There are no words.

A little girl left her sandals so she could play in the ocean.   

There are 70 million cubic miles of water in the Pacific, which equates to 187,189,915,062,857,142,857 gallons, (187 quintillion gallons or 187,189,915,062 billion gallons), of water in the Pacific Ocean.   

This is just a drop. 

So is this a drop . . . in the bucket.  The homeless and the hopeless who live on the streets.  

Where is the love?

There is nothing to predict.  We make the future happen by our words and actions.    

We need to use our words.  We should speak out. 

There is no "no". Just "how".

Recently I have been working on a new business idea.  My goal is to bring the best of me to my clients, so that I can deliver mind altering, life shattering, ground shifting ... whatever. The name of this company is "Lynear Thinking".  The truth is, Lynear Thinking has been active since . . .1961.  Lynear Thinking is me.

Here's how it all began.

I was born a small bald child in Regina Saskatchewan. Apparently I was breach and backwards, if that's possible.  My mother says I have been a challenge all my life. My mother tells me that I was, at times, a screaming daddy's girl who generally wanted what ever I wanted.  She tells me I am the one in a million child. If something is going to happen, it will be me.  I have rejected the word "no" most of my life. I remember thinking "We will see about that" whenever someone would say  no to me.  I also remember being difficult and defiant, as all small children are.

Through my school years, I became silently compliant. I was ridiculously shy, to the point where I would pray the teacher would not talk to me or ask me a question. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to be invisible, and I was for a long time.  In kindergarten I remember my teacher scolding me for working during a play time. Granted, I was creating a purple cardboard phone, but apparently that was the art project and not "fun".  I still don't get it.  Over my school years, I recessed into the background. Looking back, very few teachers with the exception of 3 were in any way interesting or engaging. The rest of my teachers were what I later came to understand as brown ducks.

This is not a sad story. When one is invisible, one learns to look at things as an outsider. Without realizing it, I was acquiring keen observation skills that would serve me well as an adult.

As a child who lived in my thoughts, I kept journals and wrote poems and songs late at night in bed, under cover with a flash light.  I never shared my duo tangs and stories with anyone.  I developed a love for writing and telling stories. My hero was John Lennon. I fact, I remember the day he died - I said to myself, I want to be a writer. I want to tell stories that will move people. I want to write songs that create memories.

I set out to be a writer, studying English at the University of Regina, and then Journalism.  I remember sitting on the stage at convocation thinking, now what.  Since then, I have been committed to writing whatever it is that needs to be written. I have been committed to moving people to action with words. I have been committed to recording our time together on this earth.

Enter Lynear Thinking.  This is not just a name - it is a perspective.  It represents my personal philosophy that "no" is not an answer. One should ask "how?".  It reflects my belief that we are all the CEO of our own lives and that we have a responsibility to be creative, energetic and optimistic about everything we do.

Lynear Thinking is about creating a vision that others can see and want to reach too.  Lynear Thinking is about being authentic.  Creative. Effervescent. Brave. Resourceful. Flexible and adaptable.

One person described me as a "pink flamingo in a brown duck pond."  And yes, I have learned how to speak the language of the linear thinking, rule based individual. I accredit this set of skills to being raised by an accountant / banker.  I appreciate and understand the need for this type of approach.  I have acquired the ability to package non linear concepts into linear formats that linear thinkers can understand.  As a pink flamingo, I must control my effervescence from time to time, because it can be misconstrued as "flighty."

Pink Flamingos are not often appreciated for their zest and zeal because the Brown Duck is not comfortable with this. One brown duck asked me to reserve any color for the final document because it is just dressing after all.  I did not bother to explain that changes in colors and fonts are designed to help bring attention to information in a purposeful way.

But as the song goes, I gotta be me. I was born kicking and screaming, upside down and backwards. I was not born to follow the path. I was born to create the path.  I was born with a brain, and a creative soul. and the power of words. I was born to tell stories and help create connections. I was born not to placate but to question. I was born not to accept what is but to explore what is next.

So here I am at another threshold in my life and I continue to be who I was the day I was born.  Sometimes I don't fit in.  Sometimes I scare people. Sometimes I am a force of nature.  That's OK.

So now I am about to launch the next version of Lynear Thinking to help businesses connect with their markets. That helps community groups tell their story and garner support to do the good things they do. Lynear Thinking is not for the faint of heart. It is for those who have a desire to do something important and significant with their time and talent. Lynear Thinking is about changing from what we are to what we can be. Lynear Thinking is about doing what's important, exploring new ground and discovering other ways of thinking.

