Later 2010 (Don't let the door hit you on the way out)
2010 dealt me a number of blows.
It started with a back injury that not only literally forced me off my feet and into an instant state of idleness but also threw me into a spiralling hole of depression, weight gain, and financial ruin.
2010 was a rollercoaster of a year. So many great things happened – M Biked and Hiked to raise money for my Spinal Decompression. He did it; I got the treatment; it worked (for the most part). We enjoyed the Olympics – every possible way. We road scooters on Salt Spring Island and danced our faces off at friends weddings. We saw family. I hugged nephews. There were moments of bliss, absolutely.
But the year had an undercurrent of disappointment.
I struggled all year to be able to be active. And every time I started up, another ache showed up. Another pain. Another reason to have to stop.
I struggled to feel confident.
I struggled to face people.
I felt like such a failure.
I spent $12,000 on therapies – acupuncture, chiropractor, physio, orthotics, active-release-therapy.
All worked to certain degrees.
But all health practitioners said (and still say) the same thing:
"You have to have patience. Back injuries take a long time to heal."
I've heard this so much over the course of 18 months (18 months!!!!) that I've started to get snappy.
"I have been patient. What does patience mean? How long? Give me a number? How long until I get my life back?"
A girl can stand idly by only for so long.
I was losing my cool.
And I don't lose my cool.
That's not me.
That's not Kim.
I worried about money incessantly.
Having chronic pain sucks.
Having chronic pain without a medical plan is a knife in your back.
So I played less, worked harder, sometimes sweating out 18 hours days.
Every time I got paid, I paid the doctors, chiropractors, acupuncturists, government, visa, etc.
I paid bill after bill after bill religiously.
"You have to have time for you," M would say. "You're working too hard."
"I don't want to be in debt," I'd shoot back. "I wasn't raised to be in debt. I know better."
I was HUGELY disappointed in every aspect of my life.
And it shocked me.
I always thought I'd be one of those people who when faced with adversity would hit the ground running and triumph over it with a positive attitude. But I didn't.
The truth is:
I wallowed.
I cried.
I felt sorry for myself.
I became hugely self-critical.
I stopped hanging out with friends.
I was snappy.
I wanted to curl under a rock and stay there.
I just wanted my 2009 life back.
The one where I hiked and biked and ran races.
Where I crossed rivers, and trails and finish lines with my arms raised and my face smiling.
Where I played squash and tennis and high-fived M at every turn.
Where I wore a bikini on the beach and skinny jeans with a belt.
I longed for it so much.
Which is not something to be proud of.
In 2010, I did not act with integrity.
I wasn't strong.
I wasn't nice.
And I wasn't positive.
I was "opposite Kim".
I was scared, emotional, and frustrated.
The irony is: I pride myself in being none of those things.
And yet I was all of them – often.
Hello 2011!
So moving into this glorious new year, I am keen and dedicated to getting "Regular Kim" back.
Regardless of my back pain.
Regardless of financial concerns.
Regardless of the hand I am dealt.
I am getting back to me.
Its not going to be easy.
But I like a good challenge.
And there will be set backs, no doubt.
But I am going to learn to take them as they come.
And to shove feelings of discouragement in the trash.
I am going to smile.
I am going to try.
I am going to run as far as I can as fast as I can and be okay with whatever that time and distance is.
I am going to lean on my friends.
I am going to be a good friend back.
I am going to be less self-critical.
I am going to stop saying "gross" every time I look in the mirror.
I am going to step confidently forward and grab life by the balls.
I am going to play with dog and relish in the joy that she gives me.
I am going to go with the flow.
I am going to take care of me.
I am going to cry only if it's worth a cry.
I am going to stand tall
I am going to stop pushing away help and accept it openly when I need it.
I am going to climb Grouse Mountain again in under an hour.
I am going to propel my business forward.
I am going to believe in me.
I am going to be a better partner – stronger, smarter, nicer, sweeter.
I am going to stop wishing for what I don't have.
