Hello Bee readers,
Have you missed me? I'd like to think so ;)  It's been quite some time and I have had a few of you ask if this thing was still on. The answer: hell yeah. It's been a minute and welcome back to the hive bee readers, it's time for a new slice of life! One I hope you'll appreciate. 

As the month of December unfolds, I am seeing just how challenging this year has been for many, including myself. Through it, I chose to keep an elastic mindset as much as possible, longing for growth and transformation. According to the Chinese Zodiac, we are in the year of the snake, which is one that asks us to shed, and let go of old skin. Or, in the words of Google AI: 

Shedding: the snake sheds its old skin to grow, the year encourages individuals to let for of old habits, perspectives, emotional baggage, or relationships that no longer serve them. 
Covert: snakes are quiet and mysterious, the covert aspect ties into the idea of quiet self-reflection and inner work, trusting one's own intuition before striking with purpose when the time is right. 

I feel like I encountered quite a few snake moments on my path this year. Some that took me down some levels; and then it was up to me to choose a ladder to climb and grow or keep repeating the same patterns. I is in this spirit that I wish to share my experience in this next blog piece. 

​Have you ever met someone and intuitively knew they were going to be trouble? 
I have. 

A few years ago I shook hands with someone, let’s call this person Zoey, who took one look at me and decided I was an opponent. Instead of responding to my kindness, I found myself stuck in cycles of ambivalence. Some moments were awkward and disappointing; others were a little sweeter, just enough to keep the optimist in me hoping that one day genuine respect would grow between us.

It never did.
​
The more I gave, the more she took without a hint of concern for my wellbeing. After years of me going back and forth, trying to build something, Zoey seized the first opportunity she had to swing at me with lies and confabulations. Worst of all, instead of focusing on a solution, she pinned the situation she was upset about entirely on me, even after trying to discuss it. There was no room for negotiation or neuroplasticity in her mind. She was actively seeking to misunderstand me and did so underhandedly. 

I always knew Zoey was a chronically dissatisfied soul, but she went out of her way to try and bend the truth. She ignited chaos with such ease and without a shred of hesitation. It made me question the connection she had with reality and if she was even capable of true empathy. I realized that all the efforts I had happily poured into our “friendship account” only ever served her needs. In the end, she blatantly proceeded to withdraw everything and closed the account.

Fortunately, Zoey underestimated two things: how unwavering truth is, and how strong my alliances are. I knew the truth would eventually catch up with her and my family and friends stood with me. That phase stirred something in me, something I was determined to learn from. Though I was not in a snake year back then, these two elements became crystal clear and were my first learning ladders: 

1.  She needed me cast as the villain so her victim narrative could shine.
2. Over time, I saw how she weaponized her own incompetence, profiting from problems rather than solving them, another form of control.

Brutal moments and in hindsight, it was a rehearsal of what would come a few years later.

Zoey's behaviour reminded me of covert narcissists tendencies. Such individuals recruit what are known as “flying monkeys” to help spread false scenarios. I’ve learned that people often shield themselves from responsibility by cloaking their actions in moral language. They insist they’re “protecting someone” or “doing what’s right,” even when their actions serve themselves first. These claims are persuasive because they appeal to values we all respect—but they are selective, convenient, and ultimately self-serving.

Once again, they care more about how they are perceived by their audience than they do about the truth. Being seen as pure and innocent is of utmost importance. It is impossible for them to admit accountability for their actions because that would mean they have control and that they actually do have power to act and...*gasp* fix the problem on their own.

A learning ladder I am never coming own from is the one that enabled me to see through this tactic. Morality can be used as armor, and it’s up to me to notice when it’s being weaponized to avoid honesty. People who genuinely care about others—and who truly want to get to the bottom of a situation—care about truth. They have a code of ethics that won’t bend just because someone cries wolf. Well, Zoey cried wolf, and while some bought the story, it would not last for long.

I recently came across this quote:

“Betrayal is the ultimate act of cowardice. It takes courage to be honest, but it takes no courage to deceive. It is a choice, not a mistake. It’s a conscious decision to put self‑interest above loyalty and truth.”
—Daniel Chidiac, Don’t Let Every Little Thing Affect You

It takes courage, strength, and mental grit to choose truth and stand by it come what may. Trust me, it is a practice I honor and chose everyday.  Comfort is easy and so is blind loyalty—or a loyalty of convenience. In my story, the shock of the betrayal hurt and yet I cannot say I was completely surprised given my previous experience with Zoey.

Fundamentally I knew from the start I was different from Zoey and ultimately she recruited the few who shared her “values” or those who wanted to "rescue" her (see Dramatic Triangle by Karpman). Together, they serve each other and blanket this dynamic with the word friendship. Through the years, here’s what I’ve observed from individuals like them, they:

1. only call/text when they need something from you, not because they are genuinely curious about you or your life
2. don't apologize or take accountability
3. conceal their true nature
4. have best friends that live far or "out of town"
5. have strained siblings relationships
6. live in contradiction with the advice they recite like sonnets
7. dodge the truth like a bullet
8. speak in absolutes "always" / "never"
9. lack curiosity and therefore never grow beyond their own fixed narratives
10. believe they are the eternal victim in the life they created (Karpman’s drama triangle is almost always present: persecutor–rescuer–victim)

​
Once I saw how deep Zoey's betrayal went, how careless she was with the ramifications of her actions, I shut the watertight doors immediately. Just like the Titanic did after hitting the iceberg. Unlike the ship however, I did not let any water seep through. I was finished with Zoey, and I ended the spread of the lies and her need for control right then and there. 

At first, you might try to reason, explain, or appeal to fairness. But eventually, you notice a pattern: it’s not about what’s right, it’s about how the story looks, who has the upper hand, or who appears virtuous. Understanding this changes everything, it reframes your expectations and frees you from trying to convince them. The truth becomes your anchor, and their need for control becomes their problem, not yours.
Covert narcissists focus on the narrative and nothing else. They can brutally attack and then act as though nothing of the sort happened. As though ignoring it erases the everlasting scars. It is quite shocking how quickly manipulation changes clans depending on what the current needs are. They turn their backs on their so-called allies if they no longer serve them. Needless to say, the complete opposite to my personal code of conduct. 

Speaking with them sounds like a competition of who is the most tired or the best victim. Additionally, the people who constantly rescue these victims, ultimately prevent them from learning and reward the manipulators while ignoring the hard working and authentic ones (back to Karpman’s dramatic triangle). I am shedding individuals who find glory in their own laments yet do nothing to solve them. I am shedding those who seek problems to be in the center of attention, like a solar system. 

Best case scenario is to recognize the game and not play. Block these energy vampires completely if possible. I have learned not to explain my side of the story and stand alone. Those who care for me have come forth on their own. Long standing friends, without hesitation, stepped in. Loyalty is not blind, it is earned through time and repeated acts of integrity. 

After attempting to destroy someone close to me without remorse, truth fired back and Zoey got served. As things continue to unfold, I am confident that time will continue to shine and expose what she has done. Life always returns what you pour into it. 

On a more positive note: I have been overwhelmed lately to realize how many people care deeply for me. People who want to be in my life and actively invest efforts to be there. These precious allies helped me and my surroundings. Those who, without hesitation, knew that just because I am strong, determined, and positive, it does not mean I don’t need support. It does not mean I do not feel pain and hurt just as much as the next person. They stepped forward not just with healing words but with touching gestures and action. They called, listened, and showed up, and I have infinite gratitude for you: my battalion of soldiers who jumped into the trenches with me and helped carry the flag of truth.

Cant wait for 2026, the year of the horse! I think my path is quite cleared for it! May you enjoy your Holiday season, in peace and in justice. 

Bee x 

N.B. I have shared my experience uncensored because it is the truth. So many of us know predators who count on our silence to move in the shadows and repeat their patterns. These individuals sleep at night knowing they have lied and potentially thrown chaos in another person's life.

Not on my watch.

