Inside Delphian

FoVA 2009

It's Saturday, June 13th. Last Saturday, we were in wind-down mode at FoVA 2009. I had just finished a delightful and interesting conversation with Stacy Brice, and was waiting to head to the final night's reception. It had been an interesting weekend. In addition to learning more about the industry (from expert panel members, and from various individual virtual assistants), I had the good fortune of the aforementioned conversation with Stacy, plus had lengthy conversations and connections with Dawn Goldberg, Barbara Lang, Pat Williams, and others. Great; all great.

What's the value in networking with virtual assistants? Incalculable. Immense. Most of all ... personal touch. The Internet will never replace the people behind it, or those who populate it. Thank you, everyone. And a special shout out to those of you who took the time to attend my workshop on Windows Vista and Office 2007.

Back to work, or, what will I do in 2009?

In late 2008, I made the decision to stop publishing a monthly e-zine.

Well, I say "monthly"; but for a number of reasons I felt that wasn't the right schedule to follow, nor the best way for me to get my thoughts out there. This, my first post of the New Year, is dedicated to my e-zine subscribers, and indeed to all of you who are pondering this newly minted year.

While I don't make New Year's resolutions, I do review the past year--I always do in the closing days of any year--and I make some decisions about what I can or cannot not do moving forward, or can or cannot hang onto. For starters, my commitment to spirituality (to living life fully in body, mind, and spirit) has increased. It's a "keeper". One part of my reason has to do with the fact that my mother died in late October. Another has to do with my continuing relationship on a number of levels (including the spiritual, but if it works better for you, the "psychic") with several important people in my life. That part has never wavered, but I do think 2008 made it all the more stronger.

Another key area I revisited or reviewed was the always-interesting question of what I do, or will do, for a 'living' in the New Year. I think I've concluded that I adore my fellow virtual assistants, and yes, there are lots of reasons to adore the teacher's hat I wear several times a week in any active semester. In each of those two areas, I've increased my commitment and focus. In fact, on the virtual assistance front, I've already committed to being a facilitator for a workshop at FoVA 2009.

When you have "one of those days" (in my case, it was 2008, and it was "one of those years"), among the many things you want to do is make sure it doesn't happen again.

On the elevator on the way up to our floor earlier today, two other gentlemen and I engaged in a brief 45-60 second conversation (all the ride would allow). As we spoke briefly about the weather, we also touched briefly about what 2009 might bring. We all agreed that we were fortunate not to be mixed up in some of the very unfortunate (loathsome?) misfortunes in other parts of the world. My concluding remark was that there was only one direction for us--all of us--to go in 2009: and that was up.

I sincerely hope that's where you're headed in 2009 too. Happy New Year!

Endings that bring beginnings

Avoiding letting religion or other partisan beliefs seep into this post, I want to talk about something—someone—near and dear to my heart. That someone is my mother.

My mom, Helen M. Neilly, died at 6:00 a.m. on Saturday October 25, 2008. Her children, their spouses, and some of their children, were there for most or all of the 20 hour vigil. During the vigil, several friends dropped by. Hell, even Vijay, the lady who rents the televisions at the hospital, dropped by to share her grief. Most people that saw my mother during that time were in shock at her deteriorated condition. Fortunate for her, she did not regain consciousness.

How many times have you talked or mused or wondered about the mysteries of physical death? What happens after the end is in question only to us. Those who have moved on already know.

Over the past few months—since the summer, really—I’ve struggled, privately and sometimes publicly, to maintain my virtual assistance practice, continuing to attract new clients and service the ones I have (or had). And at the start of this school semester (my mother had already been in the hospital almost two months at that point), I struggled to have a strong start for all of my students, at the two colleges I teach for. I guess the operative word here is “struggled”. Now, at least, my mom’s struggles, and her pain, and her fear, are gone.

The saying “life goes on” is so over-used; but so true. No matter your degree of compassion, and I like to think I have it in abundance, until death visits your own household; it’s always about someone else. It’s a stranger, or it’s someone you know or knew, or it’s someone that another friend knows or is connected to. It’s another generation. It’s the father down the street, or the elderly lady in your apartment building. Ultimately, it’s always someone else. But when an immediate family member is diagnosed as being critically ill—and yes, actually has an estimated life span attached to her/her illness—then it’s no longer abstract.

I think the thing that really got to us was that my mother’s estimated life, post-surgery, turned out to be haplessly inaccurate. The 18-months we were told about in July of this year turned out to be three months. And her condition, about two weeks ago, rapidly (incredibly so) went downhill.

My thoughts on the afterlife are varied and span several belief systems. I won’t get into them here—as I said, I’m trying to avoid partisan or religious thoughts about all of this—except to say that without a shred of doubt I believe mom has continued her existence. And in fact, on a very personal note, I felt what I believed to be the direct touch of her spirit, some hours before she passed. It was quite a wonderful, peaceful, blissful feeling. Quite amazing.

