A Girl in the World

Learning

London, Hyde Park

Septembers were my favourite. The walk home from work took an hour and required a diagonal cut through Hyde Park. Belgravia to Notting Hill.

Autumn had never felt more grande than during that evening as I looked down the long lane of tall maples that hugged Park Lane. The crispy crunch of red orange leaves and a warm cool breeze had me bursting with joy. I purposely left work at work; no laptop, no bags, flat shoes and a light coat. Nothing to weigh me down on this most precious of evenings.

After several minutes of walking, the park’s vast open spaces swallowed the traffic of the city streets.  The silence surprised me.  But for the chirp of a bird or laughter between lovers, I had no idea it was possible in a metropolis so big. Vast blue skies were possible too. Not a building could be seen on the horizon by the time I reached the Serpentine and suddenly the day’s worth of meetings, deadlines, phone calls and emails vanished.

On this particular evening, I strolled more slowly than usual, admiring the hummed chirp of summer insects as they readied for the night.  On the grass friends gathered in their loosened ties and unbuttoned coats, joy washing over their faces as they sat with Tesco wine, paper cups and plastic wrapped cheese. Mist hovered softly over the grass, kissing their scattered shoes in the dying light of an Indian summer eve. I smiled for them, amused by the simplicity of their make-shift picnic out. A pang of loneliness came over me.

I wondered what it was that they laughed about as a peered at them from my bench. They’re bitching about work, I thought to myself. The usual chit chat after a long week. The nothing details in conversation that we are compelled to share with people we trust, nurturing intimacy as we open up about our naked, unglamorous lives.

I had left everything and everyone I knew behind to pursue a new life in a new land. I had opportunities to pursue, new places to see, new limits to test. It had been my decision to come here, my decision to start fresh. But in that moment, I longed to join them in their reverie, to be invited into something bigger than my hermit crab shell built for one.

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This is an excerpt from a creative-writing piece about my life in London from 2005 to 2009.  The finished product is coming along very slowly.  I’m posting drafts for practice and feedback; my slow-cook approach towards publishing.

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On the last eve of this 4th of July weekend, there sits a lump in my throat as the pop of fireworks reverberate around our neighbourhood. God Bless America is blasting on TV, the screen splattered in sprinkles of red and blue as Washington DC and NYC ring in this Independence Day. I am overcome with gratitude and awe.

You see, I’m in the final stages of becoming an official American Citizen. Just a few weeks late of the nation’s 235th birthday and on the doorstep of the celebration of my own 29 years, I will be swearing my oath of allegiance to this incredible country.

I am Philippine by birth, and Canadian in upbringing. We came to Canada as immigrants when I was 5 years old. Opportunity, warmer skies and the American Dream brought our family south.

Blessed by the love of relatives left behind, my parents arrived on this continent with nothing more than a few thousand dollars, sheer determination and an unwavering innocent hope for a better life. Like millions of others who came before us seeking work and equal opportunity, our dreams of stability and prosperity were realized. America (and Canada) did not care where we came from or the colour of our skin. It did not care what brand of English we spoke – broken or accented. It did not care what food we ate, how we dressed or what God we chose to love.

While studying America’s history in preparation for my citizenship interview, I was overcome with admiration and amazement. The establishment of democracy, the bill of rights, the systems of checks and balances in government; all of it is simply remarkable. The overwhelming show of American pride that once perplexed me as a Canadian means so much more to me now as I come to terms with what it means to be a citizen of this country.

I have a few more weeks to go before it all becomes official.  Maybe then I’ll have the wisdom, clarity and presence of mind to express my feelings in more detail.  Today, I am content with not having the words.  Today, I am just very grateful to be here.

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Cafuné is Brazilian Portuguese for “the act of tenderly running one’s fingers through someone’s hair”. I love this word. I love the accent on the E. I love the way it sounds when I say it out loud, nice and slow and round in my mouth. I love that there’s even a word for this gesture. So perfect.

I must have been Latin in another life. This word and I, we just fit.

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A year ago today, I was living in Buenos Aires learning Castellano (Argentine Spanish). It was Fall in South America. The nights were breezy and warm, perfect for (very) late dinners out.

