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31.1.11

use it or LOSE IT.

I am of the belief that I existed before I was born.  I had a unique personality, varying interests, a foundation of knowledge, and a network of relationships; I was a distinct individual before I was born just the same as I am today.  I believe it is this way for everyone.  

The difference between Kristen Gibb then and Kristen Gibb now is the day of January 11th, 1989.  It was on that day that I was born and gained a simply marvellous contraption: my body.




Made of 206 bones, 639 muscles, and 60,000 miles of blood vessels, bodies are miraculous inventions.  My own 6'0" tall, 155 lbs. body has story-telling scars, size 10 feet, and a bump on the right middle finger from holding pens too tight.  It also has weak ankles from multiple sprains, poor-ish posture, and a blister on the left pinkie toe from wearing shoes that were too small.  My body is now a little over 22 years old and I'm beginning to realize that I exist as a soul with a body, not a body with a soul.  




When I think back over the years I've shared with my body I can recall times when it has been the bane of my existence and the host of exceeding happiness.  My body has been blamed for some of my lowest lows and celebrated with during some of my greatest achievements.  Through thick and thin, no matter what I do or where I go, my body is the siamese twin of my spirit, and it's going to be here with me until it's planted six feet under.  So I guess that leaves me with a choice.  To be friends, or not to be friends?


Be friends with my body?  I know it might sound a bit ludicrous, but think about it.  How do you treat your friends?  I think it goes without saying that if you treat your friends well, they'll stick around and return the favor.  Should you chose to abuse and neglect them, they probably won't stay your friend for long.  I'm currently taking a class at Mount Royal called "Physical Activity for the Aging Adult".  We've watched movies about, read articles on and seen a multitude of pictures of some very dear old people.  I've come to realize that I can pick out the people who were friends with their bodies and those who chose to neglect them.  You could say their bodies have become their own autobiography.





So what sort of story do you want your body to tell?  Although ultimately no one has complete control over the sorts of trials and tribulations their bodies will harbour and sustain, everyone knows what must be done to respect and protect their body.  There's no need for me to delve into those details, I prefer not to preach and I know that it's different for everyone.  If anything, I guess the reason this topic has haunted my mind for the past little while is because so few people seem to really understand and love their bodies.  Instead of being the best friends they deserve to be, people increasingly choose to treat their bodies more like a canvas to paint on, an animal to experiment on, or a cushion to sit on.  Although we may convince ourselves for a while that this is the state our body is truly happy in, I guarantee it will be hard to stick to that argument once your body turns 104 and you're really only 64.  We don't have to be friends with our bodies.  However, if that's your choice, don't expect your body to be friends with you either.


In the end, I am of the belief that my main purpose and goal is to be happy.  I was given a body in order to more fully experience life, to experience highs and lows, trials and triumphs.  I know I haven't lived long, but what I do know is that I am happiest when my body is happy and I look forward to a long and lively friendship.
27.1.11

BLOG JUNKIE.

I started another blog.  I promise I'm not addicted to blogging or feel like I can change the universe with my words.  IT'S FOR SCHOOL I SWEAR.


So just in case you wanted access to more of my ramblings and insights, feel free to check out ALL FOR ONE, my RECR 1203 Community Development class blog.  It's also listed right underneath that tree near the top of the page.


Umm, and that is all I have to say.  Cheers.
23.1.11

Pedophobia.

Everyone is afraid of stuff.  I don't care what you say.  But you can beat your fears, trust me.  Here is the story of a phobia I conquered.

My name is Kristen Gibb and I used to be afraid of children.  


And when I say afraid, I mean absolutely terrified.  I avoided children of all shapes, sizes, ages, races, genders, names, and so on.  It didn't matter if it was my own cousins child or if it was the cutest baby in the whole entire world, I steered clear of the youngins.

I'll admit I picked up some negative coping mechanisms as well.  I am not proud of all the dead baby jokes I know or of all the times I've refused to hold someones baby.  But everyone becomes a little irrational in the face of fear, right?

Around age 16 my mother became a little worried that this phobia would deny her all of the grandchildren she wanted, so she made an agreement with me.  I could handle kids around the age of 10 or so, so she promised that she would take my children and raise them until I wasn't afraid of them anymore.  It seemed like a pretty good deal.

In October 2008, I went to Peru.  Little did I know that I would come face to face with my biggest fear down there:  NINOS, lots and lots of ninos.


My first encounter was terrifying.  I was deep in the Amazon jungle, a little secluded from the rest of my group where no one could hear my screams, when suddenly our tour guide's 5 year old grandson grabbed my hand and lead me into a hut.  I had been avoiding him like the plague and was caught completely off guard. I was absolutely defenceless.  He didn't know a lick of English either which only added to the terror.  As I looked for a quick exit or a plan of attack, I remembered my plastic tarantulas I had packed to play tricks on my group.  I offered him one and he was happy as a clam and left me to go show his grandpa.  PHEWF.  That was close.  Unfortunately, giving him that instantly made me his best friend.

