I love being surprised by people. Well, I probably enjoy being right about people too, but surprises only reinforce my belief in our ability to change our perspectives in life. This is why I love discussions and the questions they force me to ask myself and the things I end up discovering after further contemplation. I should probably write more of these things done - especially with such a shotty memory as mine - but I also like having them change on me without documentation. My brain is filled with synapses that never stop firing, just like our lives and opinions that never stop chaning. That is, of course, as long as we remain open-minded about things.
The latest shocker to cross my cerebrum (is that where we do our thinking? I was never too good at biology - Jenn, can u help me out here?) is that the curse of coupledom is not only strong in women. A few weeks ago I discussed this on my blog, but now I feel even more strongly that this pressure to find love and your "soul mate" exists for both men and women. For some reason, though, I get the impression that women are stereotyped as the ones who want the relationship and men only say they do to get laid. Of course, I hate all stereotypes! Yet, constant analysis of children this year has taught me that sometimes there is truth in them. Even today it was pointed out that the boys were all watching the cherry pickers while the girls were busying themselves elsewhere. So, perhaps our gender does effect our behaviour to a certain degree (BUT I will never stand down from the POV that we can never say that with 100% certainty until u remove all preconcieved notions of gender from the children's parents, teachers and everybody who interacts with that child - even telly adverts!).
Recently, I found myself sitting with two blokes in the pub and they brought up the question of coupledom. This is a topic I generally discuss with my girl friends instead of my male friends, so I found it an interesting new experience. I had heard of these moments before, though, and suspicious that this might be the case. To be the only girl present, and the only one who thought coupledom was overrated was quite an interesting realization. I've known for years and even brought the topic up in feminist discussions, but this conversation only reiterated the fact that women are not the only ones affected by "love-mongering." And, with the current political atmosphere (the fact that there is a war going on, which will require the production of more babies, which is essentially still sold to us as the utimate achievement of happiness within the prior ultimate achievement of happiness - finding "the one"), it is no wonder that I found myself in this situation. I was also the only one present who could consciously admit to the fact that money was evil and the reason for our environmental problems.
Was I the crazy tree-hugging hippy in the group? I hope so. Am I the only one? I hope not. I like standing out in the crowds, and realized last night that I even love that I stand up for what I believe in. So, my outrage at coupledom....just another activist dream? Or, is it merely just the right thing for me?
Now that is a humdinger! I am constantly self-analysing and I think that is a good thing. It helps me realize what I'm doing, where that might put me and why it is that I feel that way. Recently a colleague commented on how children need to develop "best friends" in order to develop an ability to pair up in the future. Well, my best friends were never best in a mutual sense. I remember my first best friend ditching me for her best friends all of the time. This hurt! By high school, I was so over with best friends that I distinctly remembering boycotting the whole idea. This is not unlike my experiences with dating. But it never seems to be the same with other people. So, why am I so special? Hmmm, I will never know, and that's probably ok. Perhaps I only feel special because nobody ever talks openly about these things. Well, here I am, being a bit more open about my life. Perhaps this will begin an onslaught of more realizations and finally the breakdown of it being "abnormal." First I had to admit it to myself, though. I'm not a monogamist. I will never be satisfied with one person for the rest of my life. I prefer having a network of people to rely on rather than trusting myself to only one other person. I don't think I'm alone...and I don't think it's unhealthy either. The only unhealthy thing is denying that I feel this way.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Too Small/Too Smart?
First published on Facebook on Wednesday, May 28, 2008 at 4:16pm
There is a song on my MP3 player that I am currently loving. It's called Behind the Sea by Panic! at the Disco, off of their latest cd. It's a beautiful light song, and it always makes me think about life, which only adds to it's beauty. One of its best lines, in my opinion, is one that repeats throughout. That line is not without its irritation, though, as i'm not quite sure how the line goes. i know the words are in the cd case, but I don't have that right now...and I kinda like the ambiguity about the line. I think it even changes in the refrain: '...and we're all too small to talk to God. Yes we're all too smart to talk to God.'
I like both versions. The latter is important to me, because I consider myself a philosopher, and the thought of not believing in something higher than yourself because you are too 'smart' to do so is ironic. I remember discussing this with Jenn - dragging her into the philosophical discussions she hated so much that rather than fighting me through them would merely give in to what I was saying with a mere 'yes dear' as soon as I began to rant (and that is why she was the best roommate in the world!) - and how as Einstein went further into his exploration of the world he explained that nobody could look at the world and everything that we do not understand and not conclude that there was some higher being in control of it all. ( He said it better, but of course, I am terrible at quotes!) And eventually this helped me move from atheism to agnosticism. It took some ego-swallowing, but eventually I got there. And I have been happier since. I like being undecided on the issue: it helps me discuss the world inconclusively, which I miss doing. I am also okay without ever finding the answer. Life is about the journey rather than the destination, right? and that is also why my plans for the future constantly change - life is about the journey, not the destination, so it's okay to not know where u will end up...just as long as throughout your journey u live your life as u want to remember it rather than regret it.
I enjoy the first part of that line as well. Are we really too small to talk to God? Maybe. People who pray, and believe that their prayers work must in some way believe that they can. But, then, of course, I shouldn't speak for them. Perhaps they believe, like me, that belief in yourself and your prayers is what brings you the answers to your prayers rather than the listening ear of God, or whatever you want to call the higher power. So, turning the line on its head - interpretting it in another way - are we too small to make a difference? Is the belief that we are too small to talk to God make us too smart to talk to him as well? In turn, does this then make us arrogant? If we are arrogant, should we not believe more in ourself? Or does arrogance then negate the necessity of belief?
All these questions have no answers. They are all merely thoughts that my song makes me ponder. I love that. I miss that. I miss the discussion. i love intellectual conversations. I can't wait to live in a city again
There is a song on my MP3 player that I am currently loving. It's called Behind the Sea by Panic! at the Disco, off of their latest cd. It's a beautiful light song, and it always makes me think about life, which only adds to it's beauty. One of its best lines, in my opinion, is one that repeats throughout. That line is not without its irritation, though, as i'm not quite sure how the line goes. i know the words are in the cd case, but I don't have that right now...and I kinda like the ambiguity about the line. I think it even changes in the refrain: '...and we're all too small to talk to God. Yes we're all too smart to talk to God.'
I like both versions. The latter is important to me, because I consider myself a philosopher, and the thought of not believing in something higher than yourself because you are too 'smart' to do so is ironic. I remember discussing this with Jenn - dragging her into the philosophical discussions she hated so much that rather than fighting me through them would merely give in to what I was saying with a mere 'yes dear' as soon as I began to rant (and that is why she was the best roommate in the world!) - and how as Einstein went further into his exploration of the world he explained that nobody could look at the world and everything that we do not understand and not conclude that there was some higher being in control of it all. ( He said it better, but of course, I am terrible at quotes!) And eventually this helped me move from atheism to agnosticism. It took some ego-swallowing, but eventually I got there. And I have been happier since. I like being undecided on the issue: it helps me discuss the world inconclusively, which I miss doing. I am also okay without ever finding the answer. Life is about the journey rather than the destination, right? and that is also why my plans for the future constantly change - life is about the journey, not the destination, so it's okay to not know where u will end up...just as long as throughout your journey u live your life as u want to remember it rather than regret it.
I enjoy the first part of that line as well. Are we really too small to talk to God? Maybe. People who pray, and believe that their prayers work must in some way believe that they can. But, then, of course, I shouldn't speak for them. Perhaps they believe, like me, that belief in yourself and your prayers is what brings you the answers to your prayers rather than the listening ear of God, or whatever you want to call the higher power. So, turning the line on its head - interpretting it in another way - are we too small to make a difference? Is the belief that we are too small to talk to God make us too smart to talk to him as well? In turn, does this then make us arrogant? If we are arrogant, should we not believe more in ourself? Or does arrogance then negate the necessity of belief?
All these questions have no answers. They are all merely thoughts that my song makes me ponder. I love that. I miss that. I miss the discussion. i love intellectual conversations. I can't wait to live in a city again
Anti-Volunteerism
First published on Facebook on Wednesday, May 28, 2008 at 8:46am
It finally dawned on me last night! I realized why I am absolutely so horribly distraught at Moor Park. Well, I'm not all of the time, but I do often feel like it's a wasted year. Now, don't get me wrong, I've learned a lot and continued to grow, but I've realized why I am discontent there.
Just over a year ago, somebody asked me why I was volunteering in Europe rather than working there. Truth be told, originally the plan was to strengthen a foreign language. Sadly, that programme fell through after I had been accepted, so I went with my second choice of countries - Great Britain. Why I had that as the second choice, I'm not sure, but I still don't regret that. I got to know the UK in many different lights this year - some first-person and many other second-person, and that was the fall-back from Italy. When Kristin and I were in Italy, I wondered what sort of person I would be now if I had gone there instead of Britain, and at the time, I didn't like that person quite so much as the person I had become in the UK instead. That person would not have gone to Morocco. That person would not have felt trapped with a bunch of kids, and lonely because she was the only one her age. That person would be fluent in another language by now, and perhaps she would have seen the underbelly of the Mediterranean instead of the rural sights of England. She would not have reconnected with her younger self in the same way, and confronted the demons hanging onto her soul since childhood. She might have become more involved with the community because it helped her work on her language skills, and she might have been a happier person more often because she was developing a language skill rather than just trying to be a better person.
And that is why I am not happy at Moor Park. I am treated like a lackie rather than a volunteer. When this upsets me, I defend my position as a 'member of staff' rather than a child, and that makes me more upset. I am not a member of staff. In fact, I get paid much less than them to put up with nearly as much §$%& as them, so I should get a bit more respect sometimes. At night, after a shitty day, they can reassure themselves with the fact that at least what they're doing now will help them financially in the long run. Not so with me. In fact, each day here makes me poorer. I do try to reassure myself with telling myself that I have gained something worth more than money here, but it has been difficult - especially lately.
Last night I met a man from Afghanistan. Although I tried to avoid discussions about politics, I got sucked into discussing my opinions on everything and how I keep putting off making a difference 'cause I don't know which difference will actually help. He sparked a soulful quest for me, though, and I am determined to stop putting this one off. I realized that I am unhappy at Moor Park because I don't feel like I'm making a difference. Even looking at my happiest moments from the past few weeks, one can easily discern that it is the moments where I feel I may have made a difference that I cherish the most. But ego has gotten in the way a lot and I spiral down into a pit of selfishness when I don't get the appreciation from the staff for how I am helping.
Basically, there is not a lot of room as a GAP student to make a difference. Like I said, I am either a lackie or a staff member who gets paid much less than everybody else. If this were a respectable position, Cassie and Kim would not have felt such vehemence about being treated like the GAP student who never showed up. Their reaction to that has only aided me feeling worthless here, but I need to get over that and just move on. I remember from my childhood that it was the little things that were said or done to me that made me the person that I am. Like myself as a child, the children I have helped this year will have been through those little moments. Sadly, I feel like there have not been enough of those moments, or that they might all have gone unnoticed. The optimist in me, however, hopes that I am wrong with those doubts.
A big reason for the lack of help I can provide is that the school doesn't really need me. I remember Amy asking me once how I could work for a big corporation like Chapters - it wasn't like me to support a conglomerate, was it? Well, that helped me find my feet a bit and I liked the anonymity I was given within the big company. For a part-time job throughout Uni, it was great. But when I wanted to feel like part of the solution rather than part of the problem, continuing there was no longer an option. This is interesting as it is on my list of possible employees again in the fall. I want my time to mean something though. I want to feel like my morals match my actions, and right now, as far as employment goes, they do not. Hopefully this fall will change that, except for the fact that I need to make money!
So, all in all, this year could have been improved if I was hired by the school to do what I do rather than donating my life to them for ten months. That is what I have learned. Needless to say, I cannot reccomend the same experience to young adults, and I should really let the organization know that. Oh well, something else to add to my to-do list...
It finally dawned on me last night! I realized why I am absolutely so horribly distraught at Moor Park. Well, I'm not all of the time, but I do often feel like it's a wasted year. Now, don't get me wrong, I've learned a lot and continued to grow, but I've realized why I am discontent there.
Just over a year ago, somebody asked me why I was volunteering in Europe rather than working there. Truth be told, originally the plan was to strengthen a foreign language. Sadly, that programme fell through after I had been accepted, so I went with my second choice of countries - Great Britain. Why I had that as the second choice, I'm not sure, but I still don't regret that. I got to know the UK in many different lights this year - some first-person and many other second-person, and that was the fall-back from Italy. When Kristin and I were in Italy, I wondered what sort of person I would be now if I had gone there instead of Britain, and at the time, I didn't like that person quite so much as the person I had become in the UK instead. That person would not have gone to Morocco. That person would not have felt trapped with a bunch of kids, and lonely because she was the only one her age. That person would be fluent in another language by now, and perhaps she would have seen the underbelly of the Mediterranean instead of the rural sights of England. She would not have reconnected with her younger self in the same way, and confronted the demons hanging onto her soul since childhood. She might have become more involved with the community because it helped her work on her language skills, and she might have been a happier person more often because she was developing a language skill rather than just trying to be a better person.