I will do everything within my power to shine light upon truth, until justice finds its way. As for the manipulators and their flying monkeys, though I doubt they’d care enough to read this, consider this your reminder: truth does not bend.  

​March 12th 2020, I stood at my desk, deciding on what to stuff in my trusty backpack  “just in case” we were not allowed to return to the office the next day. Major public events had been cancelled, my phone was pinging with all the news alerts of further Covid cases and postponed gatherings (some of which I did not mind being out of my agenda, let's be honest). I slipped on my winter coat and went over to see my superior in her office, sensing there was something final in the air.
 
We talked for a bit about all this madness and before I turned around to leave, she warned me to “grab all your stuff because...well, who knows?” We said our goodbyes, I stepped out of her cozy and personalized office, not knowing it would be the last time I saw it.

I was meeting my husband and my father-in-law for dinner at Moishes on St-Laurent. I had never gone there before and once again, I skidded in sideways right before it closed its doors permanently in that location a few months later. 
 
I remember walking the main and watching people looking nervous. The tension was palpable. We all felt the change come upon us but kept our dinner appointment until further notice. The pandemic taking over and challenging our plans made the rendez-vous even more appealing as it shot up in value, going against the odds at this point.
 
Upon arrival, the place was not busy at all, many had cancelled their reservations and we got to talking to the folks at the next table. Even the manager personally greeted guests at each table, thanking us for coming. He must have already felt the dramatic turn on business from so many cancellations in one night. It was a memorable evening, and we goofed around as we walked out of the restaurant. The next day, March 13th 2020, the world shut down.

Five years later, the world is still off its original axis.
​
​Office buildings are empty shells of their past glamour; working from home is the new optimized standard. Amazon has primed and milked our wallets. Restaurants expect 20% tip. Trump is back. There are at least three major wars going on. Forest fires ignite every summer. The economy is a roller coaster, and the Quebec health system is failing...among other things. 
 
While it’s not all horrible, status quo has ceased to exist. I’ll take it a step further, when I think of the 80s and 90s, the world spun at a different pace. 

Now?

Being agile, while an adaptive coping mechanism, is a sport we practice regularly whether we realize it or not.

We are also used to every single piston of our mind being on and working. Watching a movie while scrolling on the phone? Eating while looking at emails? We are increasingly less used to moments that are solely dedicated to one activity at a time.

​To add yet another twist in the speed of things, we humans find ourselves competing with artificial intelligence, which threatens to take over some of our trades. The way we perceive activities, objects, and even people and how we relate to them has changed.  “Change is good” I hear some of you say, but have we gone too far?
 
To counter this effect, I have decided to make a list of things that have been around for years. Actions that have resisted the hands of time and remained intact throughout the winds of change. I call them “old world habits", as they remind me of another era, pre pandemic, the old world. the one some of us were fortunate enough to know. Hopefully, the next time you engage in one, it will cast some fairy dust around you and for a moment, you will be in the old world - tallyho! 

Coffee
Whether you are making coffee, having someone over for coffee, or going to a coffee shop, the action of preparing, making, and drinking coffee have evolved but the concept is still the same. “Want to go for coffee?” is a classic line that will never go out of style. Coffee shops are still bustling with people enjoying their brew, talking, laughing. These places stimulate our senses: smell the fresh coffee beans, hear the espresso machine, I feel the buzz of the people around me, and as I see the barista prepping my order and wait patiently, I am in the old world.
 
Instruments
The fantastic feature of instruments is that they do not have notifications. You pick it up and you play it. It will not prompt you to buy a product you never knew you needed, doom scroll for hours and distract you from your goal. The only thing required by an instrument is practice. For those moments when you play, good, mediocre, or even bad, you are investing time in a skill and in an expressive outlet. Instruments bring us back to the fact that there are no shortcuts: practice and figure it out. You don't even need to play one, just being in the presence of an instrument  is grounding. #tangible
 
Dance
"Care for a dance?" Well I thought you'd never ask.
There was a time when dancing what the only way to get to talk to a woman. In the 1920s swing dancing was a vibrant social dance form and folks used to practice knowing the steps. Now? All that matters is moving to the beat. It doesn’t need to be fancy or perfect! Like playing music, dance is also an expressive outlet and while you are focusing on your next move, you think of nothing else and gain perspective on other matters. It is an old-world act that is timeless. I can just picture Forest Gump looking at Elvis Presley pulling his moves on the telly. 
 
Reading a paperback 
I know Kindles and digitals are very popular, but nothing beats the feeling of a book in your hands. The actual smell of a book,  or better yet the ritual of shopping for a new novel is an old-world experience. Why would I want to trade that for a screen when I can browse the aisles of a small or enormous bookshop, buy myself a cup of coffee (old-world habit combo!), and feel the book in my hands. Once again,  permanency is what we miss the most out of not being able to touch actual items anymore while still paying for them.
 
Lighting candles with matches 
You heard it didn’t you? The friction with the red phosphorus head of the match on the box and suddenly, a flame. It still feels like magic. While lighters are practical, lighting a match is reminiscent of other times and brings me back at each strike.
 
Going to the movies 
Have we forgotten the social experience that is to go to the movie theater? All of us showing up for the same movie, the smell of freshly popped corn and sound the ice makes in a large drink, getting your ticket checked and finding your spot for the next two hours. The surround sound and experiencing emotions in public is and old world habit we hardly ever experience. Think about it: all of us watch series and movies at the time and frequency we want. We no longer need the TV guide or better yet, we all knew when FRIENDS came on (Thursday evenings) and the best part is knowing the rest of the world was watching at the same time. The last time I went to the theater was to see Gladiator II and it was a full house! For those two hours, my phone was shut, and I was in pure bliss with a bag of popcorn as big as my head (the movie itself on the other hand...).
 
Watching DVDs 
When is the last time you purchased and permanently owned a movie? While the convenience of Netflix, Crave, or Disney channels are incredible, why are we paying for things repeatedly? What happened to paying once and being done with it? Of course not. Companie capitalize on our busy lives to make convenience “worth it”. The act of popping in a DVD (or VHS, Beta, what have you...) is a thing I am bringing back. At Christmas? I won’t be paying four different platforms for Home Alone I, II, and The Holiday. I got those on the shelf and I control access at all times. 
 
 Perfume
While we all know by experience that in the brain, the olfactory bulb has a VIP pathway to memory and emotion centers, summoning past experiences vividly and in a flash, the act of applying eau de parfum on wrist and neck or spritzing a lovely body mist before going into the world is a classic and luxurious and helps combat even the dullest days. It’s a trademark move that leaves your signature wherever you go and each time I do it, the perfume matches my energy and reminds me of adventures I am fond of.
 
There are probably far more but for most of these, there is accessibility and as the chaos continues to surround us, comfort can be found in the little things, yet another old-world habit. 

Tallyho Beeple people! 

​The ebbs and flow of life always have something to teach us about ourselves, especially during the Holiday season. The end of the year calls for a review and a spiritual closet cleanse. Today, I made a point of sorting my inventory of lessons, wins, and a few goals for the year to come.
 
Without further ado, here are some of the uncomfortable situations I have learnt from in 2024 and also, the sunsets that surged through for each.
 
I’ll start by saying this: Emotional intelligence should be the first thing we learn in school to foster better human interactions, especially now with screen time robbing us of human touch... but no, mathematics keeps the throne. 
 
Why do I say this? Because many of the challenges I face require emotional intelligence, not mathematics. Emotional intelligence is essentially four components: 1) Emotion self-awareness 2) Emotion self-management 3) Emotion awareness/understanding of others 4) Social skills to interact with others – meanwhile, empathy is at the center of it all.

Intuitively, I always know when something is not right in a situation. I am one of those who "reads the room"a little too well.  I detect  a shift in a person's behaviour. I can hear it in the  the tone of voice as the person interacts with myself versus another. I can see the same person's usual cold approach being quite affectionate towards another. It is nearly palpable, I feel the energy is off its normal axis even if, to my knowledge, I have done nothing wrong. All of my senses detect this and report the data to my brain like soldier messengers.