Thank you Don, where ever you are.

As a young student journalist, I wanted to do a documentary about street people in Regina.  Yes, we have them, like every other city.  In the research process, I wanted to find someone who could educate me about life on the street.  After months of being turned away and turned down by various helping organizations,  I booked a meeting with a counsellor at the Regina Friendship Centre to tell him about the story that I was hoping to write, and to ask for his help.

When I arrived at the centre, a 28 year old man named Don met me.  He was about 6 feet tall, thin, with sandy brown curly, tossled hair.  His voice was soft and kind, and kind of crackled at times.  When we shook hands, his skin felt thin, and his hands felt weak.

We went to his office to talk.  I had explained my story concept, and after he sized me up as to whether I was trustworthy and genuinely interested in telling an untold story, he offered to help me.  It turns out Don was posing as the counsellor.  He was a self described "street person" who was originally from Winnipeg. I didn't believe him until he showed me a letter that was addressed to him from Social Services.

I explained that the story would take about 4 weeks to develop and he would need to be available at least once a week. I asked if he could commit to that, and he said, "I would like to. It will be the first thing in my life I have ever finished." So Don had a story to tell, and I had a story to listen to.

Don explained to me that the term "street person" refers to one that can live on any street, any where.  He said that "we" tend not to want to be part of the every day rules of society, but there are rules to live by if one is going to make it (and by that he meant be alive) living on the streets.

Over the weeks, Don took me to all the places in Regina that "street people" hung out. He showed me where he / they lived, and where they ate. He showed me who to avoid and he showed me who I could trust. During my time with Don, I felt safe.  They accepted me.  All I had to do was be sincere, and open minded to learn what they had to teach me. I had only but to listen and not judge. To be earnestly and genuinely interested in their lives.

One day in January, I was meeting Don in front of the Army & Navy department store. He was waiting for me at the bus bench across the street as planned. It was about 30 degrees below zero that day (Fahrenheit).  I looked down at Don's feet and he was wearing men's shoes, but they were not leather.  He had no socks.  I asked him where his socks were and he said they were stolen from his room overnight.  His face was banged up so I guessed the two incidences might have been connected.  I asked him to wait for me and went into the Army & Navy department store where I bought him 3 pairs of men's wool socks for $5.00.  I came out and gave them to him.  He cried, and then he put them on.

I never gave Don my home number, but I could reach him at the Queen's Hotel anytime.  Don kept his promise to me, with the exception of 10 days when I thought he had left town, and I would have to start over.  I called the Hotel every day and left messages with the bartender to call me when Don arrived.  Finally, I got the call that he had returned. I phoned him and we talked.  He explained to me that he was very sorry but that somebody was after him and he had no choice but to run. Such was the life of Don. I thanked him for coming back.  "It was least I could do," he said. "I said I would do this and I want to do this."

During our time together, Don told me all about his family, his life and his childhood. He said he didn't know where they were anymore, and he didn't blame them for not telling him where they were living.  Don told me that he started running when was 14 - got mixed up with drugs and alcohol and did whatever it took to feed his habit, including being a male prostitute at the age of 14.  Don said that his parents and family tried to bring him home, but every time they tried, he just ran further and faster.  "Eventually they gave up on me. I can't really blame them. I burned them out."

Don and I did finish the radio documentary.  And then I never saw him again.  I have often wondered what happened to him - if he found another street to live on in another city, or if he found his family, or possibly is living a normal life somewhere.

But each day when I go to work downtown, I see many of the people who I met with Don during our travels, and I think to myself - there but for the grace of God go I.  And then I remember to smile at them when I pass them on the street. And if they need a dollar for coffee, and I have one, I give it to them. If I could see Don again, I would thank him for teaching me something about humanity, humility and grace.

Circus Tents and Flying Trapeze

When I was a child, my favorite circus act was the flying trapeze.  I loved watching the person glide through the air, letting go of her swing, her arm extended, she would  find another that would take her the rest of the way across the circus tent.  It was exquisite poetry in motion. A beautiful bird in flight.  A leap of faith.  A courageous act of letting go, and having faith in what lies ahead. 

Most things that we do in life are a practice for the next big show.  At  3, we let go our children's hands to go to playschool. At 5 they go to kindergarten.  At 6 they were front and centre in their tutus and tap shoes. At 10 they went to their first school dance.  At 16 they learned to drive and we gave them the keys and a machine to hopefully navigate safely.  At 18, we watched them walk across the stage, graduating from high school.  In their 20's, they continue their journey, forging a path of who they are yet to become, learning along the way, testing the skills they learned through all their practice.