And that is why I am not happy at Moor Park. I am treated like a lackie rather than a volunteer. When this upsets me, I defend my position as a 'member of staff' rather than a child, and that makes me more upset. I am not a member of staff. In fact, I get paid much less than them to put up with nearly as much §$%& as them, so I should get a bit more respect sometimes. At night, after a shitty day, they can reassure themselves with the fact that at least what they're doing now will help them financially in the long run. Not so with me. In fact, each day here makes me poorer. I do try to reassure myself with telling myself that I have gained something worth more than money here, but it has been difficult - especially lately.
Last night I met a man from Afghanistan. Although I tried to avoid discussions about politics, I got sucked into discussing my opinions on everything and how I keep putting off making a difference 'cause I don't know which difference will actually help. He sparked a soulful quest for me, though, and I am determined to stop putting this one off. I realized that I am unhappy at Moor Park because I don't feel like I'm making a difference. Even looking at my happiest moments from the past few weeks, one can easily discern that it is the moments where I feel I may have made a difference that I cherish the most. But ego has gotten in the way a lot and I spiral down into a pit of selfishness when I don't get the appreciation from the staff for how I am helping.
Basically, there is not a lot of room as a GAP student to make a difference. Like I said, I am either a lackie or a staff member who gets paid much less than everybody else. If this were a respectable position, Cassie and Kim would not have felt such vehemence about being treated like the GAP student who never showed up. Their reaction to that has only aided me feeling worthless here, but I need to get over that and just move on. I remember from my childhood that it was the little things that were said or done to me that made me the person that I am. Like myself as a child, the children I have helped this year will have been through those little moments. Sadly, I feel like there have not been enough of those moments, or that they might all have gone unnoticed. The optimist in me, however, hopes that I am wrong with those doubts.
A big reason for the lack of help I can provide is that the school doesn't really need me. I remember Amy asking me once how I could work for a big corporation like Chapters - it wasn't like me to support a conglomerate, was it? Well, that helped me find my feet a bit and I liked the anonymity I was given within the big company. For a part-time job throughout Uni, it was great. But when I wanted to feel like part of the solution rather than part of the problem, continuing there was no longer an option. This is interesting as it is on my list of possible employees again in the fall. I want my time to mean something though. I want to feel like my morals match my actions, and right now, as far as employment goes, they do not. Hopefully this fall will change that, except for the fact that I need to make money!
So, all in all, this year could have been improved if I was hired by the school to do what I do rather than donating my life to them for ten months. That is what I have learned. Needless to say, I cannot reccomend the same experience to young adults, and I should really let the organization know that. Oh well, something else to add to my to-do list...
Trapped
First published on Facebook on Thursday, May 22, 2008 at 11:40pm
I was finally able to explain why I feel so trapped here tonight. I know it will probably change by tomorrow, and definitely be different by this time next week, so I wanted to record it.
I feel like this whole entire year I've been trying to live up to some expectations of what it means to be a GAP student at Moor Park. This includes how to get on with the kids, how to interact with the staff and even sometimes how to see myself compared to all of them. And that has been the most difficult thing to do this year.
People often assume that I'm homesick or lonely, but that's not it. I have felt lonely, but some of those moments have been ones of solace and recharging. I do not like living with so many people. I wish I lived on my own, even when I have had some of the best roommates. I enjoy my own company, and cherish my privacy. There was a point when I felt that I got very little of that here.
When I tried to explain to my friend here that I have struggled to live up to these expectations all year, she misunderstood me at first. She thought that I thought the expectations were to be a cheery. happy person, when in fact that's the person I miss the most here. With the staff, often I don't fit into their humour. Nobody seems to really appreciate my "radical" ideas of vegetarianism and I have been too timid to even broach the feminist thing. We discuss the kids and my travels, but that's ever as far as it goes. So, basically, I have failed to make any real connections with them. I think many of them are great people and were the reasons I stayed for the final term, but honestly I doubt we will keep in touch, and that always makes me sad about leaving a place. I know that I have probably had an effect on them, but those are things you will never really know...even when u die.
I can be goofy with the kids, and those are often my favourite moments from the day. But I feel like I am constantly under watch with them, and never quite measuring up to the standards of whoever is watching. That's probably why I love Y3 playground the most - it's just me and the kids. I can be myself 'cause I know the kids will either forget about me or love me. The adults, however, have figured out how to rip your soul in half with a mere look of disapproval, and spread that disapproval faster than wildfire through the rings of the gossip mill until every eye above five feet that you look into meets you with nothing but disrespect. And that wears on a person, especially me. I've always commanded respect when I walk into a situation, but I have found it impossible to hold here, and it's slowly eating its way through me.
As this lack of respect and lack of connection with my "peers" (although the next youngest member of staff is six years older than me, I have worked with adults long enough to consider somebody forty years my senior my peer - especially when working with kids) has punched holes in my soul, I have noticed my energy for the kids being depleted. (Sidebar: Diet has also not helped and today the possibility of anemia was mentioned. Seriously, I know England is pretty meat and potatoes but for a health school, this is ridiculous! They have vegetarian boarders here - those kids are lacking vital nutrients required for growing. That should really be taken care of.) That, above all, might be my biggest regret. There was a time when I could play with them all day, but now I only get their energy from observing their crazy antics. Once again, I have been pushed back to my childhood, watching on the sidelines as everybody with more energy appears happier than me and all I want to do is grab that joy.
I miss that crazy girl who sold make-shift contraceptive to her coworkers out of a borrowed suitcase as she limped through time. I miss that red-headed lunatic that welcomed every new employee with an "oooooooo, I love meeting new people!" I miss organizing events after huge assignments and "corrupting" my friends who could think as fast as I could, but never outdance me at the Blarney Stone. I miss the dedication it took to wait outside of that club in the rain for four hours, just to get our green beer for St. Patty's Day...and then making our own dancefloor with our pitchers in our hands. Basically, I miss being friends with my colleagues, and feeling comfortable at work. That's a sad realization with just seven weeks to go, but it's true...
I was finally able to explain why I feel so trapped here tonight. I know it will probably change by tomorrow, and definitely be different by this time next week, so I wanted to record it.
I feel like this whole entire year I've been trying to live up to some expectations of what it means to be a GAP student at Moor Park. This includes how to get on with the kids, how to interact with the staff and even sometimes how to see myself compared to all of them. And that has been the most difficult thing to do this year.
People often assume that I'm homesick or lonely, but that's not it. I have felt lonely, but some of those moments have been ones of solace and recharging. I do not like living with so many people. I wish I lived on my own, even when I have had some of the best roommates. I enjoy my own company, and cherish my privacy. There was a point when I felt that I got very little of that here.
When I tried to explain to my friend here that I have struggled to live up to these expectations all year, she misunderstood me at first. She thought that I thought the expectations were to be a cheery. happy person, when in fact that's the person I miss the most here. With the staff, often I don't fit into their humour. Nobody seems to really appreciate my "radical" ideas of vegetarianism and I have been too timid to even broach the feminist thing. We discuss the kids and my travels, but that's ever as far as it goes. So, basically, I have failed to make any real connections with them. I think many of them are great people and were the reasons I stayed for the final term, but honestly I doubt we will keep in touch, and that always makes me sad about leaving a place. I know that I have probably had an effect on them, but those are things you will never really know...even when u die.
I can be goofy with the kids, and those are often my favourite moments from the day. But I feel like I am constantly under watch with them, and never quite measuring up to the standards of whoever is watching. That's probably why I love Y3 playground the most - it's just me and the kids. I can be myself 'cause I know the kids will either forget about me or love me. The adults, however, have figured out how to rip your soul in half with a mere look of disapproval, and spread that disapproval faster than wildfire through the rings of the gossip mill until every eye above five feet that you look into meets you with nothing but disrespect. And that wears on a person, especially me. I've always commanded respect when I walk into a situation, but I have found it impossible to hold here, and it's slowly eating its way through me.
As this lack of respect and lack of connection with my "peers" (although the next youngest member of staff is six years older than me, I have worked with adults long enough to consider somebody forty years my senior my peer - especially when working with kids) has punched holes in my soul, I have noticed my energy for the kids being depleted. (Sidebar: Diet has also not helped and today the possibility of anemia was mentioned. Seriously, I know England is pretty meat and potatoes but for a health school, this is ridiculous! They have vegetarian boarders here - those kids are lacking vital nutrients required for growing. That should really be taken care of.) That, above all, might be my biggest regret. There was a time when I could play with them all day, but now I only get their energy from observing their crazy antics. Once again, I have been pushed back to my childhood, watching on the sidelines as everybody with more energy appears happier than me and all I want to do is grab that joy.
I miss that crazy girl who sold make-shift contraceptive to her coworkers out of a borrowed suitcase as she limped through time. I miss that red-headed lunatic that welcomed every new employee with an "oooooooo, I love meeting new people!" I miss organizing events after huge assignments and "corrupting" my friends who could think as fast as I could, but never outdance me at the Blarney Stone. I miss the dedication it took to wait outside of that club in the rain for four hours, just to get our green beer for St. Patty's Day...and then making our own dancefloor with our pitchers in our hands. Basically, I miss being friends with my colleagues, and feeling comfortable at work. That's a sad realization with just seven weeks to go, but it's true...
Expectations and the Experience
First published on Facebook on Tuesday, May 20, 2008 at 11:05pm
Hitching a ride into town the other night, I was asked if England had meant my expectations. I love that question, especially about England, because I went into this year without expectations. What I have gained has been an amazing experience.
That does not mean that this has been a happy year. In fact, I wrote in an email recently the realization that difficult times actually enrich an experience because you grow so much as a person. And I know that although being a "GAP student" has made me regress in my growth at times, currently I feel like I have grown. I may not know exactly what has helped me grow, but things have changed. Not always for the better as I am pretty sure my work ethic is not what it used to be, but that erosion began when I was still at Chapters, I think. As this week has proven, though, I am doing better at confrontations and forgiveness. And right now, being able to forgive and move on is really important to me, so I think that's worth the loss of my work ethic.
I was told tonight to stop analysing, but that's like telling a fish to stop swimming. It's not the analysing that gets me down, it's how I deal with my conclusions. And all along I've known that in the end, I would come to terms with them. It was the length of the path there that worried me this time. I never gave up on knowing that I would find myself again, but as I searched, I worried about the permanent damage that self would have.
As my experience in England slowly begins to end, I am still looking forward to the future. I am only looking forward because it is ahead of me, not because that allows me discard another worry from my plate. I have nearly survived the first May of my life where I did not know what I will be doing this September. I think I survived it because I had other things to think about...as well as the fact that I'm beginning to see Edmonton in the fall as another adventure, rather than a fall-back choice. I did begin to worry, though, about how my new and improved self will cope with living with my sister and some new "old friends." I was close to being the person I am today last summer, when I last lived with these friends, but I've grown past that person, and I'm scared that Looney Lane might challenge that new person, if only because of the memories of thoughts associated with it. My expectations for this summer are wobbly at best, and not as blank as the ones I had for England. I know that reliving experiences is never as good as the first time going through them, and that scares me. In my memories, I had a great time at the Village last summer, but I worry now that those memories have set my expectations too high. It will be nice to see old friends again, but still, I have changed and it's always more difficult to go back after changing than to start fresh as a new person.
In this way, I am excited for next fall because things will be familiar, but I'll also be starting something new. I have the benefit of an established support network in Edmonton as I begin anew, but living in a city once again I know that I will meet new people more often and have the time to really get to know them, something I've been missing at my present location. The kids have been great, but the staff at times is challenging and the whole Catholic thing doesn't help. But that's made me realize who I am and who I am not and now I know that it's more important to fight for who I am than to pretend I am somebody that I'm not. At this point, I don't care if that upsets anybody - especially those people who upset me willy nilly - but forgiving them for their ignorance is still difficult.
The thought stroke me this evening as I walked home that my expectations for this year were completely off-base. I know, I just wrote that I had no expectations, but having thought about being in England for five months prior to my arrival, I did have some expectations, at least regarding what I would do in my free time. I cannot describe them nor remember them exactly, but I know that part of it involved my progress on my novel. I thought that I would have more time for writing, and spend my evenings in the middle of nowhere just doing that. But, as life goes, I couldn't write on my laptop and I was too exhausted when Word was working on it that I didn't have the energy to spend on the novel. So, once again, I've put off working on my opus in favour of enjoying the moment. And have I enjoyed it? Maybe. The growth has been good, and it's helped my novel. The characters have become real, albeit if I know that they are all merely a part of myself. Their reasons for existence have changed, though, and that will only add depth to them. The kids have helped that too, by constantly asking me about the book. Tonight I realized that I need to get it done, because the message that inspired it is getting lost in the growth I am going through. I know that my message is stronger now, but the earliest one is vital to what I have to say too, and I fear that with growth, we lose beautiful things along the way.