Before I know it, arrows are fired at my heart and I am under attack. My body is responding to a threat I have not even had time to process yet. Internally, my logic is desperately trying to reason with my intuition, and this is how the dialogue goes:
 
Logic: “Calm down. You have no proof any of this is real.”
Intuition: “I see, and what about the tone of voice change? The physical touch? That’s all fluff to you I presume?”
Logic: “...I am not sure what to do with that...”
Intuition: “How about you consider my intake as fact for a change. We don’t have time for your analysis paralysis.”
Enters The Heart: “K, can you two make up your minds because I’m accelerating in fight or flight mode here. Isn’t this supposed to be a festive evening??!!”
Enters the Ego: “Who the HELL do they think they are?! I have TONS of snide remarks I can launch at them right now, locked and loaded, that will show them. Shall I ask the vocal cords to start?”
Intuition: “NO. Ego, hold your horses. I hear you are upset but that will do more long-term damage.
Ego: “Exactly, let them have it, those judases!”
Intuition: “I am trying to carve a new path to outgrow this. Ego, here have this cup of silence please before you ruin us all. Heart, you can decelerate. Let me talk with memory, I need to consult our past experience and track records not to make the same mistakes again.”
Ego: *muted*
Memory: “I’m here. What files do you need from the archives?”
Intuition: “The latest on this individual and history of our relationship. I need to decide the course of action based on the new protocol too.”
Memory: “And what protocol is that? Ah yes. I remember!”
Intuition: “...I’m sure you do....”
Memory and Intuition: “The growth mindset!”
 
Instead of staying in my optimistic pattern and hoping the situation will improve, I acknowledge and manage my emotions. I approve the data my intuition keeps alarming my nervous system to and for every future situation, I remind myself that individuals who appear on my radar are present to test my desire to grow. Does it mean that I will now be immune? Of course not. I still feel the sting, but not the urge to defend myself. Silence with eye contact is quite an incredible weapon in many situations. It says: “I saw that, and I’m not playing. I am dissociating with whatever this is.”  Situations like these require tremendous amounts of self-awareness, i.e. emotional intelligence. The sunset in this situation? Not everything is about me and that’s a blessing! I am learning to manoeuver differently. 

​Another situation that is a current threat to my ego: aging. A trend many, especially women, have embraced is the use of Botox. Whether it’s micro-Botox injections, etc. I applaud them for trying something that increases their wellbeing. Even if I feel like an old handbag next to these fresh-faced beauties, Botox injections are not exactly like getting a manicure or a haircut. Botox has a Black Box warning, which is the most serious warning that the FDA can issue for drugs/medications that “have potentially dangerous side effects”. On social media, I have seen what frightening neurological and psychological effects this procedure can have on the nervous system as well as other physical risks of having a droopy eye or uneven brows.
 
​Non merci.

I just don’t feel it is worth the risk. It is a door that is remaining closed at the moment. I will stick to my collagen smoothies, hydrating masks, and eye patches. The sunset here is that my ego is stretching its boundaries again and while being 25 was incredible, there is also something quite glorious about the 40s. My choice is both economical and empowering, I have not failed anything, I look like me: alive and well.

Purchasing my book is encouraging me (thank you!), reading my book is a pursued interest. Just because I like writing, reading, and would jump at the idea of reading a friend’s novel, the reverse is not necessarily true. I had imagined discussing the book with some, having deep conversations with others I thought would enjoy discovering me as an author. That’s the thing when you have expectations, some of those can be left unfulfilled. I have learnt that it is not necessarily those who are in my circle who will be curious enough to read me or take interest in my art, and that’s ok.
 
The sunset is that I have had perfect strangers reach out to me directly to tell me how they were charmed by the story and grew fond of the characters. Not only does that profoundly touch me, but it reminds me that I have created something that is bigger than me and that will outlast my days on this planet. A legacy that is mine. Those who know, know.

Research says you have significantly higher chance of achieving a goal if you write it down and launch it with a significant date in a calendar...so there’s a whole science behind the New Year’s resolutions after all.
 
Writing will always be on the list. Those who wonder if I will write another novel, my answer is yes, but that means I will have to slow down and isolate to write. That means saying no to other activities. When I wrote my first book, the conditions were ideal: the pandemic forced everyone to stay home at the same time, so I did not feel the pressure to upkeep my social calendar. Not only that, but I also had simmered the plot of the story in my mind for years. The writing almost came automatically. The second book is another story (see what I did there?) My social calendar is back in full swing, and I haven’t had time to let the plot sit in my head, in my body long enough. My goal in 2025 is to progress and honor a slower unfolding of that.
 
Giving back, in one way or another. I would like to see where and how my time and skills could be valuable.
 
Uniting suburbs and city: I want to be one of the first to take the REM at the Kirkland station when it opens. This should be a game changer for me. Connecting me to my lovely city in just 10 stations.
 
Taking a risk. A purchase? A change? I am not sure yet of the form this will take, but I intend on pushing it to the max to make it happen.
 
Continue cultivating the art of emotional maturity, which is knowing when I can contribute meaningfully from when I can’t. I am not a primary character in every person’s life. I am sometimes the secondary or even a an obligatory extra and that’s ok. Secondary characters are there to propel the protagonist and primary characters. Extras are there to fill the background and add ambiance. Nothing more, nothing less. The rest of the time, I continue being the main character in my own story and having fun with my army of leading sidekicks.
 
What is one of your 2024 wins, dear reader? I would be curious to know.
 
May 2025 be filled with beauty ;), health, prosperity, and not too many lessons! Keep that intuition sharp and your Beemotional intelligence in check!
 
Cheers!
Bee x

The once tranquil and seasoned Beaconsfield train station at 104 Elm Avenue has been assigned a new and very honorable mission to its commuters: coffee!
I can just hear so many of us in unison say: “Finally!”
  
The second I heard LA STATION CAFÉ was opening in the Beaconsfield train station; I knew I had to meet the owners.
 
Who are the people behind this phenomenal initiative?
 
Thea Borck (31), and Vanessa Pellicciotta (25), are the two young and hardworking women running LA STATION CAFÉ. There is not one person I have met around the suburbs who doesn’t dream of a hot cup coffee, a fresh beverage, or a tasty treat as they commute to work, and these two resourceful individuals have taken it upon themselves to be the change they wanted to see.
 
Born and raised in Europe (Hamburg) for the most part of her childhood, Thea remembered attending McGill University and, every morning at the Beaconsfield station, she wistfully noted that the coffee shops in many of the island’s train stations were quite different, i.e. non-existent: “I so longed to enjoy a good cup of coffee as I was sitting in the train looking out the window” she reminisced. Unfortunately many of us, myself included, had to thermos our morning brew and add it to the already heavy backpack we carry. Unlike the European culture that creates many time squares and areas for the people to gather and dwell (known as "Piazza" in Italian), many of our train stations are simply a place of transition and nothing more.
 
Yet here is the next generation, both of Italian (Sicilian) heritage, and German  for Thea, seizing the opportunity not only to revive this little station but to pioneer in fostering a stronger sense of community by creating an easily accessible location to meet and greet. This café is walkable distance for many and is on the way for tons of commuters hopping on and off the trains. 

​At the crack of dawn, Thea and Vanessa open up shop with freshly baked cakes and very original homemade pastries: Italian almond pear cake anyone? Gluten free? They got you covered. As you enter the train station, you will notice the green marble countertop, the beautiful yellow and stunning coffee machine, and above the windows, a large wooden art installation which was upcycled and repainted by Thea herself, a process that took two years of work. Other seating areas were refurbished like church pews and school benches and with the help of friends, they brought them back to life. This was a vision that Thea apparently had in her mind quite clearly, she said, as we are sitting in her lovely garden chock full of fresh flowers and vegetables. In speaking with these two inspiring ladies, it was obvious that they are strong believers in encouraging local and/or home-grown ingredients and reduce waste as much as possible. An effort that has proven to be quite successful as they only need to dispose of garbage content once a month. I have learnt in discussing with them that dairy products unfortunately create a lot of packaging waste and that is where the FAMOUS oat milk comes in.
 
