Who You Invite Into The Canoe

Last week during our monthly community call, a question was offered to our mentor team:

From your vantage points — as Knowledge Keepers, leaders, and people who have watched many settlers come into this work in different ways — what have you observed in settlers that really helps us move in the right direction? And what do you wish settlers would do when we’re in conversation with other settlers?

George’s response has stayed with me all week.

He spoke about the importance of coming into this work with an open heart and an open mind.

An open heart to truly see, feel, and hear the lived experiences and the stories carried through families, bloodlines, and generations.

An open mind to the teachings, traditions, and ways of being that Indigenous people continue to carry forward — not as history, but as living practice.

He spoke about how often people are shocked when they begin to understand what has actually happened in this country. How many of us carry ideas about Indigenous people that were shaped by school systems, churches, media, and family narratives — ideas that were never formed by Indigenous voices themselves.

And then he said something that landed deeply for me.

He spoke about watching how mentors in this circle conduct themselves when confronted with racism and harmful portrayals. About learning when to speak, when to pause, and how to carry yourself in a way that does not bring harm to yourself, while still being a good representative of what it means to be an ally.

And he said:

Be mindful of who you invite into your canoe.

That brought me back to a memory from many years ago.

In 2014, when I first began working in community, I was quickly befriended by an Elder. I often describe him as jokingly barnacle-like — a little prickly at times, but deeply good-natured, funny, and always inviting me into relationship.

One spring afternoon, he invited me down to Kulleet Bay to try paddling in a dugout canoe.

We carried the canoe to the water’s edge together. He told me to get in first.

I put my hand on the edge and could not believe how tippy it was. The whole thing wobbled like it might toss me straight into the bay. Instinctively, I laid my paddle across the canoe to steady myself.

“No! You can’t do that — that’s bad luck!”

Startled, I tried another approach and dug the handle of my paddle into the sandy bottom to stabilize myself.

“What are you doing?! That’s bad luck too! Just get in the canoe!”

So, awkwardly and without grace, I plopped myself into the bottom of the canoe while it bobbled and wiggled in every direction. Meanwhile, this Elder stepped in behind me with complete ease, like he had done it a thousand times before. Because he had.

We pushed off.

I did my very best to sit still and make predictable movements so I wouldn’t tip us over, while he calmly guided us across the water.

That day, I learned something without him ever needing to say it.

The canoe is always a little tippy when you don’t yet understand how to be in it.

Your instincts to stabilize yourself may actually create more instability.

And the person in the back of the canoe — the one with the experience — can only guide you if you are willing to be still, listen, and trust.

When George spoke about being careful who you invite into your canoe, I thought about that day.

What are people carrying in their hearts and minds when they step in?

Are they trying to steady themselves in ways that actually disrupt the balance?

Do they care about the other paddlers?

Are they willing to be guided?

For those of us who are settlers learning and unlearning, this work can feel uncomfortable and wobbly. We want to grab onto something familiar. We want to steady ourselves. We want to prove we are doing it “right.”

But sometimes the most important thing we can do is sit still, listen carefully, and move in a way that is predictable and respectful of the people who have been in the canoe far longer than we have.

And when we step into conversations with other settlers — in our workplaces, our families, our communities — perhaps part of our responsibility is to be thoughtful about who we invite into that canoe with us.

To notice what they are carrying.

To model steadiness, an open heart and an open mind.

And to remember that this canoe is not ours to steer.

We are learning how to paddle without tipping it.

<3 Kim