As parents, each time we waved good bye, we said a little prayer to ourselves. We watched them fall and pick themselves up. And we wiped their tears and bandaged their scraped knees and egos. 

What we don't realize that that with every step they take, we take one too.  Growth is imminent. To stop growing is to become stagnant.  When a plant becomes stagnant, it dies.  If a bird in mid flight, becomes stagnant, it can no longer fly.  Think about it. We were not meant to stand still. 

So we shouldn't.  There are signs all around us that tell us when it is time to take that leap of faith.  Job dissatisfaction.  Checking out.  Not caring about the things that used to matter.  Becoming complacent.  Sometimes we act out against others when we feel stagnant in our lives, as if we are entitled to change without taking a risk. Sometimes we just feel . . . finished with where we are or what we are doing.  For me, that feeling is one claustrophia as if being caged. 

But some measure of risk is required to let go and find a new place.  Like the circus performer who flew effortlessly through the air when I was 7, I am sure she was scared, but she was confident that she had learned well and prepared herself to take the leap.  

We need to learn what we have learned, heed the signs that tell is change is imminent, and let go to a new place, exquisitely, gracefully and fearlessly.

Using my powers for good . . .

It was 1996.  I was sitting on the stage at convocation. When I entered university, I set a goal to graduate and to become a writer. I pursued a Bachelor of Arts degree with a major in English, and a Bachelor of Journalism and Communications from the University of Regina. I remember thinking, now what?  Before I left the stage, I had a plan.

I set some early career targets to move me along my path of becoming a writer and away I went, finding things to write about. I worked as a journalist, corporate communicator, policy analyst, strategic planner and facilitator for a variety of companies, including national and provincial crowns, credit union companies, non-profits and private businesses.   

During the course of this work, I facilitated approximately 400 planning sessions, produced about 50 plans and strategies, as well as more speeches and presentations than I can remember.  I wrote and published poetry.  And it was good.  The work was recognized by my peers in the communications industry, as well as people such as the Auditor General of Canada for my work in annual reporting. 

A funny thing happened on the way to this goal.  I discovered the power of the written word, and the change that can happen when people come together to bring those written words to life.  I have also learned that the path of change is not always linear, nor predictable.  It is one that must take in a variety of perspectives and interests to share the vision. Finally I learned that when one's values align with the work, the work becomes important.  

So now, I am turning my attention to using my powers of good communication, writing and thinking to help legacy builders and thought leaders bring their important work to life with compassion for others, honesty and integrity.  

Where is it all going, and do we have a clue what we are buying?

Facebook, Twitter, Email, Gmail, Telephones, iPhones, cellular phones, blackberries, SMS messenger, PingChat . . .  there are numerous ways to communicate with each other.  We call this "social media".  It is technologically enabled communication that allows us to communicate with others.

Admittedly, I am a willing participant, although not a misinformed one - I think.  But I wonder where this is taking us as a people. What are we walking towards?  Can we control it?  And who else is listening?

Since the early times, it has been natural and in fact necessary to communicate with each other. When we think of communication, we think of talking to each other.  Connecting with human beings.  Connecting with our environment. Connecting with other worlds.  Connection is good, because if we can understand each other, perhaps we can one get along as a civilization.  Communication is culture building.  We have all grown up with special stories from the past that help create context for our present.  And over the years, communication has been largely verbal and with the written word in more formal contexts.  Newspapers, books, magazines are some examples of our source of information.

I remember when I was in Journalism School in 1996.  The "World Wide Web" was just emerging at that time.  We had trouble remembering addresses. We also wondered what was the point of this Internet superhighway, and how long would it last. We also asked questions about what it's impact would be, and how could it be used. How would one make money using this new vehicle? These questions are still on table. Ask the newspaper industry that must somehow adapt profitably to this new phenom.

This changes relationships too. Looking at my daughters, the eldest just missed the cell phone human leash, but my younger daughter was a cell phone kid.  We justified the decision by believing that we would know where she was and that she could call us anytime.  However, she was completely connect to her friends and social environment all the time. I believe this placed a lot of pressure on them.  As a parent of the cell phone kid, I had to learn to communicate the same way.  So now I have an iPhone because she may not answer the phone, but she will always respond to a text message or a GMail.

The same has played out in our work lives.  Most of us have a blackberry or some form of cellular communication device that connects us at all times to our workplace, to our families and to our friends.  Personally, at times, I find it to be an invasion of my own space. So, I exercise my option to turn it off, but there is always the risk that some "emergency" could happen and I would be unreachable.

