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In Culture, Identity, Minimalism, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Spiritual Life

The Spaces Between

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

This holiday season, as we reflect on the year we leave behind and think about the one about to begin, my hope is that we find peace in the quiet of the spaces between.

So much of our culture revolves around hustle. Be busy, achieve success, look great, do a lot but make it seem effortless. For me, this is not a path to happiness. My heart longs for less. Smaller. Quieter. I’m interested in the spaces between the accomplishments, where the buzz recedes into the distance and you can hear the echo of peace.

This may sound easy, but I assure you it’s not. Living an intentionally quiet and small existence at the end of 2019 takes a lot of focus and effort. I have to endlessly remind myself that I’m good enough, just as I am, and I’m here to pass this message along to you.

The spaces between things is where the interesting stuff resides. It’s the pause after the heartbeat that makes the human body function. The rest in the music is why we can distinguish one note or lyric from another. The space is where we settle down so we can see what we actually have to be grateful for.

Right now, before the holiday season is upon us, seems like a beautiful time to find peace in the spaces between. Notice how much you love the people you spend your time with. Pet your cat or dog and appreciate their warmth on these long winter nights. May the Christmas lights remind us that not everything is dark after all.

The only permission we need to rest and be grateful comes from ourselves. We don’t need committee approval for how we choose to spend our time. These important decisions of renewal and gratitude come from inside of us. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.

May we settle into the spaces between and wrap the silence around us like a blanket. Be here, in this moment, and know that this is what really matters. Let’s find peace in the quiet, to end one year and purposefully begin the next one.

In Culture, Identity, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, Uncategorized, University, Writing

Nobody Knows Anything

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

In my presentation on risk, I have a slide called Nobody Knows Anything. I don’t mean this in a general sense, as lots of people know lots of things, but I mean it when forecasting failure or success. No publisher knew that Harry Potter would be the smash hit of the century. No scientist knows that his or her discover will be the next big thing in the field. Most artists die long before their work becomes popular and desirable by the masses.

A big part of the human experience is trial and error. This really sucks for the control freaks among us (including me). The goal when creating anything new is to allow it to exist without expecting so much from it. That sentence feels so light and easy to type and yet living it out remains a real bitch.

Nobody knows anything, so we should hold lightly to our ideas. I’m in a fourth year fiction writing workshop this semester where we offer feedback on each other’s short stories. It can be so hard to hear criticism, especially when the work is brand new and as its creator you aren’t even sure what it is yet. So often I dream of turning in a story and having a reader or my prof say, “Wow, this is perfect in every way. Don’t change a word. Magazines will be lining up to publish this brilliant piece of writing.” (Spoiler Alert: this NEVER happens.)

The key is not to base our sense of self-worth on any outside source. Ever. Praise comes and goes, just like criticism, and our sense of internal value should not rise and fall with people’s opinions. Confidence is always an inside job. I know this to be true, deep in my soul, and yet so often I become dragged down or obsessive about other people’s views, mistaking them for facts when they are only opinions.

Holding loosely is one of the great markers of happiness. Usually our pain comes from daydreaming about how a situation or a relationship is going to spool out. We imagine a certain outcome, and then when it doesn’t work out we feel betrayed, devastated, robbed. And yet the narrative we constructed was only in our own head. It was never real or guaranteed.

I am ridiculously guilty of this. Even though I know better, and have for years, I still daydream situations that have zero chance of occurring. Why do I do this? Likely because it feels good. It gives me a sense of control over life that in reality I simply do not possess. Why is it such a damn challenge to let life unfold the way it’s meant to and adapt to what actually happens instead of what I think will happen?

It does help to remember that nobody knows anything when it comes to predicting what most people like or don’t like. We have to trust in ourselves for the work we are doing. We have to hope it will translate to others and mean something to people beyond ourselves. Receiving critical feedback that is kind and helps to shape the work is beneficial, but a lot of what people say is not helpful and harms the initial risk we are courageous enough to take.