I feel bad for not working more on my writing, but I know that that guilt will eventually pay off and make me finish it before the deadline. And that's what is more important. I had goals of finishing a rough draft this year, but I don't even have a timeline figured out. I've learned to deal with that and accept it. Like many things that are important to me, I have procrastinated on this. In the end, that is probably for the better, but it's also good to know that I have no goals for the fall...and this could be the first!
It is upsetting when our expectations fail to be met, even more so when we are as solely responsible for them as I have been regarding my novel. Perhaps that is the next lesson learned, albeit it has to be pounded down my throat sometimes. All along, though, I've been ok with putting off my own happiness for this growth. Getting this done, now, though, has no more excuses. So, the next experience I expect to complete is my novel. Let's hope it gets done.
Hitching a ride into town the other night, I was asked if England had meant my expectations. I love that question, especially about England, because I went into this year without expectations. What I have gained has been an amazing experience.
That does not mean that this has been a happy year. In fact, I wrote in an email recently the realization that difficult times actually enrich an experience because you grow so much as a person. And I know that although being a "GAP student" has made me regress in my growth at times, currently I feel like I have grown. I may not know exactly what has helped me grow, but things have changed. Not always for the better as I am pretty sure my work ethic is not what it used to be, but that erosion began when I was still at Chapters, I think. As this week has proven, though, I am doing better at confrontations and forgiveness. And right now, being able to forgive and move on is really important to me, so I think that's worth the loss of my work ethic.
I was told tonight to stop analysing, but that's like telling a fish to stop swimming. It's not the analysing that gets me down, it's how I deal with my conclusions. And all along I've known that in the end, I would come to terms with them. It was the length of the path there that worried me this time. I never gave up on knowing that I would find myself again, but as I searched, I worried about the permanent damage that self would have.
As my experience in England slowly begins to end, I am still looking forward to the future. I am only looking forward because it is ahead of me, not because that allows me discard another worry from my plate. I have nearly survived the first May of my life where I did not know what I will be doing this September. I think I survived it because I had other things to think about...as well as the fact that I'm beginning to see Edmonton in the fall as another adventure, rather than a fall-back choice. I did begin to worry, though, about how my new and improved self will cope with living with my sister and some new "old friends." I was close to being the person I am today last summer, when I last lived with these friends, but I've grown past that person, and I'm scared that Looney Lane might challenge that new person, if only because of the memories of thoughts associated with it. My expectations for this summer are wobbly at best, and not as blank as the ones I had for England. I know that reliving experiences is never as good as the first time going through them, and that scares me. In my memories, I had a great time at the Village last summer, but I worry now that those memories have set my expectations too high. It will be nice to see old friends again, but still, I have changed and it's always more difficult to go back after changing than to start fresh as a new person.
In this way, I am excited for next fall because things will be familiar, but I'll also be starting something new. I have the benefit of an established support network in Edmonton as I begin anew, but living in a city once again I know that I will meet new people more often and have the time to really get to know them, something I've been missing at my present location. The kids have been great, but the staff at times is challenging and the whole Catholic thing doesn't help. But that's made me realize who I am and who I am not and now I know that it's more important to fight for who I am than to pretend I am somebody that I'm not. At this point, I don't care if that upsets anybody - especially those people who upset me willy nilly - but forgiving them for their ignorance is still difficult.
The thought stroke me this evening as I walked home that my expectations for this year were completely off-base. I know, I just wrote that I had no expectations, but having thought about being in England for five months prior to my arrival, I did have some expectations, at least regarding what I would do in my free time. I cannot describe them nor remember them exactly, but I know that part of it involved my progress on my novel. I thought that I would have more time for writing, and spend my evenings in the middle of nowhere just doing that. But, as life goes, I couldn't write on my laptop and I was too exhausted when Word was working on it that I didn't have the energy to spend on the novel. So, once again, I've put off working on my opus in favour of enjoying the moment. And have I enjoyed it? Maybe. The growth has been good, and it's helped my novel. The characters have become real, albeit if I know that they are all merely a part of myself. Their reasons for existence have changed, though, and that will only add depth to them. The kids have helped that too, by constantly asking me about the book. Tonight I realized that I need to get it done, because the message that inspired it is getting lost in the growth I am going through. I know that my message is stronger now, but the earliest one is vital to what I have to say too, and I fear that with growth, we lose beautiful things along the way.
I feel bad for not working more on my writing, but I know that that guilt will eventually pay off and make me finish it before the deadline. And that's what is more important. I had goals of finishing a rough draft this year, but I don't even have a timeline figured out. I've learned to deal with that and accept it. Like many things that are important to me, I have procrastinated on this. In the end, that is probably for the better, but it's also good to know that I have no goals for the fall...and this could be the first!
It is upsetting when our expectations fail to be met, even more so when we are as solely responsible for them as I have been regarding my novel. Perhaps that is the next lesson learned, albeit it has to be pounded down my throat sometimes. All along, though, I've been ok with putting off my own happiness for this growth. Getting this done, now, though, has no more excuses. So, the next experience I expect to complete is my novel. Let's hope it gets done.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Apologizing Without Explanations
Friday night, i watch telly for the first time in a long time. I caught Supernanny, which hasn't happened in even longer. Sadly, though, my realizations from that show could not be put down on the interweb due to a lack of internet access at the place i was catching up on all of my telly watching at.
I like Supernanny. well, especially when I haven't watched telly in a long time. I have analyzed the outcome of some peculiar parenting in the last nine months though. So, I loved the show that much more.
What struck me the most was how these parents refused to admit that they were in the wrong. Obviously, they wanted the help or they would not have agreed to go on the show, right? Well, I'm not exactly sure about how the contestants get onto Supernanny, but I'm sure that they must have been aware that they were going to be told how to improve their parenting and that part of that would illustrate what they were doing wrong. Yet, there was nothing but excuses.
This made me think about my life. Now, I hate to admit that I've done something wrong, although I do take things going badly as a personal result. When things get screwed up, I say, 'alright, what will I do next time instead?' My excuse then becomes that I had never been in that position before and therefore needed to learn the lesson somewhere.
Well, lately I think I've failed to actually learn lessons. I merely chalk it all up to experience and rid myself of any guilt I should feel about how I'm either making mistakes, hurting myself or hurting others.
There is a list of life lessons left in my room from some past GAP student. I look at it almost daily and read through it, yet never seem to let them all sink in. The one I am thinking most about this week is: 'Remember the 3Rs - Respect for others, Respect for yourself and Responsibility for your actions.' My failure in the last is affecting the first two. So, i hope to work on that over the next month.
I like Supernanny. well, especially when I haven't watched telly in a long time. I have analyzed the outcome of some peculiar parenting in the last nine months though. So, I loved the show that much more.
What struck me the most was how these parents refused to admit that they were in the wrong. Obviously, they wanted the help or they would not have agreed to go on the show, right? Well, I'm not exactly sure about how the contestants get onto Supernanny, but I'm sure that they must have been aware that they were going to be told how to improve their parenting and that part of that would illustrate what they were doing wrong. Yet, there was nothing but excuses.
This made me think about my life. Now, I hate to admit that I've done something wrong, although I do take things going badly as a personal result. When things get screwed up, I say, 'alright, what will I do next time instead?' My excuse then becomes that I had never been in that position before and therefore needed to learn the lesson somewhere.
Well, lately I think I've failed to actually learn lessons. I merely chalk it all up to experience and rid myself of any guilt I should feel about how I'm either making mistakes, hurting myself or hurting others.
There is a list of life lessons left in my room from some past GAP student. I look at it almost daily and read through it, yet never seem to let them all sink in. The one I am thinking most about this week is: 'Remember the 3Rs - Respect for others, Respect for yourself and Responsibility for your actions.' My failure in the last is affecting the first two. So, i hope to work on that over the next month.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Double Standard Advice
I've recently been going through some "relationship" trouble, yet there's no relationship to speak of. Well, there was a friendship but I think that needs some saving right now. And basically that friendship was weakened by the advice I sought for "relationship" trouble. And, the advisors I sought, all mostly female, gave me similar words to guide me. While these words might have helped a "relationship" to bloom, that was never what I want to happen. In fact, the thought of there being a relationship scared me more than anything because it would have affected the choices I am making about my future right now. I have enough problems coming to decisions about my life on my own, I didn't want there to be somebody else to think of in the life right now as well.
But, as a girl, I feel like I am constantly being told that relationships are always better than being single. And I hate this! I finally just gave that all up this winter. I felt so good about myself and so happy to be single. But I could not stand the comments from my friends that "one day your prince will come" or questions about eventually settling down and having a family. That's not me! Well, not how I find happiness anyways. I thought for so many years that I would find happiness one day if only I ... whatever. But I had finally found it in myself. And that's exactly why the thought of a relationship scared me.
I screwed up, though, and was scared that I had ruined not just the prospect of a "relationship" but a friendship too. And as I spiralled into a pit of guilt and depression, my friends were there with their words of advice, all overladen with the either how to save this "relationship" or save myself from more pain by cutting the ties to the guy. A key friend asked if I could see myself marrying him, and I thought "that is crazy!" I don't even see myself marrying anybody in the future. She said that if I couldn't see myself marrying him, then I should just get out now 'cause it wasn't worth it.
So, is that why we work on relationships, either of the friendly variety or the more than friendly variety? Because I don't think it is. I have many friends, and I don't plan on marrying any of them. But so many of these people balked at me when I seriously made my vow to singlehood only a few months ago, so I guess they don't have the right answer to everything. So, why did I turn to them for advice?
Were I a guy, I think what I did would have more acceptable to society as well as my friends. Anything that may have been a "mistake" would have been summed up into a stupid guy thing and I would never have felt shame for it or regretted doing something that I knew better not to do. Even when I look at other girls, especially younger girls, acting the same way that I just did, I feel sorry for them and wish they would feel better about themselves so that they could stop such reckless behaviour. But perhaps, when a girl engages in reckless behaviour it's not because she doesn't love herself but because she enjoys it. And that's where a lot of people go wrong in their tips to a successful life.
So, I need to stop taking other people's advice and just get on with making up my own mind about what to do. I love my friends and I think they're great, but their advice does not fit into my view on the world or sexuality anymore. This doesn't mean that I hate myself or that I am subconsciously equating sex with love, 'cause I'm not. I have a lot of love for myself, but trying to fit into what other people were telling me to do only made things worse. I just have to figure out what it is that I would recommend to do and do that.
But, as a girl, I feel like I am constantly being told that relationships are always better than being single. And I hate this! I finally just gave that all up this winter. I felt so good about myself and so happy to be single. But I could not stand the comments from my friends that "one day your prince will come" or questions about eventually settling down and having a family. That's not me! Well, not how I find happiness anyways. I thought for so many years that I would find happiness one day if only I ... whatever. But I had finally found it in myself. And that's exactly why the thought of a relationship scared me.
I screwed up, though, and was scared that I had ruined not just the prospect of a "relationship" but a friendship too. And as I spiralled into a pit of guilt and depression, my friends were there with their words of advice, all overladen with the either how to save this "relationship" or save myself from more pain by cutting the ties to the guy. A key friend asked if I could see myself marrying him, and I thought "that is crazy!" I don't even see myself marrying anybody in the future. She said that if I couldn't see myself marrying him, then I should just get out now 'cause it wasn't worth it.
So, is that why we work on relationships, either of the friendly variety or the more than friendly variety? Because I don't think it is. I have many friends, and I don't plan on marrying any of them. But so many of these people balked at me when I seriously made my vow to singlehood only a few months ago, so I guess they don't have the right answer to everything. So, why did I turn to them for advice?
Were I a guy, I think what I did would have more acceptable to society as well as my friends. Anything that may have been a "mistake" would have been summed up into a stupid guy thing and I would never have felt shame for it or regretted doing something that I knew better not to do. Even when I look at other girls, especially younger girls, acting the same way that I just did, I feel sorry for them and wish they would feel better about themselves so that they could stop such reckless behaviour. But perhaps, when a girl engages in reckless behaviour it's not because she doesn't love herself but because she enjoys it. And that's where a lot of people go wrong in their tips to a successful life.
