It is one of those emails I get on occasion, asking for some help. They aren't asking about helping to promote an event or a cause, though. They are asking about how to write a blog - or more specifically how to write a successful blog.
This question always stumps me a bit, because I am not certain you can aim for success in this blogging world. One of the most profound things I have ever had an interviewee say to me during an interview was that one shouldn't chase success but chase excellence, as excellence usually results in success. I thought that was a very inspiring thought when I heard it and I still do now, because I think chasing success is a waste of energy. I think we need to pursue excellence, and then see how it all unfolds.
Now, this question has come up often, the "how do I write a blog" query. And I always respond in the same way:
1) Just start writing
2) Write when you have something to share
3) Stop worrying about how many "hits" you are getting
To break it down further:
1) Just start writing
This is the most basic and fundamental. The first blog post can be an awkward thing (and if you don't believe me go back and read the first five posts in this blog). But every journey needs to begin somewhere, so you need to just start. Decide what your focus is in the blog (is it a community blog? Lifestyle blog? Fashion blog? Complaints blog?) and go with it. Over time you may deviate from the original focus, but that's okay as this is just a place to begin. You also need to decide if you want to be known as the author or be anonymous, which can be a tougher decision than you anticipate. I originally intended this blog to be anonymous, but the decision to attach my name and identity to it was one of the best decisions I have ever made, as I think it led to increased credibility of my words (and accountability, too, which should never be taken lightly).
2) Write when you have something to share
People often ask "how often" I blog, and if I have some set number I try to achieve. The answer is no. I believe numbers are restrictive and can result in a writer just trying to fill space instead of sharing content of value and meaning. I blog when I have something to share that I feel needs to be shared, either because it is of value to someone else or value to me. If you are just filling space there is a risk people will just stop reading, because we all know our time is precious. I can't say that every post I have written over three years has value to every person who reads it, but I hope every single post had value to someone. And remember, too, that you are responsible for all the content you create, anonymous or not. This means you are legally responsible, and so you should use good judgement when sharing information or thoughts. This doesn't mean you are restricted in what you say, but rather that you need to carefully consider how you should say it (which in the end helps with that whole pursuit of excellence aspect, too).
3) Stop worrying about how many "hits" you are getting
Don't look at your blog statistics in the beginning - and I mean that. It can be a bit depressing to see that something you have written is getting little traction, especially when you have invested your time and effort. But if you are blogging because you are sharing things of value and because you enjoy the experience then the number of "hits" or "views" becomes immaterial. If you find low numbers initially discouraging it may keep you from continuing to write, but then you are chasing success, and not excellence. Chase excellence, produce good content that matters to you and might resonate with someone else, and those hits will go up. As an aside I check my blog stats about every two weeks, mainly because I often forget to check.
And finally I would add this:
Enjoy the experience.
If you find blogging a slog or a chore, or if you feel pressured to write it, you won't enjoy the experience. I admit that I am addicted to blogging, and find that I am often so anxious to share a story or a post that I can think of little else until I hit the "publish" button. But if you find that blogging just makes you feel anxious, and not in a good way, it might not be your medium.
And so there is my answer to the question "how do I blog?", shared here so that in the future when replying to these occasional emails I can simply say "hey there, here's a link to a post where I share my thoughts on this!" - and then I can go write another blog post instead of a long email explaining how, and why, to chase excellence on a blog.
Yesterday morning I woke up feeling a bit anxious. It was Friday, of course, always a good day in my books but it was also a very busy day, with significant events in my personal and professional life both happening on the same day.
I don't write a lot about my professional life in this blog, which seems absurd as it is such a huge part of my life. Very soon I will have been employed in my position in Communications at MacDonald Island (now the Regional Recreation Corporation) for a full year. Over that year I have learned so much, and to say that I now spend my entire day writing is not a stretch as that is exactly what I do. I have truly grown into the role of a professional writer, and so my days are filled with creating content for articles, press releases, and every aspect of communications for a large organization. Coupled with my freelance work it seems I write for hours every day, and I suppose it only seems that way as I do - and I love every single moment, too.
