No One is Doing it All. Really.

I came across one of those meme posts on Facebook the other day and it kinda stopped me in my tracks.

No One Is Doing It All
(Really)

No one is meal prepping
Crushing deadlines
And staying fully present with their kids
All in the same day.

No one has their inbox at zero
A yoga glow
And a perfectly folded pile of laundry
Every single night.

No one is running marathons
Hosting dinner parties
And reading five books a month
Without something slipping.

A lot of people are juggling
A lot of things
But no one
Is juggling everything.

Give yourself grace.
You’re doing enough.
(Really)

Happy Friday 🥂

Um... *blink*... really?

I thought it was just me.

Seriously. I did.

I thought I was the only one dropping balls all over the place. I thought I was the only one letting emails sit in my inbox until they grow moss. I thought I was the only one letting the weeds take over the garden bed. I thought I was the only one letting the bush beans get over-ripe. I thought I was the only one.

Apparently I am not.

Which is reassuring in a way. And depressing in another.

I don't know where I picked up the idea that I had to stay on top of everything. It's certainly not the Protestant work ethic (we aren't Protestant). Catholic guilt? German perfectionism? Or maybe just plain old perfectionism.

I have this idea that when I was younger, 10, 20, 30 years ago, that I did stay on top of everything. That I had time and energy to burn, managed to do all manner of things and not even break a sweat. But I also need to remind myself that 30-years-ago-Me did not have a house, a partner, a garden, an Airbnb, parents' estates... to name just a few. 30-years-ago-Me had not accumulated a series of major and minor grief events, not to mention health issues. 30-years-ago-Me was... well... 30 years younger... peppy, full of energy, healthy, blithely unaware of the future.

Today, I am having to learn that... I can no longer do it all. There is not enough time in the day. Not enough energy in the battery. I have to ration out time and energy. I have to *gasp* prioritize.

What is going to get done today.

What is not going to get done today.

And sometimes... the emails are not going to get answered. But I will work on a puzzle. The beans will not get picked this year, but the beets will get canned. The house will not get cleaned, but the Airbnb will be spotless.

I can't do it all anymore. And I don't think even 30-years-ago-Me, if I could transplant her into Today, would get everything done. Oh maybe for a day or two. But weeks of it? Months of it? Nope. Not gonna happen.

And that is OK. Because No One is Doing it All. Even if it looks like they are. And it's a bit of false advertising to look at someone else's life and conclude they're doing it all. We don't know what's being dropped behind the scenes—or how many other people are helping them keep the balls in the air.

Most of us are dealing with more than anyone else can see. Life doesn't go on pause so that we can catch up. Some things honestly aren't going to get done.

And apparently I am having to learn to be OK with that. And if 30-years-ago-Me frowns... too bad.

They aren't living this life. I am.

I get to decide where I put my time and energy.

Because I can't do it all.

Apparently, neither can anyone else.

(Really.)

The Wind Phone

Grief is a funny thing. It wants to come out and, like water, finds every little crack and crevice.  And we, strange creatures that we are, try to prevent it from coming out at "awkward" moments. At least I do. "Now is not a good time." "I need to be alone, when life has calmed down, when I have space and time to grieve."

Hah.

Grief will come out, no matter how much we may try to patch the cracks and crevices and redirect it into a more discreet pathway. It is, ultimately, a good thing, to let grief find expression, to give it free rein to say the things that we need to say. To cry the tears we never cried. To rage and roar against the stupidity of fate and death.

But it's still not an easy thing.

A few weeks ago, watching the news, I saw a little piece about phoning loved ones, from an old rotary phone mounted on a random telephone pole in Vancouver. Just pick up the receiver and dial their number, waiting for the dial to make its slow return to the starting position. Call them up to tell them that you love them. Or miss them. Or are thinking of them. Of course, the phone is not connected to anything. Rotary phones are now quaint, nostalgic items and, dare I say it, antiques. There is no one on the other end of the line, but that's not the point.

Sometimes, all we need to do is say what we need to say. Without any response. No interruptions. No fear of a reaction. No hurt feelings. Just say what needs to be said and then listen to the wind and the silence and know that you have been heard.