So, I need to stop taking other people's advice and just get on with making up my own mind about what to do. I love my friends and I think they're great, but their advice does not fit into my view on the world or sexuality anymore. This doesn't mean that I hate myself or that I am subconsciously equating sex with love, 'cause I'm not. I have a lot of love for myself, but trying to fit into what other people were telling me to do only made things worse. I just have to figure out what it is that I would recommend to do and do that.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
The Feminist Take On Life
First published on Facebook: Friday, May 16 at 10:13pm
There has never been a time in my life when I questioned whether or not I was a feminist, but many people have questioned me on the matter. The question puzzles me because it was never really a conscious decision. That's the beauty of it, I suppose. I was born this way and chose to remain this way. That doesn't mean that being this way is easy. In fact, the feminist in me often places me into interesting situations that I have to fight my way back out of. Last summer was a test of how well I could do that...and I succeeded a lot, but failed a few times too. (Well, not so much...I dunno, the verdict is still dileberating on one moment last summer where I nearly failed and I beat myself up for putting myself there. In the end, though, I learned my lesson and avoided the next situation like that. I guess that's life, no?)
My problem this year is that I feel trapped into doing nothing. And I hate that. There are so many things happening around me that do not correspond to what I think should be happening - what I want to fight against - but I never want to take the stance and fight against it. I don't know why that is. Perhaps last year pushed me so far that I can ignore everything that irritates me because I feel like it's not gonna make a difference. Except that it might have. I have done little things to make things more apparent. And I'm gonna leave my mark on some of these people. I know this because it was the little things that people did to me in my past that made me the person that I am today.
It was not until 2nd year of uni that I realized my mom worked when I was younger because we were working class. I just thought that's what women do. I suppose that's also the farming background too. My grandma might have been in the house the wholeady while grandpa and his sons were in the fields or shops, but that didn't mean she wasn't contributing to the family income. But that's just a preliminary level of feminism. That's second-wave feminism. And, yes, there are still some places in this world when you have to call on second-wave feminism 'cause people just don't get it yet. I mean, seriously, the Feminist Mystique was over fifty years ago, why do people still struggle with the concept of women working?!? Why does the glass ceiling still exist? These things infuriate me, but also because I am beyond that point. I'm more into third-wave feminism, which depending on whether you take the media approach to it or the academic, I think it varies. The media approach focuses on the sexual revolution, which is valid. The academic approach, in my opinion, focuses on racism, disability, sexuality and all forms of prejudice...and often the media is involved in their criticism, 'cause let's face it, the media is often our worst enemy.
Basically, my view is that we all deserve equal opprotunity to discover ourselves and what we want to be in this world. I feel I got short-changed on this at a younger age, so I've been thrilled to work with kids this year who have so many opportunities to discover what the enjoy doing at a young age. But, my feminist side noticed right away that not everything was open to them.
First of all, there is sport, which at the age of 8 is divided by gender. That annoyed me so much when I got here because it annoyed me when I was younger. I remember fighting, as much as the coaches felt was appropriate, to get more funding for our softball team. The boys had uniforms and new equipment while the town could barely give us enough money to get jerseys or new bases. We were top of our league, too, whereas the boys were good, but just a little farm team. To be less than a little farm team was rough, and apparently had a huge effect on me, 'cause I'm not even sporty and the fact that the girls don't play football here annoys me.
Last term and a few times in my first term, I worked towards getting the girls to play, and it might have worked. I was actually asked earlier this week if we could get the girls to play against the boys at football, but sadly the playground time was over. I was also feeling a bit sick and wearing flip-flops, so I didn't mind too much that there was no time for it. And then, today, feeling better and wearing shoes again, I began playing with the boys as soon as they came out, but there were no girls. How'm I gonna change their world if they're not there to have it changed?
Another things that irritates me here is that no male member of staff is allowed on the Girls' Landing, yet my room is located at the end of the Boys' Landing. So, I'm not a potential predator for the boys, but every male member of staff has to be protected against being called a potential predator. This is not just all of last year's theory coming back on me when I have to scream HETERONORMATIVE DOUBLE STANDARD! No, I wish that nobody would hurt these young individuals in a sexual manner, but Marie Stopes would turn over in her grave if she knew that I did not point out how "harmful" young women's affections towards young girls could be...perhaps even more "harmful" than men's. And that treatise is over eighty years old!!!
But perhaps these books do not have the effect on society that they have had on me. Well, in fact, I do believe it is more the theory than anything else that has me yelling Heteronormative anything. And this is not the first place, nor the last where I will find that double standard. It's sad, really, that girls also have to be the victims of these double standards, but never recognized as the cause. I am no better myself. But I think I'm getting better at it...
I had some happy thoughts this evening about returning home. In fact, I am even beginning to look forward to next fall and the possibilities of it all. (Actually, what I would give to be able to walk down Whyte on my day off tomorrow, rather than being stuck in drizzly, drabby, "no good coffee shops" rural England. But I have a half term left here, and thinking like that will only make me sad. I need to embrace what I can do while still here rather than wish that I was already gone. So, yes, next fall I want to get involved more (although time and money become an issue right away - $%^£!) in the feminist movement, but I also need to think about what I'm doing here. How am I helping these children (and not just the girls) think more positively about the gender divide? I know that I puch the vegetarian thing at them whenever I eat with them, but we've never actually broached the feminist thing. I need to do that...ever so slightly.
A few weeks ago, I felt like I was helping. I stood up for the girls and I had a good chat with one of them about herself being beautiful - inside and out. I just have to keep that up. Those are the feel-good moments I want to take away from here. Those are the feel-good moments I wrote to Angy about last term. Those are the feel-good moments that will keep me working with kids in the future. I want to keep those feel-good moments.
There has never been a time in my life when I questioned whether or not I was a feminist, but many people have questioned me on the matter. The question puzzles me because it was never really a conscious decision. That's the beauty of it, I suppose. I was born this way and chose to remain this way. That doesn't mean that being this way is easy. In fact, the feminist in me often places me into interesting situations that I have to fight my way back out of. Last summer was a test of how well I could do that...and I succeeded a lot, but failed a few times too. (Well, not so much...I dunno, the verdict is still dileberating on one moment last summer where I nearly failed and I beat myself up for putting myself there. In the end, though, I learned my lesson and avoided the next situation like that. I guess that's life, no?)
My problem this year is that I feel trapped into doing nothing. And I hate that. There are so many things happening around me that do not correspond to what I think should be happening - what I want to fight against - but I never want to take the stance and fight against it. I don't know why that is. Perhaps last year pushed me so far that I can ignore everything that irritates me because I feel like it's not gonna make a difference. Except that it might have. I have done little things to make things more apparent. And I'm gonna leave my mark on some of these people. I know this because it was the little things that people did to me in my past that made me the person that I am today.
It was not until 2nd year of uni that I realized my mom worked when I was younger because we were working class. I just thought that's what women do. I suppose that's also the farming background too. My grandma might have been in the house the wholeady while grandpa and his sons were in the fields or shops, but that didn't mean she wasn't contributing to the family income. But that's just a preliminary level of feminism. That's second-wave feminism. And, yes, there are still some places in this world when you have to call on second-wave feminism 'cause people just don't get it yet. I mean, seriously, the Feminist Mystique was over fifty years ago, why do people still struggle with the concept of women working?!? Why does the glass ceiling still exist? These things infuriate me, but also because I am beyond that point. I'm more into third-wave feminism, which depending on whether you take the media approach to it or the academic, I think it varies. The media approach focuses on the sexual revolution, which is valid. The academic approach, in my opinion, focuses on racism, disability, sexuality and all forms of prejudice...and often the media is involved in their criticism, 'cause let's face it, the media is often our worst enemy.
Basically, my view is that we all deserve equal opprotunity to discover ourselves and what we want to be in this world. I feel I got short-changed on this at a younger age, so I've been thrilled to work with kids this year who have so many opportunities to discover what the enjoy doing at a young age. But, my feminist side noticed right away that not everything was open to them.
First of all, there is sport, which at the age of 8 is divided by gender. That annoyed me so much when I got here because it annoyed me when I was younger. I remember fighting, as much as the coaches felt was appropriate, to get more funding for our softball team. The boys had uniforms and new equipment while the town could barely give us enough money to get jerseys or new bases. We were top of our league, too, whereas the boys were good, but just a little farm team. To be less than a little farm team was rough, and apparently had a huge effect on me, 'cause I'm not even sporty and the fact that the girls don't play football here annoys me.
Last term and a few times in my first term, I worked towards getting the girls to play, and it might have worked. I was actually asked earlier this week if we could get the girls to play against the boys at football, but sadly the playground time was over. I was also feeling a bit sick and wearing flip-flops, so I didn't mind too much that there was no time for it. And then, today, feeling better and wearing shoes again, I began playing with the boys as soon as they came out, but there were no girls. How'm I gonna change their world if they're not there to have it changed?
Another things that irritates me here is that no male member of staff is allowed on the Girls' Landing, yet my room is located at the end of the Boys' Landing. So, I'm not a potential predator for the boys, but every male member of staff has to be protected against being called a potential predator. This is not just all of last year's theory coming back on me when I have to scream HETERONORMATIVE DOUBLE STANDARD! No, I wish that nobody would hurt these young individuals in a sexual manner, but Marie Stopes would turn over in her grave if she knew that I did not point out how "harmful" young women's affections towards young girls could be...perhaps even more "harmful" than men's. And that treatise is over eighty years old!!!
But perhaps these books do not have the effect on society that they have had on me. Well, in fact, I do believe it is more the theory than anything else that has me yelling Heteronormative anything. And this is not the first place, nor the last where I will find that double standard. It's sad, really, that girls also have to be the victims of these double standards, but never recognized as the cause. I am no better myself. But I think I'm getting better at it...
I had some happy thoughts this evening about returning home. In fact, I am even beginning to look forward to next fall and the possibilities of it all. (Actually, what I would give to be able to walk down Whyte on my day off tomorrow, rather than being stuck in drizzly, drabby, "no good coffee shops" rural England. But I have a half term left here, and thinking like that will only make me sad. I need to embrace what I can do while still here rather than wish that I was already gone. So, yes, next fall I want to get involved more (although time and money become an issue right away - $%^£!) in the feminist movement, but I also need to think about what I'm doing here. How am I helping these children (and not just the girls) think more positively about the gender divide? I know that I puch the vegetarian thing at them whenever I eat with them, but we've never actually broached the feminist thing. I need to do that...ever so slightly.
A few weeks ago, I felt like I was helping. I stood up for the girls and I had a good chat with one of them about herself being beautiful - inside and out. I just have to keep that up. Those are the feel-good moments I want to take away from here. Those are the feel-good moments I wrote to Angy about last term. Those are the feel-good moments that will keep me working with kids in the future. I want to keep those feel-good moments.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Quarter Life Crises
First published on Facebook: Wednesday, May 14, 2008 at 11:26pm
I've made both of my sisters cry on their birthdays. Kristin I made cry on her sixteenth, although that was the last year I put a lot of thought into it. Born on April Fool's Day, she did not appreciate people always making a fool of her, and I had made her a treasure hunt of clues to find her present. In the end, it was a beautiful gift - a hand-sculpted red Mustang that I had been working on for at least a month. That didn't matter though, she was just so fed up with her day being the same as April Fool's Day and being called a fool on her birthday.
For Amy, it was her 20th and I sent her a card about being too old to party with us anymore. She told me over the phone how much it had hurt, and explained that she was going through a "quarter life crisis."
That was the first time I ever heard that phrase, but since that summer I've used it a lot. I've never fully had one though. I mentioned the term recently to a friend and then had to explain exactly what it meant. She thought it was absurd, but I think many ppl of our generation go through it these days, so I'll describe what I think it is.
The "quarter life crisis" is sort of like the 20-somethings of the 80s and 90s. Generally, you experience it when you are either in your early 20s or finishing a degree/diploma/postsecondary equivalent or both. It's usually the moment when you realize you have to grow up and become this person that you always wanted to be when you were a little kid. Often it turns your life completely and you realize that what you thought you wanted when you were younger is not really what you want now, or else you realize that sometimes life doesn't turn out the way you want it, no matter how hard we wish for it. There are often nights of tears and endless self-doubt. You tell your parents a new plan for your life every week for six months, until they hang up the phone one night when your sister is there, wonder aloud how long this new craze will last and then pray you'll get over it soon...and now I know I am using examples from my life. Perhaps I have had one...perhaps that is what this is!
But I know that I'm not really having one. Well, I don't think I am. Or at least it's been happening for so long that I just don't cry anymore. I think this whole questioning thing began in First Year, and it definitely was influenced by what Amy was going through at the time. And that's the thing about my life. With two older sisters (and apparently because there were no cousins my age), I tended to do things earlier. Like getting drunk at 11 with Kristin's friends (I still remember Elaine, Cara and Travis teaching me how to shoot the quarter just right ... and failing every time!). Or doing Grade 3 spelling lists when I was in Grade 1 'cause Amy wanted to play teacher on the weekend. It also meant that I cared more for books than people throughout elementary school...and then was tired of parties by high school 'cause the kids my age were so lame (and didn't really think it was as cool to get their peer drunk as those friends thought it was to get the little sister drunk...I did love our party basement when Amy and Kristin were at home.) I've always been aware of which "stage" I am supposed to be entering about four to two years before it happens. And, therefore, I generally go through it earlier than expected and have a better understanding of it by the time things really set in. Or at least I hope that's what is happening here.
