An Uncomfortable Situation.

                During my 2011 reading week, I discovered my perfectly uncomfortable situation. I travelled out to the Rocky Mountains in Canmore, Alberta, with my parents and my boyfriend for a six-day ski trip: my parent’s idea of a ‘relaxing’ vacation. I spend three days skiing, a day at the spa, and another day hiking and shopping.

                My uncomfortable situation came to me when I slid off the chair lift on top of Larch Mountain – the most challenging of the three mountains at Lake Louise ski resort. Looking at the map of runs I could take to get me back down to the chair lift, I saw two options:

a)      Take the easy way down – a blue (intermediate) run, which looks like a series of switch-backs winding down the side of the mountain.

b)      Try my luck at a black (advanced) or double-black (extreme) run, and hope I survive with both arms and legs still attached.

Since I only ski a few times a year, I was about to shout out to my boyfriend, who was skiing with me that day while my parents were out on the cross-country trails, that we should take the safe, easier, blue run down - seeing as how it was only our third run of the day and all. Before I could say anything, I saw the top of his black helmet and orange ski goggles drop over the side of a run – marked with a black diamond.

Well, here we go: down a black (leading to a double-black) run, filled with moguls and boulders. I should have known I’d be in for a treat, since the run was playfully nick-named “Rock Garden.”  I could have taken the blue run down and met him back at the chair lift, but I decided that this was my chance to step outside my comfort zone and try one of the most challenging runs at the entire resort.

Even though it was -20°C outside, I was sweating. To get to Rock Garden, we had to do a bit of cross-country skiing on a narrow track along the side of a cliff (I’m not exaggerating – falling off would have led to sure bone-breaking and skull-cracking in the trees and boulders below). Ten minutes later, we arrived at the actual run (and here I was, thinking I was surely half-way down by now…).

 I looked down at the run below me. The black diamond sign had the words “Caution: boulders” written below it. The moguls, which are normally man-made, large bumps of snow that skiers swoosh and whip around, were actually snow-covered rock boulders. Snowboarders lined the sides of the run, mapping out their route through the rocks. I was doing the same, thinking to myself that I’m too young to die.

My boyfriend, who is an exceptional snowboarder but decided to try his hand at skiing this year, was now almost half-way down the hill, dodging in and out of the glades and finding little jumps to catch some air. So, I was left alone, staring at the rocks. Shaking, I took my first turn down the hill – the pitch was even steeper than it looked. The lighting was flat, so it was tough to see when a mogul was approaching. I slid to an icy halt: one turn done, about 50 more to go. Slowly, I weaved my way back and forth, taking full advantage of the wide width of the run. My heart pounding, thinking I could catch a ski at any time, surely hit my head on a boulder and die, I made another turn. And then another. My boyfriend was long gone – it had started to snow and his silhouette was nowhere to be seen. About 55 minutes later, I made it down the section of the run covered in boulders. From there, I could calm down and enjoy the rest of the run –wide-open, with a new dusting of snow.  I lazily skied down to the chairlift, where my boyfriend was waiting for me, drinking a hot chocolate.

Apparently he’d been waiting a while.

Carrie B.

Carrie is young, but she lives an old life. Still in her mid-twenties, she’s married and has been bitten by the mom bug. In fact, the bottom drawer of her dresser is lined with stacks of green, yellow and white socks and onesies from the Baby Gap.

She plays the role of perfect wife – bakes cookies (while wearing a pinstriped apron), cooks delicious meals, cleans the house, and folds the laundry. Before her husband leaves for work in the morning, she gives him a peck on the cheek and locks the door behind him.

Her life is something out of a movie. But like all movies, there’s always a twist. Carrie closes the door behind her husband every morning, and starts to cry. Sometimes, she sobs, and other days, it’s only a tear running down her cheek. Her life, as picture-perfect as it seems to her neighbours, her friends, and her families, is far from perfect to her.

Carrie met her now-husband when they were both third-year university students – he was a History major, and she was studying Political Science. Their paths crossed when they wound up in the same Intro to Law course. She sat at the front of the class and always had the right answer. He sat directly behind her, competing for the higher grade. They began studying together, both scored 94 per cent on their final exam, and walked down the aisle three years later.

Now, Carrie’s husband is a lawyer at a downtown city firm. On the mornings where she manages to pull herself together, she makes her usual breakfast of half a grapefruit, with a handful of granola sprinkled over half a cup of organic yogurt. She doesn’t work – she doesn’t need too with her husbands’ salary.

But she wants to.