Kind of funky.

These types of phones have a name—wind phones. They started in Japan a decade or more ago, as a way for people to express their grief. We are all so good at bottling it up, containing it, hiding it. Don't let it show. Because after 3 months, shouldn't we be "over it"? After a year, or two, should we not have moved on from grieving? But grief is not a "One and Done" thing. Oh sure, there are the big ones like the death of a loved one, or the death of a beloved pet, or the loss of a job, or a serious health diagnosis. Sometimes those larger losses give all of the accumulated griefs a chance to find expression... the little day-to-day hurts that we keep letting go of, moving on from, pushing aside, or diminishing. We can feel them beneath the surface, searching for the crack that will give them expression.

I did a search for "wind phones" and there's a whole website that lists the location of these conduits, the nearest official one to me being on one of the Gulf Islands. But then... I saw a local news article and... we have our very own wind phone!! At the local cemetery, as part of an art installation.

I dithered for a day or so... and then early one morning, at 5 am, I drove to the cemetery. The wind phone is in a little carved wooden cubby that brings to mind waves and ripples. It's a wall-mounted rotary phone... and as I picked it up and dialed my Mom's old phone number, the tears welled up. And I cried and sobbed and told her how hard it's been, this past year. How I missed her. How I wished we could have talked more about the DNA surprise. I didn't have long, because the automated sprinklers came on and the tears were mingling with the water spray... but it was a relief.

To be able to "speak" to her... and though there was no response... I felt heard.

And I will go back... and time it for after the sprinklers...

Resources

Wind Phones website - https://www.mywindphone.com/

Responsible, Bossy, or Both?

If you're not an eldest daughter, you don't necessarily need to keep reading. Unless, of course, you want to get a sneak peek into what's going on in your older sister's head. If so, definitely keep reading!

I came across an article on The Atlantic the other day that gave me pause. It sounded like they were talking about me... "The Plight of the Eldest Daughter" with the tag line "Women are expected to be nurturers. Firstborns are expected to be exemplars. Being both is exhausting."

Yes! I get it! I am an eldest daughter and as I read the article, I found myself agreeing wholeheartedly. This line, in particular, had me nodding vigorously:

"Being an eldest daughter means frequently feeling like you’re not doing enough, like you’re struggling to maintain a veneer of control, like the entire household relies on your diligence."

Ouch.

This is me. Totally.

I never feel like I'm doing enough, and yet I am always on the edge of overwhelm. I feel responsible for whatever goes on in our household (and sometimes other households). I believe that if I slip up, if I miss something, then the entire world is going to come down around my ears.

It's a relief to know that this is not just a "me" thing, but actually an "other people have this too" thing. Parents often expend a lot more effort on their first child, trying to "get it right". They expect more of Child 1 in terms of grades, career, health. By the time Child 2 comes along, the parents have relaxed and eased up on the micro-managing. Although parents still tend to load more responsibility on the first child. The eldest is expected to be a good example, to lead the way, to care for the younger one(s), to be a support for the mother. Add in the fact that girls/women are expected to be nurturers and it's easy to see the sticky trap of eldest daughter syndrome.

When my Dad could no longer live independently in another city, who offered to have him move into the basement suite. Moi. When he passed away, who took care of his estate? Me. When Mom passed away, who took care of her estate? Yep, me again. Who steps up over and over again to shoulder responsibility? Yeah. Me.

Yeah. It's exhausting.

And maybe it's a combo of several beliefs. Perhaps I don't believe that my younger sibling can do the job as well as I can do it. (Hello, Perfectionism) Or maybe I believe that since I don't have kids and a busy job like she does, it makes more sense to take this on because she's going to push back anyhow. (Yup, People-Pleaser)

Whatever it is, it is a well-worn track in my brain, a pattern that just snaps into place as soon as something shows up on the horizon.

A situation or problem needs to be handled? Obviously it is MINE to handle.

Even if it really doesn't involve me directly. 

Yes, eldest daughters struggle with boundaries.