Yesterday was an exciting day due to a professional event and a personal event that both occurred on the same day, as these things often do. My morning began when I arrived in my office and shortly after sitting at my desk the names of those dancing in Dancing With the Stars Wood Buffalo 2014 were announced - and my name was on that roster. It's a commitment I take very seriously, as it involves time and effort and eventually dancing on a stage in front of hundreds of people with a camera live-streaming to hundreds more (and with a partner I just met yesterday). I was nervous about it all, especially since I did not know the names of the other "celebrity" dancers, but I was pleased to see that I know most if not all of them, and that this will be a friendly, but serious, competition.
That announcement, though, set off a flurry of activity in my life, with Twitter and Facebook lighting up with the news that I would be participating when I am quite well known for making it clear that I am not a dancer. And then of course there was the requisite promoting and trash talking, as competitions like this are only fun if you can wind everyone up a bit (and every wind up might lead to more money raised for the SPCA, which at the end of the day is what this event is all about).
When that excitement was beginning to die down, though, it was off to my professional excitement of the day, and the re-dedication of the Terry Conroy Mini Ice at the Suncor Community Leisure Centre. The mini ice was originally dedicated in Terry's name in 1996, but over the years and with the expansion of the facility the history of this designation was lost, and I will admit that I personally had little idea who Terry Conroy was or his role in our community until the last few months when we began to plan this celebration of his name and legacy. Terry Conroy, you see, was a giant of this community.
When he died, far too early in his life, he left a tremendous hole in this community because he was one of those quiet souls who just gets involved and does the things that need to be done. He was a coach, a mentor, and an advisor to young athletes from a variety of sports. He encouraged them to pursue their dreams, whether it was sport or education. He was involved in a variety of other initiatives, like creating the now much-loved Oil Barons franchise. He was a husband and a dad and an employee, and he was one of those citizens who leaves a legacy long after they are gone because of all the things they have done, quietly and without fanfare or accolades. What captured my imagination the most, though, was his annual backyard hockey rink, which he created every year for the kids of his community.
I suppose it's because it triggered memories of my own father doing the same thing. My dad didn't create a rink every year, but I have clear memories of him working to maintain the rink in the very small town where I was born. We left that town when I was six, and so my memories of that rink are fuzzy, but I recall the sound of water splashing across the ice, and a shovel being pushed across the surface. I remember being placed on the ice gently with his strong arms above me, and feeling it under the surface of my skates for the first time. I must have been four or five, I'd guess, and it's one of my first memories of my father, who has now been gone for several years. I clutch that memory tightly to me, so tightly I think I almost forgot it, until I began to work on learning more about Terry Conroy.
The more I learned about Terry Conroy the more memories of my dad flooded back, and almost in a reverie I would think about the sights and sounds of those backyard rinks that have dotted our nation for decades. I thought about the commitment and dedication of those who build them, not for any personal gain but simply so their kids, and the kids of others, can enjoy them. I thought about how that simple act, not so simple when you think about the work that went into them, can change the lives of those who experience them, cementing them forever in their memories. I suspect a lot of children remember Terry's backyard rink, and now they carry memories of it, and the legacy he left, forever.
So yesterday we gathered once more at the mini ice surface where I work, and with the Conroy family present we again celebrated his memory, and his legacy. I have done many things in my professional life in the past year, but this is perhaps the one of which I am most proud, because we celebrated the impact left by an "ordinary" man who was not ordinary at all. We celebrated someone who helped to build this community that I love, and we honoured his memory - and I was so very privileged to take part in it. Now I know the story of Terry Conroy, and it is one I will tell again and again, because it is the story of the impact one person can have on their community if they choose to do so. Yesterday's event was the culmination of months of work, but the legacy now lives on because it has found a new home in the memories and hearts of people like me.
