purpose Archives - Heather McLeod

Once Upon a Time

It was early May and we were at the hot springs: steamy water, flowing from between 100-pound rocks into a series of pools. Lussier Hot Springs, one of many natural hot springs in the Columbia Valley, has been discovered but not yet developed, aside from the stone retaining wall and fenced path from gravel parking area to pools.

No admission fee, no lifeguards, no posted rules. Sometimes, no bathing suits.

We live less than an hour’s drive away from this little spot of paradise. It’s a must-do when guests have time for the drive.

In summer, these springs are so popular that a line can snake up the trail: urbanites and international tourists, towels in hand, await their turn to experience this natural phenomenon of sulphur-scented water trickling from the rocks through pools to a glacier-fed river.

Instagram tags have made these once-secret hot springs a popular, often over-run destination.

In early May we were there to revel in the hot water and alpine beauty before the tsunami of summer tourists and part-time residents engulfed our little community.

Despite the early season, we weren’t alone. We chatted with a couple from Alberta. Nodded to other locals.

A trio of young women arrived, stripped to bikinis and toques, and stepped carefully over the massive rocks. They squealed at the water’s heat, which is the temperature of a hot bath. They perched in the upper pool on folded legs, so as not to get their bikini tops wet, and took photos with their cell phones, as so many do.

It’s part of our job as parents to pass the traditions down, so my boyfriend and I lured his pre-teens and my five-year-old to the river.

I set an example: I waded into the icy current, then lay carefully on the slippery stones and leaned back. Not enough to float away. Enough for goose bumps to rise.

Then up and back to the river’s rocky edge.

A normal human being would immediately climb up to the hottest pool, to recover from the immersion in glacier run-off. But we’re parents and so we waited on the rocks, shivering and cheering on our kids, applauding their bravery as they too dunked in the river.

A rite of passage. Like rolling in the snow between soaks at the Fairmont Resort hot springs. Like walking through the shin-deep river at Marble Canyon, and back again, on numb feet. This is how we raise the next generation of mountain kids.

Finally the trial was over and we began picking our way carefully over the slippery stones, back up to the hottest pool. One extreme temperature to another.

We crossed paths with the young women, who were on their way to the river.

ME: “Are you going in too?”

WOMAN: “No. We’re just here for the pictures.”

What?

My heart broke for her then, and I’ve spent four months trying to articulate WHY her response made me feel so sad and disturbed that day.

“We’re just here for the pictures.”

After our exchange, I watched the women as they “experienced” the springs. They did not dip themselves in the icy river. They wandered upstream at one point and took turns doing classic Instagram poses: arms out. Backs to the camera. Sexy bikini poses with the forest as background. Toothy smiles for the selfies.

And then they left.

My Gut Reaction

I was sad for this woman and her friends. They’re young: they have a lifetime of possible adventures and experiences ahead of them. And yet, appearances seemed to matter more to them than their sense of adventure. If they were only there for the photos, were they really experiencing the natural hot springs?

If you stop to take a picture of you smelling a rose so you can post it on Facebook, and don’t even bother inhaling its scent, did you really stop to smell the roses?

It’s always an internal battle as to whether I bring the phone along when snowboarding.

So Many Questions

I wondered: if they’d driven the 37 minutes on the narrow gravel road to the hot springs, risking life and limb with the ever-present logging trucks around every sharp corner, and then discovered in the parking lot they’d left their phones behind, would they have simply turned back?

And: was their need for external validation something they would grow out of? Would these young women change when they matured?

But some people never grow out of this mindset. Consider the many, many subdivisions in Calgary (and other cities) where mansions rub elbows with mansions, their garages and off-site storage bays overflowing with speedboats, jet skis and other mechanical toys. For some of us, appearances and peer-defined success are what bring us meaning, direction and (we hope) happiness.

I wonder: when this woman at the pools said those words to me, did she startle herself? Could she hear how superficial and empty she sounded? Did she have a restless night, tormented by existential doubt? Or maybe she doesn’t see anything wrong with living a life merely for the images.

And maybe I was, and am, being judgemental. Maybe it’s fine to live as these young women do. Maybe a collection of photos and lots of Instagram followers and Facebook “likes” are valid goals, or at least just as valid as my own.

Ripples

Maybe this woman didn’t think twice about her words that day.

But they resonate with me.

Since that day, I’ve been more thoughtful about bringing my phone (which is my only camera) along on adventures, or not.

Sometimes, camera-less, I wish I could take a picture — like when we found that beach of gleaming mica dust south of Nakusp — and I have to settle for the memory.

I’ve found that, when we don’t have pictures to help us remember our adventures, stories and words become more important:

“Remember when the teenage magician emerged from the forest and healed cousin Matthew’s leg when he fell?”

“Remember how terrified we were on the log ride at Calaway Park? Remember how many bad words I said when we plummeted?”

And sometimes I test myself: right now, experiencing this super cool thing, do I NEED to take a picture? Do I NEED to share it on the Interwebs, to make this experience any more special?

It’s my new Stoic meditation. Regardless of the answer, I learn new things about myself. And, more often than before, I decide to leave my phone behind.

Obviously I NEEDED to get a photo of Optimus Prime, when we met him while in a line-up for the ferry.