Helen Neilly lived just beyond 84 years. While she had a few major illnesses in her life (two of which occurred over the past dozen years or so), and aside from the cancer diagnosed earlier this year, she was fairly healthy. She always wanted—insisted upon—her independence. She earned it. In fact, even a few scant days before her surgery, she was walking around with her walker, and with one of my sisters, went to a department store a few minutes away from her senior’s apartment building. Over the past several years, and for most of her life, she rarely asked for help. Instead of troubling me to pick her up some groceries, she would meet my sister sometimes, or sometimes slowly make her way across the street with her walker and pick up a few things at the variety store. She talked to almost anyone she met (that used to drive me crazy!), and most people she met liked her. Her three girls, several grandkids, and even great grandkids, along with me, played sometimes active roles in her life. She enjoyed that.

On the occasion of my mom’s 84th birthday party, another sister and her husband got permission to take her out of the hospital and to a luncheon in her honour. She was dressed nicely, in a new outfit bought for her, and still retained her beauty, humour, and passion for life. Dave, a singer she had met several years earlier, dropped by. He personally sang two songs to her. My sisters and I, and our spouses, were there to join in the celebrations. We had thought (hoped?) we would soon be able to get my mom out of the hospital and into long term care. That was just over a month ago. A lot can happen in a month.

What’s the ‘right age’ to die? I can’t answer that question any more than most. What I do know is this: I understand and accept death as part of life. What I would have wanted or changed is this: that my mom could have had a better—a much better—year.

All of us have been talking about certain times—any times other than her last 20 hours—that we remember her best, or that provides us with the fondest detail and clarity. For E and me, it’s when we took her out for her annual Mother’s Day dinner. Back in May, mom had not yet been diagnosed with her disease. She knew she wasn’t well, and was in near-constant pain, but she was still very much her own person and depended very little on the ‘system’. We picked her up at the back of her apartment building as we always did. She was dressed smartly, in colours she always liked, and walked out of the building under her own steam (with her walker, of course). We drove her to a place we liked in the Beaches. It was the last time E or I recall her eating a full dinner. She talked a lot, smiled a lot, and reminisced about how she used to shop and walk around and spend time with her friends in the very area we were in that night. She seemed happy. She seemed to have made up her mind that she’d had a good life. We thought so too.

As many of you have probably felt at such times as this, with memories so fresh in your minds, it is we, the living, who are now suffering and who have an empty place where our mother used to be. We know that it’s her in her human form that we’ll miss the most, and I think I can speak for all of us in saying that we know she’s still ‘here’, much more so in spirit than while in her physical form.

Soon we will all gather—all of us that have been around these past months, plus many more—to celebrate her life. Mom, if you’re looking in on us; don’t be sad. We think that now, right now, you’re enjoying a pain-free existence whose liberation and freedom is all but beyond our earthly understanding. We think that your deceased sister, and boyfriend, not only visited you months ago as you’d told us, but are in fact with you now.

We haven’t gone anywhere mom, and neither has your living, loving spirit. Thank you for everything.

Believe, Support, Succeed!

I go with my gut most of the time. I'm not sure if this next remark is sexist, but here goes: for a guy, I have a highly developed intuition and it's in the driver's seat. My intuition/gut drives--maybe "informs" is a better word--my intellect.

While not entirely selfless (I have needs and desires too), I try my best to give when I can. AssistU taught me more about abundance in everyday situations than I'd previously known, and I try to practice what I learned. I don't have abundant wealth. We do not own a house. My family is not well-to-do. My health is good, but not perfect. However ... I like to think I have a wealth of knowledge. We're quite happy in our apartment (it's large, and has a great view). My family is an ever-expanding classroom. And, with this not-so-young body, I'm still able to put in long hours when necessary, and go out for 10K runs. In short, it seems I have abundance.

So what to do with my abundant abundance? Share it when I can.

I am so fortunate ... I have multiple audiences of those who might benefit from my abundance. There is my wife, and her and my extended families. There are some friends who I've known for a couple of decades. There are my students, and my fellow teachers. There are my VA colleagues (also friends). There are my clients. Certainly, even in business, abundance need not be a one-way street. My VA practice is not only about what I receive from my clients (time, money, trust, work); it's also about what I give back.

No matter what our chosen professions--or what professions chose us--we can give back anytime we wish. Perhaps we do it everyday. Perhaps we do it as a surprise. Perhaps it's because that was what was needed at a certain point in someone's life.

Are you in a position or state of abundance? Besides this little thing called karma, I think it's true that like attracts like. Tally up what you have in abundance. Make a decision to give some of that to someone else. It's painless, and in fact, it feels good.

Calling all Muses

My limited exposure to the Fashion industry is largely due to the fact that I teach basic Microsoft® Office skills to first year students enrolled in the business of fashion at Humber™ College. Limited though it may be, it's been enough to introduce me to the role a Muse plays for some of the key players in the industry.

I've always known, and appreciated, the people in my life who inspire me. My Muses include members of my family, friends, associates and colleagues, and others. I had not, however, until being exposed to the fashion industry, thought of them as Muses. But they are.

One example of a Muse in my life is Abby. Abby is my hairstylist, and I consider her my friend. But her profession cannot begin to describe her importance to me or to others. And yet her profession is in many ways an ideal counterpart to who and what she really is. Abby is without doubt a woman on the path of spiritual enlightenment. Through various practices that have caused her to awaken, she is a person who has her antennae up, always searching for a signal from like-minded individuals or from students looking for a teacher. She's taught me much, and in turn, I think I've contributed a little to her life.