Prentice on GSAs - and the Faith of One Young Woman in Fort McMurray

Dear Premier Prentice,

Do you recall posing for the photo above? Maybe you do or maybe you don't, but that is from the night you visited the annual Hope in the Dark awareness-raiser in Fort McMurray - and that is my daughter standing next to you. As you recall my daughter sleeps outdoors in a park one night every year to raise awareness about homelessness in our community, and you may remember she is pretty passionate about it. That's just the kind of kid she is, you see. I suppose that's why she is one of the founding members of her school Gay-Straight Alliance, too.

This evening I sat with my daughter and I explained Bill 10 to her. I explained the process of an appeal to the school board for students who are denied the opportunity to found a GSA as she has helped to do, and how if the school board refuses to support a GSA the next step is a judicial review. I asked her if she understood what that meant and she shook her head. I asked her if she would know how to find legal counsel or begin an appeal to a school board and again she shook her head. I asked her if doing these things would require the assistance of an adult, and she said yes, of course. And then I asked her if she thought all students had adults in their lives who would assist and support such a course of action - and Premier Prentice, I can't even begin to describe the crestfallen look on her face as she realized Bill 10 essentially means that kids like her who meet opposition to founding a GSA will simply not be able to overcome the challenges and the idea will slowly wither and die.

Premier Prentice, my daughter worked on the election campaign for one of your MLAs in this region. And I will be frank with you - my kid is the kind you want on your team, the kind who is performing at the top of the game academically both provincially and nationally (in fact she was just recognized for her academic achievement on her Grade Nine Provincial Achievement Tests). She is the kind of kid who was recognized by our local Chamber of Commerce as an X-ceptional Kid in our region, and she was recently shortlisted as a national finalist of the Everyday Political Citizen contest in the youth category. She is articulate and passionate, she is fierce in her loyalty to those who earn it, she believes in the future and progress, she plans to study engineering physics and forge a path for other young women like her and she is the kind of kid every politician should want on their team - but today you lost her, and possibly forever.

In fact I feel as if you abandoned her, just as you did with all the other students like her in this province. Perhaps you think she doesn't count as she is only 15 and cannot yet vote, but she will be able to, and soon. Or perhaps you think her thoughts are immaterial because of her youth and yet I would argue her thoughts and beliefs are the very ones to which you should be paying attention, because GSAs are about her and her peers, not about you and me and ours.

We talked a bit about that visit you made to Hope in the Dark, and your conversation with her. You see the last provincial leader she admired is your predecessor, someone who fell so far from grace that the loss left an indelible mark on my daughter's heart. She had been a believer in her, too, and when that ship sank I could see some of my daughter's belief in politicians go down in the swirling waters the sinking left behind. Today I saw it happen again as she recalled how you bent down and spoke to local youth about their participation in the event, and how you posed for that photo with her.

Today she felt abandoned by someone she believed would be there to represent her and all the kids like her, kids who are gay and straight and transgender but who are most of all just kids in need of support and assistance when perhaps there will be no other adult who will be there for them. Some of those kids won't have a supportive school board like she does. Some of those kids won't have the supportive teachers she has and some may not even have supportive parents. Premier Prentice, you could have been the one support those kids had, the one who could have prevented depression, bullying and suicide by ensuring those students were able to provide support and encouragement to each other - but today it seems you joined the ranks of those who do not and will not support our youth when they need it most.

Today I think you lost my daughter, Premier Prentice. And if you lose her you have lost me too, because I cannot find a way to support someone who would consider abandoning her and kids like her. I am so sorry it has happened, too, because I look at the photo above and I see such promise and possibility. I see such hope for the future. But as I looked into her eyes tonight I realized the hope and promise and possibility may not be meant to be.

Maybe it is too late to change Bill 10. Maybe it is too late to undo what you have done, but if there is any chance I implore you to embrace it, because perhaps there is still a chance to make my daughter have faith again. I don't know if either is possible or if either has a chance - but I dearly hope it is, because what comes before all else to me is that young woman in the photograph above, and I will do anything to support her and what she believes in, because that young woman? One day she hopes to have your job, Premier Prentice. Today I think she thought a great deal about the kind of leader she already is - and the kind she does not want to be.

Sincerely,
Theresa

Santas Anonymous and Knight Lights: Youth Changing the World

There are a few things I am passionate about, but perhaps nothing more so than the youth of our community and our world. As the caretaker of a young woman who astonishes me in every way and every single day I see the incredible potential of our youth, and how their initiative and drive can change the world. At this time of year, during the Christmas season, I see so many examples of this locally, and in two cases I am both amazed and humbled by the young people involved: Santas Anonymous and Holy Trinity Teens for Change, a group that hosts the Knight Lights Fair Trade Market on an annual basis.