If you haven’t already seen it on their IG page, Thea spends hours making oat milk from scratch, quite the lengthy process. In one of those oat milk making sessions, Thea tried toasting the oats before starting the process and this innovative flair turned out to yield one of the most successful products at La Station Café thus far and theirs is the only coffee shop that serves frothy toasted oat milk. Not only that, with the help of experts, they quite literally invented a nitrogen-based oat milk dispenser which is another initiative to reduce waste and the one responsible in keeping the milk fresh, stirred, and frothy. Toasted frothy oat milk, a Beaconsfield exclusivity! 

​Six months after its opening, being a self-started business still comes with a constancy of daily challenges. For instance, the WIFI was signal failed and stalled the opening day of the coffee shop. Yet, Vanessa was relentless in following up with providers, technicians, and finally, they opted for a new route and now have super potent Starlink WIFI signal at the station.
 
I discovered that you almost need a degree in chemistry to make oat milk. The fresh oats are treated with a live enzyme, they are heated to a high degree temperature and then cooled (among other things). The dispenser was a complicated situation and neither of them knew how they were going to be able to find a keg that would both stir and successfully pull the oat milk. They could have easily abandoned the idea and just resort to regular milk but instead, they persevered with their research, took a calculated risk, and were able to put this unique dispenser at the station to have their fresh oat milk on tap and continue in their effort to reduce waste. “You can’t just see the problem; you must also be in a solution state of mind, and this is something I noticed Vanessa had the first day I met her.”  Thea said kindly of her associate.
 
Originally, Vanessa was enrolled in the health science program and while she was proud to have earned her place in college, that path never felt quite right. "I knew it wasn't for me" she recalls, intuitively knowing she was of the entrepreneurial kind. "I remember my father being supportive. In one of our conversations, he specifically said he saw me working for myself, owning my own business." Unfortunately, her life quickly took a turn when her father passed away. The load of responsibilities was heavy to bare and, at a critical age, she prioritized her younger brother's needs  and secured their future by entering the workforce at a quicker pace. She didn't know it then, but her high sense of accountability and her resilience through adversity would become foundational pieces in her successful leadership and in how she tackles obstacles as they come. What I noticed is that both Vanessa and Thea were smiling and laughing the entire time they recounted about the complex problems they were faced with. Their complementary personalities, Thea being the creative cook and visionary and Vanessa the administrative trailblazer, make for the perfect partnership. The trust they have in one another is palpable and inspiring. United by the same dream of opening a café, they immediately started planning this dream shortly after they met.  “We are complementary – she (Thea) is so creative!” Gushes Vanessa, “The flavors she puts together are amazing: candied jasmine, pistachios and white pepper? And her scones are buttery!”
 
Tons of people dream of opening a coffee shop but very few follow through with their idea. Something Thea said stayed with me “One must just do it. There is no other way.” In other words, none of us are ever fully prepared for the endeavours we wish to undertake, letting things like lack of expertise or know-how discourage us is the very thing that should propel us to want to begin. For it is by doing it that we become experts. Just like playing an instrument, one must practice it to master it. When you want it, you find a way and you learn to do it.

La Station Café seeks to cater to pedestrians and to create a place to enjoy your caffein fix and mingle.  It also plans to make their space available for people to hold events, so stay tuned for that. Upcoming are:

• October 19th 2024 for “Paint and coffee”
• October 31st 2024, Halloween night for a special viewing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
• Don’t forget about the Christmas train! Guess where you’ll be able to get treats and hot coco? 

 
In finishing our garden coffee date, I asked the two women one of my favorite questions: WHAT GETS YOU OUT OF BED IN THE MORNING? Here is what they had to say:
 “For me there was no longer another option but to do this. I love the creative outlet! We just really hope that the community knows we are happy to see them and that we serve intentionally. I am also grateful for Vanessa’s trust in my flair, and she is so administratively competent.” - Thea
​
“I often think of my father's words, he was right; I own a café! Thea makes everything with care, and I take pride in serving her creations to our customers. We both hope that people enjoy their experience and that they feel  pride coming from this unique café in the west island.” - Vanessa

Coffee with toasted oat milk anyone? 
Bee x
​
La Sation Café schedule
Monday to Friday 6AM to 2:30PM
Saturday and Sunday 10AM to 4PM

For four years now, leaders have been scratching their heads trying to figure out why employees push back to check in to the office when the answer is pretty much in the riddle: The Office. The open-plan office that is. Organizations paved paradise to put up a parking lot. They sacrificed private offices, put all workers in one giant room and then wonder why motivation and efficiency have dropped. 

Let’s pretend you are selling your home. What is the first thing real-estate brokers advise you to do to help sell it?

• Remove all photos
• Paint the walls a neutral color
• Declutter

Essentially, strip the space to neutralize, depersonalize and basically not let visitors feel there are traces of people living there. Which is exactly what happened to office towers everywhere once the "cool" open-plan concept took over. When you walk past a desk or a cubicle, can you tell which one of your peers sat there? Is there even sign of human occupancy? 
No. 
And so really what the work space is telling you is to come by, work, but don't get comfortable and leave your hand lotion behind because you may work in a different space tomorrow. 

Which throws me back to the first seven years of my career, when I truly did have a private office. A pile of books leaned on the ledge of the window over seeing the city. Next to my desk sat a round consulting table with two chairs for my client counselling sessions or impromptu colleague meetings, topped with a bowl of chocolates. I had art on my walls and also my diplomas, which reassured the more skeptical clients who often thought I looked “quite young”. ​A drawer chest hid my confidential client files and of course two pairs of high heeled shoes and on the hook of my door, a clean blazer just in case. It was like having a small apartment really.

​Going to work and knowing you had an actual office, AKA a private space, waiting for you was invaluable. Every day, it was just another thing you did not have to worry about. Day after day, for years, I did not have to wonder about something as basic as where I would be sitting and working for the day. I did not have to add yet another thing to the never ending DIY list in my head. I would find my space the same way I left it. I also knew exactly where my colleagues were every day and could find them in a second. 
  
Yet, as the "collaborative" workspace gained popularity, companies excitedly sabered through costs and claimed to be fostering teamwork. That was the beginning of the end of productivity. It was simultaneously also the end of the sense of belonging to the office and what it use to mean. The walls of the traditional workspace as we knew it were pulled apart to cut cost, but it also created other problems.

“Be open to change” they said.

When embarking in this open space concept, companies failed to realize just how much this would inevitably change the relationship employees had with work all at once. Employees were forced to accept constant interruptions, additional bureaucracy to execute basic tasks, and see it as an upgrade. All these minor inconveniences add up and chip away at focused work, leaving staff isolated with headphones to signal they are trying to concentrate or awkwardly kicking another colleague out from a private office. But why oh why aren't employees running to the office voluntarily? Come on. It’s not exactly rocket science.

The same way airlines squeeze passengers in smaller spaces with less comfort but better profit, open-plan concepts created a culture of detachment, where employees are not encouraged to anchor themselves to a single workstation. They are indirectly told by that very concept that profit is more important than their comfort. Ironically, this will affect the organization’s numbers. While it is understandable that open space concept could be productive for some companies, it’s not exactly a one size fits all solution.

 Working in an open space means:

• You see everything going on around you at all times and have to work harder to stay focused. (According to a University of California Irvine study, it takes an average of 23 minutes to rebuild your focus zone).
• Reserving both open and closed office rooms for different meetings in the same day.
• Forecasting that the room you reserved may not be available on time and may be left unclean. 
• Carrying your lunch, a pair of shoes (during winter) and your laptop with its charger around on your commute. 
• It means the absence of physical material that create a sense of permanence,  familiarity and predictability like books, professional designations certificates, photos and  thank you cards.
• Not knowing who is sitting where at any time in the office. 