I will admit the activities of the day left me exhausted, but I had one more commitment. Some friends had invited me to a house concert, and while I have often been too tired or too busy to attend these evening events in the last year I had decided to go to this one. I texted my friend and warned him that I might fall asleep, and that I was completely exhausted, but he told me to come. Maybe sit in the back, he said. Sleep here if you need to, he said. What he didn't say, and didn't need to say, was that he knew I needed to be there, and that the home he and his wife have always opened to me is a safe place where I can simply be, even if it means falling asleep during a house concert.
I didn't fall asleep, though. Instead I sat in awe as I heard two musicians, part of the band The Navigators, play some incredible music. They might be from Newfoundland but they took me right back to my time in Ireland three years ago, where evenings were spent in small corner pubs listening to local musicians and learning the lyrics of traditional Irish songs. Once again I could feel my memories being triggered, thinking back to a night in Dublin in a tiny pub at a table in the back where we sat on long benches right next to those who played, and exchanged stories and laughs. What many don't know is that Ireland is where all of this truly began for me, because my time there is what started me writing again. I came back with stories spilling out of me, things I needed to share, and so I began to share them on a personal blog, which eventually led me to starting this blog you are now reading. I sat in awe on a bench in my friend's living room, and realized I had come full circle, right back to the start of a journey that took me from being a stay-at-home mom who watched daytime TV and didn't feel she was doing much with her life to someone who works full tilt as a professional writer, rarely has time for TV, and often sits in wonder at what her life has become.
Yesterday was just another day in my life, of course. But it was one of those days when the past and present collide, and in the best possible ways. I thought about the history of this community, and the legacy of a man who changed it for the better through all the things he did. I thought about how I can contribute to my home, by learning to dance to raise money for an organization I love. And I thought about how life can change if you want it to, and how changing your life can have ripple effects far beyond what you expect. This morning I sit here with a coffee and write this post and think about today, and another day in my life. I think about all the possibilities that lie ahead, and all the memories of the past. I think most, though, about how you can come full circle as the ribbons that tie your life come together, and make you realize how incredible a journey life truly is.
When it was first suggested I laughed. And then when it was brought up once more I laughed again. And then it began to dawn on me that they were entirely serious, and that this was a commitment I needed to consider. The suggestion? That I be a celebrity dancer in Dancing With the Stars Wood Buffalo 2014.
Let's be clear here. I am not a dancer. I am the person who can fall going upstairs, and I have a deep wariness of escalators as those things and I go way back due to my lack of grace. Oh, I spent most of my twenties hanging around with musicians and in night clubs in Toronto, but I was never really known for my dancing prowess or abilities (back then all I was known for was my laugh and an ability to chug back an impressive amount of Black Label beer given my rather small size).
So when the good folks at the Fort McMurray SPCA began to hint around that they might like me to serve as a celebrity dancer I was hesitant, because I while I am quite willing to put myself out there I am a bit shy about my lack of grace and charm on the dance floor. There is a time commitment, and then there is my poor partner, who will soon learn that I have two decidedly left feet and a total lack of rhythm. But I knew I had to say yes. And this is why:
These are the kinds of text messages I get when I am at work. That is the Intrepid Junior Blogger, of course, and those two green eyes belong to Sirius Black Cat, who first set paw in our house in September and rapidly took over. It would not be a stretch to say that Sir Black has managed to become the focal point of the house, as we have all fallen in love with him, including the family dog. It's hard not to love a plush black creature who purrs when he sees you, pounces on you when you turn a corner, gets stuck in the fridge when you turn your back and close the door not realizing he is inside until you hear the meowing, and otherwise prances around like he owns the joint (because he does). And little Sir Black Plush Cat came to us from the SPCA.
He was a stray, you see, a street kitty with a shady past. You can tell at times he remembers life on the street, and like many former strays he cannot get enough food in his belly (thus his alarming increase in stomach pouchiness since adoption). We found him in the SPCA cat room when he climbed into the IJB's lap, laid down, and began purring.
