Month: November 2019

Out of the spotlight: “I’m just another face in the crowd, that’s all”

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Bob, 75

My Life in a Nutshell

  • I’m a widower and retiree who lives in rural Northern Ontario, and come from “the last generation of frontier people.”
  • I care about my family: “I’d like to see them happy”
  • I wish people cared more about the truth
  • I look back fondly on my childhood, “because my family had a large general store and there were still a lot of people in the community. We used to have a lot of good times during the holidays, Easter, Christmas and so on. We used to go blueberry picking together and all that”
  • I love to draw and paint and wanted to be an artist, but I never pursued it because “it seemed frivolous”
  • my wife and I faced discrimination because people weren’t as accepting of interracial marriage in the 1970s
  • my greatest regret is I that I didn’t “treat my wife better,” I didn’t understand how PTSD from her childhood impacted her throughout her life
  • I was an Olympic-calibre athlete but suffered a severe spinal injury
  • I was once an atheist but now believe in God
  • I built my family home and I built my cabin single-handedly
  • my life became a disappointment but I am still “basically happy”

Bob’s Story

Bob’s face is bristled with a light dusting of white whiskers, his hair, what remains of it, is trimmed close to his head. He is not a frail older man; nor, however, is he glowing with health. He is well-built, though, particularly for a 75-year-old man, despite the fact he appears fatigued.

When I sit down with him he is writing notes in lined a notepad.

“I’m making lists. This one is about all the foods I can grow in my garden. This one is about new research, new ideas. You can always find an interesting book, some of them on cancer.”

Bob reveals he has battled cancer this year, and spent nine months receiving chemotherapy and other treatments.

“From the time I was a little boy I always liked to have warm feet,” he says. “Now that I had chemo for cancer I’m having trouble with cold feet.”

Bob says he discovered some lumps in his abdomen and groin more than two years ago, but he ignored them until he experienced a “severe pain” last December. He went to see a doctor, and a slew of appointments with specialists soon followed. Bob would learn he had lymphoma just after Christmas.

“It was hard to endure, but I never doubted I would get better. And when I learned to pray and asked God to heal me — it just disappeared. I can’t say for sure that God healed me, it could have been the medicine, but everybody was surprised, including the oncologist.”

Bob finished chemo this summer, and just last week had his three-month checkup. Thankfully, there was still no trace of cancer in his body.

“I was surprised, I was expecting to go through radiation therapy.”

Cancer is a terrifying diagnosis, and chemotherapy is notoriously unpleasant. Still, this is not what Bob would describe as the greatest hardship he’s ever endured. He says he suffered a spinal injury when he was at a track and field meet in high school, and for a short time he couldn’t walk.

“I had this terrible fear. I realized: ‘I’m paralyzed. I’m not going to live this way. I’m going to kill myself.’ My intention was to hang myself, because I could still do that.”

But Bob says his back miraculously repaired itself. Once again, he credits God for his recovery.

It is an interesting turnabout, for a man who was a self-admitted atheist most of his life. Bob says he only became religious in the last few years.

“I learned how to pray. So my prayers can be heard in heaven.”

While religion currently preoccupies him, Bob’s life has been one of exploration — both literally and figuratively. He loves books, reading and reflection, but he also loves the outdoors. He has lived across the country, in both rural and urban settings, and has had a variety of careers — from landscaping and forestry, to owning and operating a restaurant and two corner stores.

“I wasn’t particularly interested in anything, so I just wandered around from one thing to the other, to keep from getting too bored with life.”

Bob actually met his wife of 35 years when he was the supply manager in a hospital in small-town Ontario.

“She came here as a nurse. She’d been in Newfoundland and she was lonely. There were no Koreans there and she could barely speak English. So when she heard there were some Korean girl nurses in the hospital where I was, she came over.”

They married ten months later. He built the home they lived in when she was pregnant, and their first child was just an infant.

“I started in August one year, and I finished it in the spring, the next year, because we moved in in June.”

I express surprise that he built the family home, a four-bedroom with a greenhouse, completely on his own.

“Well, in the country, people did most of their own building,” he says. “I like working with groups of men outside. I used to get involved with building, watching them, working on barns and that sort of thing.”

Bob describes his marriage as having many highs and lows. He says his wife lived through the Korean War and suffered from PTSD, something he wishes he’d better understood when he was younger.

“If there was 50 ways to go from point A to point B I would want to take every one — one after the other — to see what was there. But not her. She had to always have the exact same routine, or she would go nuts. She couldn’t take any stress.”

