A tale of two Chinatowns

kingoftheyeesYesterday I went to Aberdeen Centre in Richmond for the first time ever in spite of it being around since the 1990s. There are usually only two reasons I ever go to Richmond: to get on a plane at YVR or to visit one of my favourite places, the village of Steveston. We CAN be creatures of habit, can’t we?

It was a dreary Sunday and I had no plans so I decided to act like a bit of a tourist. I’d heard that the food court is really good there with all sorts of authentic Asian cuisine and there was some photography exhibit that was on display. Okay, a plan was formulating, reason to get dressed and leave the apartment.

In addition, I’d noticed that a local playwright that I am acquainted with, Elaine Avila, had recommended on her Facebook page, a play, King of the Yees, by Lauren Yee, a San Francisco-based playwright.

The play was at the Gateway Theatre and conveniently there happened to be a 2pm Sunday matinee.  This play, according to Jovanni Sy, artistic director, as he wrote in the program, was “one of the most highly sought after scripts in the U.S. in the past year.”

There was also a good article inside the program written by a professor of history at UBC, Henry Yu, about what defines Chinatown? We could actually all just expand that question to ask ourselves what defines a neighborhood in general. Is it just the way it looks aesthetically? Or is it more about the feeling, the connections between people, the sense of belonging (or not)?  

Yu pointed out that the City of Vancouver still only defines Chinatown’s heritage through architectural details while many other places have accepted “intangible character” as a very important part of heritage policy. As an aside, I noticed that John Atkin, Vancouver Heritage Advocate, was in the audience.

Before I even got to the play, my experience of visiting Aberdeen Centre for the first time left me mentally comparing the experience of the old Chinatowns that I’ve visited — Vancouver, Victoria, and San Francisco —  to this newer version. The new version was like Chinatown in one of those snow globes, perhaps. I didn’t dislike it intensely or anything. I just couldn’t help feel a bit confused. Like I’d been left behind. Like, How did this happen? Is it good or bad or just different. And if THIS version existed did we really still need the old one? Who is the old version for? And when all the old Chinese people, the first and second generation, die off, would the old version still be relevant, and if so, why? These are the kinds of questions whirling inside my head.

In the new version, the herbal shops and the ginseng containers were tightly ensconced beside a Mercedes Benz dealership, under the shiny lights and the changing colours of the dancing fountain. The aroma of noodles and pho and steamy broths mixed in with the scent of refined petroleum products wafting from all that plastic in Daiso, the huge Japanese discount store. 

There was no honking or loud Cantonese ribbing between adjacent shop owners pecking the air in the new version. I didn’t see any chickens hanging upside down. Vegetables and fruits and things I was curious about weren’t nestled inside baskets along the narrow sidewalks. There were just shiny mall tiles and a world record for largest Pez container display.

It was like some altered universe. As if I’d just left the country for a short and curious interlude.

And with that experience lingering, I was primed for the play, King of the Yees.

It was a play that used some of a culture’s most obvious stereotypes– the dragon dance, the face-changer, the gangs, the benevolent Associations, the commitment to family and cultural organizations as fodder for entertainment.  At times it felt like a bit of a Chinese version of Harry Potter with the main female protagonist (actress Andrea Yu) on a quest to find her dad, Larry, the King of the Yees and there, again, was a disconnect between generations that occurs regardless of ethnicity.   

Some of the funniest scenes to me were the dialogue between the actress Donna Soares, who claimed to be Korean in the play, getting instructions from a Chinese guy, actor Raugi Yu, on the correct way to pronounce Chinese. She did such an amusing job.

It’s a creative, unique, and modern twist on an age old problem. What exactly is the definition of progress?  You’ve only got until Saturday, Oct. 22,  to play around with that question in your own mind, with the aid of this play.

Finding love and finding meaning, the human reasons to keep going

buddhaWhen we entered the temple last week we were told that we couldn’t go into the Hondo because a family was grieving and we’d have to enter in a little while.

Later we learned that it was actually the family of that young woman , Natsumi Kogawa, from Japan who had gone missing in September. Her body was found on the grounds of that mansion on Davie Street in Vancouver’s West End. They had come from Japan to plan her memorial service. It’s impossible to comprehend the sad reality that her family is now facing.

All I could think of was the excitement this young woman surely felt in coming to Vancouver, in improving her English. In thinking about all the new friends and experiences she imagined having before stepping onto the plane from Japan, and how unlikely it was that something like whatever transpired and that led to her death would happen to her here. 

