Why Wonder Woman is so Important

Wonder Woman is critically important for female leadership roles in Hollywood, but that’s not what this post is about. Yes, it makes me furious that Wonder Woman HAD to be a blow-out success to ensure that a woman director could be handed the reins to a 150 million dollar budget in the future. Male directors get that opportunity on a Tuesday, but for a woman it’s a historic moment.

And she NAILS it. Patty Jenkins has made a terrific film that beat Iron Man, Thor and Captain America (among other male-centred movies) for opening weekend box office. All of this matters. Wonder Woman’s success is beautiful and inspiring for a lot of reasons, but it also signifies that a big shift in storytelling and leadership is not only possible but probable. That fact alone makes me stand up and cheer.

What’s remarkable about Wonder Woman, apart from the lighting, the cinematography, the costumes, the music, the performances, the stunts, the story – everything, really – is the message at the centre of it. When a woman is the lead superhero (a goddess, even), she can be kick-ass strong and brave while also being kind and vulnerable. Diana Prince cares about everyone. Not just the ones who fall under her specific mission, but every single person affected by pain, loss, hunger, war, death.

As Glennon Doyle says, “There’s no such thing as other people’s children.” This is a uniquely feminine perspective, living deep in the hearts of women everywhere, and FINALLY, Wonder Woman captures this universal compassion in her story.

It moved me to my core. I recognized it. I felt it in my bones. Since Trump’s election, when the mostly sane and moral world has gone stark-raving mad and human decency began to rot on the vine, I’ve been saying that it’s time for women to have a go with world leadership. We can’t possibly screw it up worse than the men who are in charge and have been for so, so, so long.

It’s reassuring to see a movie come along that demonstrates these ideals in action. Wonder Woman advances the notion that we are all responsible for the problems of our world. No endless cycle of blaming or the myth of redemptive violence. We are the ones we have been waiting for. Chris Pine’s character states, “You can either do nothing or you can do something. I already tried doing nothing and it doesn’t work.” It’s time to pick up our sword and go into battle.

When we come across pain, we cannot turn away, saying, “It’s not my problem.” This isn’t about fairness, as the movie states brilliantly. It’s about what you believe.

Diana believes in love. She comes to understand that the connections we form with other people are the fuel that will sustain us as we pursue justice and wisdom. Diana’s rage reaches a boiling point when she is faced with personal loss and suffering, but she continues to fight for freedom and safety for EVERYONE, not just a select few.

Wonder Woman is genius filmmaking, on many levels (one of my favourite aspects was the way she photographed the intricate action sequences, where for once you could actually see what was happening frame by frame – thank you Patty Jenkins for your attention to detail and willingness to slow it down!), but the icing on the cake is the female perspective on violence, relationships, leadership, empathy and the future of peace in our world.

Brava, Wonder Woman filmmakers. And thank you.

You are Safe and You are Loved

You are Safe and You are Loved

When my kids are scared, I tell them, “You are safe and you are loved.” In these frightening times I’m holding these words close, for we can either freeze in panic or move forward in the belief that we are safe and cared for.

Try rolling that phrase around in your mind for a minute or two. “You are safe and you are loved.” It calms something down that’s anxious in you, doesn’t it? It helps. Nothing outward will change, but if you are slightly more peaceful, it makes everything a bit easier to bear.

The problem comes when we forget that we are safe and we are loved. We begin to descend into panic, our palms sweaty, our tummies roiling, our minds racing ahead with all of the “what if’s?” that will never really go away. But for now, in this exact moment, we are safe and we are loved.

I’ve had a series of separate discussions with people in this last week about the situation developing in America. Some have said that they aren’t political and are just waiting for it to blow over. Others have expressed concern but have stated that maybe it’s all meant to work out this way and there’s not much we can do as Canadians to make our voices heard.

I have a few American friends who voted for Trump and I love these people and have a history with them, but I cannot bring myself to talk about this with them as his election is simply too fresh and upsetting to me. So I’m practicing making space in my heart for opposing beliefs. I’m summoning as much grace as possible, for me and for my friends and for those who are desperately angry, terrified and affected by his sweeping and unjust policies.

It’s hard. It hurts. I want a gentle, peaceful world and we are on the precipice of war, violence, narcissism, bigotry and the misogyny of a patriarchy I had hoped was becoming a thing of the past. And yet here we are, trying to explain these horrible headlines to our children when we cannot begin to understand them ourselves.