And Sir isn't our only SPCA pet, either. One of our ferrets, little Riversong, came to us from the SPCA as well. She joined our other two, making a little trio of mayhem that only ferrets in a group can make.
So when it became clear the SPCA wanted me to dance I knew I needed to do three things: clear my calendar, find some dancing shoes, and put aside my fears, because this was all about raising funds for an organization that has touched my life, and the life of the IJB. I am so profoundly grateful to them for all the work they do, but especially for bringing Riversong and Sirius Black into our lives.
For the next few weeks I will be blogging, tweeting, and Facebooking about this journey. You can expect complaints about sore knees (I am old, you know), being woefully out of shape, and expressions of abject terror about dancing on a stage in front of a crowd (just contemplating it makes me feel the need for Valium). You can also expect me to be harassing you to vote for my partner and I. Every vote costs you $20, and frankly I am pretty bloody competitive and I play to win, so you can expect requests and pleas to vote and donate, and then to attend the big event on April 26th.
Every dance step of the way I will be thinking about the SPCA, and Riversong, and Sirius Black, but even more about the IJB and what this little ferret and cat mean to her. You see she loves animals in the same way her mother does, and having Sir Black has changed her life, I think. Last week she came to me and said "I don't really remember what life was like before he was here, can you imagine life without him?" as she cradled a lazy, plush, sleepy and bleary-eyed black cat in her arms. And the answer is no, I cannot imagine life without him, which is why when the SPCA said "come dancing", I did.
One year ago today a young boy in our community collapsed at Vista Ridge ski hill. He was there for a class ski trip, surrounded by his friends and peers, and his sudden collapse impacted both his immediate circle and spread far further into the community, including into my own heart and soul. As a mother I could not even begin to imagine the agony his parents experienced when little Will collapsed, and when a few days later they faced the reality of letting their beautiful little boy, their shooting star, go when it became clear he would not recover.
Over the past year I have written on occasion about Will, and I have been following the Facebook page dedicated to his memory. On that page his mother, a fine writer in her own right, has been sharing the journey her family has taken in the last year. I have shed countless tears while reading her posts, and my heart has ached for her, for her family, and for all of us as we lost a precious gift when we lost Will, a young man who had tremendous potential. I never had the honour to meet Will, but I have met his mother and discovered a woman who has such profound courage and dignity as she faces the nightmare that every parent fears.
I reached out to Will's mom this week and did something I very rarely do. I asked if she would like to share something on this blog, and she so courageously agreed to do so. This letter, written in October 2013, was originally shared on the memorial page. Beautifully written in every regard there is one line that caught me the first time I read, and every time since. She writes about Will reminding her to use the good dishes for special occasions, and she wonders why we are saving the good dishes. And I have to ask, why are we saving the good dishes? Why do we put off the things we know we should do when we also know that life is precious and fragile and far, far too uncertain?
Today I ask you to read Hilda's words, and then I want you to go home and use the good dishes. I want you to pick up the phone and tell that person that you love them or that you are sorry or whatever it is you need to say to them. Please don't save the good dishes, because one day it may be too late to use them, and we never know when that date will come.
This summer I stood on an abandoned road on the way to Maqua Lake watching the Perseid meteor shower. And during one particularly exciting burst of shooting stars I thought of Will, a shooting star who lit up the lives of those he touched during his brief time on this planet, and who was gone far too soon. Today I would like to share his mom's beautiful words, a photo, and a video that I think sums up some of what I have taken away from being part of this journey. I thank Hilda and her family for their courage, and for their willingness to share such an incredibly personal and painful journey with us. I feel incredibly blessed to even have the chance to share part of that journey with you today.
Dear Will, my precious and beautiful Will;
Today marks eight months since you died and we have been living in a fog of shock, disbelief that you're really gone, denial that this is now our life, forever. You were a 9 year old boy with everything ahead of you. You were not suppose to die, it's just not fair.