Which may be why... when asked to describe the qualities of firstborns, people who are firstborns will choose words like "responsible" and "leadership", whereas people who are NOT firstborns will mutter words like "bossy" and "over-controlling". Um. Yeah. Possibly.

We first-borns are raised to take charge, to take responsibility, to lead the way, to set an example, to handle what needs handling. But I am seeing more and more that, eventually, it leads me into a nasty cul-de-sac of over-functioning, exhaustion and resentment.

It's not a pleasant realization, but now that I've seen it, I'm hopeful that I can alter the pattern. Even just a pause between seeing a responsibility and taking it on.

A pause during which I can ask "Is this mine?" And listen for the answer.

More Reading

What Is Eldest Daughter Syndrome? A Therapist Breaks it Down

The Atlantic article - needs a subscription - The Plight of the Oldest Sister - The Atlantic

The Pause I Keep Forgetting

There are some days where you just need to stop.

And breathe.

Just one breath and then another. No matter what is going on, there is always a moment to just stop, and breathe.

I forget this. Often. I get carried away in my head and my thoughts and forget that I can stop it all and just breathe. That little pause is sometimes all that I need to regroup. Refocus. Come back to me.

I wish I could remember it more often. And more quickly. It's just one little breath and yet it can make all the difference.

I suppose it is just a matter of practice. The more I stop and breathe... the more I will remember to do it. But my system is really much better at tearing off trying to fix this, solve this, complete this, do this... Stopping to breathe seems rather counterproductive. Nothing gets done if one is doing nothing!! And breathing, to my mind, is most definitely "nothing". I mean, yes... breathing keeps us all alive but... other than that... nothing really gets accomplished when you breathe. Errands don't get done. Emails don't get written. Stuff just doesn't get done!

And yet, what am I slowly being remind of is this... sometimes you need to stop in order to get things done. When I am swept up in an efficiency, productivity tear... I can be like one of those hamsters in their little wheel. I get going faster and faster and faster and then a tiny mis-step and "fling"... the spinning wheel spins me off into the dust. Kind of an abrupt reminder that I need to slow-down, stop... and breathe.

But even when I do stop, and retire to Starbucks to "regroup". I often sit here and just scroll mindlessly on Facebook, or the news, or my emails, or Facebook, or the news, or... and on it goes. I get my to-do list organized. I answer emails. But I don't actually stop and... breathe.

For me, writing a blog like this is a way to stop... and breathe. Journaling can be the same. A walk. Sitting on a bench. Looking out a window.

Maybe that is all I am doing here. Not solving anything. Not fixing anything. Not checking something off a list.

Just stopping.

And breathing.

My Accidental Analogue Bag

Have you heard of the latest trend that is taking social media by storm?? I heard about it on the radio... a thing called "analogue bags".

What the heck is an analogue bag, you ask? Well, it is a bag (tote bag, backpack, shopping bag) filled with "analogue" activities so that when you are "somewhere" and feel tempted to pull out your phone and scroll the latest trends on TikTok, you can stop, reach into your analogue bag and pull out something that entertains you in the real world.

It is not lost on me that millions of viewers are scrolling social media looking for analogue bag ideas... it kind of defeats the purpose. Not to mention trendy influencers are promoting fancy bags and fancy analogue gear.

The truth is... it doesn't take much to make an analogue bag. I have my backpack sitting here next to me in Starbucks and it has several analogue things inside of it.

I have a journal and a pen so that I can write whenever the urge hits me. I've tried digital journals and always come back to a paper journal and a real pen.

I've also got a ziploc bag with a selection of greeting cards, as well as some stamps. Nothing more analogue than putting a letter into a mailbox... spelling mistakes and everything!

I also have a book, a real book, as well as an ebook. I'm not sure if an ebook counts as "analogue". Technically it is digital, but it's not connected to the deep black holes of social media and the news sites sooo... it is kind of a mono-purpose device where I can read a book. I wouldn't count the Kindle or Libby apps on my phone though... too easy to slip over to some other app!