But this I do know: I am safe and I am loved. I will wrap it around me like a coat and wear it to keep warm. I will be excessively kind and attempt to encourage as many people as I can. I will march and protest when the availability arises and if it doesn’t, I’ll organize one myself. I can dream of the kind of peaceful world I want to live in and do my best to create it on a daily basis and then hope it will spread like wildfire to the hearts of the refugees, the innocent children, the marginalized and those who believe the U.S. is moving in the right direction.

Let’s join together, if we are afraid, and reassure ourselves. Let’s whisper, “You are safe and you are loved.” We need each other’s hope and assurance, more than ever before. None of us are alone. We are safe, we are loved, and together we are powerful.

Hope in the Beautiful Places

Hope in the Beautiful Places

The CT scan to diagnose my ruptured appendix this July showed up a shadow on my liver. The attending doctor suggested I follow up with an abdominal ultrasound to see if it was something or nothing.

I went for the ultrasound and was there a long time. I took this as a good sign as it seemed like the technician was hunting for something and couldn’t seem to find it.

Then the doctor’s office called to ask me to come in for results. “It’s not urgent,” she said. I convinced myself that it was all fine.

hope-in-the

But when I went to see the doctor, it wasn’t fine. Instead of one shadow, there were now seven. They could be benign cysts, there all along and simply not visible in the appendix CT, or what was one concerning spot has now grown to seven in a matter of two months.

I left the clinic with my heart sitting like lead in my chest, clutching my next ultrasound order for a month from now to see what’s going on then. I know this could be a lot of fuss over nothing, but I also know that it could be something quite scary and uncertain. There’s nothing I can do but wait.

Letting go of my ardent desire to know everything now is a lifelong struggle. When I was so sick in the hospital, willing myself to stop puking after surgery, I learned kicking and screaming to take each moment as it comes instead of pre-ordaining what I want to happen.

I vowed I would keep this mentality in my regular life. I felt desperate for my appendix rupture and bumpy recovery to mean something. It was huge and monumental and powerfully affecting and I longed for those changes to stay with me. To change me.

But life has been on fast forward as we prepare to take possession of our new house in BC, and it’s been too easy for me to fall back into old habits. I spend so damn much time forecasting and not enough time remaining open to whatever possibility will present itself next. Why was I so sure the doctor would say this shadow was nothing to worry about? Is that my coping mechanism to hedge against disaster?

Like all of us, I have no choice but to keep going. The sun will rise and it will set. My kids will make me laugh, Jason will reach for my hand, I’ll eat popcorn and watch Netflix. What we have is the moment we are in. The job is to stay present, within ourselves and with those we love most.

It’s okay to be scared and sad and unsure. I’m grateful to have a tribe of friends that I can reach out to and they don’t offer me false hope. They say, “We love you, we are with you, we will help you carry this so you don’t feel alone.” They remind me that I am strong and brave and that I can do hard things. This helps tremendously to lighten the load.

I can’t control the rest, but I can be kind and gentle to myself every day and search for the smallest ray of hope in the unlikely and most beautiful of places.

The Ashes of Peace

The Ashes of Peace

I’d love for this world to make sense. For people to take responsibility when they mess up. To own it by naming it out loud and saying, “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better in the future.”

So many things are out of our direct control. We can’t make anyone do anything. Not one of us can stop people’s rage and fear on the Internet right now over the refugee crisis. I long for kindness and weep at the vitriol I read and see. It’s agonizing to live in such a knee-jerk world; so hostile, fearful and rejecting.

I know that real change only comes from the inside. You can’t legislate it, mandate it or manipulate your way to it. Transformation blooms in the heart, watered by pain and loss. It’s always an inside job. Looking to the Internet for solace and compassion is a dead-end game. We must go inside for these valuable commodities, growing them like a garden, and drawing those we know, trust and love near to share them.

The ashes of peaceWriting these things is calming for me. It’s isolating to be sensitive at this time and place, with the world such a cruel mess. We are all capable of wounding each other. I must take responsibility for the awful things I say and do, extending mercy to myself as much as to others.

I crave certainty, honesty and beauty. Those qualities are in short supply right now, but when they are scarce we must breathe them to life in ourselves. We can make space for love, forgiveness and generosity, even if others are calling publicly for the opposite.

It’s time to slow down. To inhale and exhale. To stare out the window and pet the cat. To indulge in a chocolate bar. To feel reassured that tomorrow the sun will rise and we will all get another chance to do a little bit better.

It won’t be dark forever. We can learn to let go of what is not ours to own. We can blow on the ashes of peace in our soul and try to ignite them back into flame. We can do only what we can do to lighten up the darkness and bring hope to those who feel hopeless.