Let me ask you this: when you work from home, do you change rooms multiple times a day? Do you work in one room on Monday and a completely different one on Tuesday?

No.
​
You go to the same spot, every single time. Be it the cold granite of the kitchen counter or a massive wood desk, you’re checking in that space daily because you’re efficient there. You’re comfortable there. It's the same for meeting and lunch rooms. Human beings are creatures of habit and that sense of predictability and perception of control is something our brain loves. I’m convinced that some of the basic rules of efficiency is to preserve cerebral energy for hard and complex decision-making moments instead of dispensing it on things like: hmmm, did I reserve that office for my meeting?

​Thankfully, the pandemic came and pressed on the reset button.

The workforce was launched into something we had never seen before. Working 100% from home, forcing organizations and managers of all levels to trust their employees and be result focused and may I just say: AMEN.

It reaffirmed how productive we are in dedicated and private workspaces. It forced organizations to finally recognize technological savvy employees as adaptive and ahead of the game. Most important and critical of all, the pandemic slashed out our commute time and enabled employees to decentralize work from their schedules to better manage other priorities. Bean bags and pizza don’t compare to time saving and the comfort of home. If companies are serious about creating a sense of belonging, they need to be interested in the needs of their employees and being clear on what problem going to the office more regularly is trying to solve.

How do we define an employee’s work experience in 2024? What does their day look like? What of the younger generations who have never experienced checking in to work every day? How will we build camaraderie and trusting relationships with them? Instead of focusing on how to cut costs, invest in those who do the work. The more you think of employee wellbeing, the greater the benefits in the long run.
 
The pandemic didn't kill the office or the team's culture and sense of belonging, the open-plan concept did. The pandemic simply put the unsaid into the light. When we are able to leave a piece of ourselves at the office, we have greater peace of mind at home. 

You want "concrete" solutions? Here they are, black on white: 

• Listen and earn trust
• Bring back private and dedicated offices
• Contribute to employees commuting fair

​Confetti for dedicated and private offices!
​
P.S. This article explains it well and offers real applicable solutions as well: 
https://www.inc.com/geoffrey-james/the-open-plan-office-is-dead-do-this-instead.html

I pick up my pink old school looking landline at home and automatically dial my husband’s number and place the phone absent-mindedly between my right shoulder and neck as I type something up in the computer.
 
I immediately realize this is a move I haven’t done in a long time. One that tells you quite there is a giant time gap that separates my youth and today’s new way of functioning. It suddenly hits me: who else around me still holds a phone receiver in a day? Better yet, who still has phones numbers tattooed in their hippocampus? I’m ready to bet that not that many would be functional without their smart phones storing those numbers, even the basic ones.

I come from a time when you knew phone numbers so well that in dialing, your finger knows exactly where to go and your ears know exactly the little song that those numbers combined will make on the dial pad. Wait, a dial pad? Excuse me? Who still uses those?

Me, and I’d like to bring them back. Why, I could recite at least ten phone numbers I still know by memory, like a poem.

There was a time when the brain was challenged to remember a combination of seven numbers and to help us memorize them, we had phone books. As I was speaking on the phone, holding the receiver in my hand, a vintage posture, it took me back to times where I used to spend hours on the phone with friends. My ear used to be read and warm from pressing the phone too long. How about running to the phone when it rang? We run from it now.

What is hard to comprehend is how smart phones have made everything so available while at the same time, rendered humans contact nearly extinct. While I don’t believe actual distance kills relationships, I do believe slow and overly delayed texts or responses do.

Depending on what you expect in your relationship or friendships, proximity is created by being consistent and that predictability leads to trust in another person’s behavior and intentions. Do we not realize that a phone call is far more efficient than texting down every word? Do we not prefer hearing the person’s voice rather than guessing the person’s tone and emotions? 

While there is indeed something romantic to reading a text, like a letter in the mail as well as pragmatism in the “I respond when I want to” which gives you the freedom to prioritize your tasks the way you need to, it's not the same as live conversation.

Texting has stripped us of our conversational skills and of our spontaneity. It has made phone calls awkward or intrusive. There is hardly anyone I am comfortable calling nowadays. I  feel they would A) think I am disturbing their day no matter what time I am calling at or B) The callee would see my name appear on their phone and ignore it.

As I sit in my studio contemplating this, I am not sure which one is worse. There are only a handful of people I am confident I can call at any time and I know they will pick up (and I cherish them). What happened to calling just because? Calling your friend to vent about something? The sound of the phone ringing is a thing of the past and it’s yet another thing I am sad to see go.
 
You'll never know when the last time you'll hear a person's voice will be. ​Someone is calling to hear you or tell you something, even if it’s just not to forget to buy spinach, phone calls are precious. Besides, you can walk and talk, but can you text and walk?  Texting can be such a pain and this is coming from a writer. 

Back in the day, there was always something comforting in seeing a phone sitting on your night table. Hearing the gentle hum of the line waiting for you to dial. The wailing beeping it made when you waited too long to dial, urging you to hang up. Heck, just hanging up the phone was a classic move. Slamming the phone was another thing too, quite satisfying after a frustrating conversation I must say. How about having your own extra phone line at work and then etching that on a business card? That was a social status in itself.

I still remember speaking to my close friends on the phone in high school. After spending entire days together, we still couldn’t get enough and had to call each other to talk and goof off some more. As I type this, the sound of our young girl voices rises in my head and I hear us conspiring for the day ahead, leaving absolutely no written trace on the telling of our most appalling secrets!

Confetti for land lines. 

After three hours of work on my mane, I left my hairdresser’s chair with refreshed blond lengths and the delightful luscious waves that made my hair feel so much lighter. Too bad that for the moment, I still had to layer on my enormous fuchsia and feather filled winter coat along with a blanket scarf, gloves and damn, the pompom hat. I really did not want to squash my new hairdo, perhaps the coat hood would do the trick. In any case, better to ruffle the fresh hair than let the wind have its way with it. Why, with a minus 20 weather, Montreal’s wind factor is like a giant cool air blowing hair dryer.

As I walk in step with the crowd, I rummage through my purse and find my lifeline, my good old earphones. Yes, the ones with the wires. While highly tech savvy, I cannot be bothered to use yet another item that required charging. Besides, music is an essential part of my day and there is no way I am even chancing it with pods that I will most likely lose given my tragus ear piercing. Strutting to my own playlist (because I am also done paying monthly fees for music I downloaded years ago on Napster – new music? I have my ways…) I texted Leo, my husband:

“On my way, jumping in the metro! Check out wines for me? I’m craving a tartar! Is the kitchen still open at this hour?”

8:22PM was not so late, but, post-pandemic? One never knows. 

“Got it! And yes the kitchen is open. We are still smoking cigars upstairs, text me when you arrive and we’ll come meet you.”
“Perfect!” 

 Ravenous, I was so excited at the thought of a dinner Chez Alexandre. I had not been in that 70s retro bistro in years, in fact, not since I moved from the city. Three metro stations later, I’m outside walking on Peel street, with the hood of my coat locked on tight and I text again:
“Here!”
I let myself in Chez Alexandre and like a warrior taking off a worn out armor, I untie, unzip and remove ALL of my winter gear and feel the warmth of the place envelop me. Just then, a handsome looking Leo appears at the bottom of the staircase smelling of cigar.
​
“Hey Fetti! So we aren’t exactly finished our cigars yet, you can come join us but I doubt you’ll want your hair to smell?” he says genuinely concerned for my hair.
“No way! I’m starving anyway so I’ll order. Come down whenever you two are done.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not in the slightest!” I said smiling and gesturing him to go on. If there is one thing I, Confetti, am not shy to bask in, it is definitely alone time. Even if that means sitting by myself in a restaurant with no laptop and no book to hide behind. I’ll just sit there, be and fight every urge to look at my phone.
“Awesome, oh and you’ll love the Pinot best, with your tartare, that is. Enjoy!”  