I began contemplating what it is I want to do with my life exactly in First Year. I didn't act on it, though, and those regrets quickly faded. Instead, I carried on with the path I had begun, daydreaming about the alternatives throughout. In Second Year, even, I watched With Honours for the first time, and that film changed my life - at least as far as school was concerned. So, it makes sense that returning to school is the furthest thing on my mind, even a year after it's all done. Thinking about the alternatives throughout the whole Honours programme, though, definitely prevented me from getting trapped in all of the fuss over grad school in the final year. I knew that I needed at least a year off. And then, when things got bumpy that last fall, I saw somebody and they recommended planning an adventure. And here I am, just finishing up that adventure. It was something that I have always wanted to do - travel - and it has become something that I want to do for the rest of my life.
What I've been fighting with lately, though, is this nagging from my subconscious to give up the vagabondness and settle into a career when this adventure ends. I realize that that is society, though, and not me telling myself that I should do that. I have this idea of the person I will be in five, or maybe even ten years, and she is not "settled" into a career. Well, she's a writer and she has her own apartment, but she's not staring at her future and seeing forty more years of the same thing. So, maybe that picture is the reason I don't think this is a quarter life crisis. I change my mind at least once every three weeks about my "backup" profession (so I can keep writing as a passion, not a necessity), but I'm still ok with that. Maybe I will still be alright with that in five years, maybe even ten. It scares me to not know my future, but it's also good. It means that when things don't work out, I'm not too fussed - I just have to make other plans.
I feel bad for making my sisters cry on their birthdays. I cried on my sweet sixteen and it was the worst thing in the world at the time. But it also convinced me to always treat other people more special on their birthdays. It's a day about you and you should be celebrated. Coincidentally, today is the birthday of two people I used to live with - so happy birthday Jenn and Kassie! Even if your day is horrible, learn from it. It should be a happy day, but tears are good for you too. They put the pain into perspective. That's why tears are wet - so they can clean up the cuts into your soul and make you heal faster, so you can be stronger in the future. And of all the quarter life crises I've heard of, I think they all turned out for the better. Sometimes you need that kick in the pants to find your soul and get it dusty so it's ready to be cleaned by your mid-life crisis tears.
I've made both of my sisters cry on their birthdays. Kristin I made cry on her sixteenth, although that was the last year I put a lot of thought into it. Born on April Fool's Day, she did not appreciate people always making a fool of her, and I had made her a treasure hunt of clues to find her present. In the end, it was a beautiful gift - a hand-sculpted red Mustang that I had been working on for at least a month. That didn't matter though, she was just so fed up with her day being the same as April Fool's Day and being called a fool on her birthday.
For Amy, it was her 20th and I sent her a card about being too old to party with us anymore. She told me over the phone how much it had hurt, and explained that she was going through a "quarter life crisis."
That was the first time I ever heard that phrase, but since that summer I've used it a lot. I've never fully had one though. I mentioned the term recently to a friend and then had to explain exactly what it meant. She thought it was absurd, but I think many ppl of our generation go through it these days, so I'll describe what I think it is.
The "quarter life crisis" is sort of like the 20-somethings of the 80s and 90s. Generally, you experience it when you are either in your early 20s or finishing a degree/diploma/postsecondary equivalent or both. It's usually the moment when you realize you have to grow up and become this person that you always wanted to be when you were a little kid. Often it turns your life completely and you realize that what you thought you wanted when you were younger is not really what you want now, or else you realize that sometimes life doesn't turn out the way you want it, no matter how hard we wish for it. There are often nights of tears and endless self-doubt. You tell your parents a new plan for your life every week for six months, until they hang up the phone one night when your sister is there, wonder aloud how long this new craze will last and then pray you'll get over it soon...and now I know I am using examples from my life. Perhaps I have had one...perhaps that is what this is!
But I know that I'm not really having one. Well, I don't think I am. Or at least it's been happening for so long that I just don't cry anymore. I think this whole questioning thing began in First Year, and it definitely was influenced by what Amy was going through at the time. And that's the thing about my life. With two older sisters (and apparently because there were no cousins my age), I tended to do things earlier. Like getting drunk at 11 with Kristin's friends (I still remember Elaine, Cara and Travis teaching me how to shoot the quarter just right ... and failing every time!). Or doing Grade 3 spelling lists when I was in Grade 1 'cause Amy wanted to play teacher on the weekend. It also meant that I cared more for books than people throughout elementary school...and then was tired of parties by high school 'cause the kids my age were so lame (and didn't really think it was as cool to get their peer drunk as those friends thought it was to get the little sister drunk...I did love our party basement when Amy and Kristin were at home.) I've always been aware of which "stage" I am supposed to be entering about four to two years before it happens. And, therefore, I generally go through it earlier than expected and have a better understanding of it by the time things really set in. Or at least I hope that's what is happening here.
I began contemplating what it is I want to do with my life exactly in First Year. I didn't act on it, though, and those regrets quickly faded. Instead, I carried on with the path I had begun, daydreaming about the alternatives throughout. In Second Year, even, I watched With Honours for the first time, and that film changed my life - at least as far as school was concerned. So, it makes sense that returning to school is the furthest thing on my mind, even a year after it's all done. Thinking about the alternatives throughout the whole Honours programme, though, definitely prevented me from getting trapped in all of the fuss over grad school in the final year. I knew that I needed at least a year off. And then, when things got bumpy that last fall, I saw somebody and they recommended planning an adventure. And here I am, just finishing up that adventure. It was something that I have always wanted to do - travel - and it has become something that I want to do for the rest of my life.
What I've been fighting with lately, though, is this nagging from my subconscious to give up the vagabondness and settle into a career when this adventure ends. I realize that that is society, though, and not me telling myself that I should do that. I have this idea of the person I will be in five, or maybe even ten years, and she is not "settled" into a career. Well, she's a writer and she has her own apartment, but she's not staring at her future and seeing forty more years of the same thing. So, maybe that picture is the reason I don't think this is a quarter life crisis. I change my mind at least once every three weeks about my "backup" profession (so I can keep writing as a passion, not a necessity), but I'm still ok with that. Maybe I will still be alright with that in five years, maybe even ten. It scares me to not know my future, but it's also good. It means that when things don't work out, I'm not too fussed - I just have to make other plans.
I feel bad for making my sisters cry on their birthdays. I cried on my sweet sixteen and it was the worst thing in the world at the time. But it also convinced me to always treat other people more special on their birthdays. It's a day about you and you should be celebrated. Coincidentally, today is the birthday of two people I used to live with - so happy birthday Jenn and Kassie! Even if your day is horrible, learn from it. It should be a happy day, but tears are good for you too. They put the pain into perspective. That's why tears are wet - so they can clean up the cuts into your soul and make you heal faster, so you can be stronger in the future. And of all the quarter life crises I've heard of, I think they all turned out for the better. Sometimes you need that kick in the pants to find your soul and get it dusty so it's ready to be cleaned by your mid-life crisis tears.
Forgiveness, Peace and Everything Happening For a Reason
First published on Facebook: Tuesday, May 13, 2008 at 11:37pm
Two weeks ago, I had a heart-to-heart with a friend. She told me a story about her son and the reason things happen as they do. It was an amazing conversation, one that happens rarely, but is always needed. It was about finding peace, years after something happens, but never knowing when that peace might come. I know I'm a writer, 'cause I always try to bring the peace before it comes on it's own. But I remember how much better it is when it does appear out of nowhere.
There was this girl, in elementary school, who moved to town a year or so before we left Viscount. Her grandfather was Gordon Tootoosis, a fairly-known Canadian actor...well, he did Legends of the Fall with Brad Pitt, so this made him HUGE to ten and eleven-year-old girls. At that time in my life, everything sucked and everybody was mean to me. I could not wait to move and was so excited to get a new fresh start. (Well, except that my farewell party - my first coed night party - was loads of fun and for a moment I wished that I was staying...and three months later I begged my parents to take me back, but in the end, the move was the BEST thing that could have happened in my adolescence.) I remember Farryn though, and her arrogance. She might have been a bully, but not one that stood out in my mind. I obviously stuck out in hers.
Three or four years after we moved, Kristin and I were sitting in the food court at the Center at Circle and 8th, Christmas shopping down in the city or something. Out of the blue, this girl walks up to us and I didn't even recognize her. She excuses herself and asks if I'm Jodi Carlson. I told her that I was and she introduced herself to me again, and I remembered her. Then she apologized for treating me so poorly. She explained that she was really messed up back then and she felt bad about what she did to me. And that was all. She just said goodbye then and walked away.
That was an amazing moment. That has become one of my defining moments. It's right up there with Irene and Katherine recalling tales of me being a cookie monster on the playground and chasing them around for fun. Or my mom, in a heated argument, asking me why I couldn't be happy like I was when I was a child. All of these people remember something from my past that I have forgotten. I remember Farryn teasing me, but not anymore than everybody else. And she was a kid, I forgave her right away. I remember reading alone on the playground rather than chasing the younger kids, as they remember. (I do remember organizing games of Red Rover, until Brin broke her collar bone; and then frozen soccer - that was great for the shins!) I don't remember a happy childhood, or at least I didn't when my mom told me that I had been a happy child. I remember being miserable and lonely and having to make up friends to play with. (Recently, I have explained that to two young children and understood that those made-up friends were the best thing I did as a child. They gave me a great imagination and the ability to cheer myself up, even when I really hit bottom.) After my mom told me this, though, I repeated it to myself, and it kept thoughts of suicide out of my head throughout high school. When I felt so close to the edge, I just remembered that there was a day, once, when I was happy, so that means I can be happy again. I have the power to be a happy child. When Irene and Kathering told me about being the cookie monster, I knew I could bring happiness to other people. Even if I didn't remember doing so, I knew I could be the light they needed to get through to the other side.
When Farryn apologized, I forgave everybody who ever hurt me in my past. Well, not immediately. I have now, though. Now I know that it wasn't them. It wasn't me. It was life. It was growing up. When I watch kids now, even, I psychoanalyze and even stand up for the "thug," explaining to their teachers even that well, they're kids (or teenagers) and they need to sort themselves out according to social status and society. Perhaps they're going through a phase. Perhaps their parents have created heathen monsters that will always be this way in life. But when their kids, it's not their fault. So forgiveness is easy. And, when they're adults - if you can forgive the kids, you can forgive the hurtful adults too. Someday we all might realize that we hurt other people and wish we could run into them in a food court, if only to apologize. I'm glad Farryn was given that chance. It makes me hope I may have my opprotunity one day too.
Tonight, as I began writing this note, one of my best friends from when I was a kid started chatting to me. She told me how much she thinks of our friendship to this day and complimented me on my recent notes. I have to say that ending this day after that brief contact with my past brings a certain level of peace to myself. And Bright Eyes has a song, called Classic Cars, that makes a reference to somthing like this. I can't remember the exact lyrics 'cause I'm never good with things like that. Basically, though, "everything is a circle, and you just have to let it come around." (I'll check the exact line of that for tomorrow morning, though, 'cause it is really brilliant)
Two weeks ago, I had a heart-to-heart with a friend. She told me a story about her son and the reason things happen as they do. It was an amazing conversation, one that happens rarely, but is always needed. It was about finding peace, years after something happens, but never knowing when that peace might come. I know I'm a writer, 'cause I always try to bring the peace before it comes on it's own. But I remember how much better it is when it does appear out of nowhere.
There was this girl, in elementary school, who moved to town a year or so before we left Viscount. Her grandfather was Gordon Tootoosis, a fairly-known Canadian actor...well, he did Legends of the Fall with Brad Pitt, so this made him HUGE to ten and eleven-year-old girls. At that time in my life, everything sucked and everybody was mean to me. I could not wait to move and was so excited to get a new fresh start. (Well, except that my farewell party - my first coed night party - was loads of fun and for a moment I wished that I was staying...and three months later I begged my parents to take me back, but in the end, the move was the BEST thing that could have happened in my adolescence.) I remember Farryn though, and her arrogance. She might have been a bully, but not one that stood out in my mind. I obviously stuck out in hers.
Three or four years after we moved, Kristin and I were sitting in the food court at the Center at Circle and 8th, Christmas shopping down in the city or something. Out of the blue, this girl walks up to us and I didn't even recognize her. She excuses herself and asks if I'm Jodi Carlson. I told her that I was and she introduced herself to me again, and I remembered her. Then she apologized for treating me so poorly. She explained that she was really messed up back then and she felt bad about what she did to me. And that was all. She just said goodbye then and walked away.