Her goal was to work with government affairs. She wanted to commute in busy rush-hour traffic, have her own office with a big desk, and have people depend on her for her qualifications, experience, and education. Not for her cooking abilities. Although they would come in handy at office potlucks. She wanted to bring home her briefcase at night and finish her work at home.

On the days where Carrie leans against the door and sobs, she runs a warm bath and soaks in coconut-scented bubble bath – something exotic. She cleans up, puts on a fresh face of tasteful makeup, and ventures out to the mall to buy house gadgets or more neutral-coloured cardigans to add to her collection.  Retail-therapy.

On her busier days, Carries does the grocery shopping in between loads of laundry. She takes out her tortoise-shell glasses and reads the label of her organic products. She plans out the week’s meals in advance and buys all the necessary ingredients. There’s never any junk food in her cart. Her modest high-heels click as she strolls down the aisles.

By the time her husband arrives home, usually just in time for a 7 p.m. dinner, the groceries and laundry have been put away. He kisses her on the cheek, she asks about his day. He takes off his suit jacket and lays it over the arm of a living room chair – she picks it up, takes it upstairs to their bedroom, and hangs it in his closet. She takes a minute to stare out the bedroom window and fixates on the street lights. She takes a deep breath before heading back downstairs - dinner is served. 

A Human Environment.

A human environment that I know well is a place where you can find me at least once a day: my favorite coffee café, Starbucks. There are days when I use the drive-through – usually when I’m running late for class. Other mornings, I take the time to park and go in to order my grandé, triple, non-fat, extra-hot, no whip marble mocha macchiato…or whatever I happen to be craving that day. It’s always a struggle when I order my drink – the pastries and treats in the shiny glass case smell sweet and look glossy – so tempting. Sometimes I can’t resist getting a piece of their banana bread, especially in the morning when it’s warm from the oven with a perfect crust and spongy center.

It’s always interesting to look around me at the other people waiting in line. The business man in his black pea coat, perfectly-pressed suit and briefcase in hand – it’s obvious to me he could have left the briefcase in his car, especially when his BMW car key is dangling out of his coat pocket. But it’s all part of the look. He knows exactly what he wants, too - typical grandé Italian Roast with room for cream. There’s almost always a younger, less well-pressed version of the businessman standing in line too – hoping to fit the part by ordering a $6.00 latté. A group of women, dressed casually in jeans, boots and sweaters discuss what to order for their monthly get-together. It’s a pain getting stuck behind them – the feeling of frustration and impatience sets in as they scan the menu for ideas. My foot usually starts tapping and I dart looks of annoyance in their direction as they contemplate their concoctions when it comes time for them to order.  And finally, the students, with their headphones in, text books sprawled across their table, venti lattés with an extra shot of espresso (to keep them going), and wearing some version of a Lululemon hoodie.

Despite the array of clientele, some things always remain the same – the grinding whirr of the coffee machines brewing three shots of espresso for my latté. The indistinct chatter and murmurings of people around me which is, for some reason, always soothing.  Blenders crunching ice to make a frappucino, and the shrill, loud puffs of air coming from the milk steamers. The smell of fresh coffee, with hints of chocolate and spice, fill the air.

At first glance, the paint colours on the walls at Starbucks blend together and the café appears serene and calming. But I’ve noticed that the walls are all so different – one is yellow, one is orange, one is bright red, and others are sometimes purple and blue. The paintings are all unique and different – some have nothing to do with coffee and others and blown-up versions of coffee labels. It amazes me how it all comes together to make me feel relaxed and welcomed.

And well caffeinated, after my second latté.

  

My First Memory.

The house I lived in until I was five years old was on a street lined with mid-sized homes, full of young families like ours.  The kitchen floor was yellow linoleum tile with brown diamonds in the middle of each piece. The master bathroom had a massive, dark burgundy whirlpool and black-and-white checked tile floors. The brown carpet on the stairs was always scratchy.

One of the first memories I have at that house on Waverly Avenue took place in the middle of the summer, when I was about two years old. I was standing on our driveway – I remember putting my hands on the pavement and feeling how hot it was because of the sun. There was a wooden easel in front of me – one my grandpa had built me. It had a jumbo-sized pad of white paper on it, and there was a holder for my cup of water, where I had put my paintbrushes to soak.

My plastic palette of children’s watercolour paints lay abandoned on the driveway under the easel. I was too busy staring at my father’s paint station, which was set up beside mine. He had assembled a long table, and covered it with what I assume was an old sheet, or maybe a plastic table cloth. He was painting large beams of wood – maybe ten or twelve feet long – that would eventually be fastened to the outside of our house. I so badly wanted to use the big, fluffy roller-brush he had, instead of my small, plastic paintbrushes. My dad was using a dark brown paint – this was “grown-up” paint – I was only allowed to use my watercolours.