It’s nice to remember that life. Time slowed in Argentina. Days were long and languid. Meals stretched for hours. Time with friends and family dictated working hours, not the other way around.

We all need a little bit of the exotic to feel alive. Moving to the other side of the world for love and language was definitely exotic for me. We took things slow, we relished the simple joys and kept top of mind what was most important: family, friendship and gratitude.

Something to ponder today.

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Denise Gamboa, SmugMarketress, as Neytiri
I am Neytiri for SmugMug. We are all SmugMug Heroes.

I started a new job at the end of September last year.  This announcement is 5 months late.  Back then, I was too busy mourning the end of my sabbatical to notice  the amazing blessing of a job that  I’d found at SmugMug.  (Clearly, my emotions have a tendency of running a little behind when it comes to acclimating to the many changes that life has brought over the last six months).  SmugMug is a family-run business that specializes in enabling photographers (soccer moms, travelers, wedding pros) to safely archive, share and print their beautiful pictures.  It was a little unreal to stumble upon an opportunity that so neatly fit into my short list of favorite things to do (write, travel, photograph).  I still have a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that I get to work where I play, and play where I work.

Interestingly, the last few months haven’t been a cake walk.  Not only did I have to get used to working again, but I also had to get used to working for a small company.  I’m employee number 70.  And considering that by the time I left GOOG it was nearing 22,000 employees, and that it was my very first real job, I hadn’t a clue what awaited me at Smug.  I came in assuming that marketing strategy and campaigns would be easier and faster to implement.  I was sure that the lack of politics, processes and approvals would enable me to hit the ground running and launch faster than ever before.  I realized quickly that the differences are far more complicated than size alone.  Here are some of my learnings.

How to transition from a large company to small

Stay Humble
It’s so easy to leave a large company feeling full of yourself.  Really. The reward systems present in large organizations (promotions, bonuses, peer bonuses, 360 degree evaluations, mid quarter reviews, status reports etc etc) are designed to push employees to best perform for the benefit of the company, while at the same time rewarding employee morale and ego.  This is not to say that these reward systems are wrong. They just seem to matter less in smaller companies.  It’s not about the number of promotions you’ve received or the score you earned in Q1 calibrations.  It’s about making an impact, however large or small, to the bottom line of a business whose health directly depends on the output of practical, focused and committed work that you do on a daily basis.  Nobody cares if you’ve got an MBA or how many promotions you earned in your previous role.  Can you get the job done, no matter how trivial, manual or tedious?  And can you do it yourself, with zero budget, with zero resources, and with high impact?  That’s what matters.  Your sweat, your tears, your effort all matter.  Literally.

Be Frugal and Prioritize
This is a hard one to learn.  Coming from a company where cotton candy fell from the sky and roads were paved in gold, there was no chance that the next company, no matter how great, could compete.  And I’m not referring to perks like free food, flex time, beautiful offices and great benefits, because, amazingly, I’m extremely lucky to have landed at a small company that has all of these things!  I’m talking about resources.  Engineers, designers, HR people, PR people etc.  We’re small and everybody is stretched to the max of their capacity.  There’s always more work than can ever be done.  Prioritization becomes the thin line between success and failure.  It’s not possible to do everything and it’s not wise.  Limited resources push you to rank initiatives based on importance, impact and scale.

Sit at the Table and Be Heard
There’s nowhere to hide in a small company.  What you say and what you do will be noticed.  Every email, every campaign, every idea will put you on the center stage.  It’s a great opportunity to shine and contribute ideas that may not necessarily be within the scope of your role.  This has been one of my favorite things about working at a <100 person company: insight into product management, direct involvement in business development and partnerships, close relationships with design and support.  It’s been an amazing learning experience, enriching not only in terms of the marketing work that I do, but also because of my exposure to the rest of the business.  This kind of collaboration is hard to achieve in a large company.

Get Personal
Small companies are, well, small.  This means fit is just as important as ability.  Personal relationships with the people that you work with are key.  Spend time to get to know your colleagues.  Really hone in on what motivates them, where they come from, how best they work.  Though occasionally I miss the big-city feel of being in a large corporation (big parties, dozens of familiar faces, gossip and intrigue, the option to remain anonymous of I so inclined), the lack of politics, process and power struggle in a small company makes for a much more relaxed daily work life.

