On being ... in a jazz mode

By Ingrid Sapona

A girlfriend who’s a jazz lover invited me to a show at the Toronto Jazz Festival this week. The concert was at the main stage, a huge tent set up on the plaza of City Hall. It was general admission seating, but my friend had been to a performance there earlier in the week so she knew both the lay of the land (or tent, in this case) and “the drill” (when they start letting people in, etc.).

She wanted to get there early for good seats and she knew that once we had seats we could leave to find something to eat. Not being much of a fan of street meat (hot dogs) and other delicacies available from street vendors, I offered to bring a bit of a picnic. Since most concert venues don’t allow you to bring in food (other than whatever they may be selling on site), I packed things we could try smuggling in and that we wouldn’t feel to bad parting with, if confiscated at the door.

I was surprised at how much was going on at City Hall. I hadn’t been to the jazz festival in years and boy has it grown. Besides the main tent there was a huge sound stage with free performances, and lots of kiosks and booths selling everything from CDs and souvenirs, to arts and crafts. There was a decent variety of foods available too. (Oh well, who’d have guessed.) One of the most surprising things was that people were walking around the plaza drinking beer – usually that’s only allowed in cordoned-off, “beer garden” areas. Though the plaza was crowded with people enjoying a warm summer evening, the atmosphere was very relaxed.

While we were waiting in line to get in, festival volunteers came around to tear our tickets and stamp our hands so that we could come and go from the tent. I’ve never been to an event where the ticket-takers come to you in line! This system worked great because when they let us in, the line moved exceptionally quickly since our hands were already stamped. Another noteworthy difference between this and other ticketed events I’ve been to the past few years is that no one was checking purses, knapsacks, etc. Clearly, you could bring in whatever you wanted, so our picnic was safe.

The seats were just plastic bistro chairs, but the rows were nicely spaced and the aisles were wide, so navigating through the tent was easy. Bars were set up at the far ends of the tent and once we found seats, I went to get us something to drink. The selection was decent and the prices were reasonable -- none of the extortionist prices you pay at movies and ball parks. I got us some beverages and headed back to our seats only to notice that I could have saved myself a trip because waitresses were coming around taking orders! How civilized …

During the concert folks sat and enjoyed the music, admiring the skill of the musicians as they took turns riffing off each other. The tent sat 1000, so it wasn’t small, but it felt quite intimate. There were no big screens or fancy light shows to distract you. Looking around it seemed that most everyone was watching the hands of the guitar players, admiring their technique and the speed their fingers moved.

Every now and then a hand would rise above the crowd, periscope-like, as someone took a picture with their cell phone, but they were quick and unobtrusive. A few were braver, scurrying up the aisle to take a quick photo. Unlike at rock concerts where such action might trigger a quick response from a bouncer or security guard -- or at the opera where you aren’t even allowed to take a photo of the inside of the theatre during intermission -- here, no one minded.

Though we were in a tent, the sound was as good as at any stadium or outdoor amphitheatre. And for $30 we sure got a lot of music -- there were three groups that evening and each played for a solid hour and at the end a few of them jammed together for a couple songs.

On the way home I was thinking about how long it’s been since I had such a nice time at an event like this. It’s been a LONG time. I tried to figure out what it was that made it so relaxing and enjoyable. (It wasn’t as simple as having enjoyed the music -- I did, but not all of it. In fact, the last group wasn’t my cup of tea at all, but even that didn’t put a damper on my enjoyment of the evening.)

I think what made the jazz festival so enjoyable was that, for a change, security and commercial concerns didn’t trump the audience’s right to enjoy the evening. I’m sure there was security -- after all, we were at City Hall -- but we didn’t have to suffer through airport-like scrutiny as you usually do at big events. And, though there were a wide variety of corporate sponsors, the festival didn’t have an exclusive food vendor, which meant there was a variety of foods to choose from, not to mention the freedom to bring your own. And there seemed to be a happy medium struck regarding liquor -- it was readily available but not pushed on you (like it is in bars that feature live bands) and if you did imbibe, you weren’t restricted to certain areas.

I don’t know if it was intentional or not, but I think by simply letting folks be, festival organizers put us all in an the easy-going, free-flowing jazz mode. How cool is that?

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... taken with a grain of salt

By Ingrid Sapona

One of my sisters is particularly rule bound. If someone tells her she can’t do X, she doesn’t do it. I, on the other hand, am not particularly rule bound. Indeed, this difference has become a running joke between us: behaviour I rationalize as fulfilling the spirit of particular rules she’s more likely to see as simply breaking the rules. That said, if I agree to do something, or to join some organization, my inclination to follow the rules fairly strictly is much stronger.

Recently a business contact invited me to her business networking group. The group meets weekly over lunch. Though I’m not fond of support-type groups, her casual “come on, everyone eats lunch, so why not join us one week?” seemed reasonable, so I agreed to go.

Shortly after I arrived, I realized the group was a chapter of an organization I had been completely turned off by a few years ago. Since I couldn’t very well leave, I decided to make the best of it. The meeting had some of the flavour of the previous session I had attended (for example, we all had to stand up and describe our business in 60 seconds or less), but the demographics of the people and their businesses was much more aligned with me and my business than that other group was.

As the lunch unfolded, I was impressed with how results-oriented the group and the individuals were. The stated purposes of the group are to provide business referrals to other members (at each meeting, each member is expected to stand up and tell of the referrals they made or received that week) and to provide moral support for each other. All the members seemed self-motivated, yet they also seemed to relish the support and encouragement of the others. As importantly, they seemed collegial, open, and non-competitive with each other.

After the meeting I was given an application, but there was no pressure put on me, and no sales job. All the way home my head was spinning, thinking of the pros and cons of joining. I found the idea daunting because I’ve never been big on setting specific monetary or growth targets for my business. I also wondered whether, and to what extent, I’d be able to make referrals to the others. At the same time, I felt that if I’m open to it, I could probably learn a thing or two from them.

A couple things on the application gave me particular pause. I was especially concerned by questions about what I’d be able to contribute to the group, and whether I could commit to attending every week and to finding a substitute to attend in my absence. As well, the fee for joining is rather high. Clearly, if I were to join, I’d have to rationalize it as an investment in my business.

I also went on-line to learn more about the organization. As I thought, members are expected to adopt various business and marketing strategies it has developed. The methods are, no doubt, tried and true, but, historically, I’ve always shied away from such approaches. That said, I couldn’t help but think that maybe it’s time I try a more formalized approach to building my business. I also had to be honest with myself and consider whether I’m truly willing to commit the time and energy it will take to learn and apply their methodologies. (After all, I do believe there’s a direct relationship between the energy you put into things and what you get out of them.)

A few days later I spoke with the woman who had invited me. I told her of my concerns about the commitment to make referrals and about finding people to sub for me. During our conversation she casually mentioned she wasn’t able to go to the next meeting. On hearing this, I blurted out that I’d be happy to go in her place.

She accepted my offer and thanked me. I was surprised that she hadn’t already found someone else, and that made me wonder about how seriously they take the commitment to finding a sub. At the next meeting I paid attention to whether others had sent subs. Though it was noted that one member not attending hadn’t sent a sub, I was a bit relieved when no further comment was made regarding the apparent breach of that rule.