As my attention focused back on the room, I wondered what had motivated all my fellow students to take an introduction to Buddhism course. I wanted to know their real motivation, deep inside, not the sanitized reason they shared about being interested in Buddhism and wanting to learn more.

For myself the past few years have all been about seeking, some people might say to my detriment. They would say that I just need to find a way to accept my life where I’m at. But I think I’ve finally recognized that it goes against my temperament to ever be satisfied for lengthy periods of time if things just stay the same and if I know I could be doing so much more, and I can’t seem to make that work where I’m at.  Isn’t that what “life” is about – experiences and moving through change?

Some things haven’t worked out, in fact, sometimes it feels like nothing has worked out very well in the past few years, and with  Salt Spring as the contrast where everything just felt like it was seamless and worked out with ease and little effort, the opposite has been a shock, another disappointment, an ongoing frustration and endless questioning about what I’m missing that surely must be right in front of me. 

On the other hand, the trying to make things work have led to the meeting of many people I wouldn’t have otherwise met and learning, and yet, I’m missing the key ingredients it seems: love in the way I feel I need it or would like to share it (which may be the problem and I’m smart enough to recognize that)  and meaning.

Zen Buddhism was the topic on our last week given by Reverend Michael Newton of Mountain Rain Zen Community at 2016 Wall Street and a professor in religious studies at SFU.

There were two things that really stood out for me from his words. The first was about how when we wake up from the stories we’ve been telling ourselves, stories that others have told about us since we were children that may or may not reflect who we really are, and we let go of those stories from the past, we can begin to step into the beautiful, clear presence, that’s the essence of Zen.

Each person according to their past and their uniqueness finds unique truths and that is why the truth cannot be told. Someone else cannot tell you your truth. You must find it within. Truth comes from your own experiences, your own practice.

That really resonated with me in the moment because I feel that looking around, looking at others isn’t giving me the answers I need, isn’t showing me my own very personal path. Their answers, their way of living, is not mine. So it requires that I get to the heart of what matters as my own very personal truth about my own life.

Yesterday as I was driving to a friend’s place to hear about her recent trip to Morocco, I was lucky to catch a radio show, Meaningful Man, on CBC Sunday Morning. It was about Viktor Frankl, the former Holocaust survivor, a brilliant man, and the author of  the book, Man’s Search for Meaning, a book that apparently poured out of him in nine days, and one that he had to dictate into a recorder to capture the manic stream of thoughts.

Today on Twitter, I’ve learned that Oct. 10th is World Mental Health Day, and I think some of the ideas spoken within the above documentary have the potential to bring comfort, or at least food for thought, to anyone who is struggling.  Please set aside about 50 minutes to listen to it.

Acronyms as paths to peace

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Turtles lined up at Beacon Hill Park, Victoria, BC

If you’ve been following the blog lately, you’ll know that I’ve been taking an Introduction to Buddhism class at Vancouver Buddhist Temple.

As part of the 5 week introduction, Dr. Adrianne Ross from BC Insight Meditation led us through a really good meditation check in about two weeks ago and although I can’t recall everything she said, she had some really good acronyms to share.

ELSA

  • Embrace : good and bad
  • Let go of reactivity
  • Stop
  • Act

WAIT

  • Why am I talking?

She explained the Eight-fold path is divided into three sections including mind, using effort wisely and concentration.

RAIN

  • Recognize it
  • Attitude towards it
  • Investigate it
  • Not taking it personally

She talked about recognizing a feeling as outside the body, not taking it on as being a reflection of good or bad. For example, if you are depressed or angry, you acknowledge it: Depression is here. Anger is here. Sadness is arising. That way, you can recognize emotions as a temporary state.

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Fluttering at the feeder

Set an intention for the day and remind yourself of that intention throughout the day.

Take a 3-minute breath break and stop. Ask yourself, Where am I? How’s the body right now? Where’s the mind? How am I feeling? Recognize the emotion and name it.

Envision your body and mind as connecting with the space around you and just passing through that space into something much larger which has a diluting effect on whatever you are experiencing in the moment, especially if it is highly energized in a negative way.

How big is your wanting? Exaggerate it to let it move through.

Introduction to Mindfulness and Meditation

If you’re interested in mindfulness and/or starting a meditation practice, then you still have time to sign up for a class beginning on Tuesday, October 11, 2016 at St. Marks church on Larch Street in Kitsilano and offered through BC Insight Meditation Society. The cost is $40.

