Announcing the Death of sgold@leyco.ca

Photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Photo belongs to www.ShelleyGoldbeck.com

Last week I killed my old email address, after 16 years of faithful service.

It was diseased with SPAM. No email filters, no rules, nothing could stem the tide of unsolicited messages interrupting my days, every five minutes.

On my home computer it wasn’t so problematic. Besides the 100 or so messages I screened out each day, the junk mail folder would silently fill to three hundred in a couple days. I might glance through it to ensure a real message hadn’t been misidentified or I might simply “select all” and delete.

But when I travelled email was a royal pain. The same junk mail filters don’t apply to webmail. I had to physically remove each and every message. A click or two is no big deal until multiplied by 300!

The really tricky part is if you have to pay for every bit of data. When I have no access to internet I use my iPhone as a hotspot. It’s wonderful technology but make no mistake: I pay!

(Telecommunication companies have us in their death grip. We rely on our devices for business and pleasure. Our provider choices are limited and they seem to be in cahoots, offering little that’s different from each other. But that rant will wait for another day).

Every minute I spend trashing my emails costs me money. Wasting money irks me.

I was compelled to take action on my email situation.  My email address had to die.

It was a perfect time to better organize my email life. I subscribe to many online newsletters, groups and services, mostly nice to know but not crucial. I decided to send the non-urgent to my new g-mail address, accessible from anywhere, but not in my face on my computer.

My main email is for my friends, family and acquaintances and my favourite newsletters. Anyone can always contact me through my websites so any worry about losing touch has dissipated.

But here’s something weird: I somehow miss all that spam. Not that I ever read or responded to any of it, but the recurring appearance of red numbers indicating the messages waiting in my inbox was part of my daily routine. I was always on a mission to get my inbox free of the unnecessary, which, now that I reflect on it, likely contributed to my tendency to procrastinate: a distraction, a diversion, a non-task to take focus from my real tasks.

It just occurred to me: I’m no more advanced than Pavlov’s dog, responding to the bell of my inbox!

As stupid as it sounds, now that SPAM is gone, I have a sense of loss. Is it that I’m suddenly not nearly as popular as I thought I was? Or maybe it’s because clearing my inbox was woven into the fabric of my life. The human brain is astounding. We often miss the terrible, even the annoying. I suppose that explains how victims of abuse can be so conflicted about their aggressors (love/hate) and actually miss them when they’re apart. Stockholm Syndrome is another example.

Now what to do with all that found time?

That’s no problem. I constantly bemoan my limited time, no doubt, inextricably linked to my overly ambitious to-do list. I have a new project overview pasted to my office wall which I expect will help me focus on necessary tasks. I think of it as a junk filter for my tasks list.

I have one less excuse for not working towards completing my projects.

Wait! There are two new messages in my inbox! Later!

Good-Bye Alison Redford

RedfordA few weeks ago my eight-year-old grandtoy, J___ proudly announced that Premier Alison Redford had lunch with her class.  Redford was doing PR for the new schools recently announced.

“I talked to her!” J___ beamed.

I imagine J___ whispering in Alison’s ear, redhead to redhead, “You know, we all have to follow the rules. When you break the rules it’s just not fair to others.”

Or maybe she said, “$45,000 on a trip!? To a funeral!?  Our school needs….”

I like to imagine J___’s words of wisdom prompting the premier to repay that $45,000 reputedly spent on attending Mandela’s funeral. Perhaps she needed to be there. Regardless, it does seem excessive.

This week I teased J___ that all was well in the Province of Alberta until our premier spent time with her class. Now everything’s awry.

J___ vaguely understands my teasing but has no clue about the impact Alison Redford’s abrupt resignation will have on the province.

My opinion of Alison Redford is irrelevant now. She will go down in history as Alberta’s first female premier. Frankly, I can’t recall anything else for which she could be remembered.

Oh, there is one thing: I am dismayed that we’ve returned to deficit spending, after years of sacrificing to balance the budget. Sorry, Alison; that’s what I remember.

Strangely, a number have people have asked me about my political aspirations this past week. I guess “women in politics” is on their minds.

Part of me is tempted because I would love to make a difference in the world, fix problems, apply common sense to government.

But much like the happily-ever-after-marriage fairytale, I have little faith in politicians’ ability to do what’s right for us and it has almost nothing to do with their will.

Our systems of government are flawed, far from fair (or democratic) and conducive to sucking the very souls out of their participants.

Look at pictures of past presidents and prime ministers. After eight years in office, they’ve aged 20 years!

This is not a coincidence.

Politics is a nasty job. I know. I once worked for a Member of Parliament. He was a wonderful man with the highest of ideals but the system and his own friends’ betrayal severely hurt him. I learned that bureaucrats have more power than politicians. I also learned to never trust the media, but that’s another story.

The most altruistic individual can go to Ottawa or Washington, or wherever the “capital” is, and be sucked into the vortex of toe-ing the party line or pleasing the lobbyists, with no heed to the will of the electorate. The crooked seem to thrive; the upright struggle.

Then there are the games, some of which are legislated. For example: years of Senate crap! We know it sucks money. We know it’s ineffective. We know it’s not fair. But the games prohibit us from fixing it.

People often lament the lack of women in politics.

I say, most women I know are too smart to want a job in politics!

The hours are long. In Canada, the travel can be arduous. You read endless boring documents (if you’re doing your job) and attend endless committee meetings. You have enemies everywhere: opposition, journalists, in-party saboteurs. One slip of the tongue can finish your political career. You must play games but no rulebooks are procured nor are there referees.

You’re under constant scrutiny, especially if you are a woman. In fact a woman in politics must be immaculately dressed and groomed to command respect, whereas Ralph Klein was endeared for his rumpled bowling ball look!

My skin’s not thick enough for me to be in politics. I am far too sensitive. I know it’s not about me but I would be hurt. I know that I work best in an atmosphere of collaboration. A building with a section for the “official opposition”, to me, screams of impotence.

Worst of all you can’t ever please your constituents. Half will revile you for supporting something; the other half for not supporting it. You can’t win.

That is why there aren’t more women in politics.

I also believe that it’s easier to change the world outside of politics. The best change is bottom up. It starts in the hearts and minds of individuals. They get inspired to inspire others and then the people demand change.

I read a book about the history of champagne this week. It struck me that the many French revolts that brought positive change in the long run were started at the bottom. The politicians at the top were powerless to stop the ensuing tsunami.

I don’t blame Alison Redford for leaving her job. Reports are she didn’t have the support of her party.  She hasn’t seemed to be having loads of fun: barking and bullying accusations abound, sure signs of unhappiness.

Regardless of our job level, most of us get to a place at some time, where we’re no longer having any fun. The dirty parts of the job are not sufficiently balanced with perks.

I suspect giving back $45,000 could severely skew one’s perspective of fun.

Good-bye, Alison. Our family will remember you as the red-haired first female Premier of Alberta who had lunch with J___ and then ran away.

For a lighter look and politics click here…