I am going to go out a get what I want.
I am going to be ok with who I am and what I am doing and how I am doing it.
I am so grateful to every single person who put up with me, support me, helped me, lifted me up, and cheered me on in 2010.
I could not have survived that year without you all.
Now, it's time to fly.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Great Sandwich Make 2010 - Update 2
Sandwich Making Day
On December 23rd, the Mann family – Ruby, Roman, Pinky, and Jaz – showed up at our little apartment with smiles and sandwich-making enthusiasm. Together, over the course of three+ hours, the six of us made 210 sandwiches and 210 care packages.
The sandwiches were stacked to the nines with awesomeness! Each had mustard, mayo, salt and pepper, tomato slices, lettuce, mozzarella cheese, and a thick chunk of either roast beef or smoke turkey – all in between the top and bottom of a freshly baked kaiser courtesy of the amazingly generous people at Fratelli Bakery.
If there was a Miss Sandwich pageant, ours would be a contender. Though it would probably spill out the sides of its bikini. I digress...
While Ruby, Pinky, and I manned the sandwich station, Roman, Jaz, and Mike worked on the care packages. We set up a system around the living room – cookies on the couch, oranges on the chairs, toothpaste and floss on the side tables, juiceboxes, granola bars, and other treats on the coffee table, chips stacked in boxes in the corner. It was mad!
Each kit received: 3 cookies (baked fresh from Marie Antoinette Bakery and Fratelli Bakery), a tube of toothpaste, dental floss, two oranges, a granola bar, a bag of chips, a juice box, and – of course – a sandwich!
We wrapped the sandwiches separately and stored them in our fridge for the night.
210 sandwiches need a LOT of fridge space!
We felt like we were doing one of those brain teaser puzzles – and eventually were able to fit all the sandwiches in the fridge ... three layers deep, three layers high, on the door, in the veggie crisper. Everywhere!
We high-fived!! A job well done!
Delivery Day
The following day, we packed two cars to the brim with care packages. In the trunk. On the back seats. In our laps. Everywhere.
We met up with three generous volunteers near the corner of Main and Hastings, a bullseye for poverty and drug abuse on Vancouver's East Side.
Together, the five of us lugged bags and boxes of care packages to the corner.
We asked one gentleman: "Would you like a sandwich?"
And the onslaught began.
One man said "May I shake your hand? Please?" and continued to give all five of us a long, solid handshake. The most genuine handshake I've ever received.
One woman was bowled over: "You've got to be kidding! You've got to be kidding! Man, this is great!"
"A junkie's dream come true," smiled one man wryly as he instantly dove into a bag of salt and vinegar chips.
"Can I have one?" asked a girl who couldn't look me in the eye and looked too be alone on a cold, rainy Christmas Eve.
Some people said thank you. Some stopped to chat a little. Some grabbed the bags and ran. Some took one, put it in their coat, turned around, and asked for another. Some were shy. Some were bold. All were grateful, in their own ways, and showed us truly the spirit of Christmas.
I wondered later if I would have been the same in their shoes. What if I was hungry, high, and cold? Would I have the decency to say Thank You?
In less than five minutes, our 210 care packages were gone. And people were still coming in droves.
"Any more sandwiches?"
"Am I too late?"
"Do you have any more?"
"Thanks anyway"
"I wasn't prepared for that," said one of our volunteers.
"what?"
"That we'd have to turn people away. That we wouldn't have enough."
She wiped a tear.
Every year we make more sandwiches and better, meatier care packages. And every year, the line of people who could benefit from our little giveaway seems to extend further.
We didn't solve hunger on the east side. We didn't solve homelessness. We didn't make a dent in drug abuse.
But we did give 210 people the possibility of feeling a full tummy and feeling, on the eve of Christmas, that they matter. Like REALLY matter.
We don't have the right to judge. We were all born into different circumstances. We've all had different life experiences.
At the end of the day, the greatest lesson learned is that these people are just that – people. They have hearts. They are mothers and brothers and fathers and sisters. And they matter.