That was an amazing moment. That has become one of my defining moments. It's right up there with Irene and Katherine recalling tales of me being a cookie monster on the playground and chasing them around for fun. Or my mom, in a heated argument, asking me why I couldn't be happy like I was when I was a child. All of these people remember something from my past that I have forgotten. I remember Farryn teasing me, but not anymore than everybody else. And she was a kid, I forgave her right away. I remember reading alone on the playground rather than chasing the younger kids, as they remember. (I do remember organizing games of Red Rover, until Brin broke her collar bone; and then frozen soccer - that was great for the shins!) I don't remember a happy childhood, or at least I didn't when my mom told me that I had been a happy child. I remember being miserable and lonely and having to make up friends to play with. (Recently, I have explained that to two young children and understood that those made-up friends were the best thing I did as a child. They gave me a great imagination and the ability to cheer myself up, even when I really hit bottom.) After my mom told me this, though, I repeated it to myself, and it kept thoughts of suicide out of my head throughout high school. When I felt so close to the edge, I just remembered that there was a day, once, when I was happy, so that means I can be happy again. I have the power to be a happy child. When Irene and Kathering told me about being the cookie monster, I knew I could bring happiness to other people. Even if I didn't remember doing so, I knew I could be the light they needed to get through to the other side.
When Farryn apologized, I forgave everybody who ever hurt me in my past. Well, not immediately. I have now, though. Now I know that it wasn't them. It wasn't me. It was life. It was growing up. When I watch kids now, even, I psychoanalyze and even stand up for the "thug," explaining to their teachers even that well, they're kids (or teenagers) and they need to sort themselves out according to social status and society. Perhaps they're going through a phase. Perhaps their parents have created heathen monsters that will always be this way in life. But when their kids, it's not their fault. So forgiveness is easy. And, when they're adults - if you can forgive the kids, you can forgive the hurtful adults too. Someday we all might realize that we hurt other people and wish we could run into them in a food court, if only to apologize. I'm glad Farryn was given that chance. It makes me hope I may have my opprotunity one day too.
Tonight, as I began writing this note, one of my best friends from when I was a kid started chatting to me. She told me how much she thinks of our friendship to this day and complimented me on my recent notes. I have to say that ending this day after that brief contact with my past brings a certain level of peace to myself. And Bright Eyes has a song, called Classic Cars, that makes a reference to somthing like this. I can't remember the exact lyrics 'cause I'm never good with things like that. Basically, though, "everything is a circle, and you just have to let it come around." (I'll check the exact line of that for tomorrow morning, though, 'cause it is really brilliant)
Four Summers Ago
First published on Facebook: Monday, May 12, 2008 at 11:01pm
I had a revelation tonight. This is nothing new. I have revelations every single day, but I feel this one might put me over the edge, so that makes me happy again.
I realized today that I keep referring to the summer four years ago. That summer was the first summer living away from home. Not exactly my first summer living in a city, but the first time that I felt like I was a real citizen of a city - Vancouver.
Vancouver in the summer is the best place in the world. Or at least that's what memories of that summer make me think. Edmonton has its festivals and Meadow had the lakes a half hour away, but Vancouver had an amazing transit system, great bike roads, beaches, pubs and clubs (and it was my first "legal" summer...although Meadow Rodeo Dance the year before proved that that doesn't matter on the prairies), music and an innocent young girl ready to explore it all.
One of my fav memories from that summer was going to Numbers' Amateur Strip Night with some coworkers. I was the innocent, young country bumpkin being taken to not her first gay bar, but her first strip show at a gay bar. I didn't want to be the young girl though, I wanted to prove my maturity to my friends, all of them five years or more older than I. So, when Travis suggested that I shout at one of the amateurs when he was taking too long, I thought it was a good idea. But Travis had to give me the que. And he did. I wanted to egg on the first one, but Travis said no. I knew I was going to shout at the second one, but Travis told me to wait. Nobody else knew what I was going to do, and Travis didn't know how loud I'd be...but loud and clear (a prairie bumpkin after two beer can still enunciate), "Show us some cock!" And the crowd loved it...afterwards a man came up to my friend and asked, "Was it you that shouted back there?" She said, "No, that was this one here," pointing to me. He looked at me and dramatically said, "Gi-ir-l, you sounded hungry! Where you from?" And when I told him Sk, he understood, "yah, I've been to Prince Albert, I understand..." That was such a great night, I felt so alive, so much apart of the group and so different from the person I was back home.
That was a summer of so many firsts. It began with my first time smoking pot. Yes, ACF 13 was my first spliff, while listening to K-os sing "The Man I Used to Be"...that was an awesome party too. I developed my first addiction - to Starbucks' Oat Bars - and I discovered exactly how I like my coffee - slightly Starbucks-burnt, with loads of sugar and cream, an indulgence. I proved myself to another employer, and this was a major corporation too. I had the first group - my Chapterites - that I really felt I belonged to, and I made others fit into it too. I talked openly with friends and strangers about religion and decided to start my own. I decided for the first time that I was going to have a career as a prophet, professing my philosophy for life on the streets of Vancouver (I never actually did that). And I rollerbladed, not for the first time, but a lot! It was my first HSBC Celebration of Lights (and I ditched work for the first time to go watch it...and then go to a friend's birthday party). I had my first flaky roommate, and she took me to my first CD Release party. It was the first time I heard hick hop! I explored Main Street for the first time...and discovered my all-time favourite cafe - JJ Bean - if only because they make the BEST Americano....oh, I would donate a kidney right now to sit there and enjoy one tonight! And that was also the first summer I came to terms with my asthma and decided to stop using it as an excuse. It was the first summer that I actually believed that I had asthma, and it wasn't just made up when I was little. It was the first time I had a minor mental breakdown, not a "real" one, 'cause one of my friends did instead so I shouldn't steal that from him. It was the first time I actually couldn't breathe because of my asthma. That was the summer that I realized that it's stress-induced. And that was the first time I had my heart-broken.
I moved on, I got better. I'm no longer the little young innocent, but instead the wiser, crazier friend in the group. I learned how to cope with the asthma and how to reduce the stress. And that was a biggie. I needed to feel in control of my life, and I wasn't at the time. I needed to have some structure and feel like I could get things done. So I began planning my days out - by half-hour sections. And this was what caught my attention tonight and let me back to that summer.
I have turned "routine" into something that I need. But there are so many things in this world that interrupt that routine, and life is always changing in a way that the routines I often try to create never work out as they should. Two months ago, my belief in the necessity of routine was cracked by a single cup of coffee with a friend who was leaving shortly. At first, I felt bad 'cause I knew it would only happen this once. But then, I relaxed because it was still a really nice treat. It improved my day, but I didn't need it to have happened to have had a great day anyways. It could never happen again, and that was ok. Sometimes all we need is one chance meeting for our lives to be improved by the people we meet along the path of life. And I've forgotten about that.
The fall after my first summer in Vancouver, I met a man on a bus. (That summer before I had met another man on a bus, and met my first stalker....which was interesting in its own way, but I'm glad I wasn't drunk enough to actually have gone to his house to use his phone to call my flaky roommate to come get me 'cause I was lost. Yet another crazy story from that summer!) I had been stuck in a lirbary all day and felt like crap - like I was getting nowhere. But this man cheered me up right away by talking to me about life, spirituality and growing up on the prairies. He was so enthusiastic about everything that after the twenty-five minute bus ride to work, talking to him, I was a completely different person. One month later, during Christmas Rush, he walked into Chapters and we exchanged numbers. The week I returned home from Christmas, we met up and he gave me a present. Every few weeks after that I received a call from him, when he was in town shooting a movie or something. Six months later he stopped calling, and I was relieved. The chance meetings were good, but the erratic routine was disruptive to my life, especially without caller id.
A year ago, I began my "vagabond existence," but I still hold onto the ideas of routine. In order for this to work, though, that is the first thing that needs to go. And not the day-to-day things like brushing my teeth before running to the buses. Those routines are fine. It's the routines like writing in Costa for three hours in the morning before retiring to the library on my one day off (I think my new routine of the gym Sat ams is WAY better for me). And the routines that involve other people. I need to stop relying on others for my routines to work, especially if I struggle to find serenity without my routines.
It comes down to the same reason why I started the routines. I needed to know that I could do it. I needed to know that I could achieve short-term goals. I forgot about the long-term ones because I've never been good with dealing with the long-distance future. I needed to know that I was achieving something in this life, and it was nice if I did that every week.
The point of a vagabond, though, is that everything is different. Things are always changing, even ourselves. But tonight I had another revelation. I was thinking about my future again and I saw this music video: "New Soul." And I want to be the girl in that video. I want to have my own apartment and move in my own stuff. I want to have a clean slate and create what I want there to be on it. Does that mean that I'm ready for my next adventure? No, not really. I still don't want to leave this one. But I see where I want to be a little more clearly now. And I think I'll get close to that by fall 2009. In the meantime, I'll start following La Agrada's advice and become more authentic the more I become the person I imagined myself to be.
I'm not the girl I was four years ago - none of us are. I'm stronger now, I'm wiser now, and I have a better understanding of who I want to be in this world. I knew that woman three months ago...but she got lost in the routine. That's ok, it happens, and I need to forgive myself for that. Well, I'm not sorry it happened. I am sorry if anybody else got hurt in the process, but I think they'll get over it too. There is no such thing as regret, just past experiences that we learn from. Sometimes we can do it in a few weeks, and sometimes it takes years. The beauty of life is that we never know until one day it hits us. Then we can take a stroll down memory lane and remember the person we used to be, while dreaming of the one we aspire to become.
I had a revelation tonight. This is nothing new. I have revelations every single day, but I feel this one might put me over the edge, so that makes me happy again.
I realized today that I keep referring to the summer four years ago. That summer was the first summer living away from home. Not exactly my first summer living in a city, but the first time that I felt like I was a real citizen of a city - Vancouver.
Vancouver in the summer is the best place in the world. Or at least that's what memories of that summer make me think. Edmonton has its festivals and Meadow had the lakes a half hour away, but Vancouver had an amazing transit system, great bike roads, beaches, pubs and clubs (and it was my first "legal" summer...although Meadow Rodeo Dance the year before proved that that doesn't matter on the prairies), music and an innocent young girl ready to explore it all.
One of my fav memories from that summer was going to Numbers' Amateur Strip Night with some coworkers. I was the innocent, young country bumpkin being taken to not her first gay bar, but her first strip show at a gay bar. I didn't want to be the young girl though, I wanted to prove my maturity to my friends, all of them five years or more older than I. So, when Travis suggested that I shout at one of the amateurs when he was taking too long, I thought it was a good idea. But Travis had to give me the que. And he did. I wanted to egg on the first one, but Travis said no. I knew I was going to shout at the second one, but Travis told me to wait. Nobody else knew what I was going to do, and Travis didn't know how loud I'd be...but loud and clear (a prairie bumpkin after two beer can still enunciate), "Show us some cock!" And the crowd loved it...afterwards a man came up to my friend and asked, "Was it you that shouted back there?" She said, "No, that was this one here," pointing to me. He looked at me and dramatically said, "Gi-ir-l, you sounded hungry! Where you from?" And when I told him Sk, he understood, "yah, I've been to Prince Albert, I understand..." That was such a great night, I felt so alive, so much apart of the group and so different from the person I was back home.
That was a summer of so many firsts. It began with my first time smoking pot. Yes, ACF 13 was my first spliff, while listening to K-os sing "The Man I Used to Be"...that was an awesome party too. I developed my first addiction - to Starbucks' Oat Bars - and I discovered exactly how I like my coffee - slightly Starbucks-burnt, with loads of sugar and cream, an indulgence. I proved myself to another employer, and this was a major corporation too. I had the first group - my Chapterites - that I really felt I belonged to, and I made others fit into it too. I talked openly with friends and strangers about religion and decided to start my own. I decided for the first time that I was going to have a career as a prophet, professing my philosophy for life on the streets of Vancouver (I never actually did that). And I rollerbladed, not for the first time, but a lot! It was my first HSBC Celebration of Lights (and I ditched work for the first time to go watch it...and then go to a friend's birthday party). I had my first flaky roommate, and she took me to my first CD Release party. It was the first time I heard hick hop! I explored Main Street for the first time...and discovered my all-time favourite cafe - JJ Bean - if only because they make the BEST Americano....oh, I would donate a kidney right now to sit there and enjoy one tonight! And that was also the first summer I came to terms with my asthma and decided to stop using it as an excuse. It was the first summer that I actually believed that I had asthma, and it wasn't just made up when I was little. It was the first time I had a minor mental breakdown, not a "real" one, 'cause one of my friends did instead so I shouldn't steal that from him. It was the first time I actually couldn't breathe because of my asthma. That was the summer that I realized that it's stress-induced. And that was the first time I had my heart-broken.
I moved on, I got better. I'm no longer the little young innocent, but instead the wiser, crazier friend in the group. I learned how to cope with the asthma and how to reduce the stress. And that was a biggie. I needed to feel in control of my life, and I wasn't at the time. I needed to have some structure and feel like I could get things done. So I began planning my days out - by half-hour sections. And this was what caught my attention tonight and let me back to that summer.