My paper pad had faint, watery paint streaks, drawn abstractly in what I assumed at age two was ‘art’. In my oversized tee-shirt and flip-flops (the pavement was too hot to go bare-foot), I asked my dad if I could help him. I wasn’t satisfied with my children’s paint set, my mini-easel, and my small paintbrushes. I wanted to be grown-up like him.

My dad said no.

I understood when I was older that he didn’t want me ruining the wooden beams he was painting. When I was two, all I understood was that I wasn’t allowed to use his paint set. So instead, I took one of my small paintbrushes, dipped it in water, and found the brown circle of paint on my watercolour palette.

I started to help my dad paint the wooden beams brown.

I don’t remember his reaction – maybe he laughed, maybe he took the paintbrush out of my hand. Regardless, he took an unpainted beam and set it down on the pavement – I was barely tall enough to reach his table – and he let me paint an entire side. I was even given a ‘grown-up’ paint brush (one with a wooden handle) and I had my own tray of brown paint. I was so excited at the prospect of helping my dad that I didn’t realize under years later that he had actually let me paint the back of a beam – the side being fastened to the house.

I don’t have any pictures of that afternoon, but I’m sure my white shirt was covered in brown paint by the end of the day. I can’t imagine how long it took my two-year-old self to paint the entire side of the beam, but I remember feeling overjoyed when my dad let me help with his painting project – I was a ‘grown-up’ in his eyes, even if it was just for the day.

A Natural Environment.

Some natural environments are calm and serene, and others are breezy and warm. This one is cool, icy, and still: standing still on top of a mountain, looking down at the black diamond ski run below.

Looking out over the mountain tops is one of those few moments where I really wish I didn’t have to move. Even though looking down the steep hill covered in enormous moguls below me is enough to make my stomach feel like it’s coming up to my throat, the vastness and immensity of the mountains laid out before me is stunning.

The first thing I always notice is the eerie and unnatural silence. Voices and laughing from the skiers around me are muffled by their wooly scarves and nothing carries or echoes. With my helmet on, everything is completely silent. I might hear the occasional whistle from the wind whipping by my ears. The crunching sound of snowboard making a quick stop in the snow intermittently fills the void of sound. The squeaky creaks from the chairlift eventual fade in to the background and the peaceful silence fills my ears.

It’s getting late in the afternoon, and today, the sun bounces off the peaks and makes the snow twinkle for miles. The light makes the moguls on the run below blinding and difficult to differentiate. Looking out through my tinted goggles, the skiers around me and the snow underneath me take on a slightly orange hue.

Up here, we are all faceless and nameless – dark goggles covering our eyes, scarves and neck warmers covering our mouths. Workers on ski patrol fly all over the mountain on their snowmobiles, looking for enthusiastic rule-breakers and injured skiers. As they roar out of sight, their machines leave the distinct smell of gasoline in the air and a pungent, sour taste in my mouth. I close my eyes to appreciate the dark, consuming silence.

Right now, I feel still. I take a deep breath to enjoy the scene and my lungs fill up with icy, fresh, cold air. It feels refreshing. The sun is warm on my back and the snow crunches beneath my skis as I take a few glides up to the edge of the run. The pine trees that line the runs are still – they smell woody and a bit like Christmas time – a hint of spice and citrus. My hands grip my ski poles, and the hot packs in my gloves fall slightly to the side. I feel my shins pressing hard against my boots as I lean forward to take the dive down the run.    

Working Responsibilities.

In our world, there are jobs, and then there are working responsibilities. I say ‘responsibilities’ in the positive sense – knowing that your co-workers depend on you, that your employer expects the best from you, and that you are the right person for the job.


To me, the most beneficial aspect of the co-op process is that my four-month stints in the workplace allow me to discover what I like, what I’m good at (which might not always be the same thing as what I enjoy doing), and most importantly, what I don’t like. Having an employer early on in my career that allowed me to explore these areas and help me identify my skills, strengths and weaknesses is what will lead me to success in the future.


One of these employers was the Internal Public Affairs team at the Darlington Nuclear Generating Station (DNGS), which is one of three nuclear power plants belonging to Ontario Power Generation. After spending two work terms with this team, my most positive memory is that I wasn’t a co-op student – I was a key member of the team. People in the station called me when they needed a picture or an update to the Intranet, because they knew I was the right person for the job. Employees trusted me – and began to recognize me when I walked through the plant (and often helped me find my way around, because DNGS wasn’t made of four concrete walls – more like seven floors of mazes, secured entrances, radiation monitors and stairwells).