Another fantastic ingredient to the evening: my husband knowing exactly my wine tastes, more so than I do.

With that, the young and tall waitress leads me to the front section facing the street. Most of the tables are empty and I choose the corner table, of course! It’s the best seat in the house with its prime view on the entire place. Only problem was, it was great for people watching and bad for comfort. Given it was one of the coldest days of the year as of yet in 2024. Which meant I was feeling the cold through the windows while bursts of hot air coming from the heater competed fiercely to keep the area warm. Admittedly, the cold won. My feet and bum remain cool.

The waitress lights the small candle on the table which instantly sets a cozy micro atmosphere at my table and I busy myself piling all my winter apparel on a little bench, which seemed to be made for just that, next to me.
“would you like something to drink to start?”
“I’ll have the Pinot by the glass please, thank you.”
“Perfect, I’ll be right back.”
To the exception of a large table with six youngster to my immediate right and another couple of women a few tables away, the restaurant was definitely not full, especially for a Friday night. Another reminder that the world was not as it used to be pre-pandemic.
The waitress returned and placed the glass of Pinot noir on a small square napkin.
“Would you like to see the menu or is the tartar still your preferred choice?”
“I’ll have the tartare please, medium spicy.”
“Excellent, it comes with fries, did you wish to-"
“Perfect!”

We both smiled at each other and the waitress took off with my order. With one swig of wine, I let go of the day’s speedy rhythm and settled in with my brewing mind. I watch cars slowy drive by through the semi-blurry window and it reminds me of those paintings I once saw in an old Montreal art gallery on St-Paul. I disconnect with my day and let nostalgia wash over me. A bad habit of mine or more like, a lifestyle really. I remembered when Friday nights were exactly like this, only I had one or two friends sitting by me.

When was the last time I enjoyed an evening like this?
Why, just the other night actually!

That is the beauty of having a fulfilling career, being happily married and childfree, too. I thought of old friends, especially the ones I hung out with when I lived in the city. Do they wonder what I am up to sometimes or is it just me reminiscing all my by lonesome? Do friends who do not see each other the way they used to, still laugh, albeit separately, about silly insides jokes the same way I do or are their lives so far gone from the one we knew that those memories are irretrievable or worse, irrelevant? Probably the latter. 

No matter the case, I Confetti, love my life. I look around me and felt a reassuring sensation from the gentle hum of ongoing conversations from strangers. This fills my soul and my brain starts firing so many great ideas; I open the side pocket of my purse and take out my small notepad, pen, and start jotting down my thoughts. It has become a habit of mine to carry pen and paper as public places nourish my percolating mind. I write and feel an impenetrable bubble starting to form around me like an aura.
I had been writing for some time when I feel a presence standing near, my husband Leo and our friend Gian were back from their cigar smoking. They were looking at me hesitantly not to burst my concentration.
“Oh hey guys! Gian, nice to see you.”
“Confetti, how are you?” Gian and I exchange a hug. “What are you doing? Writing?”
I nod, Leo smiles unsurprised as we all take our seats in the semi-warm corner of the restaurant. We start chatting and as if the evening wasn't perfect enough, we are interrupted by good news:
 “Your tartare with fries miss?”
And the beautiful plate of food is placed in front of me.
“Would you like some ketchup or mayo for your fries?”
I shoot her one glance “both?” I smile and she gets it!

And that, dear readers, is life with Confetti.

​It’s fall and all this gray and rainy weather is so very conducive to writing. Instead of longer pieces, I thought of writing a few shorter bits, “shorts” as youtubers would call them, just to share some slices of life, in bite size format, like tapas!
 
Here’s my first one. Starting strong with a cold tapa!
“Death does not apply to me.”

​A statement that is both a cruel joke and a comforting lie all at the same time.
It creeps up on me quietly when I find myself enjoying the little things in life. When I am sitting in the passenger seat of the car and my husband is driving. We are going to see friends for dinner. The music playing hits just right and I latch on to my rêverie and let myself drift away as I look out the window. I feel at the summit of it all. For seconds that is all I know and I think I am eternal and that nothing can stop this. This life and this magnificent feeling.

Death does not apply to me.
​
The words actually land into my consciousness and with their meaning, instantly pierce my lucid dream as I am reminded of just how many friends and family members death has plucked out of my life.

The truth is, I think of death every day. Or rather, I think of our mortality and how temporary our stay here really is. I always have, ever since I was little, I have despised the passing of time. Unlike many, I never wanted to grow old, already knowing somehow that a great childhood is one of life’s greatest gifts. That is where my obsession with photos and film stems from. Being able to freeze moments in time is still something that baffles me today.

But continuing on with our theme, knowing my impermanence and that I am only getting closer and closer to my end with each day that passes, has given me great motivation to live according to a strong sense of purpose and to limit regrets as much as possible. Not to compromise and betray myself. This was put forth even more with the pandemic that blazed through us, the ongoing conflicts that have taken over Ukraine and now Israel and Palestine and other unfortunate events that are not represented in the media but that are very real. Yet, here I am, peacefully going about my day. Sipping my coffee while a load of laundry is being done and my diffuser peppers the air that I breathe with the chosen essential oil of the day. Sandalwood.
​
Death does not apply to me. 

Last Friday I took the day off and booked a hair appointment. As I sit in the chair with the toner doing its magic on my mane, I pull out my book to read yet another historical fiction story based in WW2 and, as I look at my new Nikes, I think how lucky I am to be able to walk. How energetic I feel and powerful to know that in 20 minutes, my hair will be splashed in golden tones of blond. I can do as I please.
​
Death does not apply to me.
​
The thought momentarily robs me of my power as I think – why am I even doing this? Why do we all bother with such futile activities when we know very well how many more important things we could or should be doing? We will all die anyway, why am I sitting here?

I am sitting here because my appearance and how I show up to in this world matters to me and affects how I feel. Investing in hair coloring is not futile, it is powerful act in some sense. I contribute in building my outer shell, my armor and consequently, my inner workings as well. I plunge back in to my book and in my comforting lie that at the moment, death does not apply to me.
​
Thinking about death constantly would also be quite wasteful and would feel like I don’t actually want to be here. The complete opposite of who I am. I plan on staying as long as possible, so I am definitely pro-investing in activities that elevate my experience as a human being. Be it highly cultural or seeming insignificant to some.

  “I’ll tell you a secret, something they don’t teach you in your temple. The Gods envy US. They envy us because we are mortal. Because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful BECAUSE we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again."

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and see those laugh wrinkles around my eyes and am humbled that I have been here for some time now. I know one day we will meet, death and I. I don’t know the date and it is better so. But until then...
Death does not apply to me and may the gods envy us. *fist bumps death*
​
Bee living with intention, every day.
​x
P.S. Hopefully I will not “accidentally” be struck by lightning today ;)

​My husband and I had come to see a Montreal band play in a local bar downtown. It had been a lovely summer evening of strolling in the Quartier des Spectacles and nibbling on apéro. We had arrived early for the show, and, thanks to our punctuality, we snatched a table that gave us a nice view of the stage. As I perched on one of the bar stools, Phil returned to our table with our order of drinks and we awaited the opening act. A crowd was slowly forming, and I let myself indulge in some people watching. While all sorts of folks were attending, I recognized the youth right away. Of course, you could be thinking that merely by physical appearance, one would know (even though in my mind, I am eternally 30 years of age) yet, it was the way they greeted each other that struck me and plunged me into nostalgia.

The way they all smiled and mostly, hugged each other.  The closeness of the groups of friends that was forming in front of me was striking. I’ll take it one level deeper: the familiarity in those greetings and in how they looked at one another, revealed to me that they most likely had seen each other just the night before and still, they could not get enough of their time together… and my heart sank a little.

