How To Spot A Calling

"Are you 226?" - the piercing bark of a short feisty woman jolted me out of my humdrum wait for the bus. She was so loud that a good portion of the crowded bus stop turned to look.

"N... No" I answered shakily, then continued to introduce myself with a bit more confidence: "I am 227" at which the curious stares became more obvious.

"Well, tell 226 she must come see me first thing in the morning, she left her Erlenmeyer flask at her station. You guys can't be irresponsible with your equipment." Then our fierce analytical chemistry technician disappeared behind the many coats so quickly she missed my timid: "Um... I will."

In an Orwellian kind of way, this episode seemed funny to me the sophomore year of becoming a pharmacist. Little did I know that a quarter of a century would pass before I learned how to handle being assigned and considered a number.

These days floods of articles, TED talks and interviews with new world leaders, business coaches & ultra-successful hipsters point out that the old corporate structure is dead. Truly successful companies have replaced their ivory towers and VP-only perks. Wise executives now share open spaces and open minds with their inspired teams.

The essence of their innovation is that it feels like playing rather than working, all the while achieving remarkable results.

Truth be told, for the last few years of my career I've been immersed in all that stuff.

I dug Simon Sinek. Reread Seth Godin. Adored Shawn Achor. Pondered with Dan Ariely. While driving aimlessly on my tedious Mondays-to-Fridays, Warren Buffet kept me company with his famous address tackling productivity and big life's to-do list published by the Harvard Business Review. I also wholeheartedly "joined the circle" and leaned in as seriously as I knew how. You get the point -- when Netflix already knows I only want the stuff on Musk, Jobs, Gates and even Cuban - I mean business.

The result? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Because although the logic is clear, business sense sharp and the stories inspiring, removed by a screen or a print, it failed to sink in. What I realized is that I actually needed someone around me, a warm body I actually would be able to meet and bounce these ideas with - and no, not a bigwig VP on a stage once a year who talks integrity and requests compliance via mandatory signatures on the spread sheet. I wanted a real leader who sticks around but not just at the bar. Who breaths the values herself, then coaches and inspires, unifies teams, solves problems and laughs off obstacles until it does start feeling like play. An intelligent yet fun pastime I'd get to do between 9-5.

Looking at my own professional life these past several months, I'm in awe how things in life work themselves out and not because of meticulous career planning or having a powerful mentor and role model.

So what ended up happening with #227?

Here it is, for the sake of all those currently sporting golden handcuffs afraid or unsure how to make a leap and also those few who have not yet figured out how to troll LinkedIn unnoticed. #hillarious

To start, it's actually enough to know what you don't want - in my case, I could no longer justify to feel like a human equivalent of spam mail. That instead of becoming the prescribed employee of the future, built out of Terminator 2 grade stainless steel, it's OK if you simply keep your own skin albeit at times fragile and sensitive. Anything but thick. In lieu of putting Teflon on to repel the mandatory vermin you put your focus on how you actually want to feel in your professional life. How about empowered and entrepreneurial for a change?

Then you let go. Breathe. Laugh. Train. Travel. All the while keeping focused on your priorities and carefully chosen helpers. Never be afraid to pay for a good advice.

I've been many numbers in my life: The 227 in Analytical Chemistry. The matching 354 around my wrist and my baby's ankle at birth. My immigration file number, I can no longer remember even though it felt seared in my brain at the time. World Wide ID 769 885 007. For some reason I thought that getting the number was a sign of safety. That things would be managed and taken care of because of it, not despite of it.

In truth, there is only one formula to get what you want:

1- Find the cause for which you would gladly volunteer

2 - Form real bonds with real people, including former customers and honorable competitors - these could turn out to be essential 

3 - Never stop learning - stay the course in the chosen field and get to really, really know it. Not for the worthless check mark on the performance review. But to be invited to the big kids' table because of what you know, not who you know.

Then go to work and play. You'll never even think of glancing at the clock. Or loathing when your manager calls. Counting days till your vacation. Or mouth to yourself ever again: "TGIF. TFGIF."

You do deserve better. Much better. When to start? How about right now! 

Or answer Godin's opening question in "The Icarus Deception": How long are you going to wait?

Longest Flight South

A few days ago I stumbled upon a Facebook post talking about the Oceanwide Expedition Antartica Contest and an ornithologist's quest to be the winner of the one spot being given away. He is currently sitting in position number three and with the voting deadline looming in just a few days, every second and every click counts. 

The man and his binoculars

And I react to any talent coming from Serbia - yes, I am one of those going nuts every time Novak Djokovic wins a grand slam. I was also the new immigrant single mom dragging my kid to each game the Toronto Raptors played at home vs. Sacramento Kings so he could feel some national pride watching Divac and Stojakovic. I even smile each time I see a Tesla car on the street just because... So yeah, it didn't take me much to go to the page and submit my vote for Dragan Simic. 

But then I got reading about Dragan's passion and how he started as an ornithologist and the story felt oddly familiar. 