My previous impressions were reinforced at that second meeting, and after a bit more thought, I decided to apply. I figure there’s a 50/50 chance they’ll accept me into the group. When I submitted my application I was anxious, but excited. I was nervous about the commitments I was agreeing to regarding the group, and about the commitment I was making to myself regarding adopting the organization’s approach.

The application made it clear they’d check my references (trying to determine, I guess, whether my business is as established as I claim) and it also said the membership committee would notify prospective members of their acceptance or non-acceptance before the group’s next meeting. Fair enough, I thought.

Well, it’s been almost four weeks since I applied, and I’ve not heard anything. Out of curiosity, last week I phoned my references to see whether they’ve been contacted, and they haven’t been. Hmmm… so much for their rules, procedures, and commitments!

This little lapse in procedure has left me feeling conflicted. Part of me thinks I should withdraw my application because clearly they don’t do as they say. For now, however, I’ve decided to hold steady. As I see it, if they reject me, that’s life. If they take me, I’ll do my best to live up to what I’ve committed to, but I won’t worry too much if I fall a bit short on some of the rules some of the time. After all, as I’ve often said to my sister, some rules are meant to be taken with a grain of salt…

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... enough already!

By Ingrid Sapona

I went to the National Ballet of Canada’s production of Cinderella the other night and when a friend asked me the how it was, I told him it was good, but that there was a little too much dancing. He laughed and asked what time I got home. I explained that it wasn’t that I got home late -- it’s just that some dances went on a bit too long.

For example, at one point a dozen ballerinas came out (on their toes, of course) and they were sort of flitting about, waving little fans. In fairly short order I figured out that they were fairies and they were casting a magic spell that would transform the mice into coachmen to take Cinderella to the ball. In terms of staging, I thought the ballerinas with their fans were an inspired way of portraying this action. After about three minutes of their flitting about, however, I was ready for the story to advance. But the fairies kept flitting and flitting. Granted, maybe it took others in the audience a bit longer to get the idea, but at one point I just felt like shouting, “enough already!”

Actually, dances or arias that go on too long are one thing (after all, I realize the directors and choreographers want to give the performers a chance to show off their talents), but curtain calls are a whole other matter. It’s not that I object to showing appreciation for the performance and performers -- I truly am in awe of their talents (that’s why I paid as much as I did to get in) and I certainly believe in showing my admiration by offering a rousing round of applause, or even a standing ovation when especially moved by a performance.

But, I’ve always thought that curtain calls should be reserved for those times when the audience just can’t get enough of the cast or particular performers. More-and-more it seems, however, that even when the applause has subsided and people are starting to put on their coats, up comes the curtain again, obliging the audience to continue (or, in some cases resume) the applause. Why is it that the person in charge of the houselights never seems to have the same sense of “enough already” that the audience has?

But it’s not just the ballet and opera that I find often go on too long. Chase scenes in movies are another common culprit. They often go well past the point of entertaining and into the realm of “I can only suspend my disbelief so long people!!” I mean really, the idea of 007 hanging off a chopper with one arm for five minutes is a bit much -- 30 seconds maybe, but more than that presses my “enough already” button big time. And I’m sure you’ve sat through comedy routines that go on to the point that they’re no longer funny.

It happens in non-entertainment contexts too. I was in a seminar the other day when someone from the audience asked a question and they kept reiterating the point they were making. I just kept wishing that the speaker would politely interrupt and answer. From the squirming and sighing of others around me, I know I wasn’t the only one who thought, “enough already … get on with it!” And the network news does it all the time -- they glom onto a story and repeat it and repeat it and repeat it. But at least with t.v., when the “enough already” point comes, you can change the channel or turn it off.

In all these situations where I have the urge to yell out “enough already”, I realize the common denominator is me. So, I’ve spent a fair bit of time thinking about whether it’s just me. I’ve considered, for example, whether I’m just more impatient than most directors, producers, stage managers, speakers, etc.? I don’t think I am. After all, in this Google age all of us have been conditioned to measure time in nanoseconds, not just me. And yet, when some people have other peoples’ attention they seem to lose all sense of time (and timing).

Could the all-too-frequent triggering of my “enough already” sense be the result of a particularly short attention span? Or maybe I bore particularly easily. I don’t think I suffer from either of these conditions. Indeed, I think my friends and family would attest to the fact that I have more staying power than most. (It’s a product of the never-give-up gene that I seem to have been born with.)

I also considered whether my “enough already” reaction might be some sort of misdirected anger stemming from an underlying feeling that I’ve got better things to do, or out of unspoken resentment that I’m attending something under duress. I can honestly say that neither of these seem to apply because I’ve been blessed with a charmed life and there are few (if any) places I go, or things I see or do, other than by choice.

After due consideration, I’ve concluded that the problem is that there are people who just don’t have a sense of when enough’s enough and those people never seem to ask the rest of us for our opinion on the matter.

Anyway, I’m sure you get my point so I’ll end this before anyone starts muttering, “enough already!”

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... questioned

By Ingrid Sapona

One day last week I went down to the boat to rig it. The first few years I had the boat, every fall I carefully labeled every item as I took it off, noting exactly where and how it was connected. Those first few springs, with the help and patience of some girlfriends, I managed to re-rig it. Eventually I realized I can do most of the rigging myself, but there are a few things -- like attaching the boom -- that do require a second set of hands. Fortunately, there’s usually someone nearby when I need a quick hand.

The boat came with a furling jib. I love having it, but the mechanics behind it are still somewhat of a mystery to me. That said, over the years I’ve had to troubleshoot some problems, so I’ve learned a thing or two about it. One of the main things I learned is that my furler isn’t a particularly common brand (at least at my club) and there are some very distinct differences between mine and some of the more popular makes and models. In other words, I’ve learned the hard way that what works on other furlers doesn’t necessarily work on mine.

Anyway, the other day I was contentedly puttering away, attaching the jib. Some of the steps are a bit finicky, but everything was going well. As I was raising the sail, a friend stopped and asked if I needed a hand. I had everything under control, but it is a bit easier with two -- one person to hold the line (him) and one person to cleat it off (me). So I said sure and handed him the line.

As I bent down to cleat it, he asked why I was doing it there. I told him that that’s where the line goes. He said, “Why don’t you cleat it off at the mast? That way, if you want to adjust it later, it’s easier to reach it.” I told him that though it was somewhat inconvenient, this was where it had to be cleated. He then asked, “Why?” I said I didn’t know why exactly, but I assured him it was cleated there for a reason.

To my less-than-informative response he then said, “I’m sure you could cleat it off at the mast -- that’s where I cleat mine”. A few minutes later I remembered why I can’t cleat it at the mast -- it has to do with one of the significant design differences between my furler and most other brands (including his). So, as I started on the next step (attaching the jib sheets -- the lines that control the jib while under sail), I explained the reason I cleat it where I do.

Attaching my jib sheets happens to be one of the particularly finicky steps. The sheets are quite thick and every spring it’s a struggle to get the two of them through the clew (a metal ring at one of the bottom corners of the sail). I know they both fit through, it’s just a matter of muscle and patience.

