My managing editor heard through the grapevine that one of my interview subjects cried mid-interview this week.
He was wrong.
Two interview subjects cried mid-interview this week.
Conducting an interview is typically a fairly odd experience. As a journalist, I'm routinely tasked with grilling people about their lives, likes and opinions. About 5 minutes after we've met for the very first time.
Personally, I try to keep them informal, comfortable and conversational.
There are instances, however, like this week when issues like tragic Haitian earthquakes and front-line women's centres come up.
People that are so shaken by devastating poverty or the loss of a close friend often are so overwhelmed they break down in explaining their thoughts and feelings to a prodding reporter.
My editor, acknowledging how potentially awkward the situation could be, asked me how I dealt with it.
And I seriously had to think about it. In the moment, you don't really have time to weigh options and consider what the best course of action is. But when I did step back and look at it, I drew on the advice of a fellow journalist from years ago. I had the opportunity to interview Winnipeg Free Press journalist Mary Agnes Welsh when she was the City Hall reporter and I asked her what she thought made a good journalist.
Her response was, "Sometimes, you have to know when to just shut up."
The power of being able to be comfortable with the uncomfortable silence while the person across the table from you sobs, breathes deep and connects with a painful memory or emotion might be the best thing you can do.
The words that pour out with the tears are sometimes the most raw human emotion that others can find a connection with. When that moment passes, profound insights that inspire understanding of another's life experience are sometimes spoken.
And sometimes they aren't. But that's ok too. Sometimes, we all just need a good cry, followed by a kind word and a smile.
And then another question.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
The Bio
"Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everyone I've ever known."
- Chuck Palanuick
I'm a fiercely loyal fan of the CBC show The Hour with George Stroumboulopoulos.
And no, it's not just because he's hot. It's because he's smart and witty too. Just kidding. Sort of.
The show features diverse guests with real voices and opinions. And before each of these compelling personalities, the show runs their bio. These two minute-ish clips piece together snapshots of the important details, moments and facts about the person.
Watching these videos night after night, I got to thinking how on earth it was possible to sum someone up adequately, with all their layers, intricacies and quirks - in about two minutes.
Think about your life - birth right up to this very second. How would you do it? Which experiences, people and moments have not only stood out TO you but which have SHAPED your life story?
Were they even experiences, people or moments? Was it an educational endeavour that broadened your horizons or maybe a crushing defeat from which you rose stronger or smarter?
Did someone break your heart in a big, terrible way or did you subtlety, painfully inflict pain on someone else's?
Has an individual's death shaken you to your core while a baby's very presence brought you a smile and sense of peace?
I think that allowing the person themselves to pick and choose their own defining moments would tell an entirely different story than the ones an independent writer or producer would choose from the outside looking in. The better question is, how do you want the story to read?
I wonder how much of our true selves, the ones we would describe in our own defining moments, we reveal to the rest of the planet. Are we open and honest enough on a regular basis to let others see us how we see ourselves or is it not about that at all. Perhaps it's impossible to have someone else tell the same story we would about ourselves, because at the end of the day, it's all about perspective.
Everybody's got a story. Actually, everybody's got a few. It's all about perspective.
- Chuck Palanuick
I'm a fiercely loyal fan of the CBC show The Hour with George Stroumboulopoulos.
And no, it's not just because he's hot. It's because he's smart and witty too. Just kidding. Sort of.
The show features diverse guests with real voices and opinions. And before each of these compelling personalities, the show runs their bio. These two minute-ish clips piece together snapshots of the important details, moments and facts about the person.
Watching these videos night after night, I got to thinking how on earth it was possible to sum someone up adequately, with all their layers, intricacies and quirks - in about two minutes.
Think about your life - birth right up to this very second. How would you do it? Which experiences, people and moments have not only stood out TO you but which have SHAPED your life story?
Were they even experiences, people or moments? Was it an educational endeavour that broadened your horizons or maybe a crushing defeat from which you rose stronger or smarter?
Did someone break your heart in a big, terrible way or did you subtlety, painfully inflict pain on someone else's?
Has an individual's death shaken you to your core while a baby's very presence brought you a smile and sense of peace?
I think that allowing the person themselves to pick and choose their own defining moments would tell an entirely different story than the ones an independent writer or producer would choose from the outside looking in. The better question is, how do you want the story to read?
