This is that time in your life…

When I first started working, I liked to be at my office early. I liked the quiet and the ability to work uninterrupted. I would often put in a 12-13 hour days and would work on the week-ends.

But there has to be more to life than work.

After I got married, I continued to work the same hours or longer during the week but on the week-end, my husband and I were enjoying spending time together. We both had demanding jobs, but wanted to have time together.

This was the time for us.

And then we got pregnant and all of a sudden, I was in and out of medical appointments and towards the end of my pregnancy, I was having weekly appointments. And when you are pregnant and leaving for appointments, no one dares to comment, so life continues.

But then I was on maternity leave and having a busy legal practice meant that I had to stay connected with clients to ensure that I had clients to return to when my maternity leave ended. And so often, I was doing a telephone meeting, with one baby (I had twins) who refused to sleep during the designated nap time. And the guilt slowly starts to seep in. You feel like you are letting everyone down, and no one is thinking this but you (hopefully)!

And during my maternity leave, we decided to move from the City to the suburbs which meant that my commute time was going to be more than doubled. And the ability to be at the office early, was no longer. I was now governed by a new schedule, taking into account my commute to work and ensuring that my day included time with my kids. And so to make it home for 6pm and take over childcare, I started that early departure from work at 5pm. And everyday, I would try to leave without drawing any attention to my departure and would pray that no one would look for me or need me for something. It starts to drain on you, this daily covert exercise.

I have read that many mothers enjoyed not having to deal with this part of their day, as a result of the pandemic and working from home and I totally understand and relate. And I am sorry – but this is still a female issue. If a male colleague leaves early for childcare or to take children for an extra curricular activity, they are still revered for being great dads. On the other hand, when a woman has to leave early, the sentiment expressed in the Corporate world is – this is why you try to avoid hiring young women or mothers – because they always leave early, their kids constantly need them – you name it!

And now, I am at a stage in life where my kids are older and more independent, but still need us for key things. Due to the pandemic, we no longer are receiving assistance in terms of childcare and my husband is the superstar who is taking them to and from school and we are sharing the responsibilities at the house. In the mornings, my girls, who have long hair, still need help doing their hair. Because of this, I get into the office (switched to an office closer to home), still later than I would like. However, I no longer skulk into the office trying to hide the fact of when I get in. And I am no longer feeling guilt for spending time with the kids in the morning. Because in 1 or 2 years, when the girls are able to do their hair on their own, I will be able to move my timings up and might be in the office earlier.

And so for this period of time, which in the grand scheme of life, is short, I am no longer feeling guilt for leaving work to make it home for whatever activity they have or to deal with….whatever. Because in the blink of an eye, they will be out of the house, moving forward with their lives and I never want to be in a position looking back, wishing I had made time with them, activities with them – just anything… more of a priority. I don’t want to have those moments. And so, I have come to that understanding with myself, that this is where I am, at this period of time and like anything, it changes quickly – you have to adapt.

But that’s just one Diva’s view!

I hate being……. cold at work

Since I started working in an office environment, I have had to deal with the same issue – being freezing cold at the office, especially during the summer. This is especially challenging for summer fashion and style, but it speaks to something deeper.

It is 2021 -I just want to confirm that. Since 1993, this same issue has plagued me, no matter what office I have worked at – the over cooling of the office place. I am not requesting that there be no A/C. However, when my fellow colleagues and I have to wrap ourselves with shawls and heavy sweaters, to make it through a work day, I draw the line. Especially, when you walk outside and are greeted with gorgeous warm temperatures and you have to peel off the extra layers, and deal with a 15 degree difference in temperature (feels like it!)

So in 2021 – why can’t we modulate the temperature, so that is best suited for everyone at work ?Why don’t we stop catering to a select few, who need the A/C turned up that high, who, ironically, always appear to be the decision makers?

I am lucky to have a private office space and just as it was at my previous work spaces, I have a thermostat in my office – WHICH IS PURELY DECORATIVE!! It does not allow me to have any control of my office temps at all. And apparently, the A/C goes on throughout the Spring and throughout the Fall, so I am dealing with it 3 seasons of frigid temps throughout the year. And then in the winter, the thermostat is still set to low, so I am freezing during the winter in my office also.

I am constantly uncomfortable.

