So You Think You Can Volunteer...

It’s been two weeks since we returned from Haryana, India and the most common request I hear these days: "You have to tell me all about it"  leaves me overwhelmed - 2 weeks, 3000 photos and countless connected hearts later I struggle with where to begin, knowing it will never end: the story of how we first met - India and I.

Here is my photo attempt to describe this larger-than-life volunteering experience in 10 Hinglish terms. 

I owe the gratitude for teaching me - all of the following words as well as the ones from Hinglish for Beginners (Part 1 and Part 2) - to this man, we fondly got to call Vicky. Vicky - a devoted Sikh - sat with me many evenings, painstakingly answering my questions, patiently finding matches to numerous expressions I was curious about. He is my teacher-ji aka linguistic specialist.
But to the 10 world-wide-spoiled-brats that came to volunteer and stayed in his care for 15 days -- he was like a mother - counting us (yup, he counted us!), making sure we eat, sleep, have crisp clean clothes to wear and get to places on time. A devoted husband, a man of knowledge and unshakeable faith he makes India proud. Oh how much I miss you, (mom) Vicky!

Vicky and two of my favourite road-trip sidekicks

Let's begin! 

DIL: HEART - A must have on the volunteer's TO BRING list. Not just the beating heart, but the heart wide open.    

It is an asset way more important than a business card, let alone the little letters following your name suggesting your awesome qualifications. Please don't apply to volunteer should you not have a heart at all. And if you got randomly selected and still showed up, forget growing the heart and just bring patience, humility and basic decency. For 😖🔨⚡️🚽‼️'s sake. Bitte!

Be ready for your heart to be ripped out and shredded into pieces right upon arrival - witnessing extreme poverty is not for everyone. Miraculously, that same heart will be all stitched up and glued back together over the next few weeks. It will become bigger and fuller. Mine most certainly did! 

The reality of how 40% of people live - under the poverty line

Homeless sleep at the highway median. And dry their laundry.

Devastating sight of women and children living in poverty

          MUSKURANA: SMILE - Other than at the airport this was my real passport. Despite the immense August heat, I wore it every day, deliberately forgetting my sunglasses. It is a language everyone understands. What a volunteer MUST leave at home: judgement, sarcasm, idea of entitlement and a watch! Life in India always happens on time!

The universal language: smiling eyes & smiling lips 

          SAATH KAM KARNA: COOPERATION - Best described through witnessing the selfless effort of a motorist who for miles helped an overloaded bicycle move through Delhi’s overwhelming traffic. It is a part of the everyday human experience in India. "Paying it forward" at its essence. 

JHAN PEHCHAN: CONNECTION - the tightly-knit community is the main reason for low depression and minuscule suicide rates. One’s wealth is measured in friendships rather than in rupees. 

This is what retirement looks like in India: chai and chat

In two weeks some of us became good friends with our team India - we shared work experiences, enthusiasm for what we do and plenty of laughs.

I ❤️my PSI team!

         ASHIRWAD: BLESSING - Deeply spiritual, Indian people offer blessings even to strangers. I didn’t understand most things said to me, but a hand placed on my head or a fragrant guava offering meant I was welcome and appreciated. 

RANG: COLOUR - The backdrop of India is often bleak - chipped paint, mould stains, piles of broken bricks - but the life within it as vibrant and beautiful and alive and optimistic as it gets.

A girl's heaven: saree shopping!

Women wore the most beautiful fabrics - my fellow volunteer - KFC (a nickname earned on the first day given he is from Louisville - Kentucky!) noticed we have never seen the same pattern, much unlike the GAP! Even the men were not too far behind! 

JAWAN: YOUNG - India is the youngest of nations, its median age being 28. This will be a major asset for growth and the economy. These people are young, eager and have a fantastic work ethic that begins at a very young age.

SHAKTI: LIFE FORCE - Because how else does one explain the resilience despite all obstacles?

Agra mattress delivery service

Loading dry grass on a truck...