Fall Food Bazaar

Something else to note in your calendar if you’re so inclined. The Vancouver Buddhist Temple will have their Fall Food Bazaar on Sunday, Oct. 30th from noon – 2pm.

Buddhism for Dummies at the Vancouver Buddhist Temple

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Vancouver Buddhist Temple altar with Amida Buddha

I was at the Powell Street Festival in August when I walked across Oppenheimer Park and noticed the Vancouver Buddhist Temple at 220 Jackson Street.

I climbed the steps and walked in. A gracious man whose name I would later learn to be Patrick [Couling] was taking questions from the few people dotting the pews. Yes, pews! In a Buddhist temple. Go figure.

In my brief visit, I learned of a 5 week course offering a very elementary introduction to some main types of Buddhism by knowledgeable speakers. At $30 for the five weeks, the opportunity was a no brainer.

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At San Fran temple

I’ve been interested in Buddhism ever since I set foot in a Buddhist temple in 1988 in San Francisco during a walking tour that began in Chinatown. I still have a photo above my desk that I took of the smoke wafting up from the incense sticks into a space that had a great view of the nearby Transamerica Pyramid. 

On the first night of the course, a fresh-faced young guy was tasked with explaining the mythology of Siddhartha.  Casey Collins, a PhD student in Asian Studies at UBC, ended up being one of the very best storytellers I have heard in recent memory. He wove contemporary references into the ancient story to make it entertaining and memorable.

Think of it this way. It would be like if one of the Kardashian sisters suddenly woke up and thought, this isn’t enough, I want more, I’m dissatisfied, but not just any dissatisfied, a very specific type of ennui. I want to know the meaning of life. I want to know why we have to get old, get sick and die. I think I’ll sit under a palm tree off Rodeo Drive, night and day, and then after renouncing Mac Cosmetics, Coach bags and Pilates, gossip, bitchiness and martinis, I’ll venture out into the world penniless to see what I might learn. And at the end she’d arrive at the four Noble Truths and the Eight-fold path.

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Green Tara poster bought from the OM guy on Salt Spring

Mr. Collins didn’t use this analogy — thankfully — but as someone who has sat through many, many stories in the past few years, I found it ironic that an academic-in-training would end up being the most exceptional story teller I’ve heard in a very long time. Yay for him.

The second evening was presented by Lama Rabten Tshering. I’m guessing he might have been in his 40s. He was dressed in his maroon robe, one long maroon sleeve, one short, golden, cap sleeve. His shaved head gleamed under the lights. He did, fittingly, seem pretty darn happy. An iPad for notes was propped up in front of him. I think I saw a cell phone as well.  Not sure why I expect monks to renounce technology in this day and age but I do. If you’re a grown man wearing a robe in public, it just seems wrong that you should be carrying tech gadgets to taint your spirituality. My bias. Partly kidding. He’s associated with a temple in East Van called NalandaBodhi.  

I enjoyed taking in his presence and my mind drifted back to my time in Thailand and Cambodia. I had so much curiosity towards the monks that I saw there, all ages, wandering the streets or cloistered on a mountain top (Sampeu Hill) just outside Battambang, Cambodia.dsc_0151

Every time I’d see them, they’d elicit so many questions. What were their days like? Were they content? Did they wake up in the middle of the night and think, ‘oh, if only I’d just gone into engineering when I was 21 like my dad said I should have.’  I realize that whenever I see monks, I always assume they’re happy. Maybe they’re miserable. Maybe their misery is what drove them to become monks in the first place.

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in Angkor Wat compound

Back in the temple, Lama Tshering was drawing us in with long silent pauses while he gathered his thoughts. I filled those gaps by observing him intensely. I followed the irregular cadence of his voice that accompanied his slow sentences. I tried to stay awake as he used words I’d never heard, a challenge compounded by his accent.

He explained how important lineage is in Tibetan Buddhism. The right teacher and teachings handed down generation upon generation is really important.  He spoke of the Common and Uncommon paths. The Common path focused on recognizing human preciousness, death and impermanence, cause and effect, and Samsara, circuitous change.

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favourite print of mine

All I recall about the Uncommon Path is how many times you have to do stuff – 100,000 times – which for a full time monk, could take just two months to achieve. But, for the rest of us, possibly more than one lifetime. I see a disconnect with my way of being here. Ya think?

We did some meditation. Spine very straight. The lama sat in the lotus position, “not necessary,” he said. Chin not up, not down. Straight ahead, relaxed glance. Mouth not open, not closed. Huh? How does that work? A slight smile. Relaxed focus on the breath. Tibetan Buddhists do not close their eyes when they meditate. He had a lot of eyes staring back at him that night.

