ADAM OLSEN -- I realized on that stretch of road that the light or darkness that I feel about the current state of provincial or global affairs is the only thing that I can control

If you have been following these daily blog therapy sessions over the past few weeks, then you may have noticed a creeping darkness here. The initial jovial meditations about morning walks, Pokemon and the useful insights of Seth Godin's podcast have made way for a slightly out-of-focus look at politics, power, philosophy and partisan policy of late.

At the beginning of this nearly six-month experiment, I made a commitment to deliver something, every day. There has never been a plan, all the way back to early December I just write something and publish it. If I am lucky, I will have a few posts in the hopper giving me the space of a few days if nothing is connecting but occasionally my production will suffer and the pressure will build.

It's important to acknowledge that this job, Member of the British Columbia Legislative Assembly, is the best job I have ever had. I love the work, the people, the opportunity, the stress, I love all of it. However, like every job, there are highs and lows, and in my trade, there are the lefts and rights. Nevertheless, the point of this blog is to create a space to share my experience.

Light in the darkness

Thinking back to last July following my first full Spring session in the legislature, I remember the detachment I felt through the first week of my holiday. We were camping at Pachena Bay and I just sat staring at the fire and listening to it crackle for three or four days. As we near the end of my second full Spring session, there is a similar level of exhaustion from the work, but also an overwhelming sense of dread.

The content of the session this Spring contributes to much of the "creeping darkness" of my recent offerings. I cannot understate the impact that the BC NDP's massive subsidization of the fossil fuel industry has had on me, at a time when the overwhelming scientific evidence suggests we need to be rapidly responding to climate change with the same sense of urgency we might have to respond to an existential threat like an invading army.

Yesterday morning was the first morning in a few weeks that these words flow without frustration. There is a reason for the little bounce in my step. On Wednesday I was on Salt Spring. That island is a beautifully complex place, full of incredible and accomplished people. The sun was shining and I got the opportunity to record conversations with Briony Penn and Raffi.

The gift of joy

Both will be published at some point in the near future on The Public Circle Podcast, but I left Salt Spring with an energy that has not been with me for some weeks. Firstly, I hope you will read my post about the supernatural canoe from Briony's book "The Magic Canoe of Wa'xaid". This book and my time sitting on the deck at Briony's house surrounded by trees and singing birds was such a gift and a welcome break from the grind. It's important for me to pause here and pay another moment of gratitude for the stories of Cecil Paul Sr. and his willingness to share with us his "little granny's" supernatural canoe. It was an important reminder that I also have a magic canoe that I have been inviting people aboard, work that I will now continue with some extra vigour.

Then I took my travelling studio to Raffi's house.

As I have written here previously, Raffi's voice sang the songs of my childhood. Now they fill our home as an important part of the soundtrack of my children's life as well. The gift I left his house with is joy. As I drove down Fulford-Ganges road toward the ferry I drew in a few deep breaths, looked in the rear-view mirror and smiled back at myself. I have incredible people willing to share their experience, love and passion with me. Fuel for the days ahead.

Paddle together

I realized on that stretch of road that the light or darkness that I feel about the current state of provincial or global affairs is the only thing that I can control. And, it's a choice to either allow myself to be dragged down to wallow in the mud, or to stand strong on the rock. The troubadour is no less passionate about the dire straits we face, but he faces it with a little song in his heart and with a deep hopefulness that surely comes from the joy of singing to children and being filled with their powerfully innocent spirit.

So, here I am standing on the shore beside my own canoe. I am inviting you with joy in my heart to come aboard and paddle with me. There are strong currents and the journey is long, but we have a good tide now so we better get going.