... that is tall as the Monkey Temple gate - singlehandedly @ humid 48C

ANAND: JOY - A habitual joyful demeanour overrides the everyday struggle and poverty. People look for ways to be happy and they keep finding them more often then anywhere I have ever seen. 

          Saying that - seeing a blonde woman wave at schoolboys is apparently hilarious! OK, I admit - these guys were so curious they gathered closely around my car . The only thing I had to do was blow a kiss - resulting in the explosion of laughter and teasing about who was the kiss for! Priceless! 

My favourite memory

          ASTHA:  "A deeply-rooted belief in something for which you are ready to do anything". I feel shivers. Everybody should have this clear in their mind and heart. Indian people draw their spiritual strength from their family and their many religions. This is the answer to my most pressing question - how come everybody is so happy? Every breath they take they serve something greater than themselves. 

Her privilege is to clean and prepare flowers for the Hindu temple

FIR MILENGE:  SEE YOU AGAIN - Because of course this can not be the end for me. I have to come back. Soon. 

Hey India, can't wait to see you again!

Falling in Love - with India

With just a bit over a month away from the long-awaited and dreamt-about, in-detail-imagined and anxiously-anticipated departure for India as a member of the medical volunteering team, I am compelled to list in one place all that I have been reading, viewing, ingesting, googling, pondering and imagining in order to make sure that my time in India counts - for the sake of the people I will be serving and for the sake of my own very sheltered yet ridiculously happy life.

Mowgli - my first crush (Walt Disney animation) 

It is a funny thing to remember my first crush. He was small and skinny and wore only an orange langot - a loincloth. I was completely smitten by him although I believe he was likely twice my age at the time. He hung out with a bear and a black panther, elephants and monkeys. It is indeed Mowgli I can thank for my earliest fascination with India, and the enchantment with the idea of the human and animal worlds living in harmony. Add a catchy tune from Disney's The Jungle Book based on Rudyard Kipling's book and I happily committed to a tomboy childhood.

Books have always been my favourite way of getting to know places. Although I am no literary critic, the following are the books that got me hooked on India, its many faces, that one giant beating heart and one calm and friendly demeanour that greets you with "Namaste".

Books:

1. The White Tiger: A Novel - Aravind Adiga

Otherwise a slow reader, feeling as if the Bangalore driver had been writing directly to me, I read it over two nights, my heart pounding, my sense of self, smell and hope being put through the ringer.

2. Shantaram - David Gregory Thomas
The best part of this epic novel was having my phone (and car) read it to me. I downloaded it from Audible - not only did 900+ pages simply fly by, but the accents! Oh, the accents were such a delight: Australian, Afghan, Nigerian, French, Persian and of course Prabhakar's Indian. For a while I added the "baba" after my family's names (driving them crazy) in the style of the novel. Never have I enjoyed being stuck in rush hour traffic so much!  

3. Q & A  (Slumdog Millionaire) - Vikas Swarup
If you have seen the movie which became a worldwide blockbuster, you will LOVE the book even more - Mr.Swarup's first literary accomplishment! 

4. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
A long, fascinating yet convoluted story about a man who had been "mysteriously handcuffed to history" and "what's his name" - God.

5. Life of Pi - Yann Martel
Richard Parker. So worth reading even if only to find out about who he is. 

6. Siddhartha - Hermann Hesse
I read Siddhartha for the first time when I was 13. My friend Dubravka had it in her sea-side condo. I was bored and confused. Yet intrigued. Intrigued enough to pick it up again 30 years later and understand it. Understand it and love it.

I have always been a movie buff. And although a fun night of going to the cinema for a movie opening got majorly derailed with the arrival of my little people, the me of my mid-forties guiltily admits to loving my time alone, late at night while everyone's sleeping, with the iPad and earphones in bed (everything opposite of the wise advice about how not to disturb your sleep!). It's simply a gift from me to me!