I honestly cannot function well in cold temps. My fingers do not type as fast and I am not at my optimal. However, at my current office, space heaters are banned, so I have to wrap myself with a shawl, which often leaves lint on my clothes, or fear freezing.

And yes – it affects what I wear to work, which bothers me a lot. I like wearing fashionable clothes to work, but it is no fun layering clothes, to attend work, when the outside is gorgeous and warm. I don’t feel like I can dress for myself, but always have to ensure that I am dressing for my office temperature.

And it goes to a deeper issue, doesn’t it? The composition of the office work place has changed. It is no longer solely populated by those who typically, prefer the temperature cool, which provides their optimal work place environment. The office work place is changing in composition and it is even seeping into management.

So – now the mix of decision makers need different environments to flourish.

And honestly, I am tired of adapting. For years, I have had to either populate my office with space heaters, humidifiers or wraps, to endure. And I am done. As a business owner, I want my needs to be considered. I cannot flourish in an environment that does not acknowledge, that I have different needs, to succeed. And if I am succeeding, so is the business.

And so, I will continue to a disturber on this issue. I have the right to have an office environment, that recognizes that I need a different temperature to succeed! And trust me – I am not alone.

The cooler temperatures have been keeping me from being at my optimal – BUT NO MORE!

But that’s just one Diva’s view.

#coldoffice #makingchange #beingmyself

Walking in their shoes….

Here in Ontario, we are slowly making progress towards a return to normal. More people have received their first dose and we are now celebrating second doses and slowly re-opening our retail and restaurants. So you would think that there is a lot of optimism being felt. But I think that with everything that we have undergone, the hope is a little dimmed.

And the sadness is being amplified with all of the horrors we are seeing take place around the world, but especially in our backyard. The discovery of the bodies of 215 indigenous children at a residential school, was especially challenging for our family. As a mom, I could not imagine the pain of having your children forcibly removed from your home, to experience years of physical, mental and sexual torture.

As a child, the hate and resentment that must have been experienced towards all adults, including family, would understandably have such a lasting legacy, resulting in generational abuse and harm. The discussion is being held at our schools and our kids have been having very honest discussions with us. My 7 year old, was especially upset, when speaking about how the only way out for many indigenous children, was suicide. Our kids have put themselves, if only for a moment, in the shoes of those innocent children and you can see the despair that they have been experiencing. Walking in their shoes and what this represents is a tragic legacy in our country.

And then on Sunday, even more tragedy close to home. A Muslim family, out for a stroll in the evening, was specifically run down because they are Muslim. The entire family – mom, dad, grandma and daughter were killed and the orphan, still in hospital, is a 9 year old boy, who when he is told, will have his life ripped out from under him. Again, my family put ourselves in the shoes of this family. We often go for family walks in the evening, throughout the Spring and Summer. We treasure those moments together, when you speak about everything and anything and just enjoy the beautiful night, being with the ones you love. The overwhelming feeling of sadness over such a senseless act, continues the feeling of grief.

I have no words to describe the uncontrollable sadness these events, and so many others throughout the pandemic, have caused. We are urged to keep trying to find happiness and joy, throughout the pandemic and one of the recommendations has been to go for walks and spend time together as a family. And now that bastion of normalcy, has been stolen, for so many.

And so, as we slowly return back to “normal” with increased vaccines and the reopening of our community, I hope we do not forget these tragedies so close to home. We as a country, like to pride ourselves, as stating, “That would never happen in our backyard”, but they did.

We need to remember and honour the lives lost.

We need to recognize that hate, in all forms, is a part of the fabric of our society, instead of trying to pretend that it is not.

We need to educate and discuss.

And we need to make change.

Just putting ourselves in the shoes of those lost, has left an indelible imprint on me – one that I will carry, even when we are over this pandemic.

But that’s just one Diva’s view.

Memorable Birthday of yore

With the lockdown in effect here in Ontario, travel having been a distinct memory, and a birthday on the horizon, I keep coming back to one of my most memorable birthdays, to provide some joy and solace.

My then fiance, now husband, was stationed in Sudan. We were going to travel to India to do our wedding shopping but decided to take a few days before that, to spend some time together. We decided to meet up in Dubai.

On the day of my actual birthday, we spent the day exploring Dubai. However, in the evening, we decided to go out for dinner at the restaurant at one of the high end hotels. The ambience was gorgeous and after dinner, we decided to walk around the hotel grounds.