As Theodore Roosevelt reminds us in shortened form and with updated inclusive language, “It’s not the critic who counts, (but) the credit belongs to the (person) in the arena.” If nobody knows anything about what will ultimately fail and what will succeed, then the creator is the one who should believe in their work for as long as possible, without inviting other people to weigh in too early in the process.

In Books, Identity, Minimalism, Movies/TV, Nurture, Parenting, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking, University, Writing

Capable

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on

I loved my word “renewal” for the summer, so I’ve decided to keep the idea rolling for the fall. I picked “capable” as my theme, because I’m returning to university two days per week to take three classes for the first time. It feels daunting to add in an extra class when I’m already writing, speaking, doing background work in the film industry plus the usual marriage/parenting/friendship gigs.

Capable seemed like the right fit to boost my confidence going into this busy three-month semester. When I choose a word, I try to get quiet, closing my eyes and allowing the right word to come to me. Capable was the first and the best. I sit with it for a bit, allowing it to permeate my mind, and if it doesn’t go away, I figure it’s meant to be.

Working on renewal this summer was a beautiful experience. When I slept in, I didn’t feel lazy, because my focus was on rest. I read, wrote, swam, and watched some incredible TV with Jason and the kids (Mindhunter, Chernobyl, Barry, Schitt’s Creek, BH90210 – okay, that last one is not incredible, just a guilty pleasure I gave as a gift to my teenage self).

I’m aiming for a similar focus this fall. So often, we are capable of much more than we think we are. I’m tired of selling myself short. I long to be intentional about my commitments and my time. When I say I’ll do something, I want to meet that challenge with courage and curiosity. I want to believe I’m capable before I start, so I’m hoping this word will help me move closer to this goal.

As we all turn the page on summer and look to the fall, may we feel capable and strong. We can do more than we think we can. Now is the time to set our intentions and then rise to meet the challenges that will come our way. If you need a cheerleader, I’m here to stand beside you and remind you of how capable you are. When I’m knee-deep in homework and tests I might need you to return the favour. Here’s to fall!

In Culture, Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking

Use Your Voice

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
Use Your Voice


At one of the teachers’ conferences I spoke at in February, I realized the importance of using my voice. It’s not hard to see how valuable it can be to share ideas and resources in a formal workshop setting. I’m all in for that, but the learning I experienced came during a speaker’s luncheon in a beautiful hotel meeting room.

I had finished all of my sessions for this conference and I felt tired, yet elated. My flight home to Vancouver was leaving in a few hours, the sun was shining in Calgary, and my sessions had been productive and stimulating.

The soup, sandwich, potato chips and brownie on my plate were delicious. I chatted casually with the five other people at my table, all wearing “Speaker” badges. We asked about each other’s sessions. One was a math teacher and another ran a foundation and spoke about their charity.

One man explained that he was female at birth but transitioned to a man in early adulthood and now he spoke on his experience as a trans man to promote kindness and acceptance. I told him that I had new material this year called The Future is Female where we brainstormed ways to create a fairer world outside of patriarchal systems with their focus on domination and power.

The two women at the table nodded and looked interested as we ate. The mood at the table was gentle and warm. Then the man to my right spoke up. He said, “We have to go really slow when we talk about change. For older people, societal change is hard and we have to be sensitive to that. These things take a lot of time.”

Years ago, I would’ve agreed or nodded or even stayed silent. It’s certainly what everyone else at the table did. In a split second, I noticed how the air had changed between all of us. Suddenly it felt thicker, heavier, colder.

I thought about the courage of the trans man at our table to invest money and time in procedures to match his outside appearance to how he felt on the inside. He travelled around to conferences to speak to others about his complicated journey, promoting tolerance and acceptance, and still he had to listen to a person advocate for sensitivity to those having a hard time with societal change.

“No,” I said, somewhat forcefully. “The time to be slow and sensitive has passed. I’m a woman, and I want equality now. I can’t wait any longer. And the comfort of white men is no longer a driving concern, particularly when women, the LGBTQ+ community and people of colour have had to bear the incredible pain of sexism and bigotry for far too long. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for men to behave just a little bit better, be a little bit kinder, and work a little bit harder too so that we can have a fairer world for everyone.”