I wonder how much of our true selves, the ones we would describe in our own defining moments, we reveal to the rest of the planet. Are we open and honest enough on a regular basis to let others see us how we see ourselves or is it not about that at all. Perhaps it's impossible to have someone else tell the same story we would about ourselves, because at the end of the day, it's all about perspective.
Everybody's got a story. Actually, everybody's got a few. It's all about perspective.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
That "F" word.
No, not that "F" word.
I'm talking about feminism.
Yeah, you heard me.
That word, and more so the ideas behind it, have gotten a bad rap. Regardless who is to blame, from men to women themselves to the media, it's reality.
While in the Western world we exist in a far more equitable space than most, it is by no means equal.
Don't roll your eyes. Numbers prove it.
In provincial legislatures and our federal House of Commons, representation of female politicians has stalled at around 21 per cent. That number hasn't budged since the late 1980s.
As much as we would like to deny it, government policy and decisions govern the way in which we live our lives. They set the rules. Who are 'they'? As I stated above, 'they' are vastly male.
Now, I'm not male-bashing here. Don't get me wrong, I love men. They're fantastic. In oh-so many ways.
But in allowing them, almost solely, to determine public policy we are silencing nearly half of our dynamic population.
I had lunch with two such dynamic women today. Neither of which aspire to be politicians whatsoever, but they are strong, funny, successful women.
We got to talking about careers, relationships and ultimately men and women, as per usual.
Specifically, these women both expressed how they've struggled with finding men who are comfortable enough with themselves to be with a woman who has opinions, money and the drive to take care of herself.
One of these women is married, the other in a new relationship but both have had their trials and tribulations in the dating world. We'd had similar conversations this past summer and fall, but maybe my Women, Gender and Politics class has really been sinking in.
I can't seem to stagger over the fact that in nearly 2010, a large number of men still are uncomfortable with this type of self-sufficient woman.
It's not entirely their fault, though.
Our society, with practices like privileging men in 'top jobs' such as cabinet positions and CEO executives, perpetuates the idea that women in power is a strange, rare phenomenon. Unnatural and unlikely. So when it happens, my dear media has a 'fetish for firsts' as it's named by feminist scholars and reports on things like first female prime ministers, as a novelty.
So it's really no wonder when organized, hilarious, determined and driven women, like my two lunch dates, have a hard time being accepted as equals in both their public and private lives.
But guess what? What makes them so fantastic is that they are who they are. Unapologetically.
The world - men, women and anyone else - is just going to have to deal with it.
"I'm strong and I'm comfortable with being strong and I like that I'm strong. And if that is too much woman for you, if that makes your junk feel tiny, I'm not going to make myself smaller. I'm not going to put myself in a box, so that you feel like a big man. I am a big woman and you either get used to it - or you get out." - Charlotte King, Private Practice
I'm talking about feminism.
Yeah, you heard me.
That word, and more so the ideas behind it, have gotten a bad rap. Regardless who is to blame, from men to women themselves to the media, it's reality.
While in the Western world we exist in a far more equitable space than most, it is by no means equal.
Don't roll your eyes. Numbers prove it.
In provincial legislatures and our federal House of Commons, representation of female politicians has stalled at around 21 per cent. That number hasn't budged since the late 1980s.
As much as we would like to deny it, government policy and decisions govern the way in which we live our lives. They set the rules. Who are 'they'? As I stated above, 'they' are vastly male.
Now, I'm not male-bashing here. Don't get me wrong, I love men. They're fantastic. In oh-so many ways.
But in allowing them, almost solely, to determine public policy we are silencing nearly half of our dynamic population.
I had lunch with two such dynamic women today. Neither of which aspire to be politicians whatsoever, but they are strong, funny, successful women.
We got to talking about careers, relationships and ultimately men and women, as per usual.
Specifically, these women both expressed how they've struggled with finding men who are comfortable enough with themselves to be with a woman who has opinions, money and the drive to take care of herself.
One of these women is married, the other in a new relationship but both have had their trials and tribulations in the dating world. We'd had similar conversations this past summer and fall, but maybe my Women, Gender and Politics class has really been sinking in.
I can't seem to stagger over the fact that in nearly 2010, a large number of men still are uncomfortable with this type of self-sufficient woman.
It's not entirely their fault, though.
Our society, with practices like privileging men in 'top jobs' such as cabinet positions and CEO executives, perpetuates the idea that women in power is a strange, rare phenomenon. Unnatural and unlikely. So when it happens, my dear media has a 'fetish for firsts' as it's named by feminist scholars and reports on things like first female prime ministers, as a novelty.