Movies:

1. Gandhi
I saw this movie in Belgrade's cinema "Kozara" when it debuted in 1982. It was 3.5 h long and there was an intermission while they changed the reel. I was profoundly moved by the true account of this man's great life and became a life-long fan of actor Ben Kingsley. I just watched it again - it is a masterpiece and a must-see.  


2. Deepa Mehta Trilogy: Fire - Earth - Water 
All three are breathtaking. "Water" is my favourite - whether because it is set in mystical Varanasi or because - to the feminist that I am - it sheds light in a powerful way on the deep-rooted custom that women can be and should be thrown away.

3. Monsoon Wedding
Light, funny and very Bollywood take on the importance of family in India and the tradition of the arranged marriage. After witnessing some amazing real-life matches, I am - interestingly enough - not against it!

4. Passage to India
Pretty epic and not only for the mid eighties - it is a great cinematic glimpse into the British colonial India and why it really needed to end.

5. Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India
I come from a place where soccer (fudbal) is "the most important secondary thing in the life". Apparently, Serbians got it all wrong - it's cricket!

6. The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel
To make it up to the Brits for being escorted out of India, there comes a cute movie that made me smile during the in-flight presentation. Although sequels are seldom worth it, the same goes for the The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (now playing on Air Canada flights).

They say "Love goes through the stomach" so here is the section that needs no intro. I am a foodie. Will go a long way to source the authentic spices and ingredients cooking up a storm at home or track down the ethnic take-out spot in town where the women in saris line up to shop.

Food:

1. Punjabi Chicken in Thick Gravy - Cilantro for breakfast? Not a problem!
2. Masala Chai - Indian spiced tea - it is the book Shantaram, that convinced the low-carb moi to drink this delicious sweet tea!

 Recipe at thebackpackman.wordpress.com

3. Chana Masala - Savoury chickpea dish - Married to an Israeli, it's no secret we eat hummus with each meal. So this was an easy yet spicy upgrade!
4. Samosa - Favourite on the go - I know it's deep fried, dammit! It could be baked, in theory. 
5. Palak Paneer - Fresh spinach with cheese - I actually crave this, right now. Googling Naples Indian take out... brb
6. Gulab jamun - Cardamom, saffron and rose water delight - I salivate even while pronouncing it out loud! Try it! It's also a great threat for my four year old: "When I catch you I'm gonna make Gulab jamun out of you!" - then he giggles uncontrollably, which is even sweeter!

Weather:

I added New Delhi to my weather app (and world clock to start planning for the 9.5h time difference), back on March 5th, when I heard the news I had been selected as the Canadian volunteer for the "Connecting Hearts Abroad" mission. It is a part of my daily routine and something tells me I won't be able to ever delete it from my list. Thankfully the monsoon did arrive, ending one of the worst heat waves in history, hitting the frail and the homeless by the thousands. With "dust", "haze" and "smoke" as common weather descriptors and photos of melting Delhi streets all over the internet, this former West Nile Virus sufferer is often asked: "How are you going to survive the heat/humidity/mosquitos/pollution?"
First - I have no idea. Second - just the same way the patients I'll serve will. Thanks Dr.Saldanha for the first round of my travel vaccines - I haven't slept on my left shoulder for a week! Looking forward to the part two, not!

Video: 

Not in love yet?! Take a look at my favourite YouTube clip: Baby bath time in India
I'm a mother of three and although I was a bit shocked the first time I saw it, I now tend to envy both the moms and the babies. It is a beautiful and social time for the moms - aren't we all a bit lost those first days of motherhood - all isolated in our near sterile surroundings - intimidated by the little body parts we need to clean, all the while making sure not to squish or drown them? Isn't the full body baby massage beneficial for circulation, release of gas and 'skin-on-skin' soothing effect? I would have loved to try this!

Instagram:

Do follow muradosmann - his mesmerizing and breathtaking photos of India - a part of his #followmeto travel series - will get you to travel (smart phone in hand) and see the world even while lining up at the grocery store behind that ultimate queen of coupon-ing - and you won't mind!