When he saw me struggle with the sheets, he asked why I use such thick lines. My answer, however unsophisticated, was because they are the jib sheets the sail came with. I assured him the sheets fit and I continued working. As I struggled with them, I figured the next question would be, “Why is that clew so small?” Fortunately, he spared me that question!

Next, I wanted to test to see whether the jib furled and unfurled. At this point I ran into a problem -- one that I’ve encountered before. After cursing it, I proceeded to start fixing it. This immediately provoked further questions and suggestions. I didn’t have answers to all the questions, but I rejected all of his suggestions, explaining that all I know is that my method -- though painstaking -- worked, so that was how I intended to proceed. At this point, sensing my exasperation with his “help”, he took leave.

Left alone, I eventually managed to finish the job. All the way home, I replayed the conversation in my head, trying to figure out why I was so annoyed at the questions. If there’s anyone who should be open to questions, it’s me. I’ve always lived by the rule that there’s no such thing as a stupid question and that, as my father used to say, “questions are free”. And yet, if he’d have asked me one more, I think I’d have completely lost it.

I know part of my reaction was because I somehow took the exchange personally. But why? Sure, some of the questions were a pretext for offering unsolicited advice. But why couldn’t I just take the advice or leave it? After all, I know this guy pretty well and I think he meant well.

I realized that every time he asked something that I didn’t have a specific, reasoned answer for, I felt stupid. And, even though I knew what I was doing, in the face of question after question that I didn’t have a ready answer for, I felt inadequate, which was absurd. Sadly, this wasn’t the first time I’ve had this type of exchange and have experienced these feelings, which is why it was important for me reflect on it. Eventually it dawned on me that though I may not have lacked skill or knowledge, what I did lack was self-confidence.

In reflecting further on this type of interchange, I’m happy to report that I’ve come up with the ultimate response -- one that’s so straightforward and definitive, it’s bound to end the discussion right then and there. (Frankly, I’m embarrassed that I haven’t come up with this before -- but maybe it has something to do with the fact that I don’t have children.) Anyway, I think you’ll agree -- in some situations, the best response is the tried-and-true, “Because I said so.” Go ahead, give it a try -- I’ll bet it works!

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... back in the saddle

By Ingrid Sapona

The subdivision I grew up in was called – believe it or not – Green Acres. (It was built long before the hit TV show of that name.) One of my favourite recollections of childhood was riding my bike all over Green Acres. My bike was a hand-me-down: a pink, girl’s Schwinn. It had one speed (unless you peddled really hard!) and to brake you simply peddled backwards.

I’ll never forget the first time I rode to my friend Donna’s house. She lived on a street that was not on my walk-to-school route, so finding it was a triumph of my navigation skills and stamina. After that success, I felt sure I could find my way anywhere in the world. (I know that sounds ridiculous, but at 11, Green Acres WAS the world!) Oh how I loved my bike and what it represented: the ability to explore.

Eventually I graduated to four wheels and I didn’t ride again until I was living in Amsterdam in the mid-80s. Shortly after I arrived there, I realized I’d be missing out on the Dutch experience if I didn’t have a bike. So, when a heard a co-worker was selling one for $50, I snapped it up.

When I took delivery of it, two things surprised me: it was red and it had more than one speed. Neither of these may strike you as noteworthy, but all the other bikes in Amsterdam (at least at that time) were black one-speeds. Nevertheless, my red 10-speed made me feel oh so Dutch.

I thought I’d have a hard time adjusting to having more than one speed. I soon realized, however, that given Holland’s geography, there was no need to ever change gears. So, the only thing I had to get used to was using handbrakes instead of peddling backwards. As it happens, I didn’t have time to get too used the brakes because someone stole it about a month after I got it.

In the short time I had it, however, I did manage to take one memorable trip. I decided to cycle to Delft and Gouda and back. A one-day trip may not sound that adventurous, but given that I didn’t have a map, it seemed it. But, I had heard you could get almost anywhere by bike by simply following the signs, so I thought I'd give it a try. So, one morning I simply set out. Lucky for me, the routes were very well marked.

Of course, given of my lack of map, I didn’t realize how far Delft and Gouda were. It turns out doing both in one day was – let’s just say – “ambitious”, especially for someone who hadn’t ridden much since junior high. (Did I mention the bike’s seat wasn’t particularly cushioned?)

After Holland, I didn’t get back on a bike until the early 90s, when I went mountain biking – or mountain braking, as I prefer to call it. A bunch of us attending a conference in Whistler, B.C. rented bikes and took them two chair lifts up the mountain. (For those not up on Canadian geography, Whistler will be the site of the 2010 Olympic down-hill events.)

Though the afternoon didn’t end up being as fun as I hoped, I did come away with an important insight: I need to be in control (and going down a mountain on two wheels is not easy to do in a controlled manner). I also learned that riding the handbrakes down a steep hill is really hard on your forearms.

Of course, my mountain braking adventure wouldn’t have been complete without a little insult to go along with my aching forearms. At some point, a mountain ranger came up to me and asked if everything was ok. I assured him it was – I just wanted to take it slow. Turns out, that was going to be a problem because they wanted to close the hill for the day. I had two choices: either speed it up or take the next lift back down. All I can say is the view from a chair lift is even more breathtaking on the way down!

Five or six years ago I won a bike. I was tickled with the thought of having one, but the idea of riding it in a city of 2.5 million people (and who know how many cars) terrified me. So, it went straight into storage – I never even tried riding it. But, when I moved, I made sure the bike came with.

My condo is along the lake with direct access to the City’s extensive system of bike paths. Many friends who visited over the winter commented on how great it’ll be to ride around here. Sure, I thought – if I have the nerve.

Well, the weather finally warmed up this week so the time had come to try the bike. Only thing was, the tires were flat. So, a friend came over and helped me pump them up; then she dared me to get on. I was a bit nervous and a bit wobbly at first but the old adage proved true – you never forget how to ride.

The next day I decided to go for more of a test drive. I cycled to my sail club, which is accessible via one of the bike paths. I couldn’t believe how easy it was and how much I enjoyed it! Though I did have work to get back to, since the club’s not very far, on my way home I varied my route to stay out a bit longer, much as I used to do when riding around Green Acres as a kid.

That night I was still quite high from my ride to the club and I started getting excited about being back in the saddle again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ready to forgo my four-wheels for two. Hell, I’m not even sure I’ll ever be ready to get out on real roads on my bike. But I have to say, I’m excited by the fact that there are so many new paths to explore and by the fact that you’re never too old for new adventures.

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... negotiable

By Ingrid Sapona

The other day I was in Canadian Tire, a big box chain that’s a combination Wal-Mart, Kmart and Sears hardware and automotive. I’m not sure why, but it seems many Canadians have a soft spot for this store. I suspect it has something to do with the fact that many of them probably got their first pair of hockey skates there, or their first bike, or the bulk of their camping gear. (Canadians love camping gear.)