Santas Anonymous operates out of Father Mercredi High School. I have had the honour of writing about this initiative for YMM Magazine, and I continue to be astonished at the good work they do in our region. This largely student organized and driven movement collects food, toys and other items for distribution in the community to allow individuals and families who may be struggling to celebrate the holidays. I have been there on packing day when the hampers are carefully packed for each family, gifts for each child lovingly selected and wrapped by young hands. I have been there on delivery day, and I have been one of the drivers who did deliveries, seeing the faces of the recipients and finding in them the true joy and meaning of the season.

Santas Anonymous is an incredible group, one that has touched the lives and hearts of thousands of residents of this region, and perhaps what has impacted me the most was the gentle sincerity of the youth involved. Most are too young to understand or know the low points of life, when a kind word or gesture can mean the difference between falling into deep sorrow and seeing a glimmer of hope. I think they know they are doing something special and something positive, but I suspect they don't fully understand exactly how amazing what they are doing is, and how they are quietly changing the lives of people in our community. I know, though, because I have spoken to recipients of the program who have told me in tears of times when things were so very bad that they were in despair, overcome with sadness at their inability to provide their families with a celebration - and their deep gratitude when a delivery from Santas Anonymous arrived, changing not only their holiday but their life.

Santas Anonymous will hold their annual Miracle Marathon on the weekend of December 12 and 13, and will be accepting donations of food, toys, and money at local Save-On Foods locations with the help of friends from Rock 97.9 FM and Country 93.3 FM (and those radio stations and Save-On Foods deserve a special mention and thank you for their kind support of this initiative and their community involvement, too). That weekend is an ideal opportunity to chat with some local youth and see their passion for helping others, an inspiring thing to witness at this time of year when the holiday spirit can be a bit trampled after hours spent trudging through the mall. And no matter how weary we may get, Santas Anonymous has now been going strong for thirty years, fuelled by the youthful energy and passion of those who have made Christmas happen for hundreds of people in our region every single year for three decades.

And speaking of local youth, passion and holiday spirit, on Monday, December 1 the Holy Trinity Teens for Change will host their annual Knight Lights Fair Trade Market, an event I have attended every single year and continue to regard with both delight and pleasure as it connects our local youth with those far, far away.

Teen for Change is a youth social justice group working with Free the Children and Me to We to promote and encourage social change throughout the world. This group, through the wildly successful fair trade market, has raised an amazing amount of funds for various initiatives around the world. The fair trade market boasts a variety of goods from artisans in other countries, all sold at fair price to ensure the makers of the goods have been fairly compensated for their wares. I have gone every year and every year have walked away with something new as either a gift or for myself, and a renewed belief in the ability of our youth to truly impact our world in positive ways. Teens for Change is again primarily student organized and driven, and the fair trade market has become a part of our holiday season in the region in just a few short years, showing exactly how popular the concept is.

The Knight Lights Fair Trade Market, this year themed "One Small Step for Man, One Huge Leap for Mankind" takes place on Monday, December 1 at Holy Trinity High School, with doors opening at 6 pm and admission costing only $10. If you have never been before I highly recommend attending this event - because I guarantee you will not only be impressed but that you will add it to your yearly calendar of must-attend events.

So folks, there you have it. Honestly I get tired just writing about it, but in our community there are these incredibly energetic, passionate and motivated youth like those at Father Mercredi and Holy Trinity who are spending their precious extracurricular time (and I know it is precious, as I recall those days well) to improve the lives of others both in our community and around the world. I commend the Fort McMurray Catholic School Board, the staff and teachers at both schools, and especially the students for their dedication and devotion to making the world a better place. Through their efforts everyone in this community is given the opportunity to help them make that difference, through our donations or volunteering for Santas Anonymous and our support of the Knight Lights Fair Trade Market. So, let's support our local youth as they change the world, one teddy bear, one Christmas dinner and one fair trade market at a time.

Find more info on

Santas Anonymous

and

Teens For Change Knight Lights

Cop Chat on Twitter

It always catches my attention on Twitter when my name comes up during a discussion hashtagged as #copchat. You see that is a discussion between police officers and when my Twitter handle appears I pay attention, as I am not quite certain why I have become part of the conversation – although last week I was delighted to learn it was for a very good reason.