We were left behind to live out the rest of our lives without you and the feelings of loneliness and longing are all-consuming. The anguish and the pain is something no one should ever have to endure.
Even as these months pass, I still wake up every day hoping its not real and you will be laying there, sandwiched in between your Dad and I, in "our bed" as you called it. Your usual middle of the night crawling into bed with us, telling me that your bed is too hard and you liked our sheets better. I rarely brought you back to your own bed because I figured I would relish in the morning cuddles as long as I could. I am so very thankful for every single cuddle. The bedtime cuddles were wonderful too, I miss you telling me that I'm the best Mom ever and that you love me to the end of the universe and back, I miss you playing with my hair and me playing with yours. When you were in the hospital I put your hair in a ponytail and cut it so that I would always be able to play with your soft beautiful hair. That ponytail of hair is the only physical thing I have left of you.
I miss making your bed and doing your laundry, and cleaning your room. I miss picking up your toys. I miss going to the mall and you wanting to spend your money on more toys, and using your bank card, which you were so tickled to have. I will miss your Christmas list, one like last Christmas, the really long extravagant Christmas list. I remember a few biggies from the top of last years list. Number one was, one thousand dollars in cash, hahaha, we laughed about that one, second was a new bed, a five thousand dollar bed, hahaha we laughed about that one too, third was an iPhone 5, that wasn't happening either, but hey, you figured it didn't hurt to ask. I love you for your humour, although I think you were serious.
I miss making you a hot lunch each day and delivering it to you at school and being greeted with your big beautiful smile. I miss your excitement at the end of the day when I picked you up from school, and fighting with you to do your homework before supper. I miss you asking for a pail of hot water to soak your feet, then more because the water had cooled down. I even miss you and Katie arguing, I miss seeing you and Katie cuddling, I miss you and Katie sleeping together when your Dad and I were out. Katie was such a great sister to you. All the years she let you hang out with her and her friends at the park, or walking to the store for a slushie. Katie's friends had fun with you around, thats for sure. I will miss you and Katie making a hill of snow in the front yard to slide on. I will miss you and Katie sliding down the back steps when they were full of snow, and of course our wintertime back yard fires. I miss watching movies with you, with Dads awesome popcorn, and you and I still able to lay side by side on the coach. Dad and Katie having their own comfy places to sit. I miss being carefree.
I miss you helping with yard work, I miss the freedom of summer. I miss you wearing my rubber gloves to clean the toilets, and helping to fold the laundry. You did a great job. I miss you helping Dad cook dinner, then running to the basement and coming back up saying "I picked the wine for dinner". And you having your milk or juice in a wine glass too. I miss you insisting on using the "delicate dishes" on Sundays and other days too. What the heck are we saving them for anyway. I miss playing Wii with you and you rolling on the floor laughing your head off, definite stomach laughs, I really sucked at Mario Cart. Your laugh was a beautiful thing to hear. There is nothing quite like the laughter of a child and yours was infectious. Oh how much I loved hearing you laugh.
I miss watching you play soccer and all the trips down south to play in tournaments. I miss how proud you were to be the Keeper for your team and how much you loved your padded keeper jersey. I miss how great all of you looked in your team track suits. I will miss you trying your darnedest to have a six pack. I will miss you at Halloween and trick or treating. I will miss skiing with you every Saturday and watching you race with the ski team in Jasper. I will miss that you could beat me to the bottom every time. I miss the pictures you made, the Birthday cards, the Mothers Day cards, the Christmas Cards.
I miss riding bikes. Your really cool lime green bike hangs in our garage, the tires not being worn out in the span of those long summer days, now only collecting dust. I will miss cross country skiing, especially at Auntie Janice's cabin. Remember that Uncle Brian said you were a natural, even at the age of six. I missed you in Cape Breton and I missed you in Ontario, I will miss you on all the family vacations. I miss you coming to the grocery store, I miss you at the park. I miss you at home. I miss all the little things about you.