Anyway, though there are things about Canadian Tire that I really don’t like (for example, the fact that you have to go through a turnstile to get into the store -- I find that completely dehumanizing), I often end up there because there are just certain things you can be sure you’ll find there. The other day I was looking for an indoor/outdoor thermometer.

I was surprised at how many different kinds there were. After a quick comparison, I realized a digital wireless one would best suit my purpose. Beyond that, I didn’t really know what was different about each model, other than the prices, which ranged from $18.99 to $32.99. The one that appealed to me most was $24.99, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend that much.

Then I noticed a sign on the display that said certain models were on sale for 25% off. I couldn’t tell if the $24.99 one was on sale. Fortunately, a sales associate walked by. I asked whether the one I was holding (the $24.99 model) was 25% off. I handed it to her and followed her as she checked it on a nearby computer. After keying in the number she said, “No, it’s not,” then she added, “but it was on sale two weeks ago for $9.94.” Just my luck -- I missed the sale.

Then, unprompted, she added, “So tell the cashier and she’ll give it to you for $9.94.” I had never heard of such a thing and I was highly skeptical, so I asked her to explain exactly what I should say to the cashier. She reiterated that I should say it was on sale two weeks ago for $9.94.

I then went to the furthest cashier, hoping no one would get in line behind me so my request for the two-week-old sale price wouldn’t be overheard. The cashier scanned it and it came up at $24.99. I then mentioned that another clerk said I should tell the cashier that it was on sale awhile ago at $9.94. Then, without a word, the cashier walked over to the service counter and looked it up on a computer there. She came back and voided the $24.99 and rang in $9.94 – simple as that.

Of course, I was delighted to get the thermometer for $10, but the incident left me feeling oddly unsettled. I don’t know if it was because I couldn’t help wonder if there were other times at Canadian Tire that I might have benefited from the application of this policy, if I’d only thought to ask. (The policy is not widely publicized, mind you -- I had certainly never heard of it, nor have any of the friends I’ve told this story to.)

In thinking about it since then, I’ve come to the conclusion my uneasiness came from the fact that I’ve never liked negotiating prices for things. I’ve been to countries where everyone will tell you you’re “never supposed to pay the asking price” -- and I hate that. I always feel like either I’m taking advantage of them, or that I’m being taken advantage of -- hardly a win/win, if you ask me.

I realize that being given a previously-determined “sale” price by a large retailer isn’t exactly haggling, but I know I got that price only because I (innocently) asked if that model was on sale and because I mentioned the previous sale price to the cashier. I’ll bet that if someone went to buy that same thermometer later that day, odds are they wouldn’t have gotten it for $9.94. So how different is that from two unsuspecting buyers paying vastly different prices for the same item at some third world bazaar?

I know many people love bargaining for things, but I don’t. I find it stressful, not to mention time consuming. To enjoy it, I think you have to know what you want and what you’re willing to pay for an item, and you have to be willing to walk away. Invariably, I waiver on at least two of those criteria. (The thermometer is a classic example: when I arrived at the store, all I knew was that I wanted a thermometer. Had the model I was considering not been one on sale, I probably would have just gone with the $18.99 model, mainly because I didn’t want to spend more than $20 for one.)

I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but I think life’s complicated enough without always wondering if you could have gotten a better price on everything. I’m not opposed to things going on sale – I just want to know what the price is upfront. Then I’ll decide if I want it and, if I can afford it, I’ll take it!

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... detail oriented

By Ingrid Sapona

Personality tests sometimes categorize people as detail oriented or big picture types. I don’t really agree with that distinction because I personally feel I pay attention to both. The way I see it, the big picture is important, but it doesn’t happen unless you attend to the details. I know, you’re probably saying, “that outlook makes you detail oriented, Ingrid”. Well, fine -- there are worse things to be called -- and besides, I don’t mind admitting I’ve often found details quite fascinating.

My earliest recollections of paying particular attention to details go back to my teenage years. I once decided to make a needlework pillow based on a design on a Persian carpet I liked. At the needlework shop (a very good one) I found all the colours I needed, except black. When I asked the owner for black wool, she said they didn’t carry black. Then she asked what I wanted it for. I explained I needed it to outline parts of my design.

She told me I should use dark brown wool instead. She could tell I wasn’t too keen on the idea, so she went on to explain the reason: black outlining creates a visual distraction that pulls your attention to it. Instead, by using dark brown (almost black), the outline effect is achieved, but the rest of the design doesn’t visually recede.

I went home that day with dark brown wool and with a new attention to a minor, but important artistic detail. Since then, every time I see an old tapestry or needlework in a museum or on display somewhere, I look to see whether anything’s outlined in black. I’ve yet to see any black, which could be coincidence, but I doubt it.

Shortly after that, I was working on a sewing project when I learned about details sometimes referred to as “tricks of the trade” -- things the average user (or doer) probably doesn’t know, but that make things easier, or more professional looking. I was an avid sewer and, over time, I tackled more and more complicated projects. My goal was always the same: to make garments that others couldn’t tell were homemade.

One of my most ambitious sewing projects was a single-breasted suit. There were many steps, but none I’d not faced before, until it came time for the lapel. The pattern’s instructions for the lapel seemed unusual. It said to blind baste the interfacing to the under-side of the lapel using a herring-bone pattern. In other words, not just any blind basting would do. I had never run across this unusually specific instruction before.

So, I consulted my mother, who was a good sewer (though by then I had probably tried more complicated things than she ever did). Mom’s mother was a professional seamstress, so I thought perhaps Mom could explain the technique. When I showed her the instructions, she smiled and said she had never made a suit so she had never tried such herringbone basting, but she wistfully remembered seeing her mother doing that. Well, I tried it and -- sure enough -- that little trick of the tailoring trade helps ensure lapels lay properly.

So, as I write this, Torontonians are getting ready to mark Earth Hour (8 to 9 p.m. March 29, 2008). Toronto is one of 120 municipalities in Canada -- and hundreds more in 26 countries -- to participate in this event aimed at raising awareness of climate change. The Toronto Star -- our largest newspaper -- was one of the original local sponsors and has been writing about it daily for almost three months.

When I read the first news story about it back in January, my initial thought was that it was a clever idea but that it would have little impact. I mean, really, people turning out their lights and turning off their appliances for one hour on a Saturday night, what would that do? Frankly, it didn’t even seem like much of a sacrifice for most. If we really want a sense for how energy dependent we are and how everyone would cope with no power, why not schedule Earth Hour at 3 p.m. on a hot summer Wednesday -- when people are at work or school. Anyway, that was my initial, somewhat jaded, take on it.

As I said, the Star wrote about it day in, day out. Though I scanned the headlines of the stories, it all seemed a bit overblown to me. Until the other day, that is, when I read an Earth Hour business news story that really helped me “get” what Earth Hour is about. The story told how last year UPS saved more than 11 million litres of gas by -- get this -- “implementing routes to eliminate left-hand turns”. It turns out that simply by avoiding left-hand turns, drivers avoided excess idling waiting to turn and shaved 51.5 million kilometres off their North American delivery routes annually. What a wonderful example of a little (not to mention, odd) detail making a huge difference!