I think most of us have a bit of an odd relationship with the police. We are very happy to see them when our car is stolen but significantly less happy when they appear behind our car when we happened to fail to stop at a stop sign. We want their help when we need it but are considerably less pleased when they are writing us a ticket for our own misbehaviour. And to be honest to a large degree I think few of us really understand the nature of their job and have a tendency to see the uniform and not the individual doing a difficult job.

I wrote a blog post in 2011 about an initiative that I felt was helping to bridge the divide between the public and police. It was a bold project, because it was risky in some regards. It was all about police officers in Edmonton using Twitter and the impact I believed it was having on their relationship with the community.

It is very easy to dehumanize individuals like police officers, and that dehumanization is a key factor in the difficulties of developing community policing. The concept of using Twitter by officers was initially envisioned as a recruitment tool but I think it went much further than that. Cops on Twitter, at least the ones in Edmonton, developed a relationship with the Twitter community, sharing snippets of their jobs and daily routine. The officers ceased to be the uniforms and began to be a lot more just like you and I.

Some of the tweets they sent were sobering – tales of pulling over drivers too drunk to stand, let alone be behind the wheel. But there were funny tweets, too, 140 characters detailing seeing a guy in a bunny costume on Whyte Avenue long after Halloween had passed. The officers were sharing not just the tragic things they saw, not just reports of icy roads or drunk drivers, but some of the amusing things they encountered, too. They were open and interactive. They responded to the public, answered questions and became quite utterly human.

There is no doubt there was some risk. It is a fine line to dance, social media and professionalism, but the officers danced it well and they began to develop a solid presence on Twitter. I had always respected police officers, of course, always known they simply did a difficult job, but even I realized they were changing the way I interacted with them, feeling much more at ease the next time an officer pulled me over because of a damaged tail light. She was no longer a uniform – she was a person doing her job, and at the end of that traffic stop I thanked her for all she does for our community.

So last week when my name came up during “cop chat” I was delighted to learn that two of the Edmonton officers on Twitter – Constable Power and Constable Spiker – had recently been recognized for outstanding service based on engagement, and that my 2011 blog post had been submitted as part of their nomination package. That my blog post could have contributed to their recognition made me smile that entire evening, because it is far too rare that we recognize police officers and celebrate them.

It has been awhile since I wrote that blog post but I stand behind it and all I said, perhaps even more so now. I have seen how the Edmonton police officers have integrated in the social media world of Twitter and how that has truly impacted their interaction with members of their community. I have also seen other police forces try to embrace the medium but fail because they are too afraid of the potential harm to take the risk, preferring instead to tweet as an entity but not individuals (and failing to develop those crucial personal connections that foster the humanization of the officers). My respect for the individual officers on Twitter has grown immensely as I have seen them continue to take the risk, knowing they are developing those connections and forging a new path for their colleagues by taking community policing into the sometimes tricky world of social media.

Today I want to congratulate Constables Power and Spiker on their award, as well as thank them and all their colleagues who do a very difficult job every single day. I believe they and the other officers on Twitter are pioneers of a sort who are blazing a trail in community policing, and that is worthy of recognition. I am still smiling, too, as the thought that this humble little blog could contribute to their recognition pleases me beyond words, and so I sit here today quite content, knowing that sometimes something I have written does things and goes places I have never expected or anticipated., like into the world of cop chat.

The Legacy of Penhorwood

They have stood there for years now, a stark and troubling reminder of a dark stain on our history. As time has gone on they have become more and more decrepit, no longer home to families but instead the playground of vandals and miscreants armed with cans of spray paint. They have become almost symbolic of development and boomtown ethics gone wrong – and now, thanks to three million dollars from the RMWB, the Penhorwood condominium complex is coming down.

This is a story that began at almost the same time this blog did. In fact one of the first stories I wrote about was the midnight evacuation of hundreds of residents given just minutes to abandon their homes. I still feel a shiver when I think of that as I cannot quite imagine their thoughts; disbelief, anger, fear.

Shortly after it happened I found myself sitting with a structural engineer friend looking at the inspection reports from the complex after I took the rather bold step (I realize in retrospect) of asking the RMWB Department of Planning and Development to show me those documents. I can only imagine what they thought of this request at the time, as I was a simple stay at home mom and nobody really knew me at all back then. I didn’t know what I was looking for or even the right questions to ask, but I hoped I would find some answers in those stacks of documents.

My friend and I sat in an RMWB office reading the documents, and he expressed concern over things he found troubling, but the story was far more complex and far deeper than what could be told from inspection reports. And besides, the real story lay in the people who invested in those buildings, left homeless and without recourse until the dust settled on the court battle, a battle that is nowhere near conclusion as of yet.