Like most structures and properties in Dubai, it was simply stunning. The hotel was adjacent to the Persian Gulf and the night air was warm. It was honestly magical. We walked and talked and after not having seen each other for close to 5 months, it was so good to see each other in person. We decided to sit along the water, and dip our feet into the Gulf. It was gorgeous. We were surrounded by lush flowers and landscape. We were full from a scrumptious dinner and now we were sitting along the coast, with our toes dipped in the water. It was perfect. The sky was full of stars, and there was such a peace to the moment.

That moment comes to me a lot, when I need a moment to recharge me. I do not remember how long we sat like that. I could not tell you what we were wearing. But I can smell that air anywhere. And I can feel that moment anywhere. That’s the beauty of travel, isn’t it. Not just the moment itself, but having those moments to look back on. To provide us some comfort during a hard day, or a snowy day in April!

I look forward to making those type of moments again. I cannot wait to make new memories with my family.

But that’s just one Diva’s view.

My Magic Coat

Historically – there are so many memorable and iconic coats. Joseph, from the Bible, was known for his coat. Dolly Parton’s mom made her a special coat. I have a magic coat also.

Like most of my items, I purchased it online. It immediately caught my eye, because it is a patchwork design similar to those seen on many Gujarati fabrics. It is colourful, with different patterns, and it has a distinctive South Asian feel. I had never seen a coat like it before. I specifically curate a look with South Asian touches. I love the fabrics, colours and textiles from the South Asian subcontinent and I always feel my best, when I have a South Asian feel.

And as is the case with most on line purchases, you are taking a risk, but when the coat arrived, it totally delivered. It is super warm, fits well and has all of the colours and designs, as shown online! I loved it and that was all that mattered to me. I purchased it at the beginning of the pandemic and it was a little bit of whimsy and style, during an otherwise bleak time.

I would wear it on walks with the kids and when I would get groceries. So many people, while I was grocery shopping, would compliment me on the coat and said that they loved its brightness! That would add some brightness to me, when grocery shopping, during an unsettling time. I have also been asked where I purchased the coat, and I am always one of those people who shares the information.

So much joy from my coat. But the ultimate happened this past week-end. We have a South Asian grocery store close to us, where I purchase certain South Asian foods on occasion. It was super quiet Saturday morning, for some reason, because typically, there is a line up to get inside the store. While I was walking in the aisles, the owner saw my coat and I saw her motion to another employee at the store, to check out my coat. I had grown accustomed to this now, given that it was coming on a year that I had bought this coat. Typically, my exchanges with the owner are quite perfunctory. But on Saturday, she completed my check out and she was nothing but friendly. It was if the coat had broken through a barrier between us and we pleasantly chatted throughout my checkout. The coat had worked its magic, yet again!

Now – I know that material items should not cause joy or happiness, but I think that in this case, the coat is magical. In a time full of dark and bleakness, this coat offers brightness and colour. In a time where people are being harassed for their ethnic background, this coat, is unequivocally South Asian and welcomes compliments from everyone. In a time where people are struggling through the Ground Hog day mentality, this coat, gives me an opportunity to cloak myself in joy, and feel like I am finding some light!

During a time when things have become even more bleak than before, especially in Ontario, it is nice to know that we all have something outside of our family and friends, that can provide a ray of light. My magic coat, provides that joy to me and those who are around it. I hope that you have your own version of a magic coat, to get through these days. This too shall pass.

But that’s just one Diva’s view.

What’s in a name?

Recently, Thandiwe Newton, long overdue, was featured with the cover and cover story in British Vogue magazine. Within the article, she stated that her name had been altered to Thandie, and given the system in place within film making, she just went with it, but was now re-claiming her name. A name of royalty.

At the end of March 2021, in the Globe and Mail, there was an article regarding a South Asian lawyer, and her challenges, in having her name and identity accepted on Bay Street. Suggestions made to take on her husband’s last name, as it was easier to pronounce and other such nuggets of “wisdom”.

This has been an ongoing fight for a long time. In a previous blog, I advised that my mom, due to Colonial pressure in Trinidad, changed her name to an English name, so as to be accepted at school. My father anglicized his name to Sam, when he was working as an Engineer, in Ontario.