Big War Island

Well of course! My mother has been telling me about this boy since I was a teenager. He was the son of her colleague at work and only a few years older than me. When mom got home she would tell me about this boy's adventures and canoe trips to Ratno ostrvo - "Big War Island" - the wilderness zone located in Belgrade, right at the confluence of Sava and Danube river. The island is uninhabited and the only way to access it is by boat. I never knew anyone who would even attempt such a thing, let alone a teenager. Over the years stories of his adventures rolled in. The continents got conquered. Books got written. With the background in journalism and environmental sciences, the world of conservation, ornithology and nature blogging got a best friend.

Journey to India

What always fascinated me when listening about Dragan Simic is that he has never stopped loving, observing and understanding nature. He is one of those fully-dedicated and immersed people who discovered his passion, had a major set-back and never even thought to use it as an excuse. If anything he has focused even more intently on his quests and these fuelled his constant endeavours which brought him as far as India and South Africa. 

The Antartica Expedition will be by far the furthest and the wildest of all Dragan's adventures. There are three more days to cast a vote and boost his standing on the score-board. It is so alluringly close it is tantalizing. The trip is to set sails in Feb 2017 and he is already ready! 

Dragan's big dream is to observe 7 species of penguins and actually take us on this adventure with him through a book with the working title The Only Planet - "which will be about this "voyage of the Beagle", about Antarctica and its wildlife in light of climate changes, the travellers on board the Ortelius and us, mankind on board our only planet."

I feel thrilled and privileged to be a part of Dragan's wings-assembly team. Voting takes a second and it ends February 29th. Join me! 

How to Prepare a Chef

Who knew that an evening of mindless channel cruising could've led me to gain 6 pounds in mere two months... Damn cable TV!

Season 2 starts Feb 8 @7 pm EST

Thanks to Netflix and programming on demand, I haven't entertained the regular sit down evening in front of our ever growing TV screen in quite a while. Life is busy, kids are really small and really loud and usually, by the time we have them wrestled down to bed and could actually drop on the comfy couch to watch something, all that is offered is the grim recap of the worst news from around the world. If it's CNN we also get why they knew about the bad news all along coupled with why it will never get better. As the turquoise-eyed and tight lipped anchor keeps questioning the two opposing parties in the latest conflict, they yell, bark and interrupt each other leaving me with an upset stomach, a fluttering heart and an uncomfortable feeling I wasn't smart to bring three lives into this unhappy planet. As if none of any opinions even matter, the blood red ticker line at the bottom of the HD screen keeps counting the dead, measuring disasters, ramping up warnings. Exactly what full time employed busy mother of three needs at the end of the day. Yeah right.

But then, I remember the super-power of pressing the channel up button and I rip through a few dozens of channels. Click. A powerful car commercial. Click. A must have mop for our home. Click. Cereal commercial portraying a family just like mine starting their day happy, organized and serene. Shut up! Click. A guy getting eaten by a snake. Click. Dermatologist recommended face cream that is proven to take away my early signs of aging. Click. A history lesson showing how Holocaust was ignored for the first three years of the WWII. Click. Vitamix infomercial. I stay here longer as a very eloquent dude that clearly abused some self tanning product, throws in a half of a green cabbage with some frozen berries, making a delicious vegan ice-cream. The attractive brunette is licking the spoon tossing her hair back. Simultaneously I restrain myself from agreeing to four simple payments -- I have already bought the mighty machine and note to self I must try this mix, since it's promising pleasure. A lot of pleasure. Click.

On the next channel, a guy is sweating while peaking through the oven window. A girl is vigorously chopping parsley nervously glancing at the clock. Another woman is contemplating a disaster - the dough might still be raw in the middle. Three men in sleek suits are circling around them like sharks, asking somewhat uncomfortable questions as if these people, handling both hot and sharp objects while counting seconds are in any position to be chatting. The tune that accompanies them is something from a heart-stopping thriller. Or the "JAWS" movie, hence the shark analogy. Nevertheless my eyes are glued to the TV. When the show ends in some 15 minutes, a woman has been eliminated in a "Survivor" like fashion; instead of her torch being extinguished she is told to take her apron off, her kitchen war flag with her name embroidered on it. She has been defeated and she sheds a few tears.

"Join us next week to find out who will get 100 000.00$ and the title of the first MasterChef Canada!"

Without hesitation, I hop on Google, find out when and on which channel the show runs, so I don't have to chase it on the West Coast schedule and I put it in my calendar. That's how much I needed to know what happens next! Then I realize, I am starving...

