Keira-anne.com

Last week I found myself at a walk-in clinic. While I was partly too lazy to trek across the Cambie Street Bridge to my actual doctor’s office, I find the medical staff at the Stein Medical Clinic [website] to be thoroughly professional and less of a headache to deal with.

I had a minor health glitch, one that had me diagnosed and out the door, prescription clutched in hand, in under 10 minutes. At one point during my time at the clinic, I do remember flashing my BC Care Card, but my debit and credit cards stayed firmly tucked in my wallet. From there, I walked to Urban Fare’s pharmacy, handed over my prescription and paid for it only five minutes later with, quite literally, pocket change.

To most Canadians, this is completely normal; to most Americans, this is a luxury.

To many of them, it’s a choice between visiting the doctor or paying this month’s rent. Canada, it seems, isn’t that far behind.

Photo: Brittany G on Flickr

Garnering both flack and praise, Michael Moore’s 2007 documentary “Sicko” turned the spotlight on the some 50 million Americans who are uninsured or are covered with such measly insurance that they’re victims of the system all the same. The problem at large in the United States is that health care is completely privatized, and in his film, Moore targeted his suspicions of the conglomerate insurance companies that were denying treatment to policy holders in order to pinch pennies…billions and billions of pennies.

Here in Canada, various levels of our Government foot the bills for approximately 70% of healthcare costs and the system is “designed to ensure that all residents have reasonable access to medically necessary hospital and physician services.” [source] A huge number of our citizens also receive further and more comprehensive coverage through their respective employers.

In a time where the almighty dollar is king (and making more of it is the name of the game), I have to stop and wonder how much longer we have until Canada goes the way of our southern sister. If and when that day comes, I’m packing my bags and moving to France. Who’s with me?

(Click here to view the trailer for “Sicko.”)

I like Eva Longoria, quite a bit, and so the point of this post isn’t a slam on her. Rather, it’s a perfect demonstration that she is a normal girl just like the rest of us. No girl is comfortable in her skin 100% of the time, and it’s completely understandable. Mainstream media bombards us with images that we ultimately know are largely fabricated, but the proof is often hard to find.

I’ve always said you can open any Victoria’s Secret catalogue and clearly see the airbrush marks and spots on inner thighs where excess inches have literally been cut away in photo programs. Sometimes, though, the best example is a side-by-side.

The photo on the left was shot for Bebe Sport’s recent campaign; the photo on the left was snapped just yesterday off the coast of Portofino, Italy.

Left Photo: Bebe Sport; Right Photo: Bauer-Griffin for People

She’s a real girl, ladies - with a healthy figure just like the rest of us.

As a little girl, it was common playtime practice on lazy summer days to lay down on the spikey grass in the sunshine and watch the clouds in the sky. Sometimes I’d try to find shapes within the clouds and make up stories with them. Other times I’d swear I could see the Earth moving when, in reality, it was simply the clouds visibly moving, not our planet.

Photo: Sylvanfeather on Flickr

I think what I loved most about cloud watching was the surreal experience it provided to my young and impressionable mind. I’ve always had a vivid imagination, and that part of my mind’s eye has always stretched across the void into my dream world. My dreams have always also been rather vivid, though they come and go.

What I’ve long found most interesting is that often I’ll have a dream of little or no consequence - more of a snapshot of activity - and then at some point down the road, that snapshot comes to life. Sometimes it’s months later, sometimes years later. Even just last night, as I sat around talking with friends, I had the strong sensation as though I’d seen this instance before.

Photo: venkane on Flickr

I am thankful for the ability to dream and I appreciate the dreams I have. Sometimes they are painful or frightening, such as one I had last night. Often, though, the dreams I have can bring immense peace and perspective into my life. Dreaming is a very powerful tool to tap into what might be going on, unbeknownst to ourselves. That isn’t to say that every dream will mean something; often they are simply silly and not at all meaningful.

If you’re curious, next time you dream, write down a few key symbols that emerged and see if any of it makes sense in some aspect. Another idea, though one that shouldn’t be solely relied upon, is checking out Dream Moods for a bit of direction. It allows you to search those key symbols and comes up with possible meanings behind their appearance in your dream.