Now my name has always caused a lot of angst. Its origins are from Sanskrit. The spelling in Bengali makes perfect sense – সুদেবী. However, giving it English letters to spell the name was a little more challenging. The first 2 letters in my name – Su – have historically been pronounced by all non South Asians, as Sue – like you sue someone in law. However, when you look at the word – Sugar, “Su” is also pronounced Shoe – which is the correct pronunciation of my name.

So, when I started daycare, it was a running battle, for me to explain how to pronounce the first two letters of my name, to my teachers and my classmates and the “sugar” example was not met with any “AHA” moments. This leaves a lasting impression on the identity of a child. And therefore, Sue became the accepted way to pre-fix for my name, especially for a child who was taught to respect her elders. Do not even have me start on pronouncing the rest of my name.

My kids get a kick when people adopt a Southern US version of pronouncing my name, as that apparently, is much more palatable for many.

As an adult, when I provide the proper pronunciation to anyone non South Asian, it is typically met with disbelief and then, quickly reverting back to the anglicized pronunciation of my name. Or making it sound like it comes out of the incantation from an episode of Star Trek.

And like Thandwie, it was a fight that I gave up on, sadly. I kept my name – YEAH!, but I allowed it to be pronounced in an easier way to the prevailing culture here in Canada. And therefore – there are 2 pronunciations of my name – the correct way and the anglicized way.

I love when South Asian people say my name correctly – because it honours the name that represents a part of my heritage and culture. It is a distinctive name and unique, all things that I like. I have written previously on my challenges to keep my full name as my identity and reading Thandwie’s comments and the Globe and Mail article, made me feel like I had made some progress, but had not emerged fully victorious.

And it is an ongoing battle that my children fight. They too have distinctive South Asian names, but are much more common and known. Even with that, the kids are constantly telling us anecdotes about how the pronunciation of their name was butchered or misspelled and I know that this will be an ongoing battle for them.

And the irony is – I find pronouncing certain anglicized names more challenging than South Asian names. Lloyd, Buchanan, Jacqueline – there is a great Key and Peele sketch – documenting this – How on point was this?

But I have figured the names out and I pronounce them properly.

One wonders why the same care has not been given to names from other backgrounds?

But that’s just one Diva’s view.

Fighting back

I am appalled but not surprised by the increase in hate crimes as against Asians. It has been percolating throughout the pandemic with racist terminology from many leaders and persons who are heard- we cannot point the finger to just one. The rationalization of why the shooter in Georgia did on March 17th, 2021, what he did, only pours hot burning vinegar on a festering wound.

And watching the attacked, injured and elderly Asian grandmother in San Francisco fight off and injure her attacker, just added to the despair.

But watching that attacked, injured and elderly grandmother stand there confused and unattended, while her attacker was receiving medical attention, again, caused a feeling of disbelief and anger.

That could have been any of our immigrant moms. It had been my mom.

It was 2005. I was at work in downtown Toronto and my mom called me on my office line from her home in Mississauga. She had locked herself in her bathroom. She explained that she had answered the door and a confused guy was swearing and cursing. Although her storm door was locked, he ripped it open and pushed in the main door before my mother could close it, injuring my mother. The guy was high on crystal meth, believing that he was in his house.

He was in his late teens while my mom was in her 60’s. High on drugs, his strength and lack of pain, was on another level.

My mom had rushed to the bathroom and locked it, and called the police. When she called me, I kept my mom on the line, and I called the police again. The feeling of helplessness that I felt was scream worthy.

I rushed to get home and ensure that my mother was safe. But my mother, like the Asian woman attacked in San Francisco, was a fighter. When she heard that the guy was leaving, she was concerned that he would get away before the police could apprehend him and that he would hurt someone else.

And so my 60 something mother grabbed an axe, rightly or wrongly, and chased after him. She was angry. And that’s how the police found her and the guy. With her chasing after him, yelling at him, to draw the attention of neighbours and the police. The guy was apprehended.

And my mother – she was cautioned about walking around with an axe.

By the time that I arrived at the house, the police were gone. No ambulance was sent to check on my mother and we were left with a door hanging off its hinges and left to deal with the clean up and the fall out, on our own. As strong as my mom was, the incident left my mother feeling very vulnerable and scared. My brother arrived shortly afterwards and we took care of my mom and the situation.

And this attack on the grandmother in San Francisco, really brought up this memory of my mother. There was no follow up regarding my mother and how she was doing after the incident. The concern was more about ensuring that the guy on crystal meth, received the help he needed and it was explained to my mom that he had no control over his actions, because he was on crystal meth.

