Heroes on a Holiday Monday

Happy Victoria Day Weekend!  I’ve worked the Saturday and the Sunday of it, so it’s hard to get overly excited about a Monday off, although any day off work is worth celebrating.

For the past week or so I’ve been watching the tv show “Heroes” on Netflix.  At first my intention was to view only season four, which I never watched the first time around.  Then I thought it might be a good idea to watch it all from the beginning, so that season four would make sense.  THEN I got completely hooked on watching every single episode, and ‘just one more’ before doing whatever else needed doing and should have been a priority.  Like going to sleep, for example.

Today at last I’m going to get into the fourth season.  Even though my brain is now completely overloaded with villians and heroes and time travel.  And people who die a violent death in one episode and then come back for a do-over in the next.  And change the future and save the world so many times that you begin to wonder why they persist.

I think I’ve discovered the reason why I’m still kind of hopelessly drawn to the whole thing and need to see it out to the bitter end.  It’s because of Mohinder Suresh and his wonderful voice-overs.  The fact that he’s easy to look at doesn’t hurt either.  I tried to keep the list short, but decided that’s impossible.  So here they are.

Where does it come from? This quest, this need to solve life’s mysteries when the simplest of questions can never be answered. Why are we here? What is the soul? Why do we dream? Perhaps we’d be better off not looking at all. Not delving, not yearning. That’s not human nature. Not the human heart. That is not why we are here. Yet still we struggle to make a difference. To change the world. To dream of hope. Never knowing for certain who we’ll meet along the way. Who, among the world of strangers, will hold our hand. Touch our hearts. And share the pain of trying.

We all imagine ourselves the agents of our destiny, capable of determining our own fate. But have we truly any choice in when we rise? Or when we fall? Or does a force larger than ourselves bid us our direction? Is it evolution that takes us by the hand? Does science point our way? Or is it God who intervenes, keeping us safe?

For all his bluster, it is the sad province of man that he cannot choose his triumph. He can only choose how he will stand when the call of destiny comes, hoping he will have the courage to answer.

When a change comes, some species feel the urge to migrate, they call it zugunruhe. “A pull of the soul to a far off place,” following a scent in the wind, a star in the sky. The ancient message comes calling the kindred to take flight and gather together. Only then can they hope to survive the cruel season to come.

Evolution is imperfect and often a violent process. A battle between what exists and what is yet to be born. Amidst these birth pains, morality loses its meaning, the question of good and evil reduced to one simple choice: survive or perish.

You do not choose your destiny, it chooses you. And those that knew you before Fate took you by the hand cannot understand the depth of the changes inside. They cannot fathom how much you stand to lose in failure…that you are the instrument of flawless Design. And all of life may hang in the balance. The hero learns quickly who can comprehend and who merely stands in your way.

The Earth is large. Large enough that you think you can hide from anything. From Fate. From God. If only you found a place far enough away. So you run. To the edge of the Earth. Where all is safe again. Quiet, and warm. The solace of salt air. The peace of danger left behind. The luxury of grief. And maybe, for a moment, you believe you have escaped.

You can run far, you can take your small precautions. But have you really gotten away? Can you ever escape? Or is it the truth that you did not have the strength or cunning to hide from destiny? That the world is not small. you are. And, fate can find you anywhere.

In the beginning there was discovery. A confusion of elements. The first snowfall of impossible change. Old lives undone, left behind. Strange faces, made familiar. New nightmares, to challenge sleep. New friends, to feel safe with. Only then comes control. The need to impose order unto chaos, through determination, through study, through struggle. All in defiance of a thundering truth. They’re here, and the earth shudders underfoot.

When we embrace what lies within, our potential knows no limit. The future is filled with promise. The present, rife with expectation. But when we deny our instinct, and struggle against our deepest urges… Uncertainty begins. Where does this path lead? When will the changes end? Is this transformation a gift… or a curse? And for those that fear what lies ahead… The most important question of all… Can we really change what we are?

To survive in this world, we hold close to us those on whom we depend. We trust in them our hopes, our fears… But what happens when trust is lost? Where do we run, when things we believe in vanish before our eyes? When all seems lost, the future unknowable, our very existence in peril… All we can do is run.