Best news story of 2015: 

The best 244-words-long article giving me hope young women in India are done with tolerating crap. Game over!

Indian Bride walks out on the groom for failed math question

Blogs about India:

- women travelling alone

- Lathmar Holi - a day when women beat men?

- photo blog of a travelling woman

- hard to read - India's rape case that shocked the world

- Old Delhi food photo blog

Body: 

I have been a hot yoga devotee for the last few years: twice a week, my husband and I have a "date night" on the mat -- 75 min of warrior twos, downward dogs and dripping sweats. Sleep like babies afterwards!

Although I couldn't have been any more smitten in the sweet anticipation of my first trip to India, what's yet to be accomplished between now and me boarding a 17h long flight is a full Bollywood Dance Cardio workout, that neck movement, the hips, the teasing jerky moves - it's on my must do list!

Great read while pondering legacy

Volunteering:

With all the sights and flavours and colours it is easy to get lost and forget what's my mission. This time around my mission is to be of service. My mission is to extend my heart, to deepen my humility, to bring my best skill, to spread my enthusiasm. My hope is to become a friend and a family and to instantly cease being a stranger. To upgrade from a fellow traveller to a life-long companion. To be that one of the 7+ billion, that knows that each act of kindness both matters and multiplies.

My legacy?

Today I would be only guessing what my true legacy after this mission will be. Something tells me that once I land, fully take in the new surroundings, visit the local market and adorn myself in the traditional kurti (long blouse) and dupatta (Indian scarf) and meet my new family, the clarity will start sinking in and I will know what's next. For now, inspired by a volunteer in Guatemala, I've collected about 30 pairs of used prescription glasses and will be bringing them with me. Apparently, what keeps sitting unused in many drawers (changed Rx or post LASIK) equals life and livelihood in the poverty-stricken parts of the world. I know that's just the beginning!

I'm ending this heart-fluttering-in-anticipation report with the poem, that has been my favourite for many years. It only happens to be written by an Indian poet - the same one that got me to fall in love with Mowgli. Namaste!

"If "  by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too:

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same:.

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings,

And never breathe a word about your loss:

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much:

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

An Atlas Full of Purpose

Hands down the most common thing friendly strangers tend to ask me since immigrating to Canada is: "Where are you from? Oh... let me guess! Are you Polish?"

And for more than a decade and a half I have been trying to explain that no, I am not Polish. 
I only  s o u n d  Polish. "I am Serbian" - I would say proudly - "but I sound Polish because all Slavic languages are related..." which is too long of a conversation for a stranger who never wanted to learn about the origin of European languages from a pharmacist.

Then about two years ago, I flew with LOT - the Polish Airline flight - en route: Toronto - Warsaw - Belgrade. I settled into my seat looking around with a bit of nervous anticipation. You see, I have a history of attracting people who migrate into a third of my seat while sociably chatting me up (not too difficult a task!) only to eventually collapse without warning into a deep sleep, using me as a neck-pillow. As the plane started taxiing I broke that one on-board rule about switching off all electronics and I called my mom, whispering: "Am I adopted?" Apparently I don't look Serbian at all!!! Needless to say, I felt cloned. 

The strangers I get to meet for the second time often ask out of courtesy: "Have you ever been back home... In Siberia?" And then with as much compassion as I can muster for the lack of elementary education they haven't been provided, I start that slow motion wording, that annoys me to no end when other people do it, mouthing S-E-R-B-I-A, not S-I-B-E-R-I-A. Shaking my head - No, No. Not the same thing. And then sometimes, I still have to clearly stipulate that when I did go back to Serbia, one time 15 years after immigrating, I did not stay in a gulag... I only ate goulash. Which is my favourite Hungarian dish. But I'm digressing. 

Forget Waldo! Where is Serbia?