Happy snoozing!

Anyone who is truly from Vancouver Island can affirm how painful an endeavour it can be to return to Vancouver after time spent at home. After six near magical days on la isla bonita, I have returned to the city in which I reside, but it will never truly be home. Yesterday marked my four year anniversary in the city, living in the same apartment on the same street. My dwelling is the only thing that’s remained constant in my time here. The faces and experiences that have come and gone in these years are more than I can count.

Photo: tempest_kat on Flickr

I find myself becoming more and more cynical towards this place, its people, the events and the general attitude. Why that is, I’m not sure. The bitterness, however, is starting to take its toll on me and it’s really quite pointless. I think that the time is right for a shift in thinking.

Photo: I am I.A.M. on Flickr

When I was a little girl, my giddiness and anticipation for family trips to Vancouver was uncontainable. It was, in fact, somewhat amusing to my parents. The first major trip I can recall was to Expo ’86 at the ripe age of 5 and on the verge of beginning kindergarten. It was a quick whirlwind mini vacay, but I still have a vivid memory dotted with fireworks, the monorail, Expo Ernie, glittering high-rises and a kaleidoscope of colour.

Once I entered my mid-teens, with my coming of age came a fresh dose of independence. At 16, I was allowed to take my first trip across the Georgia Straight with a friend. Our plan was to hit the all ages Spacehog/Everclear double bill at the Vogue, but upon its subsequent cancellation, Nadia and I found ourselves at the historic Capitol 6 on Granville to see Trainspotting. (My parents saw the film once it was released on video and were rather adamant that, had they known what it was about, I never would have been allowed to see it at the time.)

Long before I actually made the move to Vancouver, I dreamed about the day when I’d finally live sky high in one of those concrete towers I’d so admired as a child. When I was younger, the city and its ideals held enchantment for me. On every ferry ride over, I’d sit at the front of the passenger lounge, skip ahead to Underworld’s “Born Slippy” on my Sony Discman and watch the distant city skyline as the ship pulled nearer to Horseshoe Bay. The anticipation I felt in my belly was intoxicating, and the excitement that struck me at 5 still held strongly at 16 and beyond.

Now that I have spent the better part of half a decade (yikes!) living in downtown Vancouver, the anticipation has dissipated, the magic has faded and the glitter of gleaming towers has grown dull. As I learn more about the world in which I live, the people with which I interact and the true state of humanity, my disillusions of city living have been nearly entirely wiped out.

What I have realized as of late, however, is that focusing on these shortcomings and pitfalls of the city are a wasted effort.

Instead of lamenting how disheartened I am to be back amongst the noise, pollution, yelling, smells and traffic of downtown Vancouver, perhaps it would be more helpful and make more sense to consider the ways in which living in Vancouver has fulfilled me and instead enriched the person that I am.

It is time to make an attempt at re-capturing the beauty I once saw here with innocent eyes.

Thank you, Vancouver, for being home to some truly amazing people that I am blessed to call my friends.

Thank you, Vancouver, for being the backdrop of experiences that have taught me invaluable lessons in life and love.

Though my square, concrete balcony in the West End can’t compare to the lush, green gardens at my true Merville home on the Island, it boasts a killer view that – both literally and figuratively – gives me a much needed perspective on a different side of our world. Vancouver Island will always be home, but I suppose this place isn’t as bad as I try to make it out to be.

Photo: Incognitocanuck on Flickr

P.S. High five to anyone who “gets” the post title.

A peafowl’s lifespan is roughly 20-24 years. After close to six months of age, it becomes easier to tell the difference in sexes, and once it reaches approximately three years old, the peafowl’s tail grows a cover of brightly coloured tail feathers, often known as a train.

I have long been attracted to the peafowl because of its vibrant plummage and unique physical stature. In fact, to this day I still own a pair of tail feathers that I collected at Stanley Park when I was just 5 years old. Peafowls are rather regal in appearance and are known to be creatures of habit. The colours a peafowl displays are completely surreal, and perhaps it is in that alone that I feel the draw.