The sun rises on a new dawn. Yet few of us realize the debt we owe to those responsible for this. To those who dwell among us. Anonymous, seemingly ordinary, whom destiny brought together to heal, to save us, from ourselves.

It is man’s ability to remember that sets us apart. We are the only species that is concerned with the past. How memories give us voice. And to bear witness to history so that others might learn. So that they might celebrate our triumphs and be warned by our failures.

There is a moment in every war where everything changes. A moment when the road bends. Alliances and battle lines shift. And the rules of engagement are rewritten. Moments like these can change the nature of the battle, and turn the tide for either side. So we do what we can to understand them. To be ready for change, we steady our hearts, curb our fears, muster our forces, and look for signs in the stars. But these moments, these game changers, remain a mystery. Destiny’s invisible hand, moving pieces on a chessboard. No matter how much we prepare for them – how much we resist the change, anticipate the moment, fight the inevitable outcome – in the end, we are never truly ready when it strikes.

There is good, and there is evil. Right, and wrong. Heroes and villains. And if we are blessed with wisdom, then there are glimpses between the cracks of each where light streams through. We wait in silence for these times, when sense can be made. When meaningless existence comes into focus, and our purpose presents itself. And if we have the strength to be honest,  what we find there, staring back at us, is our own reflection. Bearing witness to the duality of life. And each one of us is capable of both the dark, and the light.. the good and evil, of either, of all. And destiny, while marching ever in our direction can be rerouted by the choices we make. By the love we hold on to, and the promises we keep.

Generations unfold — father to son, mother to daughter. Where one leaves off, the other follows, destined to repeat each other’s mistakes, each other’s triumphs. For how do we see the world if not through their lens? The same fears, the same desires? Do we see them as an example to follow, or as a warning of what to avoid? Choosing to live as they have, simply because it’s what we know, or driven to create one’s own identity? And what happens when we find them to be a disappointment? Can we replace them? Our mothers, our fathers? Or will destiny find a way to drive us back? Back to the familiar comforts of home?

It is our nature to protect our children. For each generation to pass on their cautionary tales to the next. So it is with the myth of Icarus, the legend of a boy who fashioned wings from feathers and wax, daring to fly into the heavens. His father was fearful and warned Icarus to be careful, begging him not to tempt fate by flying too close to the sun. But in the end, the boy couldn’t resist. His waxen wings melted from the sun’s rays. And he plunged to his death.

For every being cursed with self awareness, there remains the unanswerable question, “Who am I?” We struggle to find meaningful connections to one another. We are the caring friend, the loving father, the doting mother, the protected child. We fight and we love in the hope that somehow, together, we can understand our significance in the universe. But in the end, no one can share our burden. Each of us alone, must ask the question, “Who am I? What does it mean to be alive? And in the vast infinity of time, how do I matter?”

There are nearly seven billion people on this planet. Each one unique. Different. What are the chances of that? And why? Is it simply biology, physiology that determines this diversity? A collection of thoughts, memories, experiences that carves out our own special place? Or is it something more than this? Perhaps there’s a master plan that drives the randomness of creation. Something unknowable that dwells in the soul, and presents each one of us with a unique set of challenges that will help us discover who we really are.

We are all connected. Joined together by an invisible thread, infinite in its potential and fragile in its design. Yet while connected, we are also merely individuals. Empty vessels to be filled with infinite possibilities. An assortment of thoughts, beliefs. A collection of disjointed memories and experiences. Can I be me without this? Can you be you? And if this invisible thread that holds us together were to sever, to cease, what then? What would become of billions of lone, disconnected souls? Therein lies the great quest of our lives. To find. To connect. To hold on. For when our hearts are pure, and our thoughts in line, we are all truly one. Capable of repairing our fragile world, and creating a universe of infinite possibilities.

There are many ways to define our fragile existence, many ways to give it meaning. But it is our memories that shapes its purpose and give it context. The private collection of images, fears, loves, regrets… we choose the importance of each. Building our own unique histories, one memory at a time. Hoping the ones we chose to remember don’t betray us or trap us. For it is the cruel irony of life that we are destined to hold the dark with the light, the good with the evil. This is what separates us, what makes us human. And at the end, we must fight to hold on.