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Another favourite print of mine that hangs in my bedroom

The temple is right down there in Vancouver’s Downtown East side. Ambulance sirens blared every so often as we sat inside the Hondo hearing what might have been yet another call to another fentanyl overdose, just one type of struggle in a world where wandering off the “right path” seems to have become the predominant theme. And maybe that’s why staying curious, staying open, and seeking, in a spiritual way, feels like a necessity.

Harvest dinner: Good for the heart in more ways than one

I went to an annual harvest dinner on the weekend, hosted as it is every year by friends Penny and Gwen. Each year, for the past five years, about eight to 10 women gather around Penny’s dining room table or  to be more specific, a menagerie of hidden tables pushed together and covered by matching cloths.group2016

Penny always does the hosting because she loves to host. She may also be the most experienced hostess and she has all the accoutrements in the form of china, plates, glasses, vases and the artistic touch of an interior decorator.

We each bring a dish made using vegetables that we either grew in a community garden plot or on our patio or off the windowsill with, at the very least, herbs adding to the flavour of the dish, even if it wasn’t grown from scratch, wrenched from the dirt, with our own citified hands.

tablesetting

And just to be clear, nobody is acting as the food police. We don’t get stopped on the way in demanding to know what part of the dish we have in hand that we grew ourselves. We all know who the guerilla gardeners are.

It’s always such a nice treat because it’s about the conversation and the gathering, the tasting of the food, and the kind of back and forth that happens when people (who want to be together) come together across a table. Devices are scarce, except for the hurried photo taking right before we dig in. We’re engaging and listening.  We’re admiring the dishes and the way Penny has creatively styled the table for the gathering.

foodrule

Silently, as the evening unfolds, I know all sorts of memories must get whetted from the experience. Memories of childhood meals and romantic dinners between two. Meals that we hated as kids. Francis told a story about two meals that her mother actually allowed them, as kids, to hold their noses while they shoveled in the food because she knew it wasn’t very good. There’s even the memories of the people who may not be around the table this year who always enlivened the experience in the past. To name names, Shona is working through CUSO on a new social enterprise of a working farm, the first of its kind in a specific area in the Philippines.

I always walk away thinking, Why don’t I do that anymore? And the answer has to do with how I feel about my current apartment. I dream of what it would be like to actually live in a space where hosting a dinner party would really make sense because of the size of the kitchen and the size of the table.  I enjoyed having people over in the past.doukka

I think of that as another fallout of real estate prices in Vancouver that doesn’t get talked about, that is, the number of people, especially those who don’t own, who live in places that are not very amenable to socializing in the way that’s conducive to entertaining.

It’s easy to say, it’s all about the company, but in fact, that’s only partly true. In reality, the entire package – friends, food, and environment – create the experience. I know that because I think of the dinners that really stand out for me.

I think of my friend Anne who lives on the Sunshine Coast and all the incredible meals – rack of lamb, sockeye salmon, pork medallions – that her husband Bob and her have cooked for me over the years in their beautiful homes.

I think about Donna, a former co-worker, and what a fantastic cook she is and how much she always puts into every meal she cooks for company. I think of when my eldest sister was alive and the meals she hosted.

Of course I think about Pauline on Salt Spring and how I managed to gain 10 pounds when we’d wiling away the winter evenings that first winter at her table.  I think about how spoiled I was by Linda and Tom on Salt Spring. Linda busy preparing weekday dinners in the kitchen while I dropped by after work and hung out with Tom in the living room catching up on the week’s news until dinner was ready. Brat. I’m a brat! But they liked doing it. I didn’t make them. Honest! They kept inviting me.

And recollections of the occasional fancy dinners that Don cooked at Christmas in his tiny cabin on Gail and Michael’s property. And then, most significantly, I can’t help but think of my own mother and all the meals she cooked over her lifetime.

Being single, I have not had to experience the drudgery of the daily getting dinner on the table for a large family, not to mention cooking for the annual special occasions. The amount of shopping, prep and clean up that went into that reality is mind boggling. I look back at those rituals that I observed as a child, so far removed from my current reality, and I marvel at how my mother didn’t just collapse.  She had my elder sisters to help but still, she had to orchestrate the entire production. And multiply that scene across the world. Women working. Men mostly showing up, eating, then retiring to the sofa. It was a time when Sunday dinners with the silverware, white tablecloth and good china, because company was coming, was not the exception but a bi-weekly routine.

