In Gord We Trust

I'm having a hard time writing this, which is unusual for me. Talking can be difficult, so in moments when I don't know what to say, I write.

Today, I'm finding it hard to put my thoughts together about the death of Gord Downie this past Tuesday at the age of 53. Mostly, I'm having a hard time putting it into words as a good chunk of people who will read this won't be able to relate, or understand.

Gord Downie was the frontman and lyricist of a little band called The Tragically Hip. The Hip, as they are commonly known as, just always seemed to be around to me; they were just always there. Growing up, you could easily count on hearing at least one Tragically Hip song anytime you turned on a radio. I'm sure part of that was due to Canadian radio regulations which dictate that a certain precent of music we play on the airwaves must be Canadian. But another, much larger part of that was due to the fact that the Tragically Hip were a really fucking good band.

When I started high school in 1994, the Tragically Hip's album Day for Night was released and it just spread like wildfire around my High School. I think the stat was that 9 out of 10 Canadians at that point were said to own at least one Tragically Hip album. I was one of those Canadians, playing my copy of Day for Night over and over again. It was the CD we took with us on long drives to the beach in the summer. It was the album we did our homework too and it was the record we put on late at night on a Saturday, after the party had started to settle down and we would finish our last beers and sing along to every song on that album, perfectly.

The Tragically Hip were just inherently Canadian - like maple syrup, or hockey, or free universal healthcare. It didn't matter to us or the Hip that they never really exploded north of the border the way they did here. In fact, I think many of us loved the fact that the Hip seemed to be just for us - something only us Canadians can have and really understand.

Gord was one of the most prolific poets I have ever read. His lyrics are haunting and beautiful and witty and funny and brutally honest. That's what really pulled me in and made me a fan. The music was solid, but those lyrics...they taught me about love, and pain, and hurt, and even about Canada.

When Gord Downie announced in May of 2016 that he was diagnosed with Brain Cancer, many of us didn't know what to think. I was frustrated, sad, and upset. At the same time, my own father was going through a battery of surgeries and test which, early this year, determined that he also has cancer. Two men who I admire, both for different reasons, were starting very difficult battles and I wasn't ready for either of them.

Gord and the Tragically Hip gave us all the opportunity to say thank you by announcing that they would go on one more tour across Canada, finishing with a show in their home town of Kingston, Ontario on August 20, 2016. The concert was broadcast by the CBC on both radio and TV. I was traveling with my son at the time, in a small city called Regina. We went out for dinner and as we drove home, I made him listen to the concert with me. I cried in the car as I heard Gord scream the lyrics 'Courage, my word it didn't come it doesn't matter...'

That concert was watched by 11.7 MILLION people - which means one third of the population of Canada was a part of this tragic and beautiful show. ONE THIRD. I was watching, as were both my parents and even my sister, who I was sure didn't even know who the Hip were (she did. Of course she did...we all do).

While listening to that concert with my son, my Maximum Rhythm and Booze co-host, Warren Peace texted me and asked "Penny, is there something going on in Canada tonight? My twitter and Facebook feeds are full of you Canucks talking about some band?" I tried my hardest to explain to him, to tell him about The Tragically Hip and how ingrained they are in Canadiana and about Gord and his diagnosis and this last tour, this last chance to say goodbye.

He was able to comprehend, but I don't think he was really able to understand.

And it's hard to understand unless you're Canadian, I think. See, I think the problem for a lot of Canadians around my age is that we just don't know what is to be 'Canadian.' Sure, we can adhere to the common stereotype that we are all peaceful, beer drinking, hockey playing citizens who say 'aboot' and 'eh' a lot. But honestly, I think most of us fell like a generation with no real idea of what been Canadian means. 

But The Hip and Gord Downie showed us. They taught us about our history - both the rights and the wrongs. They made us proud of our countries accomplishments and helped us hold ourselves accountable for our mistakes. They helped shape our identity.

I think our Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, while fighting back tears, said it best in a statement he delivered on Wednesday: 

"We are less of a country without Gord Downie in it. We all knew it was coming, but we hoped it wasn't. I thought I was going to make I through this, but I'm not. It hurts."

