Prince Rupert, British Columbia

Rest and Rain Days

The Release of Bitterness

You may remember the 101-year-old Umeto Yamashiro from the Okinawa episode of Live to 100: Secrets of the Blue Zones on Netflix. In the entire world, there are five Blue Zones—enclaves where residents live abnormally long, healthy lives, well into their 80s, 90s, and 100s. This series provided snapshots of these zones, attempting to identify common themes and lifestyle patterns that merit attention.

“Okinawa has produced the longest-lived population in human history,” Dan Buettner explains. More than four times as many Okinawans reach 100 years of age compared to Americans.

After standing up to play ring toss and laughing with her family, Buettner asks the woman what the key to longevity is.

“Always have fun,” the centenarian replied with a wise smile. “Don’t be angry. Have fun with everyone. Make everyone happy.”

“This laughter brings us longevity,” Umeto’s granddaughter translates.

When I first saw this, a switch clicked on in my brain. I knew this. I had been soul-searching for years—trying to become a better person, seeking happiness and peace, grappling with the skill of letting go of bitterness.

What makes her approach to life so meaningful is that Yamashiro has more reason to be bitter and hateful than most. She was a teenager in 1945 when the Allies dropped firebombs and conventional bombs on 64 Japanese cities. In August 1945, the U.S. dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, killing between 150,000 and 250,000 civilians. An estimated 2–3 million Japanese, primarily military personnel, were killed in WWII.

To most of us, these figures are just numbers. I get it—we can’t wrap our minds around them.

But to a teenage girl in 1945, the horror must have been devastating. According to Dr. Makoto Suzuki, some 200,000 Okinawans died, leaving survivors to suffer a kind of collective PTSD.

Yet Umeto and many other survivors absolutely refused to let anger and bitterness consume them.

I’ve documented my unceremonious exile from Pakistan—a country I love—because of bias, incompetence, and the intolerance of journalists who couldn’t be bothered with facts. More recently, hatred, bigotry, and ignorance led to my termination—and that of tens of thousands of humanitarian and development workers at USAID. Like many who have dedicated their careers (in my case, 23 years) to serving the United States—sacrificing, bleeding, surviving roadside attacks, bombings, and death threats, and watching colleagues die—we feel betrayed by the government we served.

I carry shrapnel in my head and back from an attack in Iraq, and emotional scars from Pakistan, Yemen, Somalia, and elsewhere.

My natural inclination is to lash out in anger, be bitter, point out every injustice done to my colleagues, our beneficiaries, and me. To prove I was right. But I’ve come to realize, after 65 years, that self-righteousness will only make me more frustrated, more angry, darker, and more bitter. Contagiously pessimistic. Someone I don’t like and can’t respect.

I want to be like Umeto. Despite the horrors she witnessed, she lights up a room with her smile. Her laughter. When I watch her playing that Okinawan banjo-type instrument, I want to play my keyboard along with her. When I see her tossing rings over pegs, I want to compete. When I see her laugh, I want to laugh too.

Two years ago, I saw that episode with Umeto, and I’ve been working to adopt a similar path. Not necessarily because I expect to live to 100, but because it’s a happier, more pleasant way to live—for me and for those I love.

After learning I lost my job, I released the bitterness. It was a life-changing moment. There are too many positive things in my life to live for: my family, grandchildren, research and publications, cycling, and music. Making silly videos with my grandkids. Making people laugh. Helping the vulnerable.

My father is still alive, for goodness’ sake. I’m 65, and he’s healthy—living with me. What a blessing!

Instead of bellyaching—and believe me, I’m a top-notch bellyacher—I want to bring people together and heal wounds. I want to be part of the solution.

Challenges

After failing to book a flight on Air Canada for Lucy and me several nights ago in Smithers, I was running out of time. On Tuesday, that became my priority. I waited close to 40 minutes on hold until Tammy answered. For the next 25 minutes, she ushered me through the process and got us tickets for Thursday afternoon.

I washed and dried clothes, moved rooms, and emailed several hotels in Whitehorse, following up with phone calls. One manager hung up after hearing about R4P. No hard feelings—I suspect they thought I was just another phone scammer.

Ruth at The Destination Family Inn had a different reaction. After I explained who I was, the R4P mission, and the support I was requesting:

“You want a free room?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Let me talk to the manager,” she said. “Also, you can email him.” She gave me a different email address than the one I found online.

What struck me as pleasantly unique was Ruth’s willingness to speak to her boss. It spoke volumes about their management. It meant she knew her boss well enough to know that supporting a good cause was not off the table.

I spent the last seven years in Honduras trying to build the most productive team of professionals in the country—by, among other things, promoting goodwill, mental health, and safe spaces to voice one’s opinion. That’s a topic for another day.

I approached Loretta, the manager of the Aleeda Hotel, about extending my stay by two more nights. She moved me to a room across the hall with a kitchenette. Loretta is a soft-spoken First Nation woman, about my age.

In my new room, I contacted Grant at Gbike to see if he could pack Lucy on Wednesday. He agreed. I also tried to contact the Rotary Club in Whitehorse about a possible speaking event, but there was no phone number. I sent another email and called the grill where the club normally meets, but the woman who answered didn’t understand what the Rotary Club was—or my pronunciation of it. “We deliver food,” she said.

I called the Whitehorse Chamber of Commerce. The very nice woman said she’d call me back—but didn’t.