HEROES
HEROES (Photo credit: Keng Susumpow)

If you read all of that, wow – good for you.  You must have almost as much time on your hands today as I do!  But all this philosophical meandering is what sets this series apart and makes it worth watching, despite all the blood and violence.  It’s not so much about heroes and villians and black and white, but about the myriad of traits mixed up inside every one of us and the things we ultimately do for whatever misguided reasons.  Who is right and who is wrong?  Who really knows.

First Impressions

There are so many things we are cognizant of in other people without being conscious of it, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what comes first.

I meet new people every day at work.  Whether they are male or female is a good place to start I suppose.  Sometimes it’s surprisingly hard to tell, especially with little kids from other cultures. I tried to sell a small boy pink glasses once.  He looked quite pretty in them but it wasn’t the look he was going for I guess.  The male/female thing is important to sort out when directing a customer to the right section of the store, but when in doubt I just advise them to look wherever they want.

Then there’s the people who give you little choice in what you notice first.  Why else would someone do something weird and extreme to his hair if that’s not something he wants everyone who’s not legally blind to pick up on.  It’s the unremarkable ones that are harder to read or easier to ignore, and I assume that whichever it is, they’ve chosen to be that way and I respect them for that.

We look at people’s faces and we look into their eyes, listen to what they say and how they say it.  And then we kind of mirror each other back and forth.  Smile for smile, frown for frown.  I don’t really care about what you’re wearing or the length of your hair or the fact that you may have sixteen rings in your left eyebrow.

But I do care very deeply about how we choose to make each other feel.  And if you think that isn’t something that happens immediately upon meeting, you are deluding yourself.

Worst Flight

 

Is there anybody out there who loves to fly?  Who wakes up in the morning with the fervent wish to just hop on a plane and fly around for hours and hours? Do pilots and flight attendants dread having a day off where they have to content themselves with wandering around on the ground? Maybe that’s the thing that needs complaining about. I don’t get to fly to Paris for breakfast today! Damn, my life sucks. But I could if I really wanted to. There’s a certain beauty in that.

Travelling from one place to another has never been my favourite thing, but when it becomes necessary, I’m happy that there are so many choices in how to get from here to there. And so far flying is the fastest. Everybody has had a “bad” experience on a plane; screaming children, long delays, crazy turbulence, a seat mate from hell, luggage lost, cookies tossed. The ultimate worst case scenario would be to crash and die, and if you keep that in your mind while you’re zipping through the air at ridiculous speeds it makes the rest of your complaints seem a bit silly.

So I’m very reluctant to pick one particular flight out of the many I’ve taken and gripe about it. Because every one of them got me to where I was going or got me back home in one piece and here I am, alive and happy and able to talk about it, and not so annoyed that I’ll never do it again.

Life is short. And in the grand scheme of things, so are flights. How incredibly lucky we are to live in an age where travelling anywhere in the world is possible. All you have to do is buy a ticket and get yourself and your passport to the airport and the rest of it is all done for you. Think about that when the in-flight movie is boring crap. Your flight might not be perfect, but it’s perfectly amazing that you get to take it.

Powered by Plinky

Important Stuff

40 Below in Inuvik 2

What’s more important – where you live or what you do for a living? As soon as I decide which leg is more important to me, my right or my left, I’ll be able to answer that question. Where you live and what you do are often inextricably intertwined. One defines the other. If you’re offered your dream job on the other side of the world you will find a way to relocate to where it’s based to pursue your passion. If you cannot bear to leave the place where you grew up and your family and friends and the house you built yourself, you will find employment in that locality and be thankful for a job that pays enough to allow you to stay where you want to be.

My husband asked me once if I’d follow him to the ends of the earth. How he failed to notice that I’d already done that is a real mind boggler. We’ve lived in Cambridge Bay, Inuvik, Pond Inlet and Yellowknife in the Northwest Territories where he worked as a Wildlife Officer, which proves that I was either in love or insane for those eleven years. Perhaps a little of both. But we went wherever his job took him while our kids were small. Then we had to make a choice in their best interests and we moved “south” where schools and facilities and activities and opportunities were so much better for them. And now that they’re both all satisfactorily grown up and on their own, we can go back to making more selfish choices.

It’s hard to measure and compare the importance of things when their values fluctuate. It’s not a perfect world. Every day we make compromises and concessions and trade-offs in our search for harmony and balance. And if we’re very lucky, no matter where we live or what we’re doing, we find it.

Powered by Plinky