We miss your beautiful face, your voice, your ever so friendly disposition and your confidence. Your Dad, and Katie and I , we miss everything about you, everything!!
Now it's just the three of us, and maybe you're here too, in spirit, I hope so anyway. We get up each day and do what we have to, Katie goes to school, Dad goes to work, and well for me, I guess I'm still a stay home Mom. I started taking pictures again, I need to force myself to see all the beauty again. We go to Katie's soccer games, volleyball games and soon we will be back at the ski hill. Katie stays home lots these days when she's not busy with school or sports, she likes the down time. Our house is very quiet now. Dad and I go to Keyano theatre to see live plays, Katie comes sometimes too. We get together with friends, we get together with family. We smile in public and even laugh, but behind all of that we are struggling, every day.
We cry, we long, we will never be the same again, life without you leaves a gaping hole in our hearts and in our lives. We are here for each other, Dad and I are here for Katie. We're in this together no matter what. Katie misses you so much, we all miss you..... and we will miss you forever my beautiful Will.
We love you William Lewis.
I recently read a quote that said, "Do good kids even know their middle name?" Thats a good one, you would have like it. You were a good boy and I just liked saying both your names, I miss saying your name, to you.
To my family and friends, I thank you for your daily, weekly text messages, your phone calls, your visits, your loving comments on this page, your unwavering support, you are a constant in our lives and I will never forget that. Walking this path is very lonely and it would be so much lonelier without all of you. We will continue to need your love and support for the many years to come, and it will be returned back to you.
Parents who lose children need to talk about their children. We need to hear our child's name, please don't be afraid to say our child's. Don't be afraid to talk to us. Don't feel like your walking on egg shells around us, be kind, be sensitive, acknowledge our pain with a simple hug or a smile. And excuse me if I can't get too excited about all the wonderful things in your life. It's very very difficult to see beyond our grief right now. We are so sad. Will was robbed of his life and we were robbed too. Every single aspect of our life has been affected, everything we do now is different, everything. Unless you have lost a child, you can never understand the depth of our sorrow, how could you. The sorrow lies in every fibre of our being, it can't be shaken off. Nothing works, keeping busy doesn't work. We can't be fixed, please take the pressure of yourselves, you can't fix us and I know you want to. I think that's why people struggle, if you can't fix us, you don't know what else to do. I can definitely appreciate how hard it is for all of you right now, having a sister or friend like me. Just being there is enough.
And most importantly, please don't forget our child. Our Will lived for only nine years, but he lived, please never forget that he lived. I would rather have had my precious Will for nine years, than to never have had him at all.
As I finish this letter, I can hear the kids from St. Anne school, Will's friends, out enjoying recess and doing what kids are suppose to do, have fun, taking in everything that the day has to offer them.
......much love to all of you and so much love to you, my Will
I am thankful that the sun is shining today, it makes me feel warm, it makes me think of you.
Today I am going to share a little video with you. I must admit I am rather blown away by it, as the person who created it did so in such little time that I find it astonishing. World Hijab Day was celebrated just this past Saturday and here we have this lovely little video of some women experiencing the hijab for the first time.
Look at the smiles, and at the faces. I think it says it all. You might see some faces you know - I certainly did - and what you see is an exploration of wonder as these women build understanding of other women in our world.
My day wearing the hijab was a remarkable experience, and one I am still processing. I think this video sums it up far better than my words ever could - and so I thank Pearls of Wisdom for creating it, and the Fort McMurray World Hijab Day Committee for creating this event and allowing women like me to walk a mile in their shoes - or, in this case, in their hijab.
Today I am taking the opportunity to share with you an initiative from some of the participants in this year's Leadership Wood Buffalo program.
As you might know, LWB is a program designed to foster and encourage leaders in our community. I was contacted recently by a participant who asked me to complete a survey- and the survey is all about why people would choose the Wood Buffalo region as home - or why they would instead choose not to.
