What makes a man? Or a woman for that matter. Is it the struggles they endure, his failures, or her victories? Is it success in the face of certain failure, courage in the midst of fear? Does resiliance make the man, or is it discipline? I am not sure that they are as popular today as they once were, dreamcatchers, you know the colourful rings originally made by Native Americans which were supposed to catch bad dreams. What I do know is that these past six weeks, for me at least, have been pretty much the opposite of good dreams, and have been dream killers.
At the best of times I struggle to understand myself, to clearly articulate the emotions and inner workings of my mind and heart. Some have said that these past weeks have been a gift in disguise, that they have forced us to slow down, pause, reflect, and reassess what is important in life. To be sure, I have spent a lot of time reading and thinking these past weeks, perhaps more than I am used to, I am not certain about that? What I do know is that I haven’t had the typical dreams with which to focus on, to apply my reflections and reading towards. I have never been good at maintenance, that much I know. Since as far back as I can remember, I have been an intense dreamer. Some would say that I am too optimistic, always expecting the best possible outcome. To be honest, I am not sure that I am an optimist, at least not anymore. Others would say that I am a realist, focused on what I can see and measure, and I am not sure that fits the bill either. I think I am becoming more of a cynic in my lingering years, and I know that I am not Okay with that, despite the overwhelming evidence all around me, I want to believe in something more than just actions for personal gain.
I have never been a goal guy either, the five year plan kinda guy. I tried writing a five year plan once, and it was laughable, I can’t stay on the same path for three months, let alone five years! But I am a dreamer. I draw energy from the process of envisioning something and then striving to make that dream a reality. Eight months ago, I committed to spending three nights in the Bugaboos, trying to ascend mountains that I would have never thought possible in my lifetime. That dream, that vision of me walking a knife’s edge of a granite summit thousands of feet above flat earth, inspired me, pushed me to hike and prepare. COVID has killed that dream, at least for this year, and as a result, the motivation to prepare for it has died too. Despite the fact that I know how beneficial my daily training was and remains to my physical and mental health, the motivation is now gone. I hate that about myself. I don’t understand how I can’t simply be more disciplined and hike and train just for the sake of health, but I seemingly can’t.
Fifteen years ago I started Transcend Coffee as a dream to establish community. That journey has been a very twisty voyage full of disappointment and failure, small and large victories, confusion and clarity. At times over the past years I have wanted to quit, to walk away from it all. I have isolated myself, condemned myself as a colossal failure, been certain of everything but the truth. But through all of those years, Transcend has always been a place of gathering, a reason to get together, to converse, banter, commiserate. And while we have remained open, to serve coffee, sell beans, and have focused on ultimately surviving this pandemic, Transcend has not been a place of gathering for six weeks and it is starting to wear on me. Don’t misunderstand me, I am very thankful for the ongoing support of the Edmonton market, and the online sales across this country.
Truth be told, I am a bit of a COVID rebel, and for most, that probably doesn’t come as a surprise at all. But despite my personal tendencies towards rule breaking, I find myself in a place where I have never been before. I am part of a world where getting together, where building community is no longer allowed. Sure we can Zoom and gather virtually, but for me, it is not the same, and never will be. I hate what these past six weeks have done to the world that I am now part of, where fear and suspicion simmer just beneath the surface, where hugs and handshakes are not even a consideration, even between close friends.
Personally, I am not fearful of this virus, at least not in what it can do to me in the physical sense. But what I wasn’t prepared for was how this virus was going to start to chip away, slowly begin to kill something far more precious to me than health, and what I am discovering is that it is the right and freedom to live in a physical interactive community. What I am discovering is that this microscopic invisible invader is slowly starting to kill my dreams. And unfortunately, I don’t think anyone has come up with a dreamcatcher for this nightmare.