I have turned "routine" into something that I need. But there are so many things in this world that interrupt that routine, and life is always changing in a way that the routines I often try to create never work out as they should. Two months ago, my belief in the necessity of routine was cracked by a single cup of coffee with a friend who was leaving shortly. At first, I felt bad 'cause I knew it would only happen this once. But then, I relaxed because it was still a really nice treat. It improved my day, but I didn't need it to have happened to have had a great day anyways. It could never happen again, and that was ok. Sometimes all we need is one chance meeting for our lives to be improved by the people we meet along the path of life. And I've forgotten about that.
The fall after my first summer in Vancouver, I met a man on a bus. (That summer before I had met another man on a bus, and met my first stalker....which was interesting in its own way, but I'm glad I wasn't drunk enough to actually have gone to his house to use his phone to call my flaky roommate to come get me 'cause I was lost. Yet another crazy story from that summer!) I had been stuck in a lirbary all day and felt like crap - like I was getting nowhere. But this man cheered me up right away by talking to me about life, spirituality and growing up on the prairies. He was so enthusiastic about everything that after the twenty-five minute bus ride to work, talking to him, I was a completely different person. One month later, during Christmas Rush, he walked into Chapters and we exchanged numbers. The week I returned home from Christmas, we met up and he gave me a present. Every few weeks after that I received a call from him, when he was in town shooting a movie or something. Six months later he stopped calling, and I was relieved. The chance meetings were good, but the erratic routine was disruptive to my life, especially without caller id.
A year ago, I began my "vagabond existence," but I still hold onto the ideas of routine. In order for this to work, though, that is the first thing that needs to go. And not the day-to-day things like brushing my teeth before running to the buses. Those routines are fine. It's the routines like writing in Costa for three hours in the morning before retiring to the library on my one day off (I think my new routine of the gym Sat ams is WAY better for me). And the routines that involve other people. I need to stop relying on others for my routines to work, especially if I struggle to find serenity without my routines.
It comes down to the same reason why I started the routines. I needed to know that I could do it. I needed to know that I could achieve short-term goals. I forgot about the long-term ones because I've never been good with dealing with the long-distance future. I needed to know that I was achieving something in this life, and it was nice if I did that every week.
The point of a vagabond, though, is that everything is different. Things are always changing, even ourselves. But tonight I had another revelation. I was thinking about my future again and I saw this music video: "New Soul." And I want to be the girl in that video. I want to have my own apartment and move in my own stuff. I want to have a clean slate and create what I want there to be on it. Does that mean that I'm ready for my next adventure? No, not really. I still don't want to leave this one. But I see where I want to be a little more clearly now. And I think I'll get close to that by fall 2009. In the meantime, I'll start following La Agrada's advice and become more authentic the more I become the person I imagined myself to be.
I'm not the girl I was four years ago - none of us are. I'm stronger now, I'm wiser now, and I have a better understanding of who I want to be in this world. I knew that woman three months ago...but she got lost in the routine. That's ok, it happens, and I need to forgive myself for that. Well, I'm not sorry it happened. I am sorry if anybody else got hurt in the process, but I think they'll get over it too. There is no such thing as regret, just past experiences that we learn from. Sometimes we can do it in a few weeks, and sometimes it takes years. The beauty of life is that we never know until one day it hits us. Then we can take a stroll down memory lane and remember the person we used to be, while dreaming of the one we aspire to become.
Myself, Writing and Sex and the City
First published on Facebook: Sunday, May 11, 2008 at 1:46am
There was a time, not so long ago when I lived and breathed sex and the city. Well, not exactly, but Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte would join me every night for supper. My free cable had been taken away in a storm, and Jenn was either at work or at Hugh's. What else was a girl to do? Like most of my life, I spent it watching other people live, but this time I was analysing it.
I had forgotten about that when I flipped to it tonight as I babysat for one of my kids. It was on Sky, and I just decided that that would bide the time as I finished writing the letter to my friend. But, like the inspiration for most of my notes, the girls got me thinking again.
I remember reading an interview with Kim Catrall, who explained something about the four ladies. I thought about that as I watched tonight, having been reminded of it recently. She said that each of the main characters exists in every woman out there, they're just exaggerrated to make it good fiction. And that it is. Because the girls exist in all of us, as well, we are able to sympathize with each of their problems, and I was totally there tonight.
But, who are the girls exactly. Carrie is the writer, and that I connect with right away. She's a columnist who exposes her most intimate thoughts with the city of New York, so I'm keen to her exhibitionist spirit of the pen somedays. Then there's Miranda, the hard-nosed lawyer who makes her career come first before personal gain - or at least what society deems women's personal gain. She has a wonderful man, Steve, fall for her, but she can't do it because of her career. Is that not the ultimate challenge every independent single woman in her thirties faces? Society has told woman for (well, at least the last fifty years, but we'll exagerrate to make our point and say) eternity that they should find a mate, settle down and have a baby. But Miranda cannot live with this man who dotes on her in such a loving manner (and they do such a good job of not making him a pushover too). And then she nearly gives the baby up for her career, but at the last minute decides against it 'cause she may never have a baby if she doesn't have this one. I love Miranda 'cause she's so career-centred and non-fussed by men. She is the epitomy of the self-sufficient career woman. And then Samantha is the epitomy of the self-sufficent sexual woman. She is the representative of the indpendent woman post-sexual revolution. No, it's not only ok for women to sleep around like men, (which makes my feminist backbone quiver at the thought of that double standard), but we should and as often as possible. (I was holding that line for a novel in the future, but it fits Sam so well that I;ll offer it as a teaser.) She is completely confident in her body and therefore goes through breast cancer and comes out on top. And then, of course Charlotte. The sweet, innocent proper woman who wants a proper husband and a proper family and a proper life. And her plans all go to shit because were she to succeed, Sex and the City could not be good feminist fiction. Charlotte is the part of all feminists that we secretly want to kill. She might exist inside of us, but we're not happy about that and we label her as "social conditioning" perhaps rather than biological instincts because we know that's society explanation for why she exists. And I believe that. We are social conditioned to be each of these women. But which woman are we?
Well, I'm pretty sure I'm not Charlotte. I think I killed that part of the woman when I picked up my first F button. That doesn't mean that some of my fantasies don't lead to me having that little family, but I'm a realist and I'm usually alone with the kid, or else endlessly arguing with the other parent about how to raise my kid. I think that's why I told a friend last year, that I don't want kids. I explained that the only reason I would have one is to improve on what my parents did and give them what I didn't have. And that's living through them, and that's the wrong reason to have a child. Instead I'll have characters and they'll be in a novel, where I can change their environment as well and things will all be under my control.
As for Samantha, well, I thought so. I love her confidence. I don't like her style. And I share the same fascination with certain body parts. And little sexual-feminist Jodi is crying in shame at that confession, but it's the truth, which often hurts.
Carrie's got too much of a fashion obsession to be me. Her appeal is the writing thing. And often we share similar opinions on life. But that may just be why I love the show. She often annoys me and I want to stuff a sock in her mouth (thank god they got rid of the talking to the camera in the first season) but at the end of the day I still love her, so it's ok.
Tonight, I was totally getting the Miranda vibes. But she's the miserable one! I don't want to end up like that, and I know I won't. First of all, I'm not focused enough to be that driven in my career. And my self esteem issues work the other way for me - I yell at myself way before I yell at the other person.
On the way home from babysitting, I talked to the father about writing. It turns out he finished a novel last summer and is currently waiting to hear back from an agent. I think that's fantastic! We discussed writing and getting published and I explained that I just need to have the novel finished. Not published, but finished. If I never get published, I'll probably still continue to write. It's become a thing for me, and I've realized lately that it's always been a thing for me. I talked to Florence about imaginary friends last weekend. And tonight I talked about telling yourself stories to help the little boy fall asleep. That's what my childhood was. Crikey, I even remember writing a story with Spencer when I was ten. So I have to write. That's as simple as it gets. Whether it's to keep me sane, make sense of my life or merely to tell the world what I have to say, I have to write. And so I've written this.
There was a time, not so long ago when I lived and breathed sex and the city. Well, not exactly, but Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte would join me every night for supper. My free cable had been taken away in a storm, and Jenn was either at work or at Hugh's. What else was a girl to do? Like most of my life, I spent it watching other people live, but this time I was analysing it.
I had forgotten about that when I flipped to it tonight as I babysat for one of my kids. It was on Sky, and I just decided that that would bide the time as I finished writing the letter to my friend. But, like the inspiration for most of my notes, the girls got me thinking again.
I remember reading an interview with Kim Catrall, who explained something about the four ladies. I thought about that as I watched tonight, having been reminded of it recently. She said that each of the main characters exists in every woman out there, they're just exaggerrated to make it good fiction. And that it is. Because the girls exist in all of us, as well, we are able to sympathize with each of their problems, and I was totally there tonight.
But, who are the girls exactly. Carrie is the writer, and that I connect with right away. She's a columnist who exposes her most intimate thoughts with the city of New York, so I'm keen to her exhibitionist spirit of the pen somedays. Then there's Miranda, the hard-nosed lawyer who makes her career come first before personal gain - or at least what society deems women's personal gain. She has a wonderful man, Steve, fall for her, but she can't do it because of her career. Is that not the ultimate challenge every independent single woman in her thirties faces? Society has told woman for (well, at least the last fifty years, but we'll exagerrate to make our point and say) eternity that they should find a mate, settle down and have a baby. But Miranda cannot live with this man who dotes on her in such a loving manner (and they do such a good job of not making him a pushover too). And then she nearly gives the baby up for her career, but at the last minute decides against it 'cause she may never have a baby if she doesn't have this one. I love Miranda 'cause she's so career-centred and non-fussed by men. She is the epitomy of the self-sufficient career woman. And then Samantha is the epitomy of the self-sufficent sexual woman. She is the representative of the indpendent woman post-sexual revolution. No, it's not only ok for women to sleep around like men, (which makes my feminist backbone quiver at the thought of that double standard), but we should and as often as possible. (I was holding that line for a novel in the future, but it fits Sam so well that I;ll offer it as a teaser.) She is completely confident in her body and therefore goes through breast cancer and comes out on top. And then, of course Charlotte. The sweet, innocent proper woman who wants a proper husband and a proper family and a proper life. And her plans all go to shit because were she to succeed, Sex and the City could not be good feminist fiction. Charlotte is the part of all feminists that we secretly want to kill. She might exist inside of us, but we're not happy about that and we label her as "social conditioning" perhaps rather than biological instincts because we know that's society explanation for why she exists. And I believe that. We are social conditioned to be each of these women. But which woman are we?
Well, I'm pretty sure I'm not Charlotte. I think I killed that part of the woman when I picked up my first F button. That doesn't mean that some of my fantasies don't lead to me having that little family, but I'm a realist and I'm usually alone with the kid, or else endlessly arguing with the other parent about how to raise my kid. I think that's why I told a friend last year, that I don't want kids. I explained that the only reason I would have one is to improve on what my parents did and give them what I didn't have. And that's living through them, and that's the wrong reason to have a child. Instead I'll have characters and they'll be in a novel, where I can change their environment as well and things will all be under my control.
As for Samantha, well, I thought so. I love her confidence. I don't like her style. And I share the same fascination with certain body parts. And little sexual-feminist Jodi is crying in shame at that confession, but it's the truth, which often hurts.
Carrie's got too much of a fashion obsession to be me. Her appeal is the writing thing. And often we share similar opinions on life. But that may just be why I love the show. She often annoys me and I want to stuff a sock in her mouth (thank god they got rid of the talking to the camera in the first season) but at the end of the day I still love her, so it's ok.
Tonight, I was totally getting the Miranda vibes. But she's the miserable one! I don't want to end up like that, and I know I won't. First of all, I'm not focused enough to be that driven in my career. And my self esteem issues work the other way for me - I yell at myself way before I yell at the other person.
On the way home from babysitting, I talked to the father about writing. It turns out he finished a novel last summer and is currently waiting to hear back from an agent. I think that's fantastic! We discussed writing and getting published and I explained that I just need to have the novel finished. Not published, but finished. If I never get published, I'll probably still continue to write. It's become a thing for me, and I've realized lately that it's always been a thing for me. I talked to Florence about imaginary friends last weekend. And tonight I talked about telling yourself stories to help the little boy fall asleep. That's what my childhood was. Crikey, I even remember writing a story with Spencer when I was ten. So I have to write. That's as simple as it gets. Whether it's to keep me sane, make sense of my life or merely to tell the world what I have to say, I have to write. And so I've written this.
Surprise Relationships, Healing and Being a Better Role Model
First Published on Facebook: Friday, May 9, 2008 at 10:16pm
This is all just total stream-of-consciousness rubbish that came out as I was updating my grateful list. I liked it as it spluttered onto the page, so I hope it makes sense to you too, and hopefully helps you if you're struggling too. That's basically what my notes have been lately. I feel better for sharing ideas, even if I don't get a response. I feel as if I'm at least saying something, which I haven't done as much of lately...