Thank you to EVERYONE who donated their time and money to the Great Sandwich Make this year.
You really made a difference!
On December 23rd, the Mann family – Ruby, Roman, Pinky, and Jaz – showed up at our little apartment with smiles and sandwich-making enthusiasm. Together, over the course of three+ hours, the six of us made 210 sandwiches and 210 care packages.
The sandwiches were stacked to the nines with awesomeness! Each had mustard, mayo, salt and pepper, tomato slices, lettuce, mozzarella cheese, and a thick chunk of either roast beef or smoke turkey – all in between the top and bottom of a freshly baked kaiser courtesy of the amazingly generous people at Fratelli Bakery.
If there was a Miss Sandwich pageant, ours would be a contender. Though it would probably spill out the sides of its bikini. I digress...
While Ruby, Pinky, and I manned the sandwich station, Roman, Jaz, and Mike worked on the care packages. We set up a system around the living room – cookies on the couch, oranges on the chairs, toothpaste and floss on the side tables, juiceboxes, granola bars, and other treats on the coffee table, chips stacked in boxes in the corner. It was mad!
Each kit received: 3 cookies (baked fresh from Marie Antoinette Bakery and Fratelli Bakery), a tube of toothpaste, dental floss, two oranges, a granola bar, a bag of chips, a juice box, and – of course – a sandwich!
We wrapped the sandwiches separately and stored them in our fridge for the night.
210 sandwiches need a LOT of fridge space!
We felt like we were doing one of those brain teaser puzzles – and eventually were able to fit all the sandwiches in the fridge ... three layers deep, three layers high, on the door, in the veggie crisper. Everywhere!
We high-fived!! A job well done!
Delivery Day
The following day, we packed two cars to the brim with care packages. In the trunk. On the back seats. In our laps. Everywhere.
We met up with three generous volunteers near the corner of Main and Hastings, a bullseye for poverty and drug abuse on Vancouver's East Side.
Together, the five of us lugged bags and boxes of care packages to the corner.
We asked one gentleman: "Would you like a sandwich?"
And the onslaught began.
One man said "May I shake your hand? Please?" and continued to give all five of us a long, solid handshake. The most genuine handshake I've ever received.
One woman was bowled over: "You've got to be kidding! You've got to be kidding! Man, this is great!"
"A junkie's dream come true," smiled one man wryly as he instantly dove into a bag of salt and vinegar chips.
"Can I have one?" asked a girl who couldn't look me in the eye and looked too be alone on a cold, rainy Christmas Eve.
Some people said thank you. Some stopped to chat a little. Some grabbed the bags and ran. Some took one, put it in their coat, turned around, and asked for another. Some were shy. Some were bold. All were grateful, in their own ways, and showed us truly the spirit of Christmas.
I wondered later if I would have been the same in their shoes. What if I was hungry, high, and cold? Would I have the decency to say Thank You?
In less than five minutes, our 210 care packages were gone. And people were still coming in droves.
"Any more sandwiches?"
"Am I too late?"
"Do you have any more?"
"Thanks anyway"
"I wasn't prepared for that," said one of our volunteers.
"what?"
"That we'd have to turn people away. That we wouldn't have enough."
She wiped a tear.
Every year we make more sandwiches and better, meatier care packages. And every year, the line of people who could benefit from our little giveaway seems to extend further.
We didn't solve hunger on the east side. We didn't solve homelessness. We didn't make a dent in drug abuse.
But we did give 210 people the possibility of feeling a full tummy and feeling, on the eve of Christmas, that they matter. Like REALLY matter.
We don't have the right to judge. We were all born into different circumstances. We've all had different life experiences.
At the end of the day, the greatest lesson learned is that these people are just that – people. They have hearts. They are mothers and brothers and fathers and sisters. And they matter.
Thank you to EVERYONE who donated their time and money to the Great Sandwich Make this year.
You really made a difference!
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