Joy and Jack: a love story, and the Olympics

A friend of mine texted me last night saying "I'm watching the opening ceremonies, are you proud of Canada right now? There are tap dancers wearing flannel!" I actually wasn't watching the Olympics, I was watching the film Shadowlands with Anthony Hopkins and Debra Winger. Not out of some real conscious choice to avoid the festivities taking place in Vancouver, but because I was in a contemplative mood and wanted to eat dark chocolate and watch an unorthodox love story.

I know there are many opinions about the Olympics and how much they cost and what we could be doing with the money instead. Particularly in Canada right now there are mixed feelings. Many working class folks, who lean toward a more western-styled working class socialism, don't appreciate the Canadian government subsidizing such a commercial endeavor.

Since the Olympics in Beijing there has been a more obvious political overtone to the Olympics. Many folks thought, if other countries have to be held to account to play around in the global market why wasn't this one?

I can see the point to this. And I do wonder what a grassroots formula would look like within the sports world. But I also have to say this: as a child, I remember particularly anticipating the Winter Olympics almost as though Christmas was coming. I remember weeping as I saw the flags of so many countries coming together under one roof. Or the times when very poor athletes from oppressed countries became champions and contradicted the odds that money always wins gold. I remember how human the faces of these young competitors looked as they expressed how they knew they could have done better, or knew without a doubt that they had done their best. Two stories that particularly stand out are the stories of Elizabeth Manley and Oksana Baiul.

I think the Olympics could be likened very much to Christmas in the sense that: there is a whole lot of hullabaloo, maximizing of credit cards, and vast commercialism that does not feed the hungry by any stretch, in ratio to it's gain. But I also wonder, if what we can take from this tradition is remembering that its okay to celebrate and be together. I guess what I mean is, I certainly wish that most of the folks (I say most, because there are some charities in place) benefiting from the enterprising agendas of the Olympics could be aware that hungry bellies don't disappear just because the world is watching television for two weeks. But I can also think of other things with less texture and meaning that big money gets spent on.

Perhaps the Olympics and Christmas should not only be considering their carbon footprint but also their human footprint.

How do we go about doing this?

So as I said, I didn't boycott the Opening Ceremonies last night. But I didn't watch them either. I instead watched a movie about a British man who was a great thinker and maker of fantasy who fell in love late in life to the most unlikely person. A divorced woman from America who had a young son. He married her before God at her sick bed as she struggled in her fight against cancer. And as the illness went into remission they had a few years of what he would have called 'eros' before... or 'romantic love'. But he soon learned that love isn't so easily put into categories and that it is a great mystery. It is something that reflects the great beyond.

His wife Joy said "The pain then is a part of the happiness now. And that's the deal."

So I think, perhaps our choices here matter. That there should be a collective consciousness surrounding the Olympics that holds the world and it's choices to account. I also know that we have to change what we demand in order for the supply to change. Maybe we have to have a change of heart, like Joy's lover Jack, and embrace the mystery of love, to get there.

And maybe, rather than being cynical and angry (or oblivious), we might be able to watch the stories of these athletes (how does one decide "I'm going into competitive skiing?"), and learn something about ourselves. The flushed, young faces of determination. The flags coming together under one roof. Yes, each flag represents something imperfect, corrupt and not what it could be... but they also represent unique customs, flavours and wonder.

Maybe these flags represent us?

As we have our own little gatherings, at a community hall, church, temple, mosque, solstice party, family gathering and so many other ways we spend time around others, perhaps we should prepare to bring humility with us and not a self-righteous "I am so much more aware of injustice than that person" attitude... to acknowledge our own imperfections and corruption, but also what wonderful colour we each bring to the table.

much love,

alana