I don't know how it happened, but things changed.  I eventually realized Dalan wasn't a big, scary ogre and that I actually had fun giving him piggy back rides and teaching him how to play tricks on people with this fake tarantula. Long story short, Dalan became my buddy.  But as far as I was concerned, all kids were still scary, Dalan was just the exception.


Once we got back from the jungle and started doing service work, I was bombarded with a flurry of orphanage visits.  They were the equivalent of walking through a haunted house.  Yet at each one, I got braver, or rather, at each one my fear began to evaporate.  I could feel myself changing, probably similar to the way the Grinch changes when his heart grows.  Kids really weren't so scary after all.





Today I'm proud to say I am kid friendly.  They no longer scare me, in fact I really enjoy the Sunday afternoons I spend playing with my Aunt Marge and Uncle Robb's grandkids.  We play zombies, mean mom, sardines, hide and seek, and all sorts of games.  It feels good to be begged to come play.  It feels good to act like a kid.

So there you have it.  My name is Kristen Gibb and I am no longer scared of children.  PHOBIA CONQUERED.
16.1.11

Boys.

I grew up in a house full of girls.  There was a mom, three daughters, two girl horses, a girl dog and a girl puppy, and then a girl cat.  Amidst all of the hair and estrogen, a very humble man managed to keep his sanity, and that man was my Dad.



When I started grade one, I was introduced to a new species: The Boy.  They were short little critters, with short hair and Hot Wheel backpacks, that liked to kick balls and throw rocks.  They were fascinating.  It wasn't long before I gave up playing House at recess to see what these boys were all about.  I was captivated.  Boys rarely ever cried, they hardly ever held grudges, and they played soccer.  I was hooked.  As the years of Elementary School wore on, Boys taught me how to play football, and in grade six I became the son my Father never had by playing Pee-Wee Football.  As far as I was concerned, I was pretty much a boy.




The next year, things changed in a very sudden and abrupt manner.  Junior High happened.  Gone were the days of recess, replaced by the days of "Top 5's", "Going-Out", and "Boy-Girl Parties".  It was no longer alright to hang out with boys or to pretend to be one.  If you can imagine, I was surprised.  But nothing surprised me more than "The Rules".

Created and enforced by my dear mother, "The Rules" made very little sense and were a powder keg for argument.  What did it matter if I was the only girl hanging out with a bunch of guys?!  Who cared if we chose to watch a movie at a boy-girl party?!  It eventually became obvious why each one of these rules were enforced, except for one; and that one single rule had me and my sisters snarling and gnashing our teeth for who knows how long.


ABOMINABLE RULE = "Do not call boys"



Stupid right!?  Who cares if I call a boy!?  In fact, most boys I ever came across told me to call them!  And these crazy girls I now had to hang out with called boys all the time during slumber parties!  It just didn't make any sense.  I thought my mom loved me.  This rule could only mean that my mom wanted to prevent me from ever having a boyfriend, getting married, and being truly happy in life.  


Although I strongly disagreed with this rule, I kept it (truth be told, it was mostly because I didn't have the guts to break it).  As time went on, the creation of MSN Messenger eased the pain and I was able to speak to boys whether my mom liked it or not!  Ha!  Just Kidding...  Anyways, I eventually grew up, moved out, and was bequeathed the power to phone anyone I wanted.  Hallelujah!  However, by this point I began to understand the logic behind this simple rule:


Good boys call girls.

Could it be possible that my mom really knew this all along?  I think yes.  By enforcing this rule, my mom was actually helping me to distinguish a good boy from a bad boy.  It's really quite simple, you see:  
  • A good boy will not tell a girl to call him if he is interested in her.
  • A good boy will politely ask for a girls phone number.
  • A good boy will make the phone call.

I'll admit to feeling quite hopeless at times.  There just aren't that many good boys around nowadays!  However, I'm glad to report that they do exist.  So don't lose hope girls, I promise you'll be much happier with a guy that doesn't make you pick up the phone and dial his number.  And guys, you know what to do, so do it. 

Now if you will excuse me, I'm expecting a call any minute now from a good boy.  Adios!


11.1.11

IN THE EYE.

Once upon a time, it was the end of the semester and all university and college students were preparing to go to battle against the upcoming final examinations.  Except one certain student, who was really bad at concentrating and managed to procrastinate and cram for every single final.  And that certain student was called GIBB-GIBB.



Yes, I am that student.  I am Gibb-Gibb.  And this is my story.  One night last December I should have been studying.  But instead I decided to watch a movie with my Aunt and Uncle.  The movie was 'LADYHAWKE', starring Matthew Broderick and Michelle Pfeiffer.  Ch-ch-check it out!