Find Peace in Chaos
I thought I was going to go into SmugMug and create structure, order, process.  I planned to make things more efficient, more organized, more … like me.  But I soon realized that I wasn’t going to be able to do that and I was going to kill myself trying.  Chaos/randomness is inherent in a small company, where resources are constrained and where autonomy isn’t only a privilege but also necessity.  We don’t do meetings, we don’t do power point, we don’t do approvals.  We iterate, we talk, we try and we do.  It’s a wonderful and refreshing change from big-company structure and process.  Once I learned to embrace the chaos, the fun began.

Everyday is a new adventure now and I’m so thankful for it all. The ability to try new things, to own big projects, to work with motivated people and to make a real difference in a growing company, has made all the difference in the world in terms of my work-life happiness. So great.

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Gabriel Garcia Marquez, famous writer from Colombia, and Nobel Peace Prize winner for literature, has retired from public life for reasons of health. He has a form of cancer, which is terminal. He has sent a farewell letter to his friends.

One day, I’ll know enough Spanish to be able to understand the original, untranslated version of this letter (I’m sure it reads beautifully) but until then, I couldn’t help but share this piece.

He says:

“If God, for a second, forgot what I have become and granted me a little bit more of life, I would use it to the best of my ability.

I wouldn’t, possibly, say everything that is in my mind, but I would be more thoughtful of all I say. I would give merit to things not for what they are worth, but for what they mean to express.

I would sleep little, I would dream more, because I know that for every minute that we close our eyes, we waste 60 seconds of light.

I would walk while others stop; I would wake while others sleep.

If God would give me a little bit more of life, I would dress in a simple manner, I would place myself in front of the sun, leaving not only my body, but my soul naked at its mercy.

To all men, I would say how mistaken they are when they think that they stop falling in love when they grow old, without knowing that they grow old when they stop falling in love.

I would give wings to children, but I would leave it to them to learn how to fly by themselves.

To old people I would say that death doesn’t arrive when they grow old, but with forgetfulness.

I have learned so much with you all, I have learned that everybody wants to live on top of the mountain, without knowing that true happiness is obtained in the journey taken & the form used to reach the top of the hill.

I have learned that when a newborn baby holds, with its little hand, his father’s finger, it has trapped him for the rest of his life.

I have learned that a man has the right and obligation to look down at another man, only when that man needs help to get up from the ground.

Say always what you feel, not what you think. If I knew that today is the last time that that I am going to see you asleep, I would hug you with all my strength and I would pray to the Lord to let me be the guardian angel of your soul.

If I knew that these are the last moments to see you, I would say ‘I love you’.

There is always tomorrow, and life gives us another opportunity to do things right, but in case I am wrong, and today is all that is left to me, I would love to tell you how much I love you & that I will never forget you.

Tomorrow is never guaranteed to anyone, young or old.

Today could be the last time to see your loved ones, which is why you mustn’t wait; do it today, in case tomorrow never arrives. I am sure you will be sorry you wasted the opportunity today to give a smile, a hug, a kiss, and that you were too busy to grant them their last wish.

Keep your loved ones near you; tell them in their ears and to their faces how much you need them and love them. Love them and treat them well; take your time to tell them ‘I am sorry’;’ forgive me’,'please’ ‘thank you’, and all those loving words you know.

Nobody will know you for your secret thought. Pray for the wisdom and courage to express them.

Show your friends and loved ones how important they are to you.

For you,
With much love,
Your Friend,
Gabriel Garcia Marquez

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A few months ago, on a fresh London evening, a girl friend and I were sitting at a pub catching up about the year away.  We talked travel and work and friendship.  Under the buzz of after-office revelry, we opened up about pain and history and the men in our lives.  She asked me about the Boy and how things were going.  And I said in an instant, “I don’t know how it’s possible but everyday it gets better and better.  Usually, things start out really great and fizzle away over time, but with this one, it’s been the opposite”.  She smiled and said,  ”I love the slow burn”.