I think I got hooked on geography at the age of 10 because of the "forbidden fruit" principle. You see, we entered grade 5 grasping the new expansion of our world -- we no longer had a home-classroom. We were moving, period after period into a different part of the bigger kids' school which housed grades 5-8. Even the big kids’ schoolyard was elevated by a few stairs and we would look with nostalgia - while hoping we looked disdainful - at the running and screaming kids we left behind in lower grades and the lower school yard. Serbo-Croatian, Math, French, Biology, Physics, Chemistry, History, Geography, Art, English, Tech-Shop, Phys-ed... each subject except gym had its own classroom which was now fancily called a "cabinet", and every 45 minutes we would engage in a crazed and hectic migration, dragging all our possessions with us while munching on snacks and eyeing the boys and enjoying our tender and silly girlhood. No lockers. Ever. Sulk.

The first time our geography teacher entered the classroom I detected the faintest whiff of a fine flowery perfume. This went well with her "Clan Campbell" patterned plaid skirt. Ружица Гранић, our teacher whose first and last name have the words "rose" and "branch" in them, was an elegant Old Belgrade-style lady. I don't remember anymore what I liked best - that her voice had a refined ring to it, that she had an elegant hairdo worthy of 10 Downing Street, that a silk scarf would often be accompanying her sophisticated yet discreet look or that for those forty-five minutes she would effortlessly transport us into every corner of the world, training our brains to recognize, to connect, to memorize – spinning a web that is 35 years later still stitched solidly in my brain. Every day new facts, people and places were embedded precisely on the correct longitude and latitude. What a gift!

Name the longest rivers in Asia:

Ind, Gang, Bramaputra, Yang Tseng Yang, Hoang Ho (Yellow River), Volga...

What are the names of Soviet Union Republics? (This was 1980, collapse of all our countries was too far in the future for us to see):

Azerbejdžan,  Belorusija,  Estonija,  Gruzija,  Jermenija,  Kazahstan,  Kirgistan,  Letonija,  Litvanija,  Moldavija,  Rusija,  Tadžikistan,  Turkmenistan,  Ukrajina,  Uzbekistan (for the record, I recited these names known by heart into my keyboard in one breath, so forgive me for saying them in Serbian - that's how they have stayed in my long-term memory).

Myself, my friends Ana, Dubravka and Mirko (the famous eye surgeon!) and many others would then start shouting, competing... delighting our teacher.

Which mountain has a nickname "Roof of The World"? - Pamir!!!

What is the desert with a highest altitude in the world? - Atakama!!!

What are the grasslands called in Eurasia? - Stepa (steppes)!!! In Sudan? - Savana (savannah)!!!

This knowledge certainly comes in handy for crossword puzzles or in that QuizApp game that I sometimes play on my smartphone for fun, burning some serious world-wide-nerds with my photographic memory and everything I learned in Ms.Granić's class.

The alluring raised-relief map There was only one thing that was a major offence in Ms. Granić’s cabinet: walking too close to her precious raised-relief map. On an occasion when one of the snowy mountain peaks had been accidentally obliterated by an unwitting backpack our good teacher almost suffered a heart attack. She was passionate that the map would stay intact for the next generations to learn to be "Citizens of the World". Fact that my seat was located in the row next to the wall and right in front of that map - not the flat boring ones - was always too tempting for me. So, during some lessons, when the tectonic movements or geo-politics would take over the conversation, I would stare at the tiniest details, getting fully immersed in its peaks and valleys, the blue depths of the oceans and the archipelagos that stretched so remotely I was sure this must be what they called the 'end of the world'. The strict classroom rule was never to touch the map. I still vividly remember once being brave and stretching my hand, while facing the front of the classroom pretending to listen intently. With my heart pounding as I felt the smooth plastic surface of the map, I traced the raised and wrinkled shape of the mountains. As if it were Braille, I tried to use my tactile senses to orientate myself. The area was raised and wrinkled on the top, then formed a triangle of sorts with a wide circle just off its right side.

"India!" - I whispered to myself, glowing with enthusiasm that I recognized the Himalayas and Sri Lanka and the triangular shaped subcontinent in between!