That's already three analogue items so I'm not doing too bad... and I've been doing this for years. Imagine... me... ahead of the trend by years! And I would imagine other people have been carrying analogue bags for years... they just never had a trendy name for them.

Now... some of the other ideas are interesting to consider. Some people include a hobby in their bag - like knitting, crocheting or embroidery. If that floats your boat... go for it. Not my cup of tea. I'm more into photography and if I had a "real" camera, it would definitely count as analogue but... if my phone is my camera... does that count? If I just do the double-click to open the camera app and don't unlock the phone... maybe.

Other people include things like crossword books or search-a-word books or Sudoku. Interesting thought. You could do a crossword with a friend in a coffee shop. I think a deck of cards might be a good idea. Play a game of Solitaire in real life instead of the digital world. Or even UNO which could be played with a friend over dinner.

Or it could be something creative like a mini-watercolour set, an adult colouring book or a sketch pad, along with an assortment of colouring and drawing tools.

Or maybe it's a magazine (do they even exist anymore) or a trade journal. That copy of Time magazine that has been sitting on the couch for days... maybe it needs to go in the bag?

My analogue bag (aka office backpack) isn't pretty or chic. It's definitely not "on-trend" and isn't going to make anyone swoon with envy. But then, it doesn't have to. I like to have these things available to me, and it really doesn't matter if they are fancy or chic... that's not my vibe or style... which is more... use it till it dies a sad and tattered death.

Do you have an Analogue Bag? If so, what does it carry? Curious to know! Does it travel with you? Or is it more an Analogue Basket that sits next to the sofa?

No Replay Button

I went to a hockey game a few weeks ago. Not a "big" game like the NHL, the Olympics, or the World Championships. This was the BC Junior Hockey League. I had never been to a live hockey game before, but as part of my ongoing effort this year to try new things, I thought: why not?

Although, on second thought, I "may" have been to a Vancouver Canucks game back in the '80s. Maybe. But if I did go, I sat in the nose bleed section where my friends and I watched ant-like players slithering around in a tiny oval chasing a black speck.

The local rink however, only has 13 rows that seat a total of 2500 spectators. I got a seat in the 9th row, behind the penalty box. When I arrived, I was immediately struck by the size of everything. The rink was big. The Zamboni was huge! And there were the sounds and smells of the place—the scent of popcorn and that unmistakable rink smell. This is a completely different experience from watching a game on TV... or from the nosebleed sections of a "big leagues" stadium. This felt up close and personal.

The game I was attending was a playoff game between the Nanaimo Clippers and the Prince George Spruce Kings so the arena was packed with boisterous fans. A few from the Spruce Kings, but the majority were dedicated Clippers fans wearing variations of orange jerseys.

It was a social atmosphere with season tickets holders chatting with others several rows up or down. And as the game started, the atmosphere was electric. Everything was bigger than life. The smack of the puck against a stick on a rink-wide pass was much louder than I expected. I could hear the players calling back and forth. The crowd would boo a penalty call against the Clippers and someone would start a chant "Ref You Suck". A goal by the visiting team was met with a disappointed silence whereas a goal by the Clippers was met with a roar of approval, a huge blast of the arena horn and flashing lights. Not to mention the cow bells and other noise makers that fans had brought with them.

Sometimes I missed the details of a penalty. I might have been following the puck and was often surprised by the whistle. A penalty? For what?? Where was the replay??

But there was no big screen jumbotron. There was no replay. Sometimes the two guys next to me would discuss the penalty and I would get a sense of what had happened but it struck me... this was very much like "real life".

The game couldn't be put on pause. There were no replays. No way to hit "rewind" and watch it again. There was also no play-by-play commentary. There was no explanation of what was happening on the ice. If I missed something... then it was gone. Forever. It took me at least a period, maybe two, to shake the sense there should be a replay button.

A live hockey game, even in the junior leagues, is very different from a televised game. Even though I went on my own, I was absorbed into the crowd atmosphere. I cheered and roared with the rest of the fans when the Clippers scored. It's not the same at home. Even with the biggest TV screen (which we do not have), there is no substitute for the real thing. 