Original Photo: Canuck Gtrplyr on Flickr (Used With Permission)

Anyone that is close to me and in my “inner circle” knows full well that I am in a period of immense personal growth right now. The best word I could use to describe this time is exhilerating. Rather than exploring beliefs, ideas and the like, I am simply exploring “Keira-Anne” and figuring out what she is all about. I can’t even say that I know where all of this has come from, but much like a young peafowl, I feel as though I too am preparing to display my vibrant colours.

CHANGE

Change is at the core of everything that I’m experiencing and about to experience. In re-evaluating what I value, what is important to me and what I ultimately want in life, the conclusions have been surprising to say the least.

Beautifully, for the first time I am understanding what it is truly like to surround myself with friends, loved ones and the endeavours I treasure and to be happy with that. I am not in love or “infatuated” with anyone and, truth be told, it feels fantastic! And beyond that, I’m even starting to question whether I even want a consistent, long-term partner in my life. I know a lot of happily married people, but I also know a lot of unhappily married people. I’m not sure why it is that so many equate marriage to happiness in life. It’s not a definitive conclusion.

The beauty of change is that it is constant and anything but stale and stagnant. That being said, it’s quite possible (and likely) that these views will again morph into something else. New ideas and concepts will dance across my mind and I will undoubtedly learn more about who I am as time goes on. What I cherish most about this season is that I am learning to madly love who I am, what I see in the mirror, the people in my life and the idea of living with less rather than more.

More of what’s good for me, less of what’s toxic.

My kitchen, for the most part, normally has a good stock of food (or at least the ingredients required to bake chocolate chip cookies at a moment’s notice).

My bathroom cabinets, too, are almost always stuffed full. The cupboards overflow with a seeming abundance of shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, tampons, condoms, toilet paper, toothpaste (and a toothbrush!), razor blades, soap, lotion, lip balm and anything else you can think of. And if I run out, Shopper’s Drug Mart is half a block away, so refilling the supply is never a problem.

For some women, however, acquiring even one or two of these items is next to impossible.

Photo: dtes.people on Flickr

The items I listed above are just a fraction of what’s needed, and unfortunately, the resources for the women of Vancouver’s downtown eastside are next to none. The clean socks and finely bristled hairbrushes we all take for granted are a luxury to some women.

This is where you come in. Last week, on another dreary and rainy day in Vancouver, Phaedra and I came up with an idea that will, hopefully, give many of these women the opportunity to take in a few of the items needed on a daily - and monthly - basis. Most of us are fortunate to have jobs, pay the bills and supply ourselves with what we need, so banded together, it’s not an impossibilty to put together “care kits” and distribute them accordingly.

Becky has been awesome enough to start a Wiki page (Women Helping Women) in this regard where we can trade ideas, generate fundraising avenues and contribute. Visit Women Helping Women, join up and start the discussion. Our hope is to meet sometime within the next week or two to put our heads together. If you have ideas, funds or items to contribute, leave a message, e-mail me (keira at keira-anne dot com) or pop a note on the Wiki page.

P.S. Just because you may be a dude, it doesn’t exempt you. Be a gentleman and offer a helping hand.

For more than a week now, I’ve been meaning to share with you all some of the amazing insight and much-needed growth that I feel has begun to take root in my life. Forgive me in advance if much of what I write makes nearly no sense, but to me it is all very real.

Since the beginning of May, I have heard nothing but laments over the lack of sunny weather in southwestern British Columbia, and I too am guilty of complaint. However, I have discovered what I like to refer to as a new kind of sun in my life - one that is not seen in the sky; an internal sunshine that is starting to beam.

Original Photo: papalars on Flickr

I have long been known to give into my maternal instincts, and am very much a nurturer by nature. More often than not, this translates to putting the needs, wishes and desires of others long before my own. It isn’t that I wasn’t ever able to recognize that what I require is valid, but for whatever reason, I chose not to. Perhaps it’s because putting myself on the front burner was never an action that came naturally.