"MARINA?!!!" was the astonished shriek that even her A student was breaking the rule - "DON'T TOUCH THE MAP!!!"

"I... I just wanted to try and guess which part of the world it was, without looking..." - I explained sheepishly.

"What are the largest cities in India?" - "New Delhi, Bombay (again my "old" world geography), Bangalore and Kolkata!" - I answered breathlessly.

What is the former name of Sri Lanka? -"Ceylon!" Capital? - "Colombo!"
Name the guerilla-group fighting against Sri Lankan government? - "Tamil Tigers!"

"You are forgiven!"

And you have never been forgotten Ms.Ružica Granić!

Exactly three weeks ago, I received unbelievable and unexpected news. The reputable international company I work for has selected me to be one of 100 ambassadors who will be volunteering for two weeks in one of ten camps around the world in their "Connecting Hearts Abroad" project. This very summer, I will be heading to India to be serving in a Diabetes Camp, putting to work everything I have learned so far as a pharmacist, a life coach, a volunteer, a writer, a friend, a mom and a human.

"Hey there, I heard you guys went on a trip to Israel to meet your hubby's family! How exciting!!!" - a very young and very friendly mom addressed me as we were waiting for our kids' swimming lessons to end.

"Did you, like, also go see your family in Syria?"

I am happy to report that the stand-up-comedienne in me managed to bite her tongue!

"No, not this time."