I’d love to hear your thoughts. Is a camera/phone essential for your adventures? Do you wrestle with how much to share via social media, or keep as a personal memory? How would you respond if someone said they were only there “for the pictures”? Please post a comment, share this post online or read more posts on this website.

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It’s only in recent years that I’ve realized: I’m a rare bird, when it comes to knowing my PURPOSE in life. I’ve always known I was a writer.

As evidence, I submit to you two of my primary school projects:

From a wee stapled booklet titled “When I Get Bigger.”

I’ve always assumed that everyone had this same strong sense of direction. Maybe a person’s “calling” is hard to define, because they don’t know how to direct their talents and passions into a specific “job,” or because their lives are crowded with other distractions and pressures (“The arts won’t pay the mortgage — go be a dental hygienist instead”), but surely, I thought, in their heart of hearts there is a spark of passion that, if cultivated, would bring them happiness and fulfillment.

But now I’m 39 and meeting all kinds of case studies to the contrary. I have friends who choose their work based on prestige and salary, friends who “lucked” into their “good” jobs and just keep doing those jobs, and many friends who simply need to pay their mortgage and feed their kids, regardless of how happy the parents are at work.

In other words: I know plenty of middle-aged adults who never DECIDED what they wanted to be when they grew up.

Maybe that’s fine. Maybe these people are content with their work, and use their free time to do fun things that make them happy.

But I see so many people being grumpy about their work, counting down until quitting time or their retirement years, and then using their free time to drink, binge-watch Netflix and “recover” from their work week before Monday rolls around again. This pains me.

HEATHER: “How’s your day?”

PERSON AT THEIR WORK: “It’s my Monday, so … you know.”

We only have one life. Why are so many of us wasting our time? Don’t we want a happier life, if that’s possible?

“You can be anything you want to be.”

I blame some of my generation’s aimlessness on the 1990s/Millennial parenting adage: “You can be anything you want to be.”

Specifically, I blame it on the missing disclaimers in that sentence, which should read: “You can be anything you want to be, if you work really hard at it, and adapt your goals when necessary, and accept that achieving one goal might mean not achieving other goals.”

I think most of us aren’t willing to put in the time and work and struggle needed to achieve a lofty “anything” goal.

Or, we’re so overwhelmed by the infinite options available to us that we grasp for direction, and end up holding onto a goal we didn’t choose, because it’s handy and relatively easy to achieve.

Instead of having overwhelming, infinite choice, I wonder if it would be better to be directed toward a single path.

I found this wonderful bit about Victorian-era parenting in Agatha Christie’s autobiography:

The Victorians looked dispassionately at their offspring and made up their minds about their capacities. A. was obviously going to be ‘the pretty one.’ B. was ‘the clever one.’ C. was going to be plain and was definitely not intellectual. Good works would be C.’s best chance. And so on. Sometimes, of course, they were wrong, but on the whole it worked. There is an enormous relief in not being expected to produce something that you haven’t got.
– Agatha Christie

While I’m not advocating for a return to Victorian parenting, my parents always knew I was a writer, and encouraged me to feed that spark. I went to university to study English literature and creative writing. Dad answered all my panicky phone calls with: “Do what makes you happy. It’ll all work out in the end.” (And it has.)

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I would hope, with adults constantly asking kids what they want to be when they grow up, some of us would eventually consider the question.

If you’ve never really thought about it, or if it’s been a few years, why not spend a few minutes now ruminating on these questions:

If you only had one year left to live, what would you do with that time?
If you never had to work again, how would you spend your days?
Of all the things you do, which five things make you happiest? Which make you feel most fulfilled?
If you had the time and energy to volunteer for one cause, what would it be and why?
When do you feel jealous of others? What is it about their lives that makes you envious?

And, with a nod to the Victorian-era parents:

What did your parents think you’d be when you grew up? What strengths did they see in you?

Finding your ikigai

I really do believe every kid has a spark of talent or purpose or meaning inside them. I like to think every adult has that spark still, even if it’s been smothered by “real world” pressures and other choices. Creating a life that feeds that spark can be possible: the first step is to find it.

I don’t know much about the Japanese concept of ikigai — only enough that I had it tattooed on my forearm (ha). But here’s a colourful graphic from the Interwebs that might inspire you:

Ikigai isn’t as simple as “do what you love” or “be employable.” It’s a compromise.

How would you fill in this chart? What do you love, what are you good at, what do you have to offer that you can be paid for, and what can you do that the world needs?

Living with purpose

I’m lucky that I’ve always known what I am, and what I want to do. I know writing brings me the most joy. I know I can make money from it (thank you, Medium.com). I know it’s my ikigai.

But I still struggle daily with myself to make the time to write. It’s still a constant effort to feed that spark. There are always distractions: the laundry, my weedy lawn, sunny mountains to climb.

That’s why I got my latest tattoo: timshel ikigai. A smoosh of Hebrew and Japanese that means (to me, at least) that it’s my choice, at all times, whether I spend my time writing or not. It’s my choice whether I do the thing that fulfils me and gives my life meaning, or not.

This tattoo is an always-visible reminder for me to use my time well. To feed and cultivate that spark inside me. To not waste this life.

So. What are you doing today?

I’d love to hear your thoughts. Do you think we all have a spark or purpose or calling? Is it a bad thing if we don’t follow it? Please comment below, share this post online or read more posts on this website.

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Heather McLeod

Tag Archives: purpose

We’re Just Here for the Pictures