After reading that, I realized that Earth Hour will have a lasting impact if everyone who participated comes away with the realization that even seemingly minor changes can have a huge impact on the environment. In other words, the hour of darkness might end up convincing more people that if they just pay attention to a few small details, they really can change the big picture.

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... like Rip Van Winkle

By Ingrid Sapona

The story of Rip Van Winkle flashed into my head the other day. You remember him -- he’s the guy who fell asleep and woke up twenty years later and was confused by how much society had changed. (I don’t remember much else about it -- and it if weren’t for Google and Wikipedia -- I couldn’t even have told you it was a story by Washington Irving.)

Good old Rip came to mind as I was searching for some explanation for why it seems to me that the rules of common courtesy that I learned growing up have changed -- drastically. Could it be that I’ve been asleep for a long time and have woken up in a very different world, like Rip? Though the place looks familiar, things have changed. People seem more focused on themselves than I remember and so it seems they don’t even know when they’re being rude -- or maybe they just don’t care.

I’m not talking about things like road rage or other types of aggressive behaviour -- I’ve certainly been awake enough to notice that’s escalated over the past 20 years. I’m talking about simple, everyday interactions you might have with strangers -- situations that require little more than acknowledgment of the someone else’s existence, but that seem to be viewed as a waste of one’s time, or even as an opportunity to assert one’s own importance at someone else’s expense. I think a few examples will help you understand what I’m talking about.

The past few months I’ve been contacting potential clients. I always start with an e-mail to briefly introduce myself and I explain why I’m contacting them. I ask them to phone me when they have a few minutes, but I also say I’ll follow up with a call to them. My experience is that no one phones in response to such e-mails. (I know -- everyone gets too many e-mails as it is… Fair enough.)

So, about a week after e-mailing, I dutifully call. Nine times out of 10 I get voice mail. (Could it be that everyone in the western world has call display? I suspect that’s the case -- heaven knows no one wants to chance having to talk to someone they don’t know.) Though I prefer not to leave a message, after about the third attempt to speak with someone, I relent and leave a voice mail.

Invariably, the first voice mail message goes unanswered. It took me a long time to accept this as standard behaviour, but now I do, in part because a dear friend once explained that at work she never responds to an initial phone call because, “if it’s important enough, they’ll call back”. With this in mind -- and mindful of my mother’s admonition about not being a pest -- I wait a week and phone again.

This business of me waiting and then calling again -- or, more accurately, the business of me waiting and leaving messages -- often goes on for quite some time. Though every unreturned call frustrates me, I soldier on, knowing that if I don’t at least make the effort, I’ll never get any business. What I find most amazing about this game is the fact that so many people have no qualms about just ignoring me. Granted, in contacting them I’m putting them on the spot, but if they’re not interested, a polite “thanks, but no thanks”, will do. I know saying no is hard for some people -- but by ignoring someone you’re not just showing that you don’t have the wherewithal to say no, you’re also demeaning them -- saying they’re not even important enough to merit you taking time to respond.

Being ignored isn’t the only form of rudeness I’ve encountered in trying to drum up business. I had one woman tell me she’s very busy and that there was “no point” in talking to me. Clearly what she meant is there’s nothing in it for her so she saw no reason to give me the time of day. Then there have been people who say they’ll find time to speak with me but that our conversation must be scheduled, so we e-mail back and forth trying to set something up. Then, when the appointed time comes, I phone and they’re not in. (When that happens I console myself with the thought that they’re not the type I’d want as a client anyway…)

But it’s not just in business that I’ve noticed more-and-more people going about as though other people don’t exist, or as though they don’t matter. When I use the cardio equipment in the gym I like to read. If someone’s in there when I get there and they’re watching t.v., so be it. If I get there and no one else is in the room, I leave the t.v. off and read in peace. I can’t tell you how often it’s happened that I’ve been alone and reading and someone comes in and flips on the t.v. without so much as asking if I mind if they turn it on, much less if I have a preference as to what channel they tune in. What’s with that? On those rare occasions when someone does ask if they can turn it on, I always say sure, partly just to reward them for being courteousness enough to ask!

I know these examples may seem trivial, but I think they’re symptomatic of increased disregard we have for one another. Extending common courtesy is acknowledgment of the fact that we’re all human beings and is a way of connecting with others. It seems to me that one of the hallmarks of a civil society is people being courteous to, and respectful of, others. I know everyone’s under all sorts of pressure and life is hectic. But tell me, am I the only one who believes that our overall quality of life would improve if folks just showed some common courtesies to others?

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... more than just another day

By Ingrid Sapona

I try not to write about particular days -- like Ground Hog Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Dyngus Day (I grew up in Buffalo -- it’s a big day there, believe me), etc. -- because On being… is meant to reflect on thoughts, feeling, or behaviour, and such days simply don’t give me much pause. (Mother’s and Father’s Day are exceptions, for obvious reasons.)

But, there’s something about Leap Year Day that I’ve always been fascinated by so (to paraphrase an expression from Seinfeld) it seems column-worthy. I think one of the reasons it interests me so is because it’s one of the few days that I can use to track how my perceptions have changed over the years.

My earliest recollection of Leap Year Day goes back to elementary school. I was born in a Leap Year (basically a year that’s perfectly divisible by four, with some exceptions for turns of the century). At some point in grade school I found out one of my classmates was born on February 29th, which meant she only had a birthday every four years! I couldn’t believe it. It seemed so unfair. Fortunately, my elementary school teachers made up for the injustice by letting her (and the rest of us, of course) celebrate it every year on another day (probably the 28th, but I don’t remember) with cupcakes and the works.

After that, other than learning that when asked how many days there are in a year, to earn full credit you had to respond: “365 or 366, depending on whether it’s a Leap Year”, I didn’t really think much more about Leap Year until about seventh grade.

You see, it was in junior high that I first heard about Sadie Hawkins, which came up when the school had a Sadie Hawkins dance. When someone explained to me that such a dance is where girls could invite boys, my reaction was, “what’s the big deal? Of course girls can!” It wasn’t until many years later that I got a sense of how fraught with rejection the whole idea of asking someone out is.

At some point Leap Year Day seemed to take on the name “Sadie Hawkins Day”. When I first heard this, I thought it meant it was a day where women (for by this time I was no longer a girl) asked men out. Eventually I heard that, in fact, Sadie Hawkins Day isn’t just about asking a guy out – it’s supposed to be the day it’s ok for women to propose marriage.

I don’t mind admitting, I was quite shocked by this revelation. (Seems to me that proposing marriage is a far cry from asking someone out and the though of doing so takes fear of rejection to a whole new level!) Ever curious, I remember asking my oldest sister if she knew about Sadie Hawkins Day and she pointed me to the comic strip Li’l Abner. (That comic strip predates both of us, but she’s always been very well read.) Further research revealed that, in fact, Sadie Hawkins Day is really in November. Al Capp, creator of Li’l Abner, didn’t nail down a specific date because he didn’t want to limit his creative freedom, but Sadie Hawkins Day showed up in the strip at some point every November for about 40 years.