Sound familiar – this rationalization? All of a sudden, my mother lost her role as victim and was casually tossed aside. And if race was not the factor for this different treatment, then I do not know what was.

My West Indian mother, was dismissed. Her white attacker was not.

It left a bad taste in our mouths. And so we were forced to move on. We installed a security system at my mother’s house. We checked on my mom, even more frequently. Because, we realized we were on our own. The system, was not going to assist us.

The incident was treated as if this were an everyday event and apparently, it is:

A white man high on crystal meth, broke into my West Indian mother’s house and hurt her.

An Asian grandmother in San Francisco was attacked on the streets, and her white attacker was treated, while she stood untreated on the street.

A white man shoots 8 women in Atlanta, all but one were women, the majority of Asian descent.

We need to do better. We need to be better.

People’s actions need to be held accountable and not excused.

We are tired of forgiving, or accepting the rationalizations, when the truth is obvious.

And if the truth is obvious, why is it only seen by us?


But that’s just one Diva’s view.

11 years ago….my recollection of the earthquake in Haiti

Actually, this story starts 13 years ago.  My husband and I were newly weds.  While we were engaged, he had completed a military deployment in Sudan, and returned back for the wedding.   It was challenging, but we made it work.  A lot of satellite calls, and Skype chats, when there was an internet connection.  I sent care packages, consisting of food and supplies, while planning a wedding.

We had been married a few months, when my husband indicated that he was interested in deploying to Afghanistan.  Sudan was one thing, but Afghanistan scared me…..a lot.  We had a lot of discussions about this.  I knew that he wanted to deploy, but couldn’t he go somewhere safer to serve?

Learning the art of compromise, my husband proposed Haiti.  It was a lot closer than Afghanistan and in my mind, a lot safer.   You have to appreciate that in 2009, we kept hearing about fallen soldiers serving in Afghanistan, and although my husband assured me that he would be safe, it was hard to reconcile him being safe with all of the losses we were bombarded with on the news.  And so, Haiti was the chosen destination.

It all sounded positive.  He was on a peacekeeping mission.  He was working in the UN Headquarters in Port-Au-Prince.  We were in the same time zone and communicating with each other, was a lot easier.  During his leave in the Fall of 2009, we met up in Miami and had a wonderful few days together.  His deployment allowed me to focus on work and news that I had made partner at my law firm.  Things were good.  He remained in Haiti during the Christmas holidays and New Year’s, which I spent with friends and family.

January 12th, 2010 – I was at work when my friend Rina texted me to advise that her father was watching CNN and there had been a massive earthquake in Haiti.  She wanted to know if my husband was alright.  I immediately called the contact number I had for him and kept getting a busy signal.

I frantically did a search on the internet and the information was limited.  At our condo, my husband had given me an Emergency Contact number for the United Nations and had instructed me that in case of an emergency, that this was the number to call.  This was an emergency and I had to get to this number and call it.  This was my mission.  I packed up my belongings in a state of shock with my cell phone steadily redialing my husband frantically.

I remember getting  down to the building lobby and seeing another lawyer from my firm, looking at me in concern.   I explained to him what had happened and he gave me some words of encouragement which I barely heard, as I was so focused on dialing my husband and establishing some connection and confirmation that he was alright.  It was a blur.

And as I drove back to our condo, speaking to my brother, who offered to come over, listening to the news and dialing re-dial, my focus was getting home and getting answers from the UN.  I cannot recall if I spoke to my mom or my in-laws; I know I must have….but I was just focused on getting home.

When I got home, the number for the UN was on the side of the fridge and I called it, without taking off my jacket or putting down my bags.  I had to know if my husband was alright.  Imagine my surprise when the person who answered the Emergency Number did not even know that there had been an earthquake in Haiti and that I was educating her with my call.  I was so frustrated and the hope that I had been holding onto was tested with this call.

But my mom had taught me never to give up and never accept anything but the right answer.  Keep going!

And so I started calling my husband’s military family, to see if they could assist or direct me to someone who could help.  When you are married to someone in the military, you join their military family and that family delivered so much support that night, it was unbelievable.  Calls started being made, and offers to keep me company were made, but I needed to be on my own otherwise I would have gone into hostess mode and focused on others and I needed to keep my focus.  I did not want to be distracted from the news, redialing my husband and keeping the house line open for my husband to call.