It's the difference between participating and watching. At home, we watch TV. We don't participate in whatever we are watching. At a game, even as a "fan", we are participating. We are "there". We are part of the crowd. We are a fan. We are part of the event. All of our senses are engaged. It's a full body experience. At home... not so much. And I see why people have game parties, or go to a pub to watch the big game. It is a bit like "being there"... it re-creates the fan experience, a little bit. Being surrounded by like-minded folk who are rooting for the same team.

But nothing can replace the "live" experience. And it makes me wonder... where do I do this in my own life? How often do I watch gardening videos instead of going out into my own garden? How often do I read about places instead of visiting them? How often do I watch a home make-over instead of picking up a paint brush? How often do I trade participating for observing? Or creating for consuming?

We come to believe that life can be put on "pause" or we can hit "replay" and watch it over and over again. But that's not how life works. There is no pause or instant replay. There is only this moment... where we can choose to step in and engage with whatever is happening, or we can choose to retreat and just watch, from a distance, through a third-party mediator. Through a lens or a screen.

And perhaps that is the crux... at a live hockey game, I get to decide what I am watching. Whether it's the play, or a funny fan, or the Zamboni going round and round the rink in mesmerizing loops. On a screen... someone else determines the scene, the angle, the speed, the focus.

I'm not saying it's not worth it... to be able to watch the Olympic gold medal hockey game on TV, for free. But if that's all we do... if that's our mode-of-engagement with life, with "events"... something gets lost.

Breaking Free of a Rut

I love routines.

Routines love me right back.

I love not having to think about what I'm doing next. There's a comfort and a security in doing the same thing day after day. Get up, get dressed, brush teeth, comb hair, pack bag, head off to the coffee shop, work on stuff, head home, have breakfast. It's a simple routine, but I don't have to waste brain power overthinking things. And that makes it easier. No effort. No dithering. Just follow the routine.

And yet... as the years go by... things get... well... boring. We go to the same restaurants. We order the same things (beef dip, please!). We see the same people. Hike the same routes on the same trails. Every day starts to look like the last, and the days blur together and... well... it's boring.

There are days I can almost run the whole thing on autopilot. Same parking spot. Same order. Same table, if it's free. I know what I'm going to say before I even open my mouth. I know what the barista is going to ask. There’s something efficient about it… and something just a little bit numbing. But the idea of doing something different just feels like too much.

I read something the other month that got me thinking. Why is it that when we are young, time seems to crawl by? It takes forever to go from 5 years old to 10 years old. Yet, when we are in our 50s and beyond, five years can pass in the blink of an eye. Not to mention a whole week, or day, or afternoon. "Where does the time go?" we say, perplexed by it all. Has time sped up? Have we slowed down?

And yet... when we go on a two-night getaway to Vancouver, or Cumberland, or Victoria, we come back amazed at how those two days expanded and felt like a week. We were only gone two nights, and yet it felt longer.

And there is the rub... "it felt like"... time is subjective. When every day looks like the one before it—and the one after—time feels like it’s passing quickly. There’s nothing to differentiate the days. But when we go away, even for a day or two, we have new experiences. We stay somewhere different, eat somewhere new, hike new trails, visit new shops. All of those “new” experiences slow time down and make it feel like it’s passing more slowly.

So while the same old, same old is good for conserving brain energy... it also makes time speed up. And new, novel experiences slow it down.

All this leads to... 2026. I had a milestone birthday a few months ago—one that made me stop and think. Do I want to keep doing the same old, same old? Or do I want to try something different?

I had read a book a few years ago called 50 After 50: Reframing the Next Chapter of Your Life. The author, realizing at the age of 50 that she was on the downward slope of life, committed to doing 50 new things—significant, at least to her. That book stuck with me, and I started to think... what would I put on a list like that?

And so when this last birthday came around... I decided to bite the bullet and do 60 new things in 2026. Whatever that might look like for me. Step out of my comfort zone. Go to different places. Hike different trails. Visit new restaurants.

Because while I love routine... I also find it ties me down.

It stifles me.

But I can change that... one small step at a time.