Bob says he and his wife could not have been more different. He had a “happy childhood”, while she grew up in wartime and lost her father. She was also from Seoul, a huge city, while he was born and raised in rural Canada.

But when they met, he says, “there was instant recognition.”

Still, while he never “thought a whole lot” about the fact his wife was a different race, he says others did question their decision to marry.

“Because it wasn’t that common.”

He says, at times, they faced discrimination — and it didn’t matter if they were living in a small town or a larger city. And they faced condemnation from both caucasians and asians. Thankfully, he says, people’s attitudes are changing.

“It’s becoming more common, interracial marriage.”

His wife died 15 years ago, from pancreatic cancer.

“Oh, that was difficult. But the marriage was slowly coming apart because we had such different backgrounds,” he says. “I didn’t really adapt well to living in the city because all of my education was in forestry and agriculture.”

Still, he lists getting married as a highlight of his life, along with the moments his two children were born.

Now, he says, his greatest hope for the future is: “to live long enough to see my grandkids growing up.”

And while he says he has regrets, and has “often” made bad decisions, he is content.

“More or less. I don’t know if I ever knew joy, but I’ve always basically been happy.”

Bob is currently retired. He owns a home he shares with his sister, often visits a cabin he built himself, and lives surrounded by close family.

“I’m just another face in the crowd, that’s all. I’ve never been important,” he says. After a short pause, he adds, “I never wanted to be.”

The frustrations of freelancing: “It’s really horrible”

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Paul, 41

My Life in a Nutshell

  • I’m a freelance journalist, who was born and raised in North Toronto
  • I try to stay “relentlessly positive”, but I can’t see where the journalism industry is going “other than down”
  • I have a Bachelor of Science and a Masters of Journalism, and my passion is science reporting
  • I want to inspire people to “appreciate how amazing and cool and intricate things are”
  • I wish people cared more about the English language, and not butchering it
  • one of my best experiences was working on my own science program in Moscow for three years
  • my childhood had “happy moments” but it was also “very turbulent” due to my father’s mental illness (schizophrenia)
  • I struggle with anxiety and depression, but have found rTMS treatment “life-altering”
  • I think people see me as nice and smart, but also as a bit of a pushover, and that’s something I’m always trying to work on
  • I would like people to see me as a kind and fair person
  • I work out nearly every day
  • I would like a baby in the future, which also requires making more money, which I am determined to be more “aggressive” about

Paul’s Story

When Paul greets me outside his North York condo building, the first thing I notice is his height.  At 6’4” tall, Paul is a giant of a man, with biceps and pectorals that strain the fine knit of his sweater.

“I warn you, my apartment is a bit messy,” he says.  Then he chuckles, and adds, “But I guess with three kids you (Anecdotist) are used to it.”

Paul’s apartment is slightly untidy, but not really messy, although a half-eaten pineapple and an opened tin of condensed milk sit on his kitchen counter, along with the makings of coffee.

He solicitously offers to make me a drink, but I decline because we are in a rush. Paul is a part-time personal trainer and needs to meet clients in a little over an hour.  Still, I learn very quickly that while exercise is important to him, the body is secondary to the mind in Paul’s world.

“I have a science degree, which is weird because I ended up going into journalism, but I wanted to be a science journalist.  And I was one for a long time.  And that was really amazing.”

However, he says, in the past five or six years, journalism has “really imploded” and work is sporadic, so he does what he needs to do to earn extra cash.  Hence, the personal training.

“I am working on a podcast, but that’s like a multi-hour a week commitment. And it is hard to balance that when, you know, there’s absolutely no guarantee of return.”

Paul says it’s unfortunate that the quality and breadth of journalism is deteriorating so rapidly, given there has never been a greater need for fact-based, unbiased reportage.

“In the last three to four years the amount of pseudo-scientific garbage that is pumped out onto every social media channel is just astonishing.  And I’m not just talking about dodgy stuff, like I’m talking about things that actually can harm our society, like anti-vaxxers, for example.”

Paul calls the spread of misinformation very concerning.

“The reason they are able to maintain this belief system is because there is always new shit coming out that supports whatever their viewpoint is.  So if you’re, you know, vulnerable and you’re hearing all of this fucking garbage constantly, it’s going to make total sense to you.”

Paul has a Bachelors of Science from the University of Toronto, where he was also the editor of the Varsity, the University’s official student newspaper since 1880.

In his last year, a friend went to London, England, to study art at Goldsmiths University. Her experiences piqued the fledgling journalist’s curiosity.

“I thought the school was really cool because it was a visual art school, mainly. And so they’re always crazy artists running around, you know, crazy sculptors running around and they’re getting drunk and having a good time.”