The slow burn.

Like unwrapping a present one fold at a time, the slow burn is an exercise in patience.  It’s believing when there is no proof.  It’s anticipating when there is no map.  It’s moving forward in the complete pitch black trusting that whatever happens, things will turn out as they should.  It’s the opposite of control.  It’s about not needing to know the future, it’s about being ok with uncertainty, it’s about embracing the moment.

The last year away has been a slow burn for me.  So much of the path I took while traveling, exploring and learning was uncharted.  On certain occasions, I didn’t even know where I’d sleep that night.  And on a grander scale, I had no idea what I was going to do after the journey was over, whenever “over” came.  It was an exercise in becoming completely comfortable with myself and all the non-answers that plagued me.  Did I make the right decision?  Am I in the right place?  Where will I be a year from now?

There were moments during my travels when these questions would drive me crazy.  I’d been so used to having answers, to having it all planned out.  Sitting in the nucleus of a self-made bubble of ambiguity was sometimes painful, sometimes exhilarating and almost always scary.

It has taken me a while to realize this but the slow burn is probably one of life’s best gifts.  In friendship, in work, in love and in dreams, the most important element is time.  Time reveals all the details that matter.  Time gives you the perspective and level-headedness to see past the fear, the heady excitement and the unease of change.  It helps you dig through the superficial and gives you the clarity to really see the bare bones truth of what you need to know.  It really is like opening the most amazing present there is, one small fold, one piece of scotch-tape at a time.

Patience is key.  Welcome the slow burn.  If you rush through, you may miss out on the stuff that matters.

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Compassion’s pain

July 29, 2010

Sometimes, there are moments I wish I could take back and do-over.  Press life’s Rewind button.

Today, we went to the hospital to get the Boy’s stitches removed (he had minor surgery a few weeks ago and was in for a routine screen).  I hate hospitals.  Especially urgent care (emergency) rooms.  They are creepy.  A symbol of pain, heartbreak, stress.  I’m one of those people who can walk into a room and instantly feel the emotion of the place. Emergency rooms are not zen, no matter how nicely they’re decorated or how many fun magazines there are on the tables.  They make me instantly anxious, so much so that I feel nauseous.

There was a lady in front of us at check-in who was being helped out of a wheelchair.  She must have been in her mid thirties and clearly in a lot of pain.  Tears rolling down her eyes, she shuffled slowly into a room out of sight.  My imagination started running wild with possibilities.  What could have happened to her?  Why is she here alone?  Did someone hurt her?  A few minutes later, she was asked to sit in the waiting room across from me (the Boy had gone in to see someone at this point and it was just me and her, with the TV blasting in the background).  She looked away, ensuring I wouldn’t see her face and she sat there hunched over, clutching her stomach.  I could hear her sobbing.

So much of me wanted to reach out to her and ask what was wrong.  I was in agony for her.  I could feel her pain from across the bright, lifeless room and I wanted so badly to touch her and give her whatever comfort I could provide.  But another part of me feared getting too close.  I feared that I was intruding on her privacy, I feared the possibility of being exposed to a world and life much less innocent and different from my own, I feared her pain.  My heart was breaking.  For her.  And because I was so disappointed in myself for my own cowardice.

A few moments later, a nurse came by to give her some medicine and the Boy came out with a happy smile on his face.  We could go now. Everything was fine.

Except that it was not.

The moment had passed.

Compassion and love could have been exchanged in that moment, in a time  and place when they were needed most, but now the chance will be lost forever.  It’s been a few hours now and I am still feeling ill from the experience.   Terrible.  I couldn’t find the courage to risk my own fears so that I could relieve the pain of another.

I hope the next time, I will be different.  =(

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Full Circle

July 1, 2010

Back in February when we went to Vancouver for the Winter Olympics, the Boy and I were talking about the idea of progress.  It had been a while since I’d been back to Vancouver, my university town, and I was so pleasantly surprised to see such great improvements in transportation.  Obviously the city spent millions to invest in the games.  Efficient transport is a necessity when on the world stage.   I was proud to come back to my old hometown to see things much improved.