So it's really no wonder when organized, hilarious, determined and driven women, like my two lunch dates, have a hard time being accepted as equals in both their public and private lives.
But guess what? What makes them so fantastic is that they are who they are. Unapologetically.
The world - men, women and anyone else - is just going to have to deal with it.
"I'm strong and I'm comfortable with being strong and I like that I'm strong. And if that is too much woman for you, if that makes your junk feel tiny, I'm not going to make myself smaller. I'm not going to put myself in a box, so that you feel like a big man. I am a big woman and you either get used to it - or you get out." - Charlotte King, Private Practice
Sunday, November 1, 2009
I live in a country that vastly forgets it’s at war.
Sure, headlines pop up every now and then about when (and if) Canada will pull out or when a solider loses their life, like the tragic story this week of 24 year-old Steven Marshall, we see a stock photo of a ramp ceremony.
But how often do we realize that men and women are risking their lives, their personalities, their futures, for others – you, me, Afghans, and those who live in oppression around the world?
Our troops in Afghanistan aren’t peacekeepers. They are combat trained, helicopter flying, admirable, tough soldiers.
And at 21, going on 22 years-old, these soldiers are my peers.
Last summer, when Canada lost it’s 88th solider in the Afghanistan conflict, that fact truly hit me, right in the heart.
I cried for someone I’d never met. He was the good friend of a classmate and I cried for the aching loss that his friends and family were suffering thorough.
James was 25. I knew men just like him. Fun loving, dedicated, sweet, brave, strong, determined and ambitious men.
Men I care about. Men that have been and are a part of my life.
I thought of one man in particular when I cried for James, who at the time was on course with the Canadian Forces two provinces away.
One that I drank coffee with while bickering about politics, pop culture and music.
A man whose pick up truck I sat in while eating Twerps, listening to stand up comedy in a parking lot.
A young man who gave me goosebumps when he kissed me in the warmth of his truck, safe from the rain outside while Doc Walker played in our ears.
This man is leaving for a year term in Afghanistan to serve his country. This man just entered his 20s.
He's ready and willing to go half way around the world and fight for this country's honour and freedom. For our honour and freedom. For my ability to chase dreams, write for a media free of fear, restrictions and consequence for truth.
He’s honest about being scared but admits it hasn’t entirely hit him yet. He speaks of death with a dark but honest humour. He faces the reality of war with a smirk, the crack of a joke and an acceptance of his life choices. He has told me on many occasions that if he is going to die young, he wants to die doing something he believes in.
So, so many men and women have been taken out of this world through military conflict.
And when I hear another has left this life and is coming home in a flag-draped casket, I always think about them in terms of this man.
They were all individuals with favourites and great loves and fantastic stories. There were not just statistics as reported in the media that I'm a part of.
I think of them all as someone like him. Happy go lucky. A truck singing, beer drinking, hard working, genuine person. The kind of man, that when he barely knows you, will stay with you all night and into the morning while you're at your lowest low in trying to deal with other people's problems in a hotel hallway. And sing to you at 3 a.m. and just... be there.
I don’t understand the motive or desire to go to war, but I understand that I admire it. And appreciate it.
Having the opportunity to know this person I write about, who has made these choices, has changed the way I think about life. He has pushed me intellectually and emotionally but mostly he’s made me think about how precious life is. He, by being the person he is and making the decisions he has, forces me to remember to savour moments.
Life isn't just about how many breaths you take. It's about the moments that take your breath away.
Come what may, good, bad and otherwise until we are drinking coffee and bickering about politics in August 2010, I'll consider myself lucky to know this man and think of him as someone who took my breath away.
Sure, headlines pop up every now and then about when (and if) Canada will pull out or when a solider loses their life, like the tragic story this week of 24 year-old Steven Marshall, we see a stock photo of a ramp ceremony.
But how often do we realize that men and women are risking their lives, their personalities, their futures, for others – you, me, Afghans, and those who live in oppression around the world?
Our troops in Afghanistan aren’t peacekeepers. They are combat trained, helicopter flying, admirable, tough soldiers.
And at 21, going on 22 years-old, these soldiers are my peers.
Last summer, when Canada lost it’s 88th solider in the Afghanistan conflict, that fact truly hit me, right in the heart.
I cried for someone I’d never met. He was the good friend of a classmate and I cried for the aching loss that his friends and family were suffering thorough.
James was 25. I knew men just like him. Fun loving, dedicated, sweet, brave, strong, determined and ambitious men.