I had a pre-interview for Friday’s CBC radio show in Whitehorse. I walked across the street to the supermarket to buy items to cook. I’m a great cook. I can fry sausages, make cheeseburgers, pop microwave popcorn, and whip up half a dozen other treats.

When I got all that done, I was beat.

Busy Wednesday Morning

I walked down to the lobby and said good morning to Roseanne, the night manager, who was checking her phone at 5:30 a.m. I poured myself a cup of coffee. She is a very shy First Nation woman. Back in the room, I edited and downloaded videos from my camera to my iPad.

When my cup was empty, I went back to the lobby. Roseanne, whose desk is directly across from the coffee, naturally looked at me.

The pressure was on—I had to say something clever.

“I’m drinking all of your coffee,” I said.

She smiled and went back to her phone.

On my third trip for coffee, I decided to strike up a real conversation.

As an off-the-charts introvert, I’m not known for initiating conversations. But you can’t very well pour yourself multiple cups of coffee right in front of a night manager and remain silent, right?

I told her about R4P. She nodded and gave brief responses like, “Okay” and “Uh-huh.”

So I figured I needed to ask some open-ended questions that required more in-depth answers.

“What makes Prince Rupert special?”

After thinking for some time, she said, “It doesn’t snow much.”

Rewards and Collaboration

Back at the room, I got the most pleasant email from the owner of the Destination Family Hotel in Whitehorse. He was willing to sponsor me with a complimentary room for three nights. I’m excited to meet him.

I rode Lucy up the street to Grant’s Gbike store. Grant wasn’t in yet, so I spoke with Sky, who manages both Gbike and the gym. We talked about R4P and U.S.–Canada tensions. She had visited the U.S. for the first time in April and, despite the social media rhetoric, was treated with warmth and respect. I always love hearing that.

Grant arrived a few minutes later. At 54, he’s one of those guys you meet and immediately feel like you’ve known forever. He sells his own line of e-bikes as a passion. He also runs fishing tours and other ventures.

He agreed to package Lucy up for free to help the cross-border goodwill cause. Another amazing encounter.

Coffee and Conversation

At JavaDotCup, the young, friendly Asian woman who greeted me asked about my R4P shirt. I was happy to explain. Then another cyclist entered and got in line. My shirt caught his attention, and he invited me to join him.

I paid for my coffee and apple crumble pie, but when I went to fill my cup from the dark roast canister, the older Asian manager told me she’d be right back. The cyclist was a little younger than me with experience in landscaping, graphic design, and other fields. He was intellectually curious about current affairs—including the decline of USAID—and we had a healthy, respectful conversation, disagreeing on some points, but agreeing on many more.

When I noticed the dark roast canister had reappeared, I went to fill my cup. The manager called out from across the room: “Only one cup.”

“This is my first cup,” I explained, walking up to her.

“It is?”

“Yes—remember? You took the dark roast to refill it.”

“Oh, okay,” she said.

I couldn’t blame her. Someone has to police the coffee consumption. Otherwise, the whole shop would erupt into caffeine chaos.

When I asked my colleague what he thought “we” could do to help torn communities heal, he paused and thought it through for several second. Then he said any healthy, positive action would have to begin with self-reflection.

We didn’t quite land on what that action should be, but we agreed that improving our corners of the world begins with getting our own houses in order.

Lucy-in-a-Box

Grant texted. Lucy was ready, so I carried my cup and pie plate to the dirty dishes tray and walked across the street.

Holding up a multi-tool, Grant asked, “Do you have one of these to put the peddle back on?”

When I told him, No, he said, “I will put this one in your box.”

“Where are you going?” Grant asked.

“Down to the hotel. It’s can carry it. It’s only about four blocks away.”

”I have my truck,” he responded. Precisely, the response that my cousin or uncle might give.

So we packed Lucy-in-a-box out to his truck. He drove me down to the parking lot, helped me carry her up the stairs, around the corner, and down to my room.

Wow!

We hugged and he was off. What a good man!

At the supermarket, people asked me about my shirt, and I continued to promote goodwill. I bought ground beef, two fresh hamburger buns, grapes, and watermelon slices.

Back at the hotel, Loretta was emptying trash bags, so I took a couple down to the basement for her. Then she and I ate watermelon slices. She told me she loved frozen grapes, but her grandchildren thought she was crazy. I told her my wife loved frozen grapes too.

She also loved huckleberries and salmonberries. “I like to pick an ice cream bucket of salmonberries and take them home and eat them.”

“I don’t know what those are?”

“Like raspberries, only bigger,” she said. I realized salmonberries are what I saw along the highway. I mistook the bushes for blackberries, and the fruit for raspberries.

I told her about my grandmother taking me out to pick blackberries when I was a kid. She’d bundle me in long sleeves to minimize scratches. She’d tell me how much I could sell a quart for if I picked enough. It sounded like a fortune to a six-year-old, but I never picked more than she could bake into a cobbler.

Back in my room, I caught up on emails, washed my grapes, and put some in the freezer for Loretta. I cooked two cheeseburgers and ate one, saving the other for later.

Quick note! The key to making great cheeseburgers is to salt and pepper both sides. And flip it. A lot of people don’t know that—but it’s true. Flip that sucker!

I washed dishes, showered, and streamed some shows until the grapes were frozen. Then I took them down to Loretta. She was delighted.

I came to a realization:

Once you start treating strangers with kindness, it’s really hard to stop.

And it’s contagious.

Try it!