FaceBook and Twitter are the new social media kids in town.  At first, Face Book was a great way to "connect" with family and friends.  In fact, our family has been legislated to belong because it is a great way to stay connected.  Now I can see the babies in our family grow up. We get to learn about who is doing what. And we are not strangers anymore.  I think it's great.

But who else is watching and reading your status updates?  Can a potential employer look you up and see your life in pictures?  Should they be able to?  Facebook has privacy options.  Use them.  Make sure that "only friends" can see your words and pictures.  And if you are worried, you can also block people from every finding you via searches.  The other thing is - be strategic about what you say.  Do not post things that you wouldn't want someone to see. Do not offend others.  And protect your own reputation by not posting embarrassing or questionable content.


Also, be aware of how easy it is to share pictures.  On an iPhone, you can take a picture, and immediately SMS it to someone as a text, or you can upload it to your Facebook page. How easy is that? To easy. Be discriminate and be wary.


Privacy is a bigger issue than you think these days.  Every step we take, every purchase we make, every credit card we stake, they are watching you. (I borrowed Sting's rhyme - couldn't resist).  But it is true.  If you post a comment about something on Facebook, you might find ads on your Facebook page about that.  And who can blame them.  Many entrepreneurial business people have discovered this new medium and like it as another channel to find their audience and sell them something.


Beyond that, we are seeing more virtual technology.  We have seen it in the movies - I am Robot was about the use of robotics to replace humans.  The movie Avatar toys with the idea of creating an alter ego outside of ourselves.  The Matrix supposes that we are living in a manufactured setting, driven and created by and for a higher technological power.


So, to answer the question, where is this taking us a people? I think it's our choice, but we have to set boundaries. The boss needs to know that after 5 the "crackberry" is turned off.  We need to set boundaries for communicating with our friends, and we need to know that somebody else might be listening and taking notes.

Islands in the sun . . .

Over the past few days, I have been on the island of Hatzic Lake, British Columbia.  I am here in the land of the lotus eaters.   This little community is right next door to Mission, and near Abbotsford, which is apparently the fastest growing city in Canada.  It is picturesque and au naturelle. 

Preying eagles, hungry coyotes, and of course the ever so popular ducks that casually land in the swimming pool, totally and perhaps strategically missing the lake altogether.  It's nature.  Predators, prey, squatters and runners, all participating in the quest to survive another day.

I watched the last episode of LOST, and I am proud to say, I am lost on what the show is about, so I am thankful that I did not invest 3 years of my life watching it. However, with my 2 hours of experience with this mental mystery, I wonder if the island is a metaphor for our own reality where we each hide a piece of ourselves on a special island of our own, so that we always have a common bond with our own reality.

Watching out the window, the eagles and ducks appear to have this figured out. Their DNA and natural instincts prescribe their natural way of life.  You will never see a mouse turning on a hawk, mid field, and the hawk fleeing for its life.  Here on the island, there are rules of the game and one must respect the law of order. And there are distinct roles on this island of personkind: we have healers, thinkers, doers, dreamers, predators and victims.

The island and its time travel qualities is a well played out theme in literature and life. We often escape to islands when we want to get away from it all. There is something attractive about being marooned and isolated from the land lubbers.  We like to escape and be in another place.  Johnathon Swift created "Gulliver's Travels" as a metaphor for the way he saw things, but couldn't express, due to political and social constraints.  Alfred Tennyson wrote "The Lotus Eaters" in 1832 to explore the concept of escapism.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lotos-Eaters

This age of technology creates a new kind of escapism, and leaves yet another gaping hole to the questions:  Are we there? Is this my reality, or is it someone else's?  Does anybody really know what time it is?  Is anybody out there? Can anyone hear me? 

The movie, "Matrix", explores the supposition that we are subject to a master mind / mainframe, and that we are living via the programming of another.  There is a Biblical parallel to this - the concept that the book is written, and fate unfolds as we make choices along the way, but that we are all destined to a truth. We just don't know what it is yet until we find it.

The answer to all these questions, is it depends on where you are standing.  To illustrate, look at the impact of time zones.  At this moment, my daughter is in Australia,  a continent island surrounded by the sea. She is living in my tomorrow, while I am living my my today. Conversely, she is living in "her" today, and I am living in "her" yesterday. 

You get the point.  Time is relative and so is experience, and yes we are all living on our own islands under the sun. But there is a single truth that I have learned thus far in my journey:   if you are the prey to the eagle,  duck.