Men I care about. Men that have been and are a part of my life.
I thought of one man in particular when I cried for James, who at the time was on course with the Canadian Forces two provinces away.
One that I drank coffee with while bickering about politics, pop culture and music.
A man whose pick up truck I sat in while eating Twerps, listening to stand up comedy in a parking lot.
A young man who gave me goosebumps when he kissed me in the warmth of his truck, safe from the rain outside while Doc Walker played in our ears.
This man is leaving for a year term in Afghanistan to serve his country. This man just entered his 20s.
He's ready and willing to go half way around the world and fight for this country's honour and freedom. For our honour and freedom. For my ability to chase dreams, write for a media free of fear, restrictions and consequence for truth.
He’s honest about being scared but admits it hasn’t entirely hit him yet. He speaks of death with a dark but honest humour. He faces the reality of war with a smirk, the crack of a joke and an acceptance of his life choices. He has told me on many occasions that if he is going to die young, he wants to die doing something he believes in.
So, so many men and women have been taken out of this world through military conflict.
And when I hear another has left this life and is coming home in a flag-draped casket, I always think about them in terms of this man.
They were all individuals with favourites and great loves and fantastic stories. There were not just statistics as reported in the media that I'm a part of.
I think of them all as someone like him. Happy go lucky. A truck singing, beer drinking, hard working, genuine person. The kind of man, that when he barely knows you, will stay with you all night and into the morning while you're at your lowest low in trying to deal with other people's problems in a hotel hallway. And sing to you at 3 a.m. and just... be there.
I don’t understand the motive or desire to go to war, but I understand that I admire it. And appreciate it.
Having the opportunity to know this person I write about, who has made these choices, has changed the way I think about life. He has pushed me intellectually and emotionally but mostly he’s made me think about how precious life is. He, by being the person he is and making the decisions he has, forces me to remember to savour moments.
Life isn't just about how many breaths you take. It's about the moments that take your breath away.
Come what may, good, bad and otherwise until we are drinking coffee and bickering about politics in August 2010, I'll consider myself lucky to know this man and think of him as someone who took my breath away.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
So, I tend to ramble...
I can't tell a story in under 20 minutes.
This is just a fact I've come to accept. It's a personality quirk that some find highly annoying and some kind-hearted others chalk up to my irresistible charm. Or some variation of it.
Almost every story, can be related to another story, or a current event I read about in the paper. Maybe something that happened to me as a child. Or a television show plot. Or a Carrie Bradshaw quote.
See?
I tend to ramble. But I've always maintained that I'm far more coherent on paper than I am in person.
As an aspiring journalist, I soak up news like a sponge. Print newspapers, online, television, I'll take it however I can get it. I'm also a political science student and one of the biggest fans of the Peace Tower you'll probably ever encounter. I find the realm of politics enthralling and I honestly can't even describe accurately why or how the addiction began.
My other addiction is coffee. I consume it like water, which I realize is vastly unhealthy but like a junkie of any kind, I know the need for my next fix is just around the corner. This also might be a factor in me speaking at a Gilmore Girls-like pace when I am really passionate about a topic.
Which is what I hope this blog will become - a space to articulate my passionate, sometimes angry, sometimes elated, often conflicted but always caffeinated thoughts on a variety of topics that cross my radar.
So, go grab a cup of joe and read on.
This is just a fact I've come to accept. It's a personality quirk that some find highly annoying and some kind-hearted others chalk up to my irresistible charm. Or some variation of it.
Almost every story, can be related to another story, or a current event I read about in the paper. Maybe something that happened to me as a child. Or a television show plot. Or a Carrie Bradshaw quote.
See?
I tend to ramble. But I've always maintained that I'm far more coherent on paper than I am in person.
As an aspiring journalist, I soak up news like a sponge. Print newspapers, online, television, I'll take it however I can get it. I'm also a political science student and one of the biggest fans of the Peace Tower you'll probably ever encounter. I find the realm of politics enthralling and I honestly can't even describe accurately why or how the addiction began.
My other addiction is coffee. I consume it like water, which I realize is vastly unhealthy but like a junkie of any kind, I know the need for my next fix is just around the corner. This also might be a factor in me speaking at a Gilmore Girls-like pace when I am really passionate about a topic.
Which is what I hope this blog will become - a space to articulate my passionate, sometimes angry, sometimes elated, often conflicted but always caffeinated thoughts on a variety of topics that cross my radar.
So, go grab a cup of joe and read on.
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