The one thing that is nearing conclusion, however, is the physical buildings, the scene of heartbreak and despair and disappointment. These buildings will now come down, taking with them the mold and the graffiti and the blight on our landscape, but what will remain is the memory of this sequence of events and the people it impacted.

I have heard some saying they are sorry the buildings are coming down as without the physical reminder they fear the residents of these buildings will be forgotten. I think, though, that while the buildings served as a physical reminder they were doing us tremendous harm as visitors and new residents looked at them and saw a dark history there. The buildings need to come down – but the history cannot be forgotten. As the adage goes, those who forget history are doomed to repeat it, and in a region of significant growth memories can far too often be short and we can forget such incidents – but we cannot allow that to happen, because we cannot allow Penhorwood to happen again.

I am grateful the buildings are coming down, and I am equally grateful our council has taken the step of bearing the responsibility for their destruction as it was long past time for them to go. My only hope is that we do not forget what happened late one night at Penhorwood when people no different from you and I were given mere moments to leave their lives behind, in many cases leaving them with emotional and financial scars that persist to this day and which will likely forever mark their lives. The demolition of Penhorwood will remove the physical stain of those buildings, but it will not remove the stain on our history and nor should it. Penhorwood is part of our history and legacy in this community – and we would do well to remember it, lest we repeat it.

When Hockey Came to My Hometown

I don’t have many memories from when I was very little, when we lived in a very small town in rural Saskatchewan. We left that town when I was six, headed to the “big city” of Saskatoon where I grew up. We left that little town far behind us in many ways, but for me perhaps especially in my memories as I was so young when we left. One of the few memories I have, though, involves an outdoor skating rink.

My memories are more about the sounds than the sights of that rink. I can hear, even now and decades later, the scraping noise of skate blades on ice, the sound of the laughter of my sisters, my father’s voice as he set me down on the ice in my new skates, as trembly and unsteady as a newborn colt. I remember holding his hands, covered in black leather gloves, and I remember after the skate was over him flooding the ice, the sound of water spraying over the ice to make it fresh for the next day or the next skater to come along.

It was the very essence of rural Canadiana; the kind of memory that stays with you for years and that seeps into you every time you see an outdoor rink or hear the sounds of laughter ringing off the rinkboards. It was the memory that came to me this weekend when hockey came to my hometown.

I am a long way away from those days now. My father has been gone for many years – almost a decade, I am often stunned to realize – and it has been far longer than that since he put me on the ice of an outdoor rink. I call another city home, one a bit further north and both a bit larger than the small town where I once lived and a bit smaller than the city where I grew up. But this weekend, when Hometown Hockey made a stop in Fort McMurray, I was taken back a very long way, into memories of an outdoor rink and Saturday nights spent with my dad in front of an enormous box of a television where we would watch hockey. He may have always driven green Deere tractors and blue Ford cars, but this farmer father of mine bled blue and white when it came to hockey, an ardent fan of the Maple Leafs for his entire life and a preference he passed on to his youngest daughter.

I would not call myself a huge hockey fan, although of any sport it is perhaps the one about which I know the most. For me though it is not about the sport itself but the passion of the people involved, like the little players no older than I was the first time my father put me on the ice on an outdoor rink in a tiny little town in rural Saskatchewan. It is why I found myself smiling last week when I discovered myself face to face with the Stanley Cup, the Holy Grail of hockey. How fitting it seemed to me that I encountered it in a tiny dressing room just off the Terry Conroy Mini-Ice at the Suncor Community Leisure Centre, as my journey of the last few years took me down a path where I learned a great deal about Terry and how he was one of the founders of ice sports in our community, including the backyard rink he created every year where local children could play out their own hockey dreams. As I stood and gazed at the silver cup, etched not only with names but with decades and decades of history, I could not help but think how it was truly part of Terry’s legacy to find this cup so close to the ice surface that now carries his name, and how he might have felt to know that a group of very young hockey players were about to see that cup just before stepping out onto the ice that honours his memory.

 

It is why when I wandered around the Hometown Hockey site – dotted with dozens of activities and events of every kind – I found myself grinning widely, listening as the sounds of children’s laughter echoed through the parking lot of the recreation centre where I am now so very fortunate to work. I went from tent to tent, observing quietly as the residents of my community – my hometown – celebrated hockey, our favourite national sport. I watched as Canadian icon Ron MacLean inspired young hockey players with his banter about the sport, and I grinned even wider when a friend texted to tell me that even though he and his son had been down the day before they were coming back as his son had so loved Hometown Hockey that he had asked to come back.