I reminisced to those days when your friends were all you ever thought about. They were the pillars of my world and I could not wait until my next hang out, my next class or better yet, my next show. Those carefree days when truly, the future was unwritten, as it still is, there just seemed to be more of it back then, and that feeling was reassuring. We would call each other without having to first text “can I call you?” or just show up at a friend’s front door unannounced to say hi or hang out…wild.
​
Strong friendship can weather any storm and always remain (and so do hugs). It is the proximity and place you occupy in a person’s life that changes over time, naturally so. 

​In my perspective, as of elementary and high school, I compare friends and classmates as soldiers in one giant battalion, splitting into different companies. Some are in the same platoon or even squad but we all cross paths inevitably given we are in the same school or live near each other.
​
The first wind of change comes with the end of high school and the beginning of CEGEP and university studies. Some of us chose to continue on the road of education versus others who entered the work force quicker. Some friends moved and lived in other parts of the world! And still, we kept in touch writing letters, long phone conversations and meets ups that kept those friendships alive and well! And while the battalion of soldiers that was once held together by the regiment of our private school and geographical positions began unravelling with the newfound freedom, I never felt alone. That battalion only shrank ever so slightly and moved. Also, it was quite expected as a result of the end of high school, so the surprise effect was absent. The sense of fraternity was just beginning through the obstacles that we all went through on our own respective paths.

​A second wave of change usually occurs when careers are launched and I felt this when I continued to graduate studies as many of my fellow comrades joined the work force. Once again, friendships are tested as we jumped from one trench to another, from one base camp to another, trying to achieve our respective goals. Naturally, we do not all have the same endeavors, it is only normal for soldiers to switch squads, platoons or even battalions. We cheered each other on from our stations and though we saw each other a little less, the fraternity was alive and well. Besides, I had always known my road was going to be longer than most and I enjoyed the student path more than I realized. 

A third triage takes place with the traditional milestone of marriage. As many were stepping into this new realm, I was only just beginning the launch of my career.  Yet, even so, this wave was not significant as I still saw many of my friends regularly. We participated in each other’s events and activities and I also joined the married coupled world later on. My soldiers were very much within reach, as was I, to them. If anything, it felt like the battalion had increased in size. The freedom and availability we had with life and with each other was, relatively speaking, at a peak. The end of my twenties all the way through mid-thirties were just phenomenal. I was working in the practice I had studied so hard for, I lived in the city with my awesome husband, and had an army of friends to share the joy with. Whether I was riding my Vespa in the busy streets of Montreal, sitting on the rooftop of our building by the pool with a drink, or devouring a beef tartar with girlfriends on a Tuesday night because, why not? The reality was simple: my friends were the main characters in my life story. No antagonist or plot twist was in sight to defeat us. Nothing was missing. That feeling of being young and invincible and having so much time ahead was the vibration I lived on. 

​The same vibe I saw in that group of friends greeting each other at the show that summer evening.
​
Every now and again though, a pirate thought would come about, bust my defense line and steal my pixie dust. The pirate voice said, “this will all come to an end, you will see…”. I chased it away, but I knew very well that all good things end. This was no exception. However, I would cross that bridge when I got to it and not a fraction of a second prior. 

​The fourth wave is the one I was unprepared for.

It consisted of another traditional milestone that many close soldiers sought to achieve, the logical next step that society usually dictates: parenthood. Soon my socials were filled with baby announcements, gender reveals, baby showers, birth announcements and more. While I basked in my fellow soldiers’ happiness, it was the first time I felt a true separation. The world that my friends and I lived in was changing one baby announcement at a time and each time, I would congratulate the parents to be with a huge smile, turn around and shed a few quiet tears. Unlike marriage, parenthood involved a massive change of priorities and availability. While it certainly did not mean we would never see each other again or that the friendship no longer existed, one cannot ignore that things would never be the same as they were.
I admired the speed and certainty these soldiers went into this new parenthood mission as they experienced a world I was not yet a part of. One that  unknowingly, I never would be a part of (by choice).  Slowly but surely, many if not all of my friends transitioned to parenthood. Suddenly, the battalion shrank to a platoon, which inevitably reduced to a thriving squad, and just when I was certain I was solid on my feet, the squad became a one-man army. The ground shook hard and I found myself alone in the trench.
​
Never had I felt lonelier on my mission. One that not many chose nor understood. 

In addition to that, I lost some important soldiers in my family squad, some that life decided to pluck out earlier than anticipated. My mother-in-law lost her battle with cancer, as did my aunt and not long after, my grandparents, the true veterans of my life, both hung their life uniforms, months apart from each other. All of them left an immense void in the team. To add more bombs to my trench, a childhood comrade of mine quit her life mission altogether. Unknowing of the horrible battle she was facing, this was a blow I never saw coming and that haunts me to this day. It is one thing to leave this world against your will, quite another to welcome the exit.  
​
Those were not easy times. Handling loss in all of its shapes and forms was a challenge. My compass also lost its north for a while but I never lost sight of the light. When you see ALL of you friends choose parenthood, the pressure of joining that mission is all too real. 

​But no.
​
While the entire battalion was going towards parenthood, it just wasn't my mission. It never was and I had to accept that I was different. I also have to constantly fight against the default narrative of society’s constructs to honor my integrity in that choice.

I seized the wonderful opportunity the pandemic offered to dig a foxhole and process all this and myself in it. I shifted my focus to the real main character of my story: me.
​
The me I knew wanted to write, take music lessons and just keep enjoying my practice at work. I wanted to live a life of creative purpose in my way and unlock my full potential. This is my goal, every day. The reason I am so happy and energetic is thanks to me following my own wishes, even if it sets me apart. I know I am fulfilling my own contract, the one I made with myself before I was born most likely. I feel it in everything that I do and all that I am. That is the sparkling Ivana you know and love and I would not trade it for anything in the world.

Writing my first novel had taught me so much and I came soaring out of yet another shell.

​I discovered that going against society’s current and leading an authentic life is far easier than going against my heart. Besides, I relished the time spent with myself and the peace that came with it. As I continue to evolve, I realize I need more pockets of alone time, now more than ever before. Writing a manuscript made me dangerously fall in love with long periods without social interactions or distractions and I cherish those moments as they calm my nervous system. I strive to find an equilibrium between the city life vibe and the tranquility of my backyard. I need both. A cool combo is being alone among strangers in the city! 

While I salute my old self, the one thriving in the battalion of the thirties, I now find myself in a new place. One where I no longer feel the need to chase and repatriate old comrades. Lately, I have been fortunate to meet new allies on my path. Soldiers who share the same interests, goals; the same mission as I do and together, we run. The more experienced I grew, the more a tightly knit fire team outvalued the battalion, platoon or even squad. The moment I stopped worrying about keeping groups together, which was unrealistic, I made room for kindred spirits. 

Now, as an experienced foot soldier whose battalion no longer exists, I carry a few battle scars, a couple of wounds that are still healing and, in my heart, a wisdom that time inevitably imposes. As I was riding my Vespa the other day, I waited at a red light and I realized I am still here, alive and healthy, doing what I love with my true partner in crime come what may, Phil. I felt so much gratitude for each day as it is a blank canvas that awaits me. The light turned green, and I buzzed away, leaving a cloud of pixie dust...

Bee, at ease soldiers!

​Hello Beeple people,
 
Three months into the new year, Spring is here, and I hope you are well on your way to accomplishing what you set out to do for 2023, with conviction. And if you haven’t yet, this is your sign to get to it. 
 
I have been meaning to write this piece for a while as I have witnessed the youth slowly take on the workforce more and more. I dedicate this to those who are growing up thinking some have it made on Instagram and Tik Tok, as we only reveal what looks good.
 
Know that it isn’t so.
 
Many show the good, the positive and in my case, the funny (or at least, I think it’s funny), and I am here to say that while those sides are true, they required time and work. And if they didn’t? then those constant victories are fake. That is, there are truths that are not shown behind the curtains. For example: the individual has a media and makeup squad to spruce up their posts, filters, a nanny, etc. and then pose as accomplished professionals. If they can sleep at night doing this, that’s on them.
 
