For the past week I’ve been on the road speaking at the MA (Mortgage Architects) Conference. The conference started in Toronto, followed a few days later with back-to-back-to back stops in Vancouver, Edmonton, and Calgary. That can be a bit of a grind given that you’re trying to deliver same energy and passion each time you’re presenting on the stage, and when meeting people that are attending the conference. By the time the fourth presentation rolls around you have to fight the autopilot mode. It doesn’t matter if there are three hundred people in the room or thirty people. I signed up for this; so I have a responsibility to trek on and do the best I can. I can live with the audience not being enamored with the content of the presentation, but it would bother me to no end if someone in the audience thought I just mailed it in.

I needed to catch my second wind on the “tour”, and I received it from the most unusual source. I just finished my presentation in Vancouver, actually it was in Surrey BC, and I quickly had to go back to my room, pack and check out.  I entered the elevator on the 20^th floor, and there were two plain clothed policemen in the elevator giving me the once over. Badge and guns were visible, as well as their ear pieces and cords tucked into the collars of their shirts. A number of things started to race through my mind. Firstly, I was in Surrey – and this was probably normal. I’m just kidding. I lived in Vancouver for eight years, and while living there I picked up some snooty habits – like poking fun at Surrey; my apologies. For a second I thought the cops noticed my fashion faux pas that morning and that’s why they were scoping me out. If they did notice, they’re good.  I was wearing an Armani suit, a custom tailored dress shirt, personally monogrammed, a tie and pocket handkerchief that popped, topped off with a pair of Louis Vuitton dress shoes. Maybe they noticed that I wasn’t wearing cufflinks, forgot to pack the damn things, and instead I had to use paper clips to hold the French Cuffs together. As soon as my moment of narcissism passed, I realized why they were checking me out. There in the corner of the elevator, strategically standing behind the police was the leader of the NDP (New Democratic Party) Thomas Mulcair.

Mr. Mulcair was making a campaign stop in Surrey, so here I was standing in the elevator with a man who could become the next prime minister of Canada. When I realized who I was sharing the elevator with, my first thought was to pull out my mobile phone and get a selfie with him. Problem was the phone was in the inside pocket of my suit jacket, and I didn’t want to spook his security detail by making a sudden movement like I might be reaching for something else. The thought of dying for the NDP, and never hearing the end of it in the afterlife, caused me to stay perfectly still. Thankfully, Mr. Mulcair made the first move. Like all good politicians he stuck out hand to shake mine, and asked me how I was.  I said “I’m doing well, thank you for asking”. Then, for some reason I asked him question that surprised even me when I heard out loud. I said, “sir, you’re in the home stretch of the election, how you holding up?” I went for the personal rather than his policies. His answer was what I should have expected, “I feel great and the party is energized. I’m looking forward to the election”. Problem is that his eyes deceived him. He looked tired and weary. Maybe that’s why I asked him the question in the first place. Beyond the party platforms, beyond the policies, beyond the debates, there’s a person. The grind that he and the leaders of the other two parties are going through must be soul sucking. Success of any kind requires one to pay a price, and there’s no price big enough that these individuals are not willing to pay.  Elections are high stakes; big wins and crushing defeats. As I was leaving the elevator I said, “Mr. Mulcair, good luck to you on the 19th, and good health to you and your family”. I couldn’t bring myself to say to him that he has my vote because that would be a lie. But just because our political beliefs are diametrically opposed, doesn’t mean that simple civility has to take a back seat.

So I want to thank Mr. Mulcair for snapping me out of my lethargic state, and for reminding me that a “grind” is all relative, and that people on the left are human, just like they are on the right.

Until next time,

Cheers.