Paul was intrigued enough that he headed overseas to Goldsmiths himself for his Masters Degree in Journalism. While he was there, Paul did internships at several prestigious newspapers, like The Guardian.

“I really liked it because it was quite theoretical.  But I really didn’t like living in England, I found it very stuffy.”

And then, by chance, Paul spotted something else that captured his interest, something that would take him even farther from home. It was an ad for a new TV station being launched in Russia.  He applied for a position.  Six weeks later he was offered a job that paid $60,000 US, a princely sum for a new graduate in 2005.

“It was a shitload of money, and I had student loans I had to pay, so I was like, ‘Yeah!’”

Paul says it took about three months to complete all the paperwork.

“And then, one day, I packed all my stuff up and my friend drove me to the airport, and I was in Moscow.”

Paul didn’t speak the language, and had just mastered the alphabet when he touched down on Russian soil.

“My first night, I took the Metro, which is amazing, to Red Square. And I remember I was standing there and you know, St. Basil’s Cathedral is there and it’s just like, ‘Holy shit. What am I doing?’ I’ve just done this sort of on a whim, and like, this is actually real now. I’m here.”

Paul worked for “Russia Today” for three years.  While he calls it a “full-fledged Kremlin propaganda channel” now, he says 14 years ago the station was just launching, and its producers “really didn’t know what they were doing.”

“They were still building the studio while they were trying to launch the channel.  So we would sit there and write copy and then hand it over to somebody who was literally in a closet that they had put a green curtain in.  I saw them building this thing from the ground up and it was fascinating.”

Because the station was so new, it also meant a lot of opportunity.  Within months, Paul ended up hosting his own science program.

“One day I just pitched them and was like, ‘Listen, why don’t you do a show about science and technology in Russia?’  And they were like, ‘Okay.’  And literally, the next day I had my own show.”

He says while doing the show came naturally and it was one of the “best things” he’s ever done in his life, Paul says he eventually came to believe he couldn’t stay in Russia.

“I’m gay.  And it’s not a tolerant culture.  And I was harassed.  And I had to make a decision.”  

Paul says had he been straight he probably would have stayed in Moscow a few more years.  However, one horrifying experience with his boyfriend cemented his decision to leave. 

“We were going to a gay club, and we were arrested by a cop with a machine gun.  They pushed us into the car, and they drove around and threatened to throw us in jail.  They scared the shit out of us because they were driving around, we didn’t know where we were, we were entirely at their mercy.  There was a guy in the back with us with a Kalashnikov, you know?  And we were terrified.”

He says while he tried to brush off the experience, it soured him on the country.  

“I just sort of thought, you know, ‘Canada’s a nice place.  I have the experience. Now I don’t need to do this.’”

So Paul came back to Toronto, and quickly got a job working for a national broadcaster.  

“I read the news on the hour on radio One.”

He worked there for two years, but then he lost his job.

“My mental health really wasn’t that good, because I had lived abroad and I wasn’t getting the treatment that I needed.  And I sort of felt a little bit entitled.  I was like, ‘I want to be doing science stuff, because that’s what I do.’ And I would pressure them a lot.  And you know, I would come in late, and I think they just got tired of me.”

He cites that as one of his biggest regrets.

“They were just, like, ‘Leave,’” he says.  “If I had been more professional, and I’d stuck with it, you know, I’d probably still be doing that.  Or something similar.”

Paul is candid about his struggles with mental health.  He takes four different medications for clinical depression and anxiety disorder, which he has struggled with since he was in his early twenties.

“When I was at my most depressed, I was nonfunctional.  I couldn’t get out of bed.  The anxiety was bad enough that I would have trouble breathing.  I was completely inert.”

However, he says four years ago he started a treatment that literally saved his life.

“It was like a switch was flipped.”

He says rTMS — or repetitive transcranial magnetic stimulation — uses magnets to target and stimulate certain areas of the brain in patients with depression and anxiety.  

“They put this magnet next to your head.  It’s an electromagnet, it looks like a fat ping-pong paddle and it’s got wires coming out of it,” he says.

“So basically what’s happening is it’s firing pulses of magnetic energy into your brain.  And that either inhibits or activates certain nerve cells.”

He says the treatment takes ten minutes a day, with the typical course being 30 days. The treatment works for about a year before he needs to do a “tune-up” or preventative cycle.

“It’s been life-altering.  I’m like an evangelist about it.”

Paul says the fact he developed mental illness isn’t surprising, given “that sort of thing typically runs in families.”

He says he recently found out his father was schizophrenic. 