In truth, I can’t explain what’s responsible for the recent pivot in my thought pattern. Whatever has caused this awakening is unbeknownst to myself, but perhaps not to others. What I’m experiencing - and desiring - isn’t a great mass of literal changes in my life. It’s a transformation of thought and understanding into something that is new, bright and healthy.

I’m really surprised this isn’t something that occurs more often in downtown Vancouver:

Photo: melodrama.ca on Flickr

As I made my way to work in the early hours of this morning, dazed in my New Radicals stupor, I came to the intersection at Hornby and Dunsmuir like I always do. However, I was soon snapped out of my trance by the sight of a now-compact car smushed into the back end of a garbage truck. The front end had been squeezed all the way up to the windshield, steamed poured from what was left of the engine and neon yellow fluid started streaming onto the pavement. A man sat on the curb, his head in his hands in an attempt to hide his obvious sobs, while the woman that he was with held him.

What astonished me is that not one single damn person stopped. No one asked if they were okay or if 911 had been called. The garbage truck driver and his partner were conversing in the cab of their truck and everyone around continued on their merry way. I’d like to think that I’m a responsible citizen; that being the case, I stopped to offer any assistance I could before emergency vehicles arrived mere moments later. To ensure I didn’t get in the way, I carried on once I realized that there wasn’t anything I could do to help that hadn’t already been done. Police, fire and ambulance personnel were on the scene.

Not only did no one stop to help, those that were in the area tried to run across the street or speed through the intersection before the emergency vehicles were “in their way.”

Photo: John Bollwitt on Flickr

I simply shook my head in disgust. It never ceases to amaze me the number of blatantly ignorant people there are on the road. Were the City of Vancouver to hold a referendum in an attempt to eliminate vehicular traffic altogether in the downtown core, you can rest assured I’d mark a giant check mark in the “Yes” box.

As a pedestrian in this city, drivers continually anger me. As a sometimes driver in this city, pedestrians continually anger me. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder where some people obtain their drivers’ licenses. Just Monday, a young lady lurched right out onto the crosswalk to make a right-hand turn as myself and a handful of others were proceeding on a walk signal. I gave the bumper end of her car one giant and swift slap with the palm of my hand in an effort to make her more aware. Perhaps it was a bit excessive, but better my hand on the back of her car to teach her a lesson than her car mowing into the lot of us. Oddly enough, it was she who shouted expletives at me as I continued to walk for up to half a block. “How dare you f*$%ing hit my car?!”

Classy.

Yes, drivers and walkers, it is time we all wake up. Driving is not only a huge responsibility, but it is also a privilege. If you’re a Translink driver or taxi driver, then this Bud’s particularly for you. Daily commutes would be a hell of a lot more enjoyable - and safe - if we all opened our eyes a little bit and showed one another respect.

And please, for the love of god, when you see flashing lights and hear a siren, it doesn’t indicate that you should speed up.

It’s 5:48pm, and I am sitting in an apartment that’s too warm, with fans that are too breezy and a puppy that’s the right amount of cuddly on my lap. Another puppy alternates between staring intensely out the window at passerby and thrashing his stuffed soccer ball. You’d think that I wouldn’t have many cares in the world, but at this moment, I wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining to you all how I feel. Because, the truth is, I don’t even know what I’m thinking. While many of you may have developed a sunburn over the last few days, my brain’s caught ADD - or so it feels.

Sitting at my desk on Friday, I knew that something was amiss. The only way I could describe what I was feeling was that my soul drains were clogged. Anticipating a renewing experience the next morning at my Hidden Language yoga class with a handful of awesome ladies (my mom included), I pushed the feeling away, knowing I’d soon find a cure for the clog while bending and writing.

Photo: justthisguyyouknow on Flickr

The next morning, as I twisted my spine and gaze gently at my stretched out left palm, my eyes met the small, box-shaped window that ran across the top of the heritage space. Between my eyes and the blue sky were the roof ledge of the building next door and the top spirals of some sort of tower. I thought to myself “this isn’t right…after an experience like this, I should be able to walk out into an environment that reflects what I’m feeling in here.”