During moments like this, you turn inwards.  I am a spiritual person, and I believe in trusting one’s instincts and feelings.  I knew that if something had happened to my husband, I would know.  I would feel it.  My instincts were telling me that he was alive.  I knew his daily schedule and typically, during the time that I was advised about the earthquake, he would have been on his way home, with the other Officers, and I imagined that he may be stranded on a roadway somewhere, but that he was safe…..I felt that he was safe.  That kept me going.

I found out about the earthquake at around 5pm.  And for 5 hours, I tried every means I could, to find out if my husband was alright.  Friends and family provided a lot of support and comfort.

Let him be alright, please let him be alright, was my mantra.  The news had started trickling in and the more I heard, the more I became scared.  Scared, but still full of hope.  I prayed a lot that night.  I definitely found strength through my spirituality.

And then a call…… husband called.  It was a very brief call – I’m alright.  I’m safe.  I love you.  He had limited time to speak but that was all that I needed.

I spoke to his parents and we rejoiced in the news that he was safe.  He had called them also and they too, were relieved beyond joy.

The next few days were focused on my husband.  I learned that as much as he downplayed things, he was actually within the UN building when it collapsed and was buried alive in debris, with concrete blocks falling on top of him.  He clawed his way out and was eventually air lifted to the Dominican Republic, where he was hospitalized for his injuries.  It was a lot to process.

We were fortunate that there was a student doctor at the hospital, from the States, and this doctor would email me photos and videos of my husband and provide me with updates on what was going on.  He instantly became a friend and knowing that after his long shifts, he would ensure that he was providing me with news, was above and beyond!

Eventually, the decision was made for my husband to be sent back to Canada, for further tests and I was beyond happy, because I had been strongly exploring going to the DR to check on my husband.  When he arrived in Toronto, it is all a blur.  I just remember he looked pretty banged up, but I was happy to have him home.

And then he told me – he had to go back, once he was cleared.  That the devastation that he had seen needed him to go back and help.

And so we put together supplies for him to take that might be in low supply and he left to go back to help.  He especially wanted to go back to check on the orphanage that he volunteered at every Sunday.  Every Sunday, which was my husband’s day off, he would cook pasta and pack bread and bananas and would spend the day at an orphanage in Haiti.  He would take toys and supplies to them.  He had become close with the kids.  He needed to make sure that they were alright.  And when he returned to Haiti, he learned that thankfully – they were.

Before the earthquake, my husband and I had started collecting food, clothes and other donations to send to Haiti.  Our friends, family and colleagues really came through and we had put together a storage locker full of supplies, which eventually, through the assistance of ONExONE and WestJet, was taken to Haiti after the earthquake.

The entire experience taught me so much.  I really learned through the experience, the power of your community and the support that you receive when you need it.  I also learned that for me, my faith and belief, really sustained me that night.

And so on January 13th, 2010, the day after the earthquake, I drove from our condo in Toronto, to our mandir in Burlington, after work, to do a prayer and give thanks to God, for protecting my husband.  And when I arrived at the Mandir, the Pundit provided such support and comfort, and again, I was reminded, that we are never alone.

We are all connected and you just have to be open to receive it all…..good and bad….

And I am just so thankful that my husband’s life was spared.  And that 11 years later, we have our family and that we are grateful….truly grateful for our blessings.

But that’s just one Diva’s view.

Hey Kiddo

I am sure that most people have read the Wall Street Journal Op Ed piece entitled, “Is There a Doctor in the White House? Not if You Need an M.D.” The main focus of the Op Ed is to ridicule the incoming First Lady about using the title of Dr. in her name, after receiving her PhD in Education. I think that the critiquing articles eviscerating the writer of this Op Ed speak for themselves and I will not reiterate their arguments. What struck me when reading this Op Ed, was the opening:

Madame First Lady—Mrs. Biden—Jill—kiddo: a bit of advice on what may seem like a small but I think is a not unimportant matter. Any chance you might drop the “Dr.” before your name?

The writer dared to refer to the incoming First Lady as kiddo! And this struck a nerve, because it is a condescending term – one which I hear from a colleague at work all of the time.

Now my colleague is a work friend also and we are both partners, but in the last few months, he has been calling me kiddo and it has been leaving a bad taste in my mouth. Kiddo is a term used to describe someone younger.