“My dad, unfortunately, was quite mentally ill, and that manifests itself in a number of different ways. He wasn’t violent toward me.  He was occasionally violent toward my mother, which is what precipitated their divorce.  That happened when I was five.”

Paul had very little contact with his father growing up, and didn’t see him again until he was sixteen.  

“I suddenly had a desire to see him, so there was a reunion arranged.  It was really weird.  He wanted me to keep seeing him.  I did keep seeing him, you know, over a period of years, but more out of a sense of obligation than anything else, because he still didn’t seem particularly interested in what I was saying or doing.”

Still, despite a strained relationship with his father, Paul says his mother, a school psychologist, did a “fantastic job” raising him.

“It was, I think, what a childhood should be. You know? Lots of opportunity to explore and play and all that sort of stuff.”

He says, however, despite the fact his mother was able to help so many people, she couldn’t help his father.

“And I think she feels badly about that to some extent.  But I also think, you know, there’s not much she can do.  Schizophrenia is pretty tough to try to crack.”

Paul speaks of his mother with respect and affection, saying he learned so many important life skills from her.

“A lot of people, as I’m sure you know, really have poor skills when it comes to communicating how they’re feeling and stuff like that. So it’s a good thing to have. And as a journalist, you know, it’s been a good skill, to sort of build empathy.  Because that really helps you connect with other people, and then they tell you things.”

After losing his job with the national broadcaster, Paul held another job at a competing network for five years.  He was unhappy there, and also found out he was being underpaid for the work he was doing.  When he complained, however, he says he was fired.

Since then, he has been freelancing.

“It’s horrible.  It’s really horrible,” he says.  “It sounds maybe a little indulgent, but like, I’m a 41-year-old with two degrees plus international experience at some of the world’s pre-eminent newspapers.  I would imagine it’s reasonable to make a salary that’s better than what I was doing ten years ago.  You know what I mean?  But that’s just not the reality of it anymore.”

He says, if not for his partner of nine years, it would be hard to keep going. 

“Honestly, I want to make some money. Because, you know, I’m 41. If I want to have a ‘gaby’, ideally I need some coin, right?”

I ask him what a gaby is.

“Gay baby.  Gay dad baby,” he says with a chuckle.

Paul’s partner is 35.  He sees a long-term future with him.  That, and a desire for a child, are motivating Paul to become more aggressive about making money. What that means is abandoning journalism, and doing more work as a public relations consultant for small companies.

“Which is a bit of a shame because it’s antithetical to how I was educated, but it’s a transition I need to make.”

Still, Paul claims he is happy, although he qualifies that by saying, “I think that I’m less happy than I could be, because being under constant financial stress is always going to impact your happiness level.” 

The highs and lows of freelancing: “It’s definitely not a career for those with an easily-bruised ego”

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C.P., 44

My life in a nutshell:

  • I care about my kids, my career, and my husband (but he can take care of himself)
  • I’m a professional (freelance) clarinetist
  • 75% of my anxiety is over where the next gig is coming from, and I sometimes wonder if freelancing is worth “the hustle”
  • I hate practicing but enjoy the performance
  • a professor once told me I should be a comedian
  • I hate “Plastics. Fake People.”
  • It’s freeing knowing that the older I get I don’t have to hang out with anyone I don’t want to. I may have to work with you and be civil, but I don’t need new friends, I’ve got my friends.
  • I named my second son after my mentor in grad school, which he said he felt “kind of weird” about
  • a significant hardship I endured is being in a car accident in 1996, which set me back in school and auditions for a year
  • I look back fondly on any family time
  • I’m a movie trivia aficionado, and people will not play with me
  • I want people to respect me as a person and as a player
  • I hope for health, financial stability and general happiness in the future

C.P.’s story

The chaos of the school rush has just ended, and the slow, heavy tension of morning traffic has begun to lift when C.P. walks into a coffee shop on Eglinton West. The cafe is quiet, with few other customers, and the diminutive blonde, who stands north of five feet, orders her coffee in hushed tones, trying not to draw too much attention.

In fact, nothing about C.P.’s appearance this morning is designed to be attention grabbing. Her face is not made up, her hair isn’t styled, and her clothes consist of a neutral sweater and jeans. In some respects, it’s hard to imagine this woman craving the spotlight. And yet, life in the limelight is what C.P. lives for.

“Just me, standing on a box on a stage, playing by myself for about five minutes, which doesn’t seem like a long time, but it’s a long time.”

With glowing eyes, the freelance musician recalls a moment from a year ago, where the conductor of the North Bay Symphony planned a program around her.