Funny thing is, I've sort of been thinking about this movie ever since.  Not because I have a secret crush on Matthew Broderick or because I secretly wish I could turn into a hawk.  It's because of the horse in the movie.  Whenever the knight would ride across the screen on his lusty stallion, which happened a lot, my Aunt Marge would exclaim, "Beautiful!  What a beautiful horse!  That horse is beautiful!  Look how it walks!"  I'll admit, the horse was pretty exquisite, it was black and trained to walk with its legs lifting really high like it was walking up an imaginary staircase, something like this...


... but was it BEAUTIFUL?

I'll admit, the horse and it's neat-o mincing walk would not have earned the title of 'beautiful' from me personally, but my Aunt Marge was so taken aback by this horse the only word she could describe it with was 'beautiful', which has left me thinking ever since.

I've come to one conclusion about the whole matter.  Some cliches are true.  Beauty really is in the eye of the beholder.  Isn't that great?!  Beauty is subjective, which means it's measurement exists in the mind; it belongs to the thinking subject rather than to the object of thought.  And since everyone has their own unique point of view and opinion, everything has it's own sense of beauty, it just depends on who is looking at it.

Call me a huge nerd, but I've been really excited by this discovery.  Don't you realize all that this means?!  It means you're beautiful.  It means I'm beautiful.  It means that everyone and everything is beautiful, they simply must find that beholder who only has eyes for them.  Can you imagine what would happen if everyone realized this about beauty?  How many girls would get eating disorders if they realized beauty wasn't only a size 0?  How many bullying situations would cease to exist if people realized one man's trash is another man's treasure?  How much heart ache would be cured if everyone realized they needed to be looking for the person who finds them beautiful, rather than changing who they are to fit in or follow the crowd?  

Knowledge really is power.  I feel invincible in knowing this.  Confucious sums it up quite nicely in saying, "Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it."  My little beauty epiphany has in the end made me only love my most favorite poem in the whole entire world a little bit more.  I used to dream that someday someone would feel about me the way John Masefield expresses in his poem "Beauty", but now I know that someone WILL, because for every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it.  So please enjoy my favorite poem.

BEAUTY

I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills
Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain:
I have seen the lady April bringing the daffodils,
Bringing the springing grass and the soft warm April rain.

I have heard the song of the blossoms and the old chant of the sea,
And seen strange lands from under the arched white sails of ships;
But the loveliest thing of beauty God ever has shown to me,
Are her voice, and her hair, and eyes, and the dear red curve of her lips.

-- John Masefield
2.1.11

KG'S MOTTO.

I have a motto.  It's served me well for the past ten or so months.  I thought I picked it up from a General Authority in a conference talk or something, but when I tried looking it up today I realized it's actually from Steven R. Covey.  Don't worry, I'm not losing my mind, Steven R. Covey is pretty much a General Authority and he gave a fireside in Calgary last spring, so that's where I heard it.  Say hello to Mr. Covey -


Wanna know what my motto is?  Well, to quote the big man himself, here it is:

"I am now 76 years old and could easily retire.  But I'm not retired and I don't plan to retire.  I don't believe in retirement.  Why people ask me?  Simply, I have a life motto.  It is: Live life in crescendo!

Living life in crescendo to me means that my most important work is always ahead of me, never behind me.  I believe that 'where much is given, much is required.'  I have a sacred stewardship to contribute and not to retire to leisure.  Also, the greatest way to serve my 50 grandkids is not just to love them and tend to their interests and needs, but to be an example of someone who is constantly making a difference in the world.

Start living your life in crescendo - and remember your most important work is ahead of you, not behind you!  There is so much more to do, to learn and contribute."

Live life in crescendo.  Unfamiliar with the word crescendo?  Well, in music theory, crescendo is very similar to the less than symbol in math, <.  It symbolizes a gradual, steady increase in loudness or force.  It makes a song bigger and better, louder and exciting.  Isn't that what we all want out of life?  For each new day to be better than the last?  Or each new year?  With a motto like that, who needs a New Year's resolution?!

It was really hard to think of some sort of New Year's resolution for 2011, but don't worry, I figured one out.  I need to be better at expressing gratitude.  2011 will be the year of gratitude.  I have so much to be thankful for, so I'm going to start letting people know when they're appreciated, starting with YOU.  Thank you for reading my blog.  It means a lot.  I love getting little comments and compliments about the random things I have to say.  Thanks for brightening my day with your kind words and making me feel good about myself.  YOU'RE THE BEST!

Now, dear Gibb family.  I'm letting you know that I was in fact living my life in crescendo while writing this blog entry.  Do not be alarmed when you find all of the cookies and cream ice cream gone from the basement freezer.  I polished it off.  Yup, there was still quite a bit left, but you see, I had to eat more than I ate the last time.  Just livin' my life in crescendo!  Love, Krit.


P.S.  Holy smokes it was good too.