The survey is mostly aimed at women, and trying to determine what makes women choose to stay in or leave our region. I have no doubt the results will be interesting, and given my own circumstances as a single parent who chose to stay in the community I know I will be interested in the results.
The reality is that while many of us choose to make this community our home others do not, and leave to create their home in other parts of the province or country. The question is why, and understanding the answer can help us to build a stronger community that provides the amenities, services and support system that will encourage men, women, and families to choose this as their home.
I encourage you to complete the survey, as the more responses the more valid the results will be. It only takes a few moments, and as I completed it I thought about why I moved here initially, and why I chose to stay just over a year ago when leaving seemed a very real possibility.
Thank you in advance for helping out my friends over at Leadership Wood Buffalo - and for helping them to build a stronger community that we will all want to call home!
I was actually surprised at the trepidation I felt. I stood at home in front of my bathroom mirror, trying to figure out what to do with my hair. I suspect like many women I have a complicated relationship with my hair. But yesterday the relationship was less complicated, because my hair wouldn't be in view for long. You see, it was going undercover for the day, as I had decided to don the hijab in honour of World Hijab Day.
I will be very frank. I have given the hijab little thought, because to me it was never something to think about. It wasn't until the surfacing of Bill 60 in Quebec, a proposal to force civil servants to remove any garb deemed religious while at work, that I began to think about the hijab. One of my dear friends wears it, as does one of the Intrepid Junior Blogger's best pals. And so I began to think, and learn, about the hijab.
I want to be very clear here. I do not support any person, woman or not, being forced to do anything they do not choose. On the flip side, though, I do not support the removal of that choice, which is what Bill 60 proposes. I recognize that in some parts of the world the wearing of the hijab may not be a choice, and I do not support women being forced to don it - but I also cannot tolerate women who have chosen to wear it in our country being forced to remove it, as I do not believe forcing others is our right in any circumstance.
I believe one of the biggest misconceptions about the hijab is that all women are forced to wear it and that none choose to do so. I find this deeply offensive, as I personally know several women - strong, opinionated, educated women - who have chosen to wear the hijab. They have not been forced to do so (and the idea that anyone could force some of these women to do anything is not only deeply patronizing but laughable). I think one of the things we need to understand is that others may choose things we ourselves would not choose - and then we must work to accept their choice and their right to choose. I recall well my younger days when I was having a discussion with a friend about beauty pageants, and about how I could not understand the choice of the participants. I suppose I implied that perhaps these women were not too clever to be involved in such superficial shenanigans, and my friend stopped me and asked me what gave me the right to judge their choice. Why would I demean their choice simply because it was not something I would do? Wasn't that patronizing attitude actually more harmful to them than any pageant could ever be? And she was right, of course, and it forever changed how I thought about choices and how to respect those who chose differently than I.
And so over the years I never thought much about the hijab, until my dear friend Kiran told me about the upcoming World Hijab Day. I knew I wanted to participate, and she and her organizing committee had arranged an event at the local mall so local women could try on the hijab and experience it themselves. I contacted her and said I didn't want to just try it on, though - I wanted to wear it for a day.
That's how I ended up at the mall yesterday, in the capable hands of a lovely young lady who wrapped the hijab around my head. I had chosen the scarf myself, black with silver glitter (I can't help it, I'm like a crow with shiny things), and I watched as her hands carefully swept my hair into the scarf and out of view.
I don't quite know how to explain how I felt. I suppose I had also never really considered how much of my identity is tied up in that red mane of mine. I was almost afraid to look in the mirror, but after taking some photos they took me over the mirror, and smiled while I looked at myself.
I looked like me, in a hijab. It was a bit of a startling contrast even for me, my very pale white skin against the black hijab. The ladies were so lovely, though, so kind with their compliments, and the very first thing I noticed as I glanced around the hijab-wearing crowd was that I felt something very interesting - I felt kinship, almost a sisterhood with these women who smiled and nodded at me. It was like I had entered some sort of club, and they welcomed me in. But the tough part, the interesting part, lay ahead, as the hijab and I went about our day.