This year, we were asked to bring a Food Rule, an idea that Gwen had because she had read Michael Pollan’s book, Food Rules, an eater’s manual.

  • Avoid food products that contain ingredients that a third grader cannot pronounce
  • Don’t get your fuel from the same place your car does
  • Don’t eat anything your great grandmother wouldn’t recognize as food
  • It’s not food if it arrived through the window of your car …

These make me laugh. Others are more serious.

At these gatherings, we’re usually asked to share something – a poem, a drawing, a thought – focused on the year’s theme and of course this year’s request was to bring our own Food Rule.

I’ll leave you with this one: Think lovingly about the people you are cooking for because making food for them and sharing it is a form of love.

Got any of your own food rules? We’d love to hear them in a comment.

Walking and social media and a blast from the past

About six weeks ago, I had a gallbladder attack so severe that I had to call an ambulance. I don’t know if you’ve ever had to call an ambulance for yourself but it’s a really hard thing to do. It always seems to be required at 3:30 am when the dark and the silence closes in to make the decision even starker.

Now, I figured out pretty quickly that it must be a gallbladder attack because three years ago, I thought I was having a heart attack that turned out to be a gallbladder attack. This time though, I just put two and two together. Besides, I’d made the horrible mistake of eating an entire bag of Salsa Fresca rice chips that night and I don’t even really know what Salsa Fresca means but to my gallbladder it meant, “Are you #@!! kidding me?”

About a week afterwards, the episode still vivid, and the tenderness of my right side subsiding, I decided to make a few changes. They recommended surgery but I’m kind of a surgery-over-my-dead-body kind of gal. Especially when lifestyle and food choices are the problem. Why convict my innocent, abused gall bladder? How about taking some personal responsibility?

I Googled extensively. I punched in the words gallbladder and liver and all sorts of “natural” remedies popped up.  I settled on assembling this beet, carrot, apple juice, apple cider vinegar concoction which required boiling the carrots and the beets first and then blendering them so as to drink it through a straw (so as not to stain my teeth). I chose to forego the natural remedy that required the ingestion of Epsom Salts but claimed to rid the body of gall stones, in contrast to medical papers that refute such a thing is naturally possible.

I started taking a Milk Thistle supplement for my liver. I stopped drinking alcohol, except if the social occasion and my mood dictated that I felt like one drink. Everything in moderation. Even moderation. I stopped drinking coffee, at least on a daily basis, as a way of not starting the morning with a spoon full of sugar because black coffee is not something I desire to ever acclimatize to. Now I just put on the kettle and squeeze an organic lemon of its juice and drink that first thing. Good for the liver.

I’ve started eating much better, following the philosophy of that guy Michael Pollan and the example of my friend Gwen. “Eat. Not too much. Mostly plants.”

And, I started walking. I bought a pair of Skechers which helps me to feel like I’m walking in slippers. I put on a pedometer (because I’m old school and don’t want to send the money on a Fitbit) and marked off the days that I walked. In August, I walked between 2 and 4 miles, sometimes 5 miles max. on all but four of the 31 days, not including the tiny steps around the apartment, around the block walking.

I also knew I would need some accountability and inexplicably the first person who popped into my head was Gary. It’s kind of weird that I should choose him since I haven’t seen him in 18 years when we met on a trip through the Yucatan and into Chiapas.  We hadn’t even kept in touch in the last decade although I did see him for one day sometime around 2005 when he came to Squamish for an Outward Bound course.

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Gary, 18 years ago in Chiapas

He seemed like the perfect accountability buddy to me: super fit and on the other side of the country. He couldn’t really get in my face should I get lazy. I’m sure it seemed alarmingly weird that I should contact him for such a thing but to his credit, without missing a beat, he was ready to play along.

It took just one sentence from him complaining about someone he knew to really drive home my lack of commitment to exercise.  He said, and I quote, “I have to get up and go to work every day and drive, sometimes 90 minutes back fighting traffic and she can’t even spend one hour of her entire day getting some exercise.” Hello! Was he talking about me? He might as well have been. And that’s how it began.

Now six weeks later, I feel like I’ve really hit my stride. Five miles takes about 1.5 hours. The  circumferences that my legs are carrying me is ever-widening the way circles push out from the center when you drop a pebble into a pond. At this point I have to remind myself that I’m not aiming for Forrest Gump wannabe, I’m just trying to get a little exercise on a mostly daily basis and it’s working. At the same time, I’m experiencing the beautiful side effects of all sorts of weird and interesting ideas flowing through my consciousness that seem to be a direct result of the body’s physical movement.