In Confidence

My mom never believed in the "yellow press", therefore, our household did not subscribe to the fashion or entertainment magazines such as Elle, Hello, Us Weekly or the like. She also didn't believe in activities that wouldn't serve a monumental purpose in life: instead of taking ballet lessons or learning to play an instrument, my sister and I were sent to study foreign languages: "You are not going to be dancing on the Champs Elysees to find out where the train station is..." She was right, so I am not doing this post in interpretive dance, thank goodness! Still, those women's magazines always held a special allure for me. Ever since I was eight or nine and could read without difficulty, I searched for their inviting front covers buried below the black and white all-serious and boring daily newspapers atrociously named "Politika" (Politics) or "Borba" (Warfare). We would visit friends and while the moms were having coffee and chatting, I salaciously rummaged though piles of magazines I'd find in a rack. Even better was going to the hairdresser's with my mother as there was a myriad of choices for me to plow through. Early influence Let me explain: I was actually not interested in fashion or celebrity gossip or the latest trends or recipes. I would always focus only on the regular two-page column, lodged somewhere towards the end just before the weekly horoscope. It used to be called "In Confidence" or "Tête–à–tête" - the Serbian version of "Dear Abby". This is where anonymous readers would send letters seeking advice on various topics. One was resentful of her successful sister. One was in love with her married boss while she was engaged to be married herself. One had a dark secret and was now wondering whether he should tell his grown-up children. These little snippets of everyday human drama that were life-altering for the senders but mere page-fillers for the magazine left a deep impression on me. What I equally loved reading were the answers of the in-house psychologists. I loved their cool-headedness and their dedication to getting to the truth, although sometimes neglectful of the outcome for the involved family members. Or bosses...  Many years later, relocating to Canada, I re-discovered my interest while waiting in doctor's offices, reading Mary Walsh's (Elle Canada) snappy, funny and sometimes down-right mocking and inappropriate responses to similar questions. Each time I read her answers my intrinsic sense of fairness got triggered. As a result the literary equivalent of the DIY child-psychologist awoke. I started thinking through then writing down what I thought the response should have been, both to solve the problem at hand, but also to honour the confessor for her or his bravery, always aiming to leave them better off then when they started. I never abused their vulnerability.  This quickly spilled over into my day-to-day life. Whether because my life up to that point resembled a conglomerate of all Danielle Steele's novels zipped up messily together or because of the sheer fact I never - no matter what - lost the essence of the "I-will-figure-this-shit-out" attitude, people - especially women - flocked to me. I started solving not only their marital problems (in-laws included), I helped them parent difficult teenagers, talk to the bossiest of bosses and even master on-line dating, all the while keeping their sanity. They actually got to know themselves better. They actually got to like themselves better. And along the way, I actually got to love myself for real and for the first time. With that one unexpected visit of the West Nile Virus that left me very sick and in bed for six months, unsure if I would ever drive again let alone keep my job - I finally stumbled upon what I know is my true calling: I am a Life Coach. It's been over seven years since I graduated from the outstanding and reputable CTI, but more than that, it's been over seven years since I fully accepted that it is my unique style of life coaching that makes me come alive. There is something both elevating and sacred in the connection that forms between me and my... friend. I know, I know - I am supposed to say "client" instead. This is a legitimate career I've been told. But somehow, that doesn't really work for me. I doubt it ever will.  I somehow feel - or rather I have this knowing this is my life's Work. Capital W. And other than twice when, not really thinking it through, I hastily agreed to do career coaching with 'climbing the corporate ladder' being the ultimate measure of the success we co-created -- I never charged a dollar.  How can I put a price on the electrifying experience of asking unusual yet thought-provoking questions and witnessing the answers appear? How much for a mind-blowing 90-minute power-walk session where meditating on our happy cells was a major part of it and led to a surge of happiness? How do I link my mortgage payments to the divine task of what I feel is the wings assembly project? How do I combat dependency if I am creating and expecting a steady revenue stream? These last few weeks, all of these answers simply and effortlessly unfolded in front of me as I had the best time at work in a very long time. There is nothing like being excited, alert and engaged while conquering an area to which one feels deeply connected. For me, that is working in the field of diabetes care. Deciphering blood glucose readings, recognizing patterns, matching insulin time action profiles to daily routines, sports activities and food preferences - it is like playing a nerdy version of the pharmacist's sudoku and completing perfectly every single row and column. This week I felt very grateful, very chosen indeed. And then on Tuesday night's "me time", I got to meet face to face with what I am truly the most passionate about: nine unbelievably brave young single moms and their wise counsellor who have decided it's time to reach for their wing assembly kit and kick off the preparation for the day they’ll be ready to fly. I dreamed of this kind of work for a very long time and it has just started to happen. In the sacred manner of co-creating, we laid down the ground rules, we bravely opened up the vaults of wishes and vulnerabilities, and we clicked and danced as if our lives depended on it.  What was it like? Pure magic! My reward for this volunteering? When leaving the group home where these extraordinary moms live with their children, I felt like the superhero who made it home for dinner. There was this clear sense of leaving the world last Tuesday quite a lot better than it was before. No need to be modest -- I got to witness my super-power. It is a gift. As a woman, a life coach and a “friend like me” I love, LOVE decoding the mystery of feeling everything from loneliness and low self esteem to becoming my own best friend and stumbling on happiness much sooner than expected; becoming the sassy, confident, best version of myself in love with life,  “channeling” all it takes to witness a profound spiritual experience while in this human body. My favourite quote "Friend like me" stems from an old wish of my own: "I wish I had a friend like me, like I am today", when I was sorting through one very eventful decade starting in my mid-twenties, trying to make sense of my seemingly unfortunate events.  The time has come to pay it forward in the most meaningful way. I don't have any daughters so, twice a month for two hours at a time, I will be adopting nine and likely more!

How am I qualified, skeptics might ask? Occasionally I run into a psychologist who is beyond freaked out by the outstanding results life-coaching can produce, given that it is still an unregulated field.  Let me put you at ease. My education includes courses and credentials such as: street smarts-y-pants, heart-break recovery expert, master level of single mama-hood, black market navigation champion, civil war evader, immigrating 101, snow 101, shiksa no more, 4ever honeymoon, mothering teen-toddler-infant simultaneously.  It is like a blended B.Sc.Life, Masters and PhD with the medal of honour, made out of fairy dust & PlayDoh.  Let's play - it is Dear Abby with a Serbian accent!