Nike and Fearlessness

Fearlessness, Nike, and victory are just names, and what's in a name? I have a couple of names, as did Toni Morrison, and my story is as accidental but full of emotion as hers. Actually, I named myself a few times over my 62 years but one name that has stuck has been Niki, short for Nicola, based on the word Nike, which as everyone knows is a popular running shoe with some odd political opinions.

According to Greekmythology.com (and most Classics scholars), Nike was the goddess of victory in Greek mythology, depicted as having wings, hence her alternative name "Winged Goddess". She would fly above the battlefields and champion the winners. She may be the daughter of Ares, who was the god of war. A tough chick. Being a Goddess, she didn't worry too much about getting old.

Getting Old

Turning sixty can be a big deal for people. In our society, we can feel like our lives are over. Younger people don't respect us. Our jobs may have become useless or boring. We can gaze upon a flat future full of medication, mediation, monotony. Our dogs die. Our kids leave town, and come back hardly ever.

Ya, well, that wasn't me. I turned 62 this past summer and I still have some kick in me. I'm channeling when I was fourteen and hiking in the Rockies on my own. If all else fails, I can always go back to being a doula and charging an exorbitant amount to provide people with the kind of compassion their mums or their aunties would've given them in a better day and age. I can head up to my mountain hideaway and live off mushrooms and wild strawberries. Or I could move to Rome and do private prenatal classes in English. Then again, I could just stay here in the 'burbs and live off my pension. Either way, one has to capture that fearlessness in life that gives you a charge, that element of surprise that can light a fire under your butt.

My Great Aunt Tillie lost her fiance in the Great War, and never married. She and her brother lived out their lives in Hackney, in a small flat. She was an armchair revolutionary. "To the barricades!" she would yell with her fist in the air.

Can you be a fearless charioteer in your own life? What is something you've done this week that makes you proud, that lights that fire? I'd love to hear from y'all! #fearless #Nike

Endings and Beginnings and Forevers

February 11 is a special day for me. Exactly 36 years ago today I persuaded the person I knew I would spend my life with to buy me a cup of tea. And so it began. We had five sons, ran an organic farm, traveled through Africa on foot, helped each other out when things got tough, lived in some wonderful places and some difficult places, fought with each other, loved each other through thick and thin, and we're still best friends.

We've started lots of projects together - the epic trips, the farm, the family. We've rebuilt a bunch of houses together - from the medieval tower, to the stone farmhouse, to our Montreal bungalow and the abandoned stone shepherd's house we hide away in.

I've started a bunch of projects myself, too. My doula practice, my doula school, the volunteer doula organization, my midwifery certification and practice. And recently my cafe, which is a family project, but the two main players are myself and my middle son. Although we couldn't have done it alone - my husband made most of the furniture and did the construction work we needed.

This year, I've been letting things go. So, this February 11 is about endings as well as celebrating beginnings and forevers.

I let my volunteer doula organization go a couple of years ago, but I finally let someone else eat the placenta that I had left in the fridge (metaphorically). I'm left with a lot of really beautiful memories of big-hearted, giving, conscious, energetic, fiery, intelligent people giving their time, love and energy to the marginalized families we worked with.

I am officially trying to let go of my lumberjack mouth. Those who know me well know that I am also rather fiery, and my upbringing in Calgary and drinking in the bars there taught me some excellent words to emote with. But I feel I should let them go.

I left behind my doula practice. I could no longer put myself into the dynamic of hospital birthing. I have so many amazing memories of the 500 or so families I worked with, and the true miracle of birth and of love with never cease to amaze me. I am honored to have attended every single one of these births.

I left behind my midwifery practice. Although I was certified to practice midwifery, my certification did not allow me to practice where I live, and when unregistered midwives in Canada and elsewhere started to be taken to court by the Colleges of registered midwives, I knew that was not an option. I am deeply grateful to all the families who asked me to attend their births, and those who had the courage to birth on their own when I let them know I could not attend.

I am leaving my doula school. This has been part of my life since 2003. I love teaching, learning, and participating in that process. But slowly and surely the numbers of people interested in my manner of teaching (radical, honest, not certificate-oriented, political) has dropped and I am not into marketing. So, again, I am left with many beautiful memories, and a deep sense of gratitude to all of my students.

But when things fall away, others take their place. I have an amazing cafe, a large family, and I so much to do! Novels to publish, marathons to run, retreats to host.

So, thank you for everything, February 11. May I have the good luck and good grace to be seeing you many more times in the future.