I didn’t meet Ron MacLean or Lanny McDonald. I didn’t take a selfie with the Stanley Cup, and I didn’t lace up my skates. I was too lost in reverie for those things, my mind racing with memories long forgotten and tucked away, of a cold winter night when I could see my breath on the air and my skates touched ice for the very first time while I held my father’s hands. I found myself back on an outdoor rink in a tiny town called Reward, the crisp sound of skates scraping on the ice ringing in my mind. Hometown Hockey came to my hometown, but it took me back to another hometown from a long time ago and very far away, a place and time I hadn’t thought of for a very, very long time. I may not be a hockey player, and perhaps not even a huge hockey fan – but I think like every other Canadian there is a ribbon that runs through my heart that is tied to a memory of ice and winter and skates, and, yes, hockey, a sport that I may have never played but that has clearly touched my life and reminds me of days – and people – long gone.

This morning I stopped to put gas in my car, the most mundane of tasks and one I do not relish in the early morning when the temperatures are cold. A truck drove in across from me, and from it emerged a man wearing a toque proudly emblazoned with the Hometown Hockey logo. I finished pumping my gas, stepped back into my car and held my frozen fingers in front of the heater to warm them – and I smiled, lost in memories once more of a time with my father long gone but as fresh in my mind as if it happened yesterday, and then I drove away, headed for another day in my hometown.

The IJB Finds Nerdvana

When your kid hits a certain age you begin to wonder what exactly it will take to drag them out of the basement. I remember a lot about being a teen, but I forgot about the inertia that sets in at about the age of 15, when many teens develop a strong attachment to the sofa in the basement and cannot be pried away from it other than for things like school and the occasional shower. I certainly didn't expect to become the caretaker of my own basement dweller, but it has happened as the Intrepid Junior Blogger has, over the last few months, developed a serious case of basement-dweller-itis.

Now, to give her some credit, part of it is because of her increased work load due to her Advanced Placement classes. But this, combined with cold weather and the onset of teenage inertia, have led to a situation where one needs a crowbar to pry her out of the basement - or at least a very large enticement. I have found one recently, though, as the IJB and I made a visit to a new local retail outlet and she was impressed enough to suggest weekly visits (meaning weekly trips out of the basement!) might be in order. The store in question? Nerdvana.

Now, I must admit that the IJB has some pretty obscure interests. As she says "she lives on the internet", and she is a self-described "nerd", loving nothing more than superheroes, episodes of Dr. Who (both recent and very old) and books that are the shape and size of door stops (she has read the entire Game of Thrones series - twice). Her room (and to be honest the family room in the basement which she has taken over) are filled with paraphernalia related to her interests, ranging from posters to figurines, and her wardrobe consists almost entirely of t-shirts which are mostly inexplicable to people like me - which is probably why Nerdvana, a store of comics, hobbies and collectibles, has caught her fancy so easily.

Nerdvana is a business adventure launched by some local young residents who have undoubtedly taken a risk to fill a niche market in our community. This little store is jam-packed with every kind of pop culture trinket and item, from comics to collectible figurines. There is something for everyone (even I am drawn to some of the items, including the superhero drinking mugs) and there is most certainly more than one thing for people like the IJB, who left the store on her first visit with her arms loaded down with a Dire Wolf stuffy, a Game of Thrones card deck, an Assassins Creed figurine and a string of Tardis lights. She actually chuckled as she left, practically rubbing her hands with glee at her haul of goods, things she would normally be buying online (leaving her mother to pay things like custom and duties, of course).

As I followed her around I began making mental notes of items I was going back to pick up for Christmas for her (and ok, even a couple of things for me). I noted the store was hopping, too, with several customers who had the same sort of expression on their face as the IJB. The store might be called "Nerdvana" but it is clearly a form of Nirvana for pop culture types like the IJB, who pronounced something astonishing on the way home.

"I think we should go back every week," she said.

"Uh, you will have to get off the sofa," I said. "And get dressed," looking at her with some degree of skepticism as these things often seem a bit beyond her these days.

She was grinning as she replied, staring out the window. "It's worth it to go to Nerdvana."

And so I found out how one gets a teen off the sofa and out of the basement. All it takes is a little store stocked by people who understand the niche market they are filling, who take the leap of faith to pay the rent, buy the stock and hire the staff, and who put out an "open" sign, welcoming in people like the IJB. It might have been her first visit to Nerdvana, but it almost certainly won't be our last, as evidenced by her final comment on the ride home.

A long sigh, followed by: "I should have gotten the other Dire Wolf. Next time, I guess." And so next time it will be.

You can find Nerdvana at

8318 Fraser Avenue,

follow them on Twitter

@nerdvanaymm

and on Facebook at

Nerdvana