Now, exactly one year since I quit my job in London, I’m back to spend the summer.  And wow, I can’t describe how emotional the last week has been.  I came with a year’s worth of meticulously earned zen only to be smacked in the face with all the great and terrible things London has to offer.  Madness, energy, chaos, life, dreams and nightmares.  I felt like a villager coming to the big city for the first time, completely overwhelmed and under prepared.  How could I have forgotten just how fast, crowded, vibrant and chaotic this place is?  You’d think that after a year of vagabonding, the senses would dull and London would feel more peaceful somehow.

On top of the stress of trying to find a proper summer sublet, I’d forgotten about the crowds, the expensive everythings, the impossible schedules of friends I wanted to see, the summer tourists, the hot sweaty smelly steaming transport system.  Instantly, the thudding heartbeat of a city on permanent fast-forward was ringing in my ears.

For a moment, I was shocked to see that London had become more crazy, more busy, more chaotic than I remembered.  Is that even possible?, I thought to myself.  Had the city changed so much in a year?!

And then I realized, it wasn’t London that had changed, it was me.

I have changed.

I am calmer.  I am softer.  I am a satiated wanderluster with a travel hangover the size of Texas.  I am ready for my hangover nap.

I am here with heart in hand and feet firmly on the ground.  Finally!  Feet. Firmly. On. The. Ground.  This is huge.  Rewind to a year ago, and you’ll see a Denise whose feet were so itchy she couldn’t step foot into a travel bookshop for fear of chronic, debilitating, painful wanderlust.

Progress.

Vancouver needed a direct line from the airport to downtown.  Enter: the Canada Line.
Denise needed to see the world.  Enter: a year long rendezvous with the open road.

And now, after zebras, lions, gelato, beaches and tango, it’s no longer just about place.  It’s about the people whose time and love and energy I share in the places that we inhabit.  It’s about love and family and friendship: all things I had to travel hundreds of thousands of miles to chase, only to find it all back where I began.  It’s about coming full circle.

The London of a year ago was fun, stimulating, alive.  It was jet setting and mid-week dancing and shows and fancy restaurants.

Today, it is old haunts with even older friends.  It is the chronic non-committal friend who happily admits he is in love.  It is people moving to the outskirts to raise beautiful families and babies.  It is moving on to bigger and better things.  It is crazy girl friends finding true love.  It is home-cooked dinners around kitchen tables.  It is the familiar pub with familiar neighbourhood faces.  It is raucous girl talk over sushi and cocktails.  It is complete joy and happiness at the beaming progress of love found, peace acquired, change sought.

It is Progress.  Not in the superficial physicalities of this magnificent city but instead progress in the hearts and lives of the people who make this place worth coming back to.

Progress is good.  It can be healing.

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Change.  It’s been this year’s theme.  It seems I write these “endings and beginnings” posts often and each time I do, a little bit of my heart breaks.  Change is never easy.  I know this.  I chase change like a silly dog chases its tail.  Round and round, always on the move, never a firm base to stand on long enough to plant seeds.  And I admit that I do this on purpose.  I think there’s just so much of the world left to see and experience that the idea of sitting still for more than three months makes me feel like everything is passing me by.

But these last 9 weeks in Argentina have been different somehow.  There were corner markets, language classes, long walks in the autumn evenings.  Movies, music and home cooked meals.   Somewhere between the grocery shopping trips and Friday night drinks, I stopped being a vagabond and found a feeling of home here.  I found a place to truly rest my wings for a while.

We bought flowers on the street corner, tended to a little basil plant in the kitchen, stocked the shelves with our own books.  And wow, it feels nice to nest.  It feels nice to have a place to come home to after a long 4 hour meal with friends.  It feels nice to not have to take a shower wearing flip flops in a strange bathroom.  It feels nice to stock the fridge with more than two day’s worth of convenience food.  It feels nice to build a home with the love and laughter that so often filled our days in this little flat.

I knew this was going to be a temporary home but it has definitely been the longest temporary home I’ve had in the last year.  Maybe home isn’t such a crazy thing to have after all.  Maybe soon, it’ll be time to find a place to rest my wings for a little while longer.

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