Glancing to my right, I could see that the middle-aged white man who made the comment was now angry. His neck flushed red. He opened his mouth to argue with me, but I didn’t feel interested in debating this with him. Thankfully, my plate was empty. I stood, wished everyone good luck with their afternoon sessions, mentioned I had a plane to catch, and walked out of the lunchroom.

I don’t know if anyone carried on the discussion when I left or if they all breathed a sigh of relief that I was gone and the tension quickly dissipated. It doesn’t really matter to me. I believe that silence is violence. I spent too many years not using my voice when I heard something I disagreed with. I didn’t want to cause trouble or rock the boat. But now I’m teaching on these subjects, and I want my life to look like my workshop sessions. I want to be the change I wish to see in the world.

We all have a voice. It’s time to start using it. Living small is not going to get the work done. Yes, it will be uncomfortable sometimes. That’s okay. Silence is violence. Our collective voices, used together, carry power.

In Books, Culture, Identity, Nurture, Personal Growth, Relationships, Speaking

The Gentleness Cure

Author Julianne HarveyPosted on
The Gentleness Cure

I had the privilege of presenting 3 sessions to BC Drama Teachers in Vancouver last week for their annual conference. We talked about building a moral conscience, what we can learn from risk and failure, and developing emotional resilience. These teachers inspired me. Every one of them was willing to dive in with both feet and whole hearts, offering up valuable insights and demonstrating what true courage looks like by being vulnerable.

The world is a dark place in the late stages of 2018, but this simply means our individual lights must burn brighter. When we make it a little farther down the path of growth and development, it’s on us to turn around and shine our flashlight so the next person knows where to step.

I’m working on something new in my own heart. It’s called gentleness. I’m intentionally trying to soften up my hard edges toward people I don’t understand and don’t like. In my conference sessions I talk a lot about holding the dignity of every person as a top priority in every interaction. I say, “Every person is worthy of love and has someone who loves them.” When a person drives me bananas, I work on seeing them as a vulnerable and defenceless child, trying to reach a toy on their tiptoes and accepting help from a caring adult.

In theory, this gentle approach works to dampen down my frustration and round out my harsh, judgemental edges. In reality, I often fail at this. I am meaner than I would like to be. We live in a polarized culture, where people take a position and hammer one another over the heads with it. I long to opt out of this cycle, but far too often I get on Twitter or Facebook and my heart begins to harden instead of soften.

Those teachers inspired me because they are in the trenches every day with students and parents. They walk a fine line of trying to mentor the students in a healthy manner while recognizing that their own lives and schedules need fine tuning. We are all struggling, in one way or another, and kindness is a better balm than criticism.

Perhaps it comes down to the oxygen mask philosophy (yet again). If I don’t look after myself, I cannot help you, because I’m passed out on the floor while the plane loses altitude. It feels a bit like our collective societal decency plane is rapidly descending to the ground, but the answer is not found in despair. It’s found when we commit to the tools we need to help ourselves, and then others, rise up.

I wish there was an easy way to manage this, but of course there isn’t. Easy doesn’t produce long-term, real results. Only struggle does that. Our fast-paced, wait-for-nothing modern existence has truly failed us when it comes to personal development and maturity. These things need time, failure, heartbreak, support and frustration. We have to change our expectations for immediate results in these areas. We need to wait, and hurt a bit, and these things are incredibly healthy for us.

I love speaking at conferences because it forces me to put my own fancy words into practice. Instruction is meaningless unless it is backed up with action. If I’m not living what I’m advising, no one should listen or care. But when we honestly live out our struggles, naming them to one another in a safe space, our authentic experiences provide a strong foundation to live from.

Gentleness, friends. To ourselves first, and then to others. Make sure you have enough oxygen. Rest this weekend. Read a good book (I recommend Dare to Lead by Brene Brown and Almost Everything: Notes on Hope by Anne Lamott). Turn off social media with all of its hand-wringing and doomsday predictions. Eat some Halloween candy. Hold the dignity of every person you interact with as a holy sacrament. Practice the courage of vulnerability and authenticity. Find a cure in being gentle.