My responsibilities included maintenance and daily updating of the Intranet, poster design, creation and maintenance of a weekly newsletter, taking pictures inside the plant, and posting updates to the Closed Circuit television system. After two years of honing my writing and editing skills through my program, website maintenance and poster design were only a few examples of skills I didn’t have when I started at DNGS. So, I downloaded software tutorials to help familiarize myself with the Intranet platform, and pulled tips from an Audio-Visual class to help take better pictures.


By the end of my second term at DNGS, I was the go-to person for graphic or website-related inquiries because my employer was able to identify that I was not only good at those aspects of the job, but I was enthusiastic and looking to improve these skills even more. Now, I’m also the go-to person in my circle of friends for anything related to graphics or websites. My employers, and now my friends, know that I’m the right person for these jobs.


Part of the reason my employers had a great deal of trust in my skills was because I was able to speak my mind and criticize their current publications (nicely, of course!). Their Intranet website was a disaster – the student was responsible for putting together one website off-line over the course of the week, and publishing it for the duration of the weekend. Handling two identical websites with the same intended purpose was a mystery to me. To fix the problem, I told my supervisor I was taking on the project of re-vamping the Intranet to one, constantly-live website. No ifs, ands or buts.


And it worked.


Finding these new skills and having the chance to improve them taught me two things: the first is that there is more to Public Relations than writing media releases and feature pieces. I can design posters and professionally edit the text as well. I can conduct an interview, take the picture, write the story and post it to the Intranet on my own. The second lesson is that I have discovered what I want in a career – now I know that I want to work in internal communications, because I like building strong relationships with employees and a connection with the company and industry as a whole. I want to deal with website maintenance and graphic design – my workplace experiences has even made me consider pursuing classes in these fields to help further improve my skills.


Like I said, there are jobs, and there are working responsibilities. My terms with the Internal Public Affairs team were examples of what I consider a working responsibility because if they removed me from team, there was truly a missing piece. No one else could do the website updates or send out the newsletters – those were my responsibilities. Responsibilities that have led me to discover what I thought I could have in a career, and now what I know I can have.

Who I Am.

Who we really are, on the inside, is always changing. Sometimes it’s impossible to really pinpoint who we are– we tend to write about who we think we are and who we want to be. Who we are focuses on what matters to us, what we value, what we love, and what we fear.

On the outside, I’m easily definable. My friends always point out colours, patterns, clothing, art work and decorations that are “oh-so-Brenna.” I like coffee and wine, maybe a bit excessively (is three cups of coffee and a glass of wine everyday too much?). I enjoy practicing yoga, and playing golf and tennis.

So who am I on the inside and what do I want out of life? The million-dollar question.

The first thing that comes to my mind is that I value work ethics and genuine hard work. I need a healthy work-play balance – I will always be a hard worker, but I will also always make time for my friends. I value friends who make me laugh, not bring me down. A secure job with a high salary is important to me. I honestly believe that money can make me happy. It allows me to accomplish the goals I’ve set out for myself, like traveling, continuing my education, and enjoying good food, good wine, and good company.

What matters most to me is something my parents have always taught me – to be realistic, happy and smart. I’m not talking about ‘academic smarts.’ I’m talking about making smart decisions in life, like always putting myself, my happiness, and my security first. I mean ‘realistic’ in the sense that you can’t always have what you want, and I am well aware of this. Not everyone can be an astronaut.

I don’t like putting myself outside my comfort zone – I admire people who are daring and willing to try anything once. I’m materialistic and value my possessions. The ‘unknown’ is one of my biggest fears – like the ocean, the job market, what happens after graduation. There are only a few people that I’ll really open up to – I get nervous that people won’t like me if they find out more about me. On this note, my best friend always calls me a big nerd – she says it’s one of my dark secrets! It’s true…I like Battlestar Galactica, Alien vs. Predator, CSI, and Sudoku puzzles.

Writing about who we are is close to impossible, because part of who we are is how we experience life with others. Experiences are about indefinable feelings and moments that we share with others – something that can’t be put on paper. It’s about understandings and unwritten rules and friendships. Who I am is a concept that will continue to develop and evolve for years to come and if you ask me to write these 500 words again next year, I’m sure my values will have stayed the same, but so much more will have changed.

Did I mention I like wine and coffee?