I wanted to leave my gem of a yoga studio and be surrounded by lush trees, warm sun, water, earth and the sounds of birds flying in the distance. Instead I was met with sirens, exhaust, buses, concrete, vehicles, rancid food smells and a whole other bouquet of unsavouriness. And as we ladies walked to brunch after class, I suddenly remembered something a old friend of mine once told me as we sat on my balcony at 2am one night: he said “You know, it’s really strange that you live 12 storeys off the ground. It isn’t natural to live up so high.” I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was right. And so the next day I walked to my 11th-floor office and he caught an early ferry back to Vancouver Island. That right there says so much.

Photo: justthisguyyouknow on Flickr

This afternoon, as I navigated my way through the steel chaos, first to Stanley Park and then to drop my mom off (ironically so she, too, could catch a ferry to Vancouver Island), I found myself amazed that I hadn’t ripped my hair out. Every other word falling out of my mouth was enough to make a sailor blush. How I’ve managed to live in downtown Vancouver for as many years as I have is somewhat astonishing. Only within recent months have I realized how un-me it is; how unnatural it is. And yet, I feel so stuck in neutral without the possibility of change. Only weeks ago I felt so close and so on the precipice of that kind of change, but my hopes came shattering around me that Sunday morning on the bathroom floor.

What I seem so often to forget is that so many others are walking around in the same state that I am in. We all desire change, something new in our lives, we all dread going to work on Monday mornings, we all dread bill-paying time each month and can’t figure out how to jump off the gerbil wheel. Maybe we’re too scared that we’ll bump our own asses as we make the leap, or maybe we’re all just too scared to find out what is - or isn’t - off the wheel.

Is it up to the universe to make our choices for us and come what may via fate? Or are we expected to make decisions and have a little bit of faith that they’re the right decisions? If anything, I’m writing this as a means to exorcising my cognitive demons. Sometimes this is the best way to untangle the ball of Christmas lights…or at least start chipping away at it.

When I was very young, I liked to write letters. I also liked to write short stories, notes, cards and especially took joy in jotting down my thoughts and feelings in my diary. I still remember what it looked like too: it had a cheap brass lock with a photo of Johnny Depp on the cover, clad in ripped jeans with the ‘21 Jumpstreet’ logo splashed on the brick wall behind him.

As I got older, and finally hit my teenage years, everyone started getting online with the World Wide Web. Everyone I knew was staking their claim at Hotmail with a clever e-mail address, and a few more found their online chat identity at ICQ (if you have to ask what that is, you’re too young to remember). At the time, blogs and online journaling seemed like a hugely “out there” idea, and only a select few moved from the concept of pen and paper to fingers and keyboard.

Photo: stevegarfield on Flickr

In fact, it wasn’t until many years later and I was in my early 20s that I, too, started to blog. This was in addition to the many so-called wonderful ways in which the internet allowed us to stay connected with those we know and reach out to new friends. Geocities, Friendster, Yahoo! Chat, MySpace, Classmates, Blogger, MSN Messenger, Facebook, WAYN - need I go on?

For most of our lives we got on just fine with paper stationary and telephones, so why now are we so heavily dependent on the internet?

With quite literally each passing day, I am starting to see the internet as more of a curse than a blessing. The very thing that makes getting in touch online so simple is also the same thing that exacerbates one of the biggest problems in human relations.

This topic has been cycling through my social circle a great deal as of late.

The online realm, in all its brilliance and downfalls, allows each person who logs on to appear, say, see and be all the things they choose to represent. Our names, e-mail addresses, location, appearance, ethnicity, sex and opinions can all be 100% fabricated. For every person who chooses to use this medium to contact with and express themselves to others in a manner that is entirely genuine, there is someone who exploits the anonymity of the internet to, essentially, act shitty and take zero responsibility for it.

Cyberspace requires absolutely no accountability.

So how can you weed out the gold from the ghastly? In truth, you can’t. Sometimes you just have to take the good with the bad; the pretty with the ugly. I suppose it’s true of all things in life and in relationships with others. As a friend recently wrote, maybe the best thing to do is surround your real life with those who are simply “kind hearted and supportive.” They’re the people who keep you grounded in a twisted world…whichever world that may be.