But more significantly -- and more disturbingly -- I learned of the “dramatic genesis” that gave rise to Sadie Hawkins Day: apparently Sadie was a thirty-something single woman (reputedly “the homeliest gal” in all the hills) and her father was worried she’d remain a spinster. So, to avoid this fate, he organized a race involving Sadie and all the bachelors of the town, with the prize of his daughter’s hand in matrimony going to the bachelor she caught. Apparently the other unwed women of Dogpatch liked the idea, so Sadie Hawkins Day became an annual event -- at least in Dogpatch.

The connection between women proposing marriage and Leap Years (though not necessarily on Leap Year Day) may go back centuries to Ireland or Scotland, but the evidence is murky. There’s clear evidence, however, that the tradition goes at back at least as far as 1908, as I’ve seen photos of greeting cards encouraging women to take advantage of Leap Year to catch a fellow. Hard for me to believe -- just 100 years later -- that the stigma of being single might propel women to look for an excuse to pop the question. (Courage, yes; an excuse, no.)

I think I like Leap Year Day because it reminds me (to paraphrase and old ad) -- that I’ve come a long way, baby: from my youthful concerns about a classmate being shortchanged in the birthday party department, to feeling that there have to be better reasons to propose to someone than simply being of a certain age and (still) unmarried.

So, I’m not sure how I’ll celebrate today -- but I sure will. Maybe I’ll whip up a batch of cupcakes in honour those born on the day. Maybe I’ll crank up the stereo and pretend I’m in junior high and dance myself silly. Maybe I’ll take a chance and risk rejection and ask a guy out. Maybe I’ll just celebrate that it’s 2008 and I don’t have to worry about being my age and still being single. Hell, maybe I’ll do all of the above!

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... pure, naturally filtered

By Ingrid Sapona

I often have the t.v. on, but I don’t often sit and watch it. Given my “viewing” habits, I don’t tend to see many commercials. But one did catch my eye recently. It’s for yogurt, thought I honestly couldn’t tell you which brand. The first thing about the commercial that I noticed was a clever graphic used in it, but that wasn’t the only thing about it that got me thinking.

The commercial starts with a woman in a bright yellow workout outfit eating yogurt. She has a nice figure (as you’d imagine) and her midriff is tastefully bare. (As opposed to distastefully bare, à la female singers in most music videos.) Then we see anther woman (a sister or roommate, I guess) staring at the first woman’s abs. The second woman asks the first what she’s eating. Then we see the first woman once again, but this time we see what the second woman apparently was looking at: the first woman’s midriff appears to be the center of an atom around which little electrons are orbiting.

The graphic is eye-catching and clearly we’re meant to think that what she’s eating has some kind of impact on her waist, helping to keep it trim and attractive. The woman names the brand and goes on to explain that it contains prebiotics and probiotics. The other woman clearly is impressed by the fact it contains these things (ingredients, I guess) and we’re left with the impression that we’d definitely benefit if we were eating that.

Though the little orbiting electrons caught my attention first, the claim that the yogurt contains BOTH prebiotics AND probiotics also made me take notice. Mind you, my reason for taking note is probably not quite what the yogurt manufacturer intended. My thoughts on hearing about inclusion of these ingredients was (in this order), “Am I supposed to know what these things are?”, and “Who cares?”

Since becoming aware of that particular commercial, I’ve noticed other foods advertised as including some sort of “biotic” (whether it’s “pre-“, “pro”, “post” or “peri” -- wait a second, maybe those last two come up in relation to menopause, not food – I’m not sure…). Without fail, every time such terms come up I feel stupid because I think maybe I should know what they are -- and yet, I can’t be bothered to find out because they just seem like, well, gimmicks.

Anyway, I didn’t really give the commercial (or others like it) any serious thought until yesterday when I heard a news story about Health Canada issuing a statement saying the health claims touted by companies whose products include certain types of ingredients (and probiotics were specifically mentioned) were not proven. Whoa, I thought, if the government feels the need to comment, I guess not everyone is quite as dismissive as I am about such claims.

Health Canada’s announcement made me think of another news story from late last year about a Canadian yoga wear maker that apparently has a line of clothing that’s made of “eco-friendly fabrics”. What’s that? You’ve never heard of such material? Join the club!

But the “news” surrounding this company’s line of clothes wasn’t just about its use of eco-friendly fabrics. The news story had to do with the fact that the manufacturer was making claims about health benefits attributable to the fabric. Apparently, the company claimed the seaweed fibre in the fabric helps reduce stress and provides anti-inflammatory, antibacterial, hydrating and detoxifying benefits.

Canada’s Competition Bureau ended up investigating these claims and determined they had not been proven and asked the company to stop advertising the alleged benefits. (The story of how these claims came to the government’s attention is a soap opera in itself and involved an investigation by the Wall Street Journal that was prompted by an investor who stood to make lots of money if the company’s share prices fell. But that’s another story…)

I don’t know if it’s because I’m just not particularly susceptible to advertising, or if it’s because I was born a skeptic, but I pretty much summarily disregard health benefit claims made in ads. If anything, such claims tend to turn me off -- either because they make me feel stupid or because I just think it’s all a bunch of hooey.

Call me stuck in the 20^th century, but I still make most of my purchasing decisions based on pretty every-day things. That means I choose a yogurt because I like how it tastes, and I choose workout clothes based on whether they’re comfortable and how I think I’ll look in them when sweaty.

I realize this probably makes me sound like a rather unsophisticated consumer. Hmmm… how can I make that sound better? What words might a clever advertiser use to describe me and folks like me? Oh, I know, how about this: We’re not simple or non-discriminating -- far from it -- we’re part of that (apparently) small coterie of buyers with a fine tuned, natural hype filter.

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... an anomaly?

By Ingrid Sapona

Sometimes I wonder whether tidbits – little things you hear or read – “stick” with others the way they often do with me. I’m not talking about advice people have given me, I’m talking about ideas that have come up in discussions I’ve been involved in that have percolated within me and every now and then bubble up in my thoughts.

One idea that came to mind recently goes back to a discussion I had while at law school more than 20 years ago. The discussion was with a psychologist. I don’t remember the context, but I know I asked her whether, or how, someone might decide they need her help. That question led to a conversation about how a person might determine whether their feelings, emotions, and reactions are “normal”.

Rather than offer her opinion about whether something was normal, the psychologist said she suggests patients consider whether their behaviour is appropriate. She then mentioned that one method for doing this is to monitor other peoples’ reactions to what you’ve said or done. She noted that most of us do this subconsciously, but sometimes it’s useful to do it consciously. One thing she stressed, however, was that you must be sure to, as she put it, collect a number of “data points”. In other words, don’t let just one person’s reaction serve as validation (or, conversely, as cause for alarm).

I remember that her suggestion had immediate appeal to me (maybe because “data points” made it seem scientific and therefore at least a bit less self-obsessed). Over the years there have been many occasions when I’ve found myself doing a “reality check” (my term for it), consciously reflecting on others’ reactions to something in particular that I’ve said or done.

Indeed, I conduct reality checks in my business all the time. I’m constantly trying to gage how clients like my work and what value they attach to it (this relates to more than just what they’re paying me). After all, if the only signal you pay attention to is whether they pay your invoice, you may be scratching your head later, trying to figure out why you haven’t gotten any repeat business from them, or any referrals.

