By Leni Spooner, creator of Between the Lines.
Why resilience — not certainty — is the best inheritance we can pass on.
Why Resilience, Not Certainty, Is the Best Inheritance We Can Pass On
The world is changing in ways none of us can control. Alliances abroad, supply chains at home, even the shape of family life itself—all are in flux. Screaming into the void won’t change that. What we can change is how we prepare ourselves and our children for lives that won’t follow the old script.
My own first lesson in this truth came in the early 1980s, when I was a young wife and mother facing soaring interest rates, rising fuel costs, and an uncertain future. The teacher who guided me was Stephanie, a war bride whose strength and belief in community reshaped my understanding of resilience.
Stephanie had married Josh, a young Alberta farmer who flew as a Lancaster bomber bombardier with the RAF. They met in England during the war and returned to Canada as newlyweds, determined to make a life on a small, hard-scrabble farm. Even in the post-war boom, their reality was stark: a farmer had to work both the land and off the land to make ends meet. Together, they raised six children—hardy, intelligent, and community-minded people who carried their parents’ values into every walk of life.
I had grown up in Ontario, an urban “only child” with a sibling nearly a decade older. My upbringing was surrounded by mingled Canadian and European families who lived close, shared traditions, and expected their children to do the same: buy a house nearby, raise kids surrounded by grandparents, and keep the circle intact. That was the arc I assumed I’d follow, too.
But marriage shifted everything. My husband’s road construction work took him all over Alberta. Instead of settling in one place, we rented a small apartment in Edmonton and bought a park-model trailer so I could travel with him. Pregnant with my first child, I found myself living on rented farmland and public lots, far from the stability I had expected.
The early 1980s were no easy backdrop for starting out. Interest rates soared above 20%, fuel costs strained every budget, and layoffs rattled families across the country. I felt untethered, and it was in that season of upheaval that I met Stephanie and Josh—and everything began to shift.
A Lifeline and a Lesson
Stephanie welcomed me into the Associated Country Women of the World (ACWW), an organization representing women from more than fifty countries with a seat at the United Nations. For curious readers, you can learn more about their work at https://acww.org.uk/home. For me, it was more than just impressive credentials. It was a lifeline—a circle of women who believed survival didn’t come from wealth or luck, but from shared knowledge, pooled skills, and solidarity.
Stephanie herself embodied this. She was relentlessly optimistic, not because life was easy, but because she had learned to see strength in community. She ignored wealth and poverty in the conventional sense; what mattered was whether you contributed, whether you helped make life better for others.
I learned this firsthand when I confided in her about my stress over grocery costs. She told me the story of the time Josh brought home six hungry farmhands for an impromptu dinner. With only one package of stewing beef for a crowd of fifteen—her, Josh, their six kids, and the six farmhands—she got creative. She made a thick, hearty stew packed with vegetables and dumplings, stretching the ingredients to feed everyone. The farmhands raved about the meal, and no one left the table hungry.
That story was a comfort, but it was more than that. It was the impetus I needed to look at our budget differently. The 1980s were tough, but they couldn’t compare to the challenges Stephanie faced. Her creativity in the face of scarcity encouraged me to look at our grocery budget not as a limitation but as a challenge to create satisfying meals with what we had.
Through her, I learned that our “nontraditional” path—a nomadic life in a trailer, apart from extended family, outside of accepted norms—wasn’t a failure. It was freedom. With her encouragement, I began to take pride in a life defined not by conformity, but by resilience, resourcefulness, and community. Looking back, I see that those years gave us a richness of experience and opportunity we never would have known had we stayed in Ontario.
I never did find my way back to the niche I grew up believing was the only way to live. Instead, we built a world that welcomed new people, new places, and new ways of doing things. Stephanie gave me the invaluable gift of a lifelong passion for learning.
Resilience Is a Practice
There have been thousands of challenges through the years, and one constant: the world keeps evolving in ways no one can fully predict. The norms of one decade rarely graduate intact into the next. Thanks to crossing paths with a war bride, I now try to prepare my own adult children and grandchildren for a future unlike the one politicians and pundits nostalgically describe.
Real life is messy. Structural change comes at us at light speed. What matters most isn’t clinging to how things are “supposed to be,” but learning how to work with what we have to create satisfaction, purpose, and resilience in our lives.
Stephanie’s gift to me wasn’t just resilience; it was a practice: share knowledge, learn constantly, and build solidarity wherever you are. That’s something each of us can begin today.
Look at your own circle—family, neighbors, co-workers—and ask:
- What do we know that we can share?
- What strengths do we already have that we can pool?
And then be brave. If there are gaps in your own community, seek others to bring into your circle—people, ideas, and knowledge that can stretch you, expand your perspective, and strengthen your resilience. Resilience isn’t abstract. It grows the moment we begin building it together, and it flourishes when we widen the circle.
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About the Author
Leni Spooner is a Canadian writer, researcher, and civic storyteller. She is the founder of Between the Lines | Kitchen Table Politics, a longform publication exploring how policy, economics, food systems, and everyday life intersect. Her work blends historical context with present-day analysis, helping readers see the deeper patterns that shape Canada’s choices — and the lives built around them.
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