I'm thankful we had the chance to let The Tragically Hip know just how important they are and what they mean to us before before Gord Downie passed away. It's rare that we get the chance to really thank our idols and I'm grateful we were able to here. It doesn't make it any easier, but it does help. I'm also thankful that my most formative years were coloured with an amazing soundtrack by The Tragically Hip. Many of my most fond memories of growing up in rural Manitoba and on the Prairies include a Tragically Hip song or two woven in there.

So, thank you Gord and The Hip for helping me understand what it is to be Canadian. I'm forever grateful.

Much love,

Penny xxx

One 'Harvey' to Rule Them All

I went to meet my male friend for coffee this afternoon. As we sat at the counter in our Starbucks, he turned to me, looking exasperated.

"Man, have you been reading all the articles and stories on Twitter today?"

I reply that no, I've been too busy to even check Twitter. I ask him what articles and stories he's referring to.

"My Twitter feed is full of women sharing their stories of sexual assault and sexual harassment, and it's shocking. It's like every female I follow, and then some, has been a victim at one point in their lives and I'm just in, well, shock. I'm ashamed of my gender, to be honest. With all these actresses coming forth about how Harvey Weinstein acted towards them, its encouraging other women to speak about about their experiences. I'm sad to think that every women that I value and have in my life has experiences some kind of sexual assault or harassment. Is it really like that?"

Yeah, unfortunately it IS really like that.

I like to consider myself lucky in that I've never once experienced any sort of sexual assault or harassment in the work place by someone in a position of seniority over me.  Sure, there's been one or two employees whose behaviour probably walks the line, but I've never felt like I've been victimized. In fact, being a female in a very male orientated business like radio and music, I was very lucky that I started out in a place like UMFM. UMFM prides itself, and rightly so, on being a safe place for all people - regardless of age, sex, gender, religion. Everyone is welcome and treated as an equal.

But the truth is there are tons of Harvey's out there. It's easy to find men who are okay with using their positions of power to get what they want sexual.

It's sad, sick, and true.

When I first started DJ'ing, there were very few female in my city who were getting behind the decks to spin. It was rare to see women at record sales and conventions who weren't dragged there by their significant others. During that time, I ran into my fair share of Harvey's who felt it was okay to objectify me, make lewd or rude comments, or even worse, corner me in dark areas of clubs to tell me how much they loved my set and looking at my 'tits' as I bent over to change the records between songs. Many a night, I was scared to walk with my records to my car after the bar had closed. Again, I was lucky. I had a very close crew of male friends and DJ's who I trusted and who, on many occasions, either stood up for me, escorted me to my car, or who drove me home themselves to make sure I arrived safe and sound when I was too scared to walk home alone.

With more and more women present in the radio/podcast/DJ scene, I find I feel more empowered. I don't put up with rude or sexual comments from people. 

But that is the problem, isn't it? 

The Harvey's, they are still out there, engaging in this shitty behaviour.

They still come up to me in clubs to make horrible comments, and try to grab at me. They still send unsolicited dick pictures to my Instagram or Twitter direct messages. They still think it's okay to treat women in this manner.

It never was and never will be okay.

Women are taking a stand more and more, and sharing their stories of abuse and harassment. I think it's amazing to hear and see. And I think it's about bloody time as well. The more we empower and encourage and support each other, the easier it will be for us to talk about our experiences. The easier it is for us to talk about our experiences, the easier it will be for us to call out shitty and horrible behaviour when it happens. The easier it is for us to call out shitty and horrible behaviour in the moment means that we are fixing the root of the issue and correcting horribly inappropriate behaviour at the source.

If we keep doing this, the sooner we will all be working towards a place where this shit is not longer tolerated or acceptable.

I kind LOVE that idea.

Love,

Penny xx

I'm Depressed - Emotional Musings on World Mental Health Day

Life is very circular. Sometimes you are flying high on a huge upswing. You feel happy, alive, refreshed and rejuvenated. Then suddenly you start your slow descent down and soon you just don't feel like anything can go your way. You are sad, angry and depressed. But slowly, one day, you start working your way up again and soon the days seem brighter, you're not so angry anymore and you’re  working your way to being a beacon of positive and joy.