But, it’s not my on-going, intentional collection of data points related to my business that’s brought to mind the conversation I had with the psychologist. Instead, it was my reaction (or perhaps over-reaction) to a recent, rather off-hand, comment related to my business. I guess you could say it was my concern with whether my reaction was “normal” that brought to mind that long-ago conversation.

Here’s what happened: earlier this month I sent clients, friends, and acquaintances an announcement regarding my recent change of address. In the e-mail I jokingly noted that I had moved and I had taken my business with me. (The comment was clearly made in jest, given that my clients know I work out of my home.) For good measure, I included a link to my web site.

A day or so later, a friend e-mailed me about the announcement. (Though we don’t see each other often, we’ve managed to stay in touch once or twice a year since high school.) Anyway, she commented about one of the latest postings on my business blog (showing she checked out my web site) and then added, “I … never knew you had a writing business so I am glad you passed on the info.”

Well, her comment about not knowing I had a business threw me for a loop. (No, I don’t think she was teasing me – she’s a physician and tends to be rather serious.) Surely she knows I no longer practice law, I thought to myself. (It’s been more than 10 years since I practiced – I’m sure I mentioned that to her at some point!) So what could she have thought I do for a living? She knew my undergrad degree was in journalism, so my making a living writing should have at least crossed her mind. (My sister didn’t find it too funny when I commented that maybe my girlfriend thought I turned tricks to pay the bills.) Of course, my real concern didn’t relate to the fact that my friend didn’t know what I do for a living – it had to do with whether her comment is somehow indicative of the fact that I’m a failure at explaining my line of work.

When I eventually calmed down and tried to look at it more rationally, that psychologist’s point about collecting a number of data points popped into my head. On further thought – and analysis of other data points – I came to the conclusion that my friend’s comment is probably more a reflection of her lack of attention than it is of my inability to articulate what my business is all about. (That said, it’s also made me realized that perhaps I should “talk up” my business a bit more to friends, lest they start speculating about what I do to earn my hourly rate!)

Now, back to my original question: I guess I’ll never know for sure whether others are impacted by things they hear or read (after all, I can’t collect data points about it), or if it only happens to me. But I guess if I didn’t believe that others experience this every now and then, I’d never understand why anyone would bother reading On being …

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... that time of year?

By Ingrid Sapona

Last night, when I started thinking about what to write about, the idea I kept coming back to was habits. But, I knew that years ago I wrote a column on the topic (On being … a creature of habit), so I was reluctant to write about it again. Out of curiosity, I pulled out the previous column to see what I said about it before.

That column reflected on what happens when a habit I have -- but didn’t really even realize was a habit -- is disrupted. The thought I tried to leave the reader with then was that little disruptions in habit are a good thing because they help us become more aware of how we behave. My reflections the past few days about habits have been quite different. Indeed, the reason I think habits are on my mind today is because I’ve been working on adopting a few in relation to my business.

My consulting business is quite slow right now. So, I’ve been trying to use the time I have on my hands to explore some new business strategies and methods. To this end, I decided to look into using some sort of business contact management software. Up to now, it’s the type of thing I had rejected as simply inapplicable to my type of business.

I don’t know why, exactly, I decided to look into such software now, other than the idea that maybe trying something different would help. Well, that, and the realization that, though I’ve always thought of my business as unique, or at least very different from many other kinds of businesses (feel free to imitate Dana Carvey’s Church Lady and let out a mocking little, “aw, isn’t that special”), perhaps it’s time I get over it and try a few more tools and techniques that work for other successful businesspeople.

After a bit of digging and asking around, I realized my Microsoft Office for Small Business package includes contact management software. So, last weekend I installed it and started playing around with it. Interestingly, the challenge of thinking about how to use it in my business forced me to focus on my business in ways I hadn’t in quite some time. Suddenly, a number of new ideas about people, businesses, and organizations I might contact popped into my head.

Soon I realized that the feature that’s likely to prove most valuable for me is the one for creating “tasks”. In my case, most of the tasks involve calling or e-mailing someone -- a current client, a potential client, or someone that I should network with. Though I’ve always got a “To Do” list scribbled down that includes names of folks to contact, I find following-up with people (much less cold calls) very challenging. I eventually get to everyone on my list -- but because I find it so nerve-wracking, every unanswered call (much less the slightest rebuff) feels like an out-and-out rejection of me and my work. As a result, more often than not I struggle through one or two attempts at reaching, or meeting with, someone, then I give up on that person for quite some time.

With this program, when you input a task you’re prompted to assign a due date, which later causes the program to issue a reminder at the appropriate time. My inclination was to try to bypass these prompts (after all, being constantly reminded of things I should do is kind of like having a boss, which anyone who works for themselves is clearly keen to avoid). But, in the spirit of trying something new, I assigned various (appropriate) due dates to all the tasks I inputted.

The following Monday, I was working away when the first reminder of a task popped up. It caught me by surprise, but I dutifully read it. Sure enough, it was about calling someone whom I’ve never met but whose name was given to me by a client. I had included the phone number in the task, so I figured, what the hell, and I immediately made the call. I got their voice mail and left a message. Hey -- that wasn’t too bad. Later that day a few other reminders popped up and I dealt with each. (In some cases I postponed them for a few hours, but by the end of the day, I had completed them all.) I did the same the next day. As well, each day, as new ideas came to me, I added more tasks for later follow-up.

By the third day I noticed that much (not all, but lots) of the anxiety I normally feel when contacting people was gone. Somehow, the electronic reminders have helped me come to grips with the idea that following-up is just business -- it’s not personal. Also, I realized that getting in the habit of setting straightforward, fairly simple tasks and being in the habit of completing them helps make me feel I’m being productive, which is no a small feat when there’s little paying work to keep me otherwise occupied.

Now, I’ll bet you’re wondering about the title and how it relates to habits. As I said, I knew I had written about habits before and so I pulled out the earlier column. After re-reading it and thinking about whether I’d be rehashing something I’d already written, I noticed the date on it: January 15, 2003 -- five years to the day!* Well, as you can imagine, THAT got me thinking too…

Is it a coincidence that I find myself preoccupied with my own habits in mid-January? Hmmm…let’s see… The skies are gray, the days are cold and short, and we’re inundated with ads for things like diets, exercise programs, and smoking cessation methods. So what do you think? Is it me, or is it just that time of year?

*FYI, I e-mail On being ... to some readers on the 15th and 30th of each month and I post it on the blog the next day.

© 2008 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... who?

By Ingrid Sapona

Last night a movie I wanted to watch on t.v. was pre-empted by a football game. I was very disappointed because I had finished all my work with the intention of sitting down and enjoying it. Frustrated, I flipped through a few shows, landing on a situation comedy (“Samantha Who?”) that I’d never seen, or even heard of. Here’s the local t.v. guide’s description of the show’s premise: “Sam …awakens from a coma with her memory completely gone. As she assembles the puzzle pieces, she realizes that the Old Sam was not a very nice person. Maybe with her slate literally wiped clean, she can become someone completely different.”