Family treasure written in Serbian Cyrillic

Strong women, fearless, educated and opinionated have always been a point of pride of our family. As a girl, I enjoyed hearing about my great grandmother Milena Tubić, who was in mid 1800's one of the first woman teachers having to acquire her higher education in Thessaloniki, Greece as there was none for women at that time in Serbia. Milena survived four wars, lost three homes and mourned two children, somehow still keeping her spirit bright and empowering. Everything she knew she taught her one surviving daughter, my grandmother Tomira. Milena died peacefully four months after the birth of her last great-grandchild: me. The most incredible woman on my grandfather's side of the family was his mother Ljubica Čemerikić "Maka" who crossed the Atlantic on a ship back and forth ten times, so that she can live with her daughter's family after they immigrated as well as stay close to her sons. In March of 1972 she was hit by a car and suffered a fracture, then got transported to a Belgrade hospital where she shared the room in the ER, divided by only a curtain with the index case of the major strain of Variola Vera. The male patient from Kosovo contracted the deadly virus while on a pilgrimage in Mecca, bringing it to Serbia where the last case of the disease was reported in 1923 and it was considered extinct. 10 000 people have been quarantined, 175 patients contracted the disease, 35 died. Within the following two weeks 18 million citizens of then Yugoslavia, had to be vaccinated to prevent the spread. My extraordinarily feisty great-grandmother spent the maximum number of days in the hospital quarantine, watching people around her get sick and die, helping the decimated hospital staff as much as she could. When the quarantine ended, she walked out of the hospital walking with canes, never even contracting the disease. She died here, in Canada at a tender age of 102.

Our Grandmother's Cookbook

Both women and all of their daughters have been extraordinarily gifted in the kitchen. Despite the times of wars, scarcity and the lack of the essentials in the kitchen, such as a fridge, these women got known for their culinary skills. My grandmother Tomira, who held a degree in Ethnography, wrote it all down, in several tomes of handwritten manuscripts. When she finally got two granddaughters after two grandsons, she was determined to transfer her amazing skills onto us.

I'm not sure what came first, me being a tomboy or the need for the pots and pans to be washed so that the baking and cooking can move on at lightening speed - these were the pre-dishwasher years - but I personally never acquired any of that training. Although I truly enjoyed hanging out in the kitchen, being seduced by my grandmother's stories laced with a whiff of vanilla and the opportunity to lick every bowl, I never got even close to making dough, seeing the yeast rise, bundling the future loaf of delicious bread in a warm kitchen towel. Or handling the big cut of meat, skillfully removing skins and tendons off only to inject it with garlic and almonds then rub it with freshly-ground spices. But my sister... Oh goodness! From a very early age, she was all into it, wrapping herself in our grandmother's apron - her favourite dress-up - and mimicking her every move. Asking questions. Measuring. Sprinkling. Decorating. Tasting all along. Then proudly serving, basking in reactions of people who have seen it and tried it.

Forty years later and my sister Mina is still at her counter, cooking and baking. The dough simply loves this woman! Her kitchen is her sanctuary. Whether seeking relaxation or just plain fun, she always ends up elbow deep in the flour preparing old recipes and inventing twists and turns that make our family favourites more modern, worldly. Can there be a higher endorsement than that she picked a new stove instead of a ring for her 15th wedding anniversary? That stove is her jewel. Our entire family gathers around her table, for holidays and special occasions as that sense of major accomplishment and pride still accompanies the extraordinary love she pours into dishes that look great and taste out of this world!

So when a week later, the first ever MasterChef Canada trophy got awarded together with a hefty dollar prize and showers of confetti, I knew my sister Mina belonged in that kitchen.

Guess who's the finalist on MasterChef Canada Season 2?!

Strong, slender and competitive, our family's "foodie" finally had an arena for where to showcase her passion.
The following two summer months, as any good coach does, I watched and re-watched the entire Season 1, living through every tough scenario of the pressure cooker and surprise challenge. Somehow I wanted to make sure that the flavours of the Balkans make it to the show for the world to see, try and taste. While at work in colourful Scarborough, I went crazy exploring the local favourites of Indian, Korean, Pakistani, Sri Lankan, Malaysian and Japanese cuisines - we shall not be niched! I took photos of every plate, then savoured that first bite, acting as a judge! At home, I cooked for my own family, throwing butter left, right and centre (calorie count doesn't seem to matter in this competition) making sure all was done within one hour. Needless to say we dined really well last summer in our very own kitchen! My sister and I got really close - I dare say closer then ever - experimenting, calling each other many times a day, exchanging kitchen tricks. My waistline soon climbed another size - oh well, I will walk it off! We became so MCC-obsessed that even my 6 years old son started counting seconds for me as I poured milk into his morning cereal: "10 seconds left, mama, you'd better be plating!"

The MasterChef Canada Season 2 is starting in two weeks. To say I am suffocating with excitement is an understatement. However, it is not the proximity to the reality TV fame that is the most exciting thing to me. What is so monumentally great is that my sister Mina, a woman with a husband and teenage kids, an aging parent and lot of friends, a successful professional career and a busy schedule as a fitness maven,  someone with important deadlines and to-do lists like the rest of us, has decided to bravely press the pause button on all that and take some serious time to play kitchen, just like when she was a kid.

So you want to know the best recipe for how to prepare a Chef? 

Take equal parts of skill, passion and creativity, preferably with long roots (do not remove!), seasoned with discipline of a black belt karate master and spiked with wicked measuring skills only a pharmacist might have; marinate in love for a decade or so. Then let her loose and let her play!