“There was a huge clarinet part and a huge clarinet solo. It was like the C.P. concert. And what I was amazed about is that I didn’t freak out, I didn’t pass out. I had done all the work that I could do and it came out just as I wanted. And that’s why you put up with all the bullshit, freelancing.”

Luminous moments like these keep C.P. going in a career that can take its toll on even the most thick-skinned.

“We have extreme highs and extreme lows,” she says. “It’s definitely not a career for those with an easily-bruised ego.”

While at first glance C.P. might appear shy or introverted, it soon becomes evident she has a lively, animated personality. She laughs and laughs often, and is quick with a joke.

When asked how she thinks people view her, she says, “Energetic, spunky, fun, outgoing, extroverted and happy, like I’m a little elf and I’m happy all the time.”

And then with a bark of a laugh, she adds, ”Not true!”

It is hard to be happy all the time in a profession that is so competitive, given the scarcity of permanent jobs. C.P. admits she is occasionally plagued by worries over getting the next gig.

“I’m at a certain level, and I wonder, ‘Why? Why are they getting called and not me? Is it me as a person or me as a player?’ And that’s when I get anxiety. ‘Do they not like me? Do they not like my playing?’ It’s your identity.”

C.P. has been playing the clarinet for more than 30 years, so it’s not hard to imagine why she associates the instrument with her identity. She first picked up the woodwind when she was an 11-year-old Grade 6 student.

“The teacher said — ‘Hey, you’re pretty good at this’, and the flattery sucked me in,” she says with a smile. “I had something I was good at; and plus, I got out of class, so it sucked me in.”

Despite the fact both of her parents were teachers in her hometown, Waterloo, Ontario, C.P. says she hated school. But the clarinet inspired her, and her passion for the instrument took her all the way through graduate school.

“When I get to play stuff like Mahler and Beethoven, and you hear all the layers that go into it, it’s amazing,” she says.

Apart from music, C.P.’s other passion is her children. She has two young boys in grade school, whom she loves beyond measure. Still, she admits parenting also causes her some degree of anxiety.

“Every day I am worried I’m failing my kids, and I don’t think that will ever go away. I don’t think that I’ve done enough. I never feel like I’ve done enough for them,” she says.

C.P. says when she practices her instrument she sees immediate results. However, she says she won’t know for years — maybe even decades — whether she’s raising her boys right.

“Are they fed properly? Are they getting their homework done? Are they practicing piano? Are they watching too much tv? Are they having too much tablet time? Am I doing this right?”

At times her marriage also causes C.P. some unease.

“It’s like freelancing. You have your extreme highs and your extreme lows. I’m for it, but it’s hard,” she says with a laugh.

C.P. met her husband at her 28th birthday party, and has been with him ever since. But she describes how much she — and their lives — have changed since they first met 16 years ago.

“What happens from going from blissfully dating, blissfully engaged, and then the first few years are amazing — and then you don’t agree on anything. Why did it get so hard?”

She says there are many little resentments that can build over the years, particularly when you’re juggling career and family.

“It’s unravelled to a point, or it’s morphed to a point, where I have to stop it from morphing anymore. I think he probably feels the same way. It’s morphed to this point that I worry that if it morphs anymore it won’t last. But it takes work from not just one person, but both people.”

It is an uneasy admission for a woman who says, apart from performing, family is what makes her happiest. Her husband is Greek and C.P. comes from an Italian background, and moments with extended family bring them both joy.

“All the time we spend with family, weddings, even funerals, birthdays and holidays — it’s always noisy and big and fun.”

While they are not a “smug married couple”, C.P. says her husband has been supportive of her, despite the fact sporadic work does not always pay the bills.

“Without him, I would not be able to play. Thankfully, he’s not mean about it,” she says.

C.P. gave up full-time work when she had children because of the cost of childcare. She says given her workload at home, freelance work is all she can manage at the moment.

“I’m 44 and I’m going up against 26-year-olds who don’t have to work, and they can practice eight hours a day. I’m lucky if I can practice eight hours a week. So that’s why I’m happy doing what I’m doing.”

And C.P. does count herself happy.

“Why? I’m where I want to be. Not physically. I hate Toronto. Seriously,” she says with a smile. “But I would say I’m content and it took me to getting over 40 to say — ‘I’m okay. I have a good thing going, I think.’”

And despite the highs and lows of freelancing, she says she still enjoys her moments on the stage, when all the “blood, sweat and tears” are worth it.

“We remember the good times. The bad times we remember for about an hour and then we drink it away,” she says.

C.P. pauses for a moment and the laughter fades, before she adds, “I always said when it becomes work, I was going to stop.”