Collins Dictionary states that ” You can call someone kiddo, especially someone who is younger than you, as a sign of affection.”

Well, I am definitely not younger than my colleague!

Fortune states:

But kiddo can also be patronizing and condescending, and while the person using the term may think of it as an expression of benign affection, it doesn’t always come across that way. For a young woman who is trying her best to be taken seriously, ‘kiddo‘ can very quickly wipe all that away.

And my discomfort with the term lies somewhere in between. I like working in a work environment where people work well together and really work in a team environment. That they are comfortable with one another. And so in that vein, perhaps the term is an acknowledgement of that comradery?

Listen – I am really trying.

I guess ultimately, I find the term disrespectful because it is a term used to acknowledge a difference in ….status. By calling me kiddo, the same way that the author of the Op Ed used it, it is used to be patriarchal and condescending. As if the person using it is wiser and is higher in status.

Or am I overthinking this? Am I making a bigger deal over a term that is probably used just as a familiar term. But in this day and age, maybe that term is not appropriate and needs to be eliminated from the work place language. Because whether we like it or not, the work place is a professional place and your image and how you are perceived make a big difference in your success and failure.

And we need to evolve. We need to acknowledge that language and definitions matter. That the way we speak to others, represents our biases and our feelings about others. And especially in the work place, terms like Kiddo, Missy and other such terms are just not needed.

But that does not mean that this erodes the team dynamic and takes away the familiarity – it just means that we are moving past antiquated phrases and ways of thinking and creating environments where people are appreciated for what they bring to the table and are not diminished into gender, racial or other such terms.

And so no more Kiddo for me. And if that affects our workplace dynamic, so be it. Hopefully, it will improve it for the better.

But that’s just one Diva’s view.

Agreement Sense

Happy 2021! Hopefully, we will start to see a bit of a return to normal this year. But it will definitely take time.

I, like many, have been doing a lot of reflection on happiness, inner peace and success. It has caused me to really think about moments when I have truly been happy. Such as when I was pregnant…. both times; a story left for a different day.

The other times I have been really happy is being a part of or working with a great team. I have been lucky to have that occur a couple of times during the course of my career but in fact the team dynamic that provided me with the most fulfillment was being part of a choir.

As you can tell from reading my blog, music has always been an important part of my life. There is a beauty in creating music that fills my soul. When I was younger, I did not necessarily understand the team work required to be in a choir. I was a singer and I loved to sing, so when I was in elementary school, singing with the choir, I sang loudly and did not try to blend my voice with the rest of the group. For me, the joy was simply singing.

But as I grew older and especially in high school, I was very blessed to have amazing music teachers and choir instructors, who introduced me to great music and harmonies.

The definition of harmony actually encapsulates what I love about being part of a choir:

1 : the playing of musical tones together in chords.

2 : a pleasing arrangement of parts a harmony of colors.

3 : agreement sense.

My favourite choirs were the Madrigal Choir and the Jazz Choir.

What is a madrigal?

A madrigal is a part-song for several voices, especially one of the Renaissance period, typically arranged in elaborate counterpoint and without instrumental accompaniment.

Whatever madrigals were, they were gorgeous. But for the beauty of those songs to come forth, the choir really had to listen to one another and sing and harmonize together. And when that happened, it was just awesome.

In Jazz Choir, again, the chords and melodies were more intricate and for the harmonies to work between the instruments and voices, again, everyone had to ensure they were listening and working together to create a great sound. That joy, when the music works, is indescribable. It really is holy.

So when I went to university and law school, the first thing I explored, even though I was not in the music program, was joining the University Choir. It was a lot of work, because you were singing with students who were full time music students but I have to say, those experiences really increased my skills and were very joyful.

In undergraduate, our concert choir performed Mozart’s Requiem. The entire piece, takes an hour to perform. It is a mass for the dead. The music is haunting and the harmonies and movements are just magnificent. I invited my parents and my brother to our performance because I honestly was so proud to be a part of this performance. I had no solo – I did not stand out in any way, but I was a part of the creation of the performance and it honestly felt amazing!

In reflecting on happiness and what makes my soul happy, I realize that once the pandemic is flattened, I would like to find another choir to join. Again, simply to be part of a group dynamic that creates beauty. There is nothing like it.

But that’s just one Diva’s view.