I text Gary when I’m done. “5.1 miles. 10,817 steps. Fav time to walk? Late Sunday afternoon. Just got back” He texts me back. “Wow.”  “That’s great.” “You’re getting more exercise than I am.”

And, of course, we text about more than walking. We’ve learned a lot more about each others current lives in the process. In the meantime, I’ve lost 9 pounds and my gallbladder has been happily silent.

Communications in the 21st Century: You can never have too many skills

jugglingIf you work in Communications then I don’t know if you’re feeling the way I am but it seems as if the number of skills required to do the job well has exploded in the past decade as a result of social media.

In the past you might have needed to be able to think about, and execute, some marketing strategy and communicate in words through writing on the page and through oral presentations. You’d put together endless PowerPoints and work with other people, usually graphic artists, to make sure annual reports or marketing materials came together. You’d focus on branding exercises (maybe hire a consultant for that) and tag lines and work with interface designers (or whatever they call themselves now) to sort out web development stuff.

You might have interacted with the media to try and get some publicity at a time when the term “earned media” didn’t even exist to distinguish “earned media” from the interest you now generate from your social media feeds. It’s helpful to know Photoshop and Adobe InDesign to manipulate images and layout newsletters or marketing materials if you’re on a tight budget and definitely you should know some form of blogging software such as WordPress. For e-mail marketing you should know something like Mailchimp or ConstantContact and let’s not forget every app required to organize yourself and set up meetings and communicate with all those other people you need to communicate with and oh, do you know how to put together an e-book and sell it on Amazon? Don’t,  just you don’t, forget to put that bounce back message on your e-mail when you leave, thoroughly exhausted, on vacation.

It’s as if working in Communications means you better be constantly acquiring skills, which is a good thing that I’m all on board with. Everyone should be doing that as a routine part of self evolution, but honestly, there is a limit to what one person can bring to a job.

I believe that I actually do have many skills and at a high level and I still feel like I don’t have enough. If you work for a larger organization then I’m hoping you’d work with a dedicated social media strategist. But if you don’t, you’re pretty much the whole shebang. And the thing about social media (like most things) is that a little knowledge is actually a very dangerous thing because the less you know about it, the more you don’t realize how little you know about it, and therefore you’re actually clueless about just how complicated it can be to be really good at it.

Now you have to be able to write for so many different mediums. You need to review and edit and source appropriate graphics that enhance, or at least complement, your copy. You need to work with other creative people. You need to coach key people on media messaging. You better have some clue about Hootsuite and take video on your phone and oh, can you edit that on IMovie by tomorrow? You need to write strategy and set up a budget for Facebook and Twitter ads and figure out what audiences to target for sponsored ads and review Google Analytics and understand what the heck to do with the information you’re seeing on there in relation to what’s turning on your audience and whether you’re even reaching the audience you want to reach and can you create a report for that?

You need to ensure a consistent Instagram account aligning images with brand but first you need to decide what social media apps you should even be using based on your internal resources and whether you can even keep on top of those.  You need to be on top of all the most used latest technology and apps in order to keep on top of knowing exactly what you don’t know and wondering where you’ll ever find the time to learn about THAT.

Do we have a Crisis communications plan? Is there a phone tree for that? Could you whip that up by setting up a meeting and have that done in two weeks?

It would be helpful if you knew how to write to pictures so you could write script for video and coach those people who are going to be in the video who have never been in front of a video camera in their lives but they were the best you could come up with because they know what they know and needs to be communicated and Take 356. And cut!!!

Did you order the tent for that special event outside? and oh, if it rains, what then? and are you getting the harried, harried picture?

Honestly, at some point as a Communications’ person, am I going to have to be your personal chef, your hair stylist and your spiritual advisor as well?  Do I really need to be Oprah, Tony Robbins, Ekhart Tolle  Deepak Chopra, Seth Godin and Guy Kawasaki wrapped into one?

I need to lie down. Is it nap time yet?

I’d like to know if other Communications people are feeling this way. I’m also wondering if the same sort of skills explosion requirement is happening in every other field.

It’s enough to make me a little depressed and hey, I should make an infographic because there’s nothing I like more (sarcasm) than the terminology that makes fairly straightforward things sound super complicated and infographic definitely fits into that category. So I signed up for a free app, and fooled around, and figured it out and here’s my first attempt.  Just in case you’re experiencing a little case of the blues racing toward a full out depressive episode, my infographic might be just what you need. Depression: Fiction vs. Fact