I've struggled with depression on and off my whole adult life. It started in High School for me. In grade 11, I kind went off the rails a little bit. I wasn't sleeping, I was failing math, I was struggling with the rules my parents had, and I failed a whole semester of school. There was legitimate fear that I would not graduate on time if I did not pull my socks up and focus. My doctor was very astute and understanding. She put me on my first antidepressant - Zoloft. I took Zoloft until just before I graduated high school with great grades and a few academic awards as well.

The second time depression took over was when I first moved out on my own. I moved into my first small, one bedroom apartment when I was 24.I loved it but I was warned by a good friend of mine that when you live alone for the first time, that you 'kinda go a little crazy.' I laughed it off - she always had a flair for the dramatic. About a year after I moved out, I found myself laid off work, single, sad, and scared shitless as I was, for some stupid reason, denied unemployment insurance. I again went to my doctor and after crying in the examining room for thirty minutes straight, she hugged me and gave me another prescription for Zoloft. I soon pleaded my case and got my unemployment benefits reinstated, got a new and much better job and felt good about myself. About a year and a half after I started talking Zoloft, my doctor suggested I start to ween myself off again.

The third time depression hit me was just after the birth of my son. It was a different kind of depression - one that made me cry often, made me feel worthless and like I was a horrible person. One that, dare I say it, made me hate my newborn son. My doctor, understanding that depression not just ran in the family but has touched me on and off for years, kept a keen eye on me during this time. I had monthly appointments to check in with her. I talked to a therapist and by the time my son smiled at me for the first time, I was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I beat the depression this time without drugs and I felt great.

The last time I suffered with a bout of depression was four years ago. My partner and I, who had been together for seven years, had split up. He had been mentally and physically abusive towards me for years and after a horrible incident that left me physical bruised and scarred, I decided enough was enough. I kicked him out. And I felt so much better about it. I was happy to be rid of him. But it soon hit me that I wasn't rid of him and that I never would be. We shared a child together. He used that fact to constantly try to control me and the situation. Many a time he tried to break down my door, threatened me, and even assaulted me. After he left, I slept all the time. I was so tired. My therapist at that time told me it was a completely logical response. My body had been in *fight or flight* mode for years that now, that the 'danger' was no longer present, all that adrenalin in my body was finally leaving, making me exhausted. I was more lonely that I had ever been in my entire life. Not only did I lose my partner, but I had to endure periods without my son as we shared custody. My apartment went from being a loud, always busy place, to being so fucking quiet that I almost couldn't take it. I missed my son. As sick as it sounded, I missed having a partner around. The loneliness was so thick in the air that I could taste it sometimes. The only thing that really kept me from offing myself during that period was my son...and my doctor. My doctor saw the mess I was in and ordered I take four weeks stress leave off of work ('to start' she said). She found me a really good therapist in her office that was known for dealing with survivors of domestic abuse. She prescribed a new antidepressant and insisted on biweekly check-in appointments while I was off work.

Depression almost won that last time. I think back on what I was like three years ago and it scares me silly. I wasn't thinking logically, I was in a horrible haze and I felt like things would never get better.

But you know what? They did. They did because I have a family that is familiar with and understands mental issues. Things got better because I have an amazing doctor who I feel comfortable falling to pieces in front of in her office. Depression didn't win because I have friends and family who love me, who put their lives on hold for a little bit to carry me when I felt I just couldn't go on.

I woke up this morning, and while getting dressed for the day, I thought about how I have been feeling the last few days. I've been sad, quick to anger and frustrated. I've caught myself crying just about every day this past week. I've been feeling lonely and frustrated at that fact. But today, I woke up to a text message from my best friend wishing me a great day. I got a huge hug from my son this morning. I exchanged messages with a couple of people who always put a smile on my face because they make time for me in their busy lives and I appreciated it.

I woke up being thankful for what I got and I suddenly started to feel the upswing start.

Today is World Mental Health Day and I hope that this post helps people realize that there should be NO stigma with Mental Illness - it touches the people you would least expect. I've lost friends to depression and other types of mental illness - the most recent was a friend who committed suicide this past summer. If anything, those situations has taught me how important it is to talk. You feeling depressed or down? If you feel you have no one to talk to?

Talk to me.

I'm here and I'm listening.

Much love...
Penny Lane