The premise seemed hackneyed and I expected some kind of sit com version of Anastasia. Every episode (they were doing a mini-marathon, showing four back-to-back) featured Sam trying to figure out the answer to questions like, “Have we met?”, “Do I know you?”, and “Do I like this (or that)?” And of course, being a comedy, only a few of the characters know about her memory problem and she tries to fit into her old life by basically playing along and faking it.

So, for example, when invited to a birthday party for her friend Rene at a trendy club, she persuades her boyfriend Todd to go with her because Todd can help her by filling in some details about her life, should she need that. While Todd is parking the car, Sam goes into the club and is immediately pulled into the coat room and is passionately kissed by someone -- you guessed it -- that she doesn’t recognize. Soon she finds out from her girlfriend that the guy from the coat room is Rene, Sam’s married lover. And, following the strict tradition of the bedroom farce, much of the rest of the episode is spent trying to hide Rene from Todd. But the interesting part is that “New Sam” -- the woman who emerged from the coma -- is appalled by the idea that “Old Sam” was the type to cheat on her boyfriend and was the type to do so with a married man.

In another episode, Sam finds out she was invited to be a bridesmaid, but when she shows up at the wedding, she learns she’d been un-invited because the bride was mad at her. Realizing she’s hated, Sam tries hard to win the bride’s friendship back. She does, but in the process she realizes the bride and others in the bridal party are shallow and two-faced, causing her to question the kind of person she was, given that she hung out with such people and that acceptance by them was so important to her.

I ended up quite engrossed by the show because in each episode New Sam ends up in a situation that causes her to reflect on the choices Old Sam made in life -- things like the friends she chose (the two-faced folks in the “in crowd”), the work she did (for an unethical boss intent on making money at the expense of the poor), her relationships with various people (like her parents, whom she hadn’t spoken to in two years), and her excessive spending (she’d run up a $30,000 credit card debt). And, after catching a glimpse of the consequences of some of Old Sam’s choices, New Sam makes different, better choices -- choices that make her more content. In other words, New Sam realizes that who she is is reflected in the choices she’s made.

The show somehow reminded me of a comment someone said to me as I was getting ready to move to Holland for my first job after grad school. I was excited, but nervous about moving to a country where I didn’t speak the language and where I didn’t know a soul. The comment was, “Just think -- you can be anyone you want to be. You can completely re-invent yourself because no one will know anything about you!”

At that age (mid-20s), I was finally feeling mature and comfortable enough with who I was as a person that the thought of re-inventing myself seemed crazy, not to mention scary. I also knew that a good deal of effort would be needed to overcome how much I would miss my friends and family and that whatever energy might be left over would be needed just to make my way in a new place -- never mind trying to re-invent myself.

I didn’t re-invent myself in Holland, and if I were to find myself surrounded by people who didn’t know anything about me today -- or if something happened and I didn’t remember much about my past -- I don’t think I’d end up being that different. To put it another way, I don’t think New Ingrid would be that different from Old Ingrid. That’s not to say, however, that I don’t think there’s room for improvement. But before you can make any changes, you really need a firm grasp of who you are -- and that’s where the idea underlying “Samantha Who?” comes in – the notion that to know who we are we should look at the choices we’ve made.

So, on this eve of a new year -- rather than making resolutions or setting lofty goals, I think I’ll spend some time reflecting on the choices I’ve made (big and small) with a view toward considering whether all the consequences that have flowed from them are what I hoped and intended and whether they truly enrich my life and lead to greater happiness for me and for others in my life. Who knows, maybe 2008 will see a New Ingrid.

Happy New Year!

© 2007 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... challenged

By Ingrid Sapona

Last December I read that 2007 would be the 50^th anniversary of the Canada Council for the Arts. To celebrate, the Council challenged Canadians to do 50 arts activities in the year. While the idea had immediate appeal to me, I found the prospect of trying to do so many artsy things in one year a bit daunting.

I go to a lot of cultural things -- theatre, dance performances, opera, book readings, etc. -- but 50 translates to about one per week, which seemed ambitious. At the same time, I thought that taking up the challenge might motivate me to get out more, would be a good thing. So, I decided to go for it.

Because I thought it’d be more fun if others would join me for at least some of the 50, I decided to challenge some friends to join me in the quest. To make it more fun and more real, I came up with some rules -- like the requirement that an activity should be something the Canada Council could, would, or does, support. In other words, a Leafs game wouldn’t count.

I only asked friends who do a lot of cultural things, figuring they’d be more likely to join me. One friend replied within minutes, a few took some cajoling, and a few never responded, including one who was, in part, my inspiration for even taking up the Challenge. I really thought he’d be game because one of his New Years activities is to create a list of things he wants to do in the coming year -- things like try a new restaurant, take in a baseball game, etc. Interestingly, a few months later I ran into him and – unprompted -- he confessed that the idea of doing 50 things was too overwhelming, so he simply never responded.

That got me thinking a bit more about challenges. It’s always seemed to me that challenges fall into one of two categories: the first is those where you compete against others, with the intention of winning or at least seeing how your skills stack up against other contestants. I’ve never been big on contest-type challenges. I can’t ever remember succumbing to a dare, and I can’t think of any skill-based contest I ever intentionally entered. (The junior high science fair doesn’t count, since entering was more-or-less expected.)

The other kind of challenge is where you take on a task (or set a goal) just to try to prove to yourself that you can do something. I’ve taken on more and more of these types of challenges as I’ve gotten older, and I’ve noticed my friends seem to too. To me, the Culture Challenge clearly fell in this category. (Maybe my friends who didn’t respond to my invitation to join the Culture Challenge were turned off because they saw it as more of a contest-type challenge, given that I set some rules.)

I have to say, the Culture Challenge turned out to be fun and fascinating in many ways, not the least of which was observing how my friends have responded. I was also surprised at how motivating it’s been. There were many cold evenings when, though I would have happily stayed home, I dragged myself out mainly to be able to add to my list. Similarly, there were a few events that sounded just so-so but that I went to just because of the Challenge. Every time I did so, I enjoyed myself.

Earlier this month I reached the magic 50 and have since gone past it. Looking back, I’m amazed at the variety of things I went to. There was a terrific exhibit called “Tintin in Peru”. I learned a lot about Peru, but even more about the history of Tintin and about Hergé, our intrepid hero’s creator. Then there was a textile exhibit called “Colour & Light”, which offered a glimpse into life in India and Pakistan through embroidery created over two centuries.

Besides the more-or-less passive events, I also had some fun, hands-on experiences -- things I might never have considered participating in, had I not been looking to add to the list. For example, I attended an animation workshop at the National Film Board and participated (with hundreds of others) in a night-time installation piece called Pulse Front: Relational Architecture 12, which involved gripping a sensor that took your pulse and translated it to a current that was then beamed through the night sky via a search light.

When I set out on the Culture Challenge, my main goal was to get out more. What I didn’t count on was how the different cultural experiences would enrich my life and open me to other ideas. Ultimately, maybe the best thing I discovered is that merely by engaging in a challenge you achieve so much more than you set out to.

So go ahead and pick a challenge for yourself for 2008 -- I dare you!

© 2007 Ingrid Sapona