Of course, I do the same in the sense that I share positive content to inspire or cast an uplifting ray of sunshine to whoever visits my IG page and blog. While I openly destroy my own accomplishments verbally all the time (and try to bask in a bit of glory here and there), it occurred to me that I never really shared some of my own major obstacles. As I was having apéro with a friend a few weeks ago, I was praising his musical abilities as he openly shared that the thing he hated the most was to practice. This surprised me, and then he mentioned “not giving up is one of the most underrated skills” and that strung a chord deep within me. I am all about not giving up.

Some people are naturally smart. I on the other hand am outstanding at not giving up. 

Which got me thinking that perhaps disclosing of a failure with you and how I overcame it would counterbalance my sunshine posts and show the dark side of the force. Most importantly, it would demonstrate the underestimated value of valour.

​Let’s start with a bang.
 
FAILURE : a certain university, we'll call it McJill, REJECTED ME.
TWICE.
 
*Audience gasps in disgust*

I know...It was brutal, I won't lie. Yet, I would not be who I am without that double slap, that set back, that FAILURE to make it through admissions. Yes, that’s right, I used the F word. The way I overcame this obstacle and adapted to find solutions gave me the chance to develop tools I still carry with me today. 

Let’s set the records straight: I am a Concordian all the way (and have nothing against McJill, don't come at me with spears), but given McJill was the only university to offer the graduate program I desired, I ignored everything else and directed all efforts towards it. I was blinded by optimism, knowing the program only held about 27 places. I firmly believed that armed with my grades, letters of recommendation all written by highly regarded professors and a little luck, I would be admitted. Back then, applications were in print and to make sure it made it on time, I took no chances and, in the middle of winter, dropped my huge brown enveloppe off at the admissions office on McTavish Street (I curse that street every time I see it and avoid it to this day). A few weeks later, I got a letter in the mail and on it was something like this:
 
“While meritorious of the program, we simply cannot admit everyone who applies…”
 
Ouf, that was rough.

That meant that all those efforts and hard work did not suffice for me to make it through. The worst is the absence of a debrief in the aftershock you are left with. There is no phone call and no more explanation apart from the contradicting you deserve it but didn’t get it speech. I was left with so many questions:
​

• Were my grades not high enough?
• Was it my extracurricular? 
• Was my essai not well written? (doubtful ;))
• Why do you admit hundreds of students in psychology undergrad programs but then let more than half of them abandon their studies?

I was discouraged and massively disappointed, but then, too determined to quit. I wanted to practice in psychology in one form or another and one cannot do so with a bachelor’s degree. Graduate studies were a must and I always knew I was going to push my studies further. I was not ready to enter the workforce, nor did I desire to interrupt my path. Most importantly, I didn’t want regrets i.e. “Perhaps if I had tried once more, I would have gotten in…”

In my quest to succeed, I unfortunately also found out that kindness and empathy was NOT a prerequisite in becoming a Ph.D. graduate. Many of the professors who were part of the admissions committee of some of the other universities I approached for advice, snubbed me and offered no guidance as to how I could eventually get through. One woman in particular shot me down quite tactlessly and I got so fed up, I challenged her merit:
 
“I see, and yet, you’re a psychologist?” 
 
In other words, you are at this very moment destroying a student’s dream without mercy and yet even YOU made it as a psychologist. It was unbelievable to me that she was so high up on the social status horse that the primary skills of needed to be a psychologist, listening, and demonstrating care for the other person’s well-being, has nearly vanished.
 
Needless to say that the look on her face was priceless.
 
Something in me changed that day though. I turned my back to her office door AND the world of psychology. Or perhaps, its stupid politics and the way it was being run by contradicting concepts. I promised myself that I was not going to ever become jaded like that. If one day I could enter the world of graduate studies, I would handle it with care.

​As that extra year began (2005), I soon found out a good buddy of mine (Hi Rich!), was also taking on the same research class and I convinced him to join the same lab I was in. We were great partners and were there every other day to tend to the rats and carry on the study (Olfactory Conditioned Partner Preference Blocked by Opiate Antagonist Naloxone – say that three times real fast). I also had the smartest research psychologists and veterinaries colleagues who were so kind to share their wisdom. I had a blast! Not only that, Rich and I got mentions in two publications which, for undergrads, was phenomenal. And after all this, I applied yet again to McJill’s counselling psychology program, walked up (damn) McTavish Street again and dropped off my brown envelope, on my quest to be a graduate student. How I longed to join those ranks…
 
Alas, it was not in the cards. Again.
 
And to make matters worse, the second time around, I found out on a Friday late afternoon after refreshing the page of my online candidacy profile one last time online. Careful what you wish for. I wanted an answer and I sure got one.
 
REFUSED. Black on white.

​No explanations, reasons, nothing. Later, I got the same letter in the mail I had received one year earlier. This time though, I KNEW it wasn’t because I had failed at anything: my grades were good, I had more extracurricular experience and more letters of recommendation than the year before…so, it was my turn to cross McJill off my list. After all, I wasn’t about to wait for them to “see” me. 
 
That summer, when I didn't quite know what to do with myself, I found out about Yorkville University, based in Fredericton, NB. It had just launched a new ONLINE curriculum in Counselling Psychology and I was just in time to apply for the fall. I was admitted upon first application. Back then, online classes were quite new and this journey launched me in being one of the first to complete graduate studies online in my entourage. I pioneered it and got so much out of that experience. It tested me in every which way. From writing my master's’ case to finding a supervisor that would take me under their wing. Never have I understood how our province is the exception to all the rest of the country in a deeper fashion. There was so much red tape and complicated details to assess as I wanted to make sure this degree would lead me to the door I wanted to open: being a Conseillère en Orientation. The road was so tumultuous that anyone who wasn't certain of their goal would have most likely given up or decided to "cut their losses" at some point. 

Yet, to me, stopping meant I was giving up on my dream to practice psychology. So I jumped into the trenches armed with nothing but determination. Come what may, this was happening. I was going to kick open that door once I got there. 

Giving up was never an option. I never even contemplated the idea. Not once.
 
Yorkville University’s curriculum is recognized by l'OCCOQ (Ordre des Conseillers et Conseillère en Orientation du Québec), and I successfully completed the Master’s degree. Yet, as time passed, I couldn’t help but ask myself what did McJill students who had been the “chosen ones” do differently? What internships did they have? What activities were they part of? I was curious...
 
One day, while the clinical psychologist who kindly took me in as his apprentice and I were hosting a small conference for the Canadian Counselling and Psychotherapy Association, we began with the famous ice breaker routine where everyone introduces themselves. To my astonishment, the two last attendees at the table were Counselling Psychology students from McJill University, coming to hear the psychologist, who was my mentor, speak.
 
Well I'll be DAMED! We have come full circle folks.
 
And THAT, my friends, is was what FAILURES are for. That is what OBSTACLES are for. If you really want it, and I mean, REALLY want it, you’ll put up with just about anything to find your way to it. It is but a question of time.
 
You can have a great support system (parents, friends, loved ones) who provide helpful resources, but in the end, it’s all up to you. 

I graduated and moved on to my next goal and until I got all I needed to practice counselling psychology. Which I do, every day. 

So, while social media glamorizes “the good life” and gets most people struggling to find shortcuts to success, you can decide to do the actual work to get to where you want to be. This means:

• Accepting to be vulnerable in a learning curve for some time
• Standing alone if your goals set you apart from others (honoring your integrity)
• Saying no to distractions, A LOT, which means saying yes to your goal(s)

 
Mastering a skill takes discipline. Discipline means hard work. Hard work means not giving up. Think you can handle it? I am willing to bet you can.
 
I leave you with inspirational quotes that feed my own perseverance:
 
"La responsabilité est indissociable au pouvoir d’agir"
"What you don’t change you choose"
"If you have time for social media, you have time to invest the efforts in that dream"
 
-Ivana, the twice rejected black sheep of counselling psych program.