I noticed it almost immediately as I walked through the mall. People stared at me, first at the hijab and my face, and I suspect it was because I was not what they expected to see. I am quite obviously a Caucasian woman, and I think the colour of my skin was not what they expected. I felt conspicuous, and I was unsure if it was actual or just perceived until a friend confirmed that I was undoubtedly attracting stares of confusion.
I went to my first stop, a shoe store I know well, and what happened next was very unexpected. The manager, who recognized me, told me I looked beautiful, and then we began to discuss why I was wearing the hijab. Within minutes all the staff at the store were engaged in the discussion, talking about Bill 60 and freedom of choice and freedom of expression. It was a multicultural little group too, a microcosm of the diversity in our community, and their interest and support showed me immediately that this had been a very good idea. It was sparking dialogue, and it was allowing us to talk about issues we rarely discuss - things like religious freedom and discrimination.
I attended the brief speeches the organizers had arranged for World Hijab Day, and then I left the mall, going to a place that only seemed natural to visit if I wanted to gauge reactions. I went to Wal-Mart.
As I wandered the aisles I saw continued confusion and puzzlement over my new hijab. Most people were far too polite to ask, although one sweet little girl told me I had a very pretty scarf. I could see, though, that they were wondering, perhaps because I do not fit the "look" we have come to expect of those wearing the hijab. But I wondered too if other hijab-wearing women experience those stares, and if this was related to the hijab itself and not the shade of my skin. I suppose I will never know, really.
I sailed through the rest of my day, stops at Starbucks and the pet food store and Safeway. I noticed the hijab kept my head warm despite the cool temperatures, and I noticed that as the day wore on I felt less strange about it. And I found myself thinking about the three words those at the event had emphasized: honour, modesty, and beauty.
The beauty part was easy to understand, as when you cannot see someone's hair I noticed how you focused on their eyes. Suddenly the eyes in that face become everything, and you notice the beauty of those eyes, the shape of the face, the expressive crinkle of the lips as they speak.
The honour part was easy to get too, as wearing a hijab to honour one's beliefs is no different than those who wear a cross to honour their Christianity. It is a symbol of belief, and a part of identity. In the same way that my hair is so much a part of my identity so too must be the hijab for those who choose to wear it - and who am I to question that choice or to assume that I know better or understand more? Who am I to patronize those who have made a choice I may not have made?
And I began to understand the modesty part, too. You see, most women don't wear their lingerie on the outside. They may wear absolutely lovely undergarments, but those items are not displayed but rather reserved for themselves and for those they choose to share them with in intimate settings. And if some feel that way about their undergarments why should we assume some will not feel that way about their hair? If they want to preserve their hair for those closest to them then who am I to tell them they must expose it, any more than I would demand a woman expose her lingerie? Shouldn't we all have the choice to determine what we will and will not make available for the world to view?
By the time I got home I was quite used to my hijab. I walked in the door, and to my mirror. I began to unwind it slowly, removing the pin the young woman had so carefully placed in my hair. I tried to memorize how it was wrapped, so that I could replicate it some day if I wished to. I thought about all my other scarves, considering which ones could be used as a hijab if I chose to, and what events I could choose to wear one to if it seemed fit - and there was that word. Choice. I was thinking about it as a choice, not a requirement, in the same way my friends have assured me they made the choice to wear the hijab. I do not know if I will choose to wear the hijab again, but I feel deeply grateful that in this country I have that choice. I could decide tomorrow to wear the hijab every day, and no one would have any right to tell me my choice is wrong or demand I remove it. I could choose to do it for whatever reason. And it is my choice, which is a beautiful, beautiful thing.
I hung the new scarf up with my other scarves late last night. I will wear it again some day, of that I am certain. Will I wear it around my neck, or around my head? I don't know yet. That choice has yet to be made, but I am so happy to have the opportunity to make that choice.
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