I never would have imagined the relationship growing between Max and I when I first arrived. Realizing this makes me think about how much I've grown this year. And the boys last term were really helpful with that. Because of them, I can laugh at myself much more now than I could before, and for more sensitive things. Stuff like me sitting on the end table and breaking it, which I laughed along with them about at the end of last term doesn't hurt as much when you laugh about it as when you just blush over it. And Jamie calling my arms sausages was funny the other morning, and I didn't mind talking to them about how it's the other side of my arm that has the muscle. These are things that I'm sensitive about. It's my body and it's always made me hate myself. Not anymore.
Even now as I'm feeling shitty, it's for different reasons, and that makes me happier. I know they're all based on the same issues I developed when I was younger, but this year has helped me face those issues. Realizing that, hopefully I can continue to grow past them and feel better again.
And I really need to feel better. For the rest of my life, I'll have to take better care of myself now. Maybe this all was just the wake-up call I needed. It's too early to say right now. Reflections take a good four-weeks minimum to make sense of things. But I realized today that waiting to feel better really sucks. So the first half of this term is going to be miserable 'cause I made a stupid mistake!
The kids deserve better than that. The kids have been the one thing this whole year keeping me here. Last term, it was Helen and the Crews that I thought of first, but then also the kids. After all that, it was I who needed to have a better experience.
Really, now, I think, my self esteem needs to put myself first, then the kids, and then the staff. I need to get happy again so that I can enjoy what's left here. When I'm happy, the kids will benefit more from my spirit and hopefully become better people. The reason I like working with kids is because I do think I can make a difference in their life, even if it's a small one. And for that, often, I just look at a girl like Georgie, who is so beautiful, but she doesn't know it yet. And I think about how much I want her to find herself and be happy with that.
Then, after all that, I have to tend to the staff. It's not my job to make them happy. And that's been my biggest obstacle this week. I know people are unhappy, and I know it's not my fault, but my presence reminds them of why they're unhappy. I know I'll be better in a week or two, or maybe even after this weekend, but until then, I cannot cope. I know that helping them would make me feel better, but I'm not strong enough to do that yet.
And that's an important thing to learn. As a caring person - a giver - I need to give to myself first. I've been broken for a long time in my life, but I did finally fix myself last term. I broke it all again. Before it fell apart, I could do it - I could help my coworkers. Right now, though, I can't. I'm like a safety boat. If the ship hits an iceberg, I'll save the souls on board, but only if I don't have a leak myself.
This is all just total stream-of-consciousness rubbish that came out as I was updating my grateful list. I liked it as it spluttered onto the page, so I hope it makes sense to you too, and hopefully helps you if you're struggling too. That's basically what my notes have been lately. I feel better for sharing ideas, even if I don't get a response. I feel as if I'm at least saying something, which I haven't done as much of lately...
I never would have imagined the relationship growing between Max and I when I first arrived. Realizing this makes me think about how much I've grown this year. And the boys last term were really helpful with that. Because of them, I can laugh at myself much more now than I could before, and for more sensitive things. Stuff like me sitting on the end table and breaking it, which I laughed along with them about at the end of last term doesn't hurt as much when you laugh about it as when you just blush over it. And Jamie calling my arms sausages was funny the other morning, and I didn't mind talking to them about how it's the other side of my arm that has the muscle. These are things that I'm sensitive about. It's my body and it's always made me hate myself. Not anymore.
Even now as I'm feeling shitty, it's for different reasons, and that makes me happier. I know they're all based on the same issues I developed when I was younger, but this year has helped me face those issues. Realizing that, hopefully I can continue to grow past them and feel better again.
And I really need to feel better. For the rest of my life, I'll have to take better care of myself now. Maybe this all was just the wake-up call I needed. It's too early to say right now. Reflections take a good four-weeks minimum to make sense of things. But I realized today that waiting to feel better really sucks. So the first half of this term is going to be miserable 'cause I made a stupid mistake!
The kids deserve better than that. The kids have been the one thing this whole year keeping me here. Last term, it was Helen and the Crews that I thought of first, but then also the kids. After all that, it was I who needed to have a better experience.
Really, now, I think, my self esteem needs to put myself first, then the kids, and then the staff. I need to get happy again so that I can enjoy what's left here. When I'm happy, the kids will benefit more from my spirit and hopefully become better people. The reason I like working with kids is because I do think I can make a difference in their life, even if it's a small one. And for that, often, I just look at a girl like Georgie, who is so beautiful, but she doesn't know it yet. And I think about how much I want her to find herself and be happy with that.
Then, after all that, I have to tend to the staff. It's not my job to make them happy. And that's been my biggest obstacle this week. I know people are unhappy, and I know it's not my fault, but my presence reminds them of why they're unhappy. I know I'll be better in a week or two, or maybe even after this weekend, but until then, I cannot cope. I know that helping them would make me feel better, but I'm not strong enough to do that yet.
And that's an important thing to learn. As a caring person - a giver - I need to give to myself first. I've been broken for a long time in my life, but I did finally fix myself last term. I broke it all again. Before it fell apart, I could do it - I could help my coworkers. Right now, though, I can't. I'm like a safety boat. If the ship hits an iceberg, I'll save the souls on board, but only if I don't have a leak myself.
Thinking of Islands and the Power of Music
First published on Facebook: Monday, May 5, 2008 at 8:44pm
I was listening to music in the shower this morning, as I like to do, and "All These Things That I Do" popped up. I have not heard this song in forever, but I still knew all of the words.
It's an interesting thing with songs and how they can take you back to a distant or not so distant moment. On that journey, you realize how strong our memories are and the impact that people have had on our lives. This always makes me feel better, especially because of the person that song reminded me of.
Suddenly I was a naive nineteen-year-old girl once again, working at Chapters and feeling so grown up even though it was only my first summer spent away from home. That song was big that year, and whoever was in Music - probably Sean - always played it at night. It must have been a Sunday, 'cause Jes was working the later shift. We had spent most of the day on the tills together, and it was just the two of us again. Like most Sundays, it was dead, so she felt free to sing along to that song. I think it was the first time that I actually understood those words, and I loved that feeling.
What I find most surprising is that that is not the first time I have thought of Jes this week. Kim bought some dark chocolate earlier this week and shared it with me, and I remembered that Jes ate only dark chocolate 'cause her boyfriend was vegan and she felt less guilty about dark chocolate 'cause it had less milk in it. Jes was a great person, and I really looked up to her. We haven't kept in touch, but that's probably why she's still such a great person.
There's this great quote in a Stephen King novella - I think it's from The Body - that used to be one of my fav quotes. If I had the book again, I would add it to this record in the right format, but I'll have to just summarize. Basically, it's about how friends come and go in and out of our lives like busboys in a restaurant. I think it goes on to comment on whether or not that's good or whether or not some people are different. But I like being reminded of that. It helps me heal and that helps me grow.
I was listening to music in the shower this morning, as I like to do, and "All These Things That I Do" popped up. I have not heard this song in forever, but I still knew all of the words.
It's an interesting thing with songs and how they can take you back to a distant or not so distant moment. On that journey, you realize how strong our memories are and the impact that people have had on our lives. This always makes me feel better, especially because of the person that song reminded me of.
Suddenly I was a naive nineteen-year-old girl once again, working at Chapters and feeling so grown up even though it was only my first summer spent away from home. That song was big that year, and whoever was in Music - probably Sean - always played it at night. It must have been a Sunday, 'cause Jes was working the later shift. We had spent most of the day on the tills together, and it was just the two of us again. Like most Sundays, it was dead, so she felt free to sing along to that song. I think it was the first time that I actually understood those words, and I loved that feeling.
What I find most surprising is that that is not the first time I have thought of Jes this week. Kim bought some dark chocolate earlier this week and shared it with me, and I remembered that Jes ate only dark chocolate 'cause her boyfriend was vegan and she felt less guilty about dark chocolate 'cause it had less milk in it. Jes was a great person, and I really looked up to her. We haven't kept in touch, but that's probably why she's still such a great person.
There's this great quote in a Stephen King novella - I think it's from The Body - that used to be one of my fav quotes. If I had the book again, I would add it to this record in the right format, but I'll have to just summarize. Basically, it's about how friends come and go in and out of our lives like busboys in a restaurant. I think it goes on to comment on whether or not that's good or whether or not some people are different. But I like being reminded of that. It helps me heal and that helps me grow.
Where Am I?
First published on Facebook, as a Note: Sunday, May 4, 2008 at 10:35pm
Last weekend I began to cry when my mom told me she couldn't wait until July. And it wasn't because I'm homesick. Don't get me wrong, I love my family and I am excited to see them this summer, but it always comes back to the same thing - I have no home to be homesick for.
It must have been the Christmas before last when this feeling began to root itself in my soul. At least that's as far back as I can recall not wanting to be somewhere that I wasn't. I remember going down to Mom and Dad's new property and everybody else getting so excited about the construction of their new house. I was excited too, but I knew that I, unlike the rest of them, would not be a part of it. We discussed that and the upcoming summer, which they hoped I would be closer to home for. At the time, I wasn't ready to leave Vancouver and I told them that as much as I was happy to be with my family right then, I knew I would be happy when I left as well. After 21 years, I was finally content where I was.
Four months later, I uprooted and after another four months building a new family of friends, I moved again. I now have a little over two months before I leave once again. And that is why I cry.
It's okay, I know I'll be fine in July and enjoy the family surrounding me in the first week and the friends re-claiming me into their family after that. The summer will be short, but sweet and more of my questions about my future may be answered. The fall will come and I'll get into a new routine and before I know it, I'll be off on another adventure the next spring and then moving on to something new. This is the life I want to lead. The one where I chose a place now and settle down is not for me. I know that. In a few years I would get bored with those people and hate myself for wasting my life in one place for such a long time. The place would mean a lot to me, and I know I would continue to grow, but I've also accepted the fact that this other plan is better for me - both who I am and who I enjoy being.
Just because I know all this doesn't mean I'm not thrilled by the idea. I hate saying goodbye. I hate never seeing where people end up. I hate moving on. I know it's good and healthy for me to do so, but I still hate it. The ironic thing is, though, that presently I'm not even enjoying the moments. This fact seems blinding to me as I go through pictures from this year and realize that I'm not enjoying every moment. I told myself that this term was going to be about that, but it hasn't been that way yet at all. This is good, I'm glad I've realized that this weekend. If anything, that means it was all worth it. Everything happens for a reason, no? I might not understand it now, but one day it will all fit together and I'll know it happened this way so that I wouldn't forget the lesson. It's easy, sometimes, to forget the lessons we know so well, and even harder to forgive ourselves for forgetting them.
Last weekend I began to cry when my mom told me she couldn't wait until July. And it wasn't because I'm homesick. Don't get me wrong, I love my family and I am excited to see them this summer, but it always comes back to the same thing - I have no home to be homesick for.
It must have been the Christmas before last when this feeling began to root itself in my soul. At least that's as far back as I can recall not wanting to be somewhere that I wasn't. I remember going down to Mom and Dad's new property and everybody else getting so excited about the construction of their new house. I was excited too, but I knew that I, unlike the rest of them, would not be a part of it. We discussed that and the upcoming summer, which they hoped I would be closer to home for. At the time, I wasn't ready to leave Vancouver and I told them that as much as I was happy to be with my family right then, I knew I would be happy when I left as well. After 21 years, I was finally content where I was.
Four months later, I uprooted and after another four months building a new family of friends, I moved again. I now have a little over two months before I leave once again. And that is why I cry.
It's okay, I know I'll be fine in July and enjoy the family surrounding me in the first week and the friends re-claiming me into their family after that. The summer will be short, but sweet and more of my questions about my future may be answered. The fall will come and I'll get into a new routine and before I know it, I'll be off on another adventure the next spring and then moving on to something new. This is the life I want to lead. The one where I chose a place now and settle down is not for me. I know that. In a few years I would get bored with those people and hate myself for wasting my life in one place for such a long time. The place would mean a lot to me, and I know I would continue to grow, but I've also accepted the fact that this other plan is better for me - both who I am and who I enjoy being.
Just because I know all this doesn't mean I'm not thrilled by the idea. I hate saying goodbye. I hate never seeing where people end up. I hate moving on. I know it's good and healthy for me to do so, but I still hate it. The ironic thing is, though, that presently I'm not even enjoying the moments. This fact seems blinding to me as I go through pictures from this year and realize that I'm not enjoying every moment. I told myself that this term was going to be about that, but it hasn't been that way yet at all. This is good, I'm glad I've realized that this weekend. If anything, that means it was all worth it. Everything happens for a reason, no? I might not understand it now, but one day it will all fit together and I'll know it happened this way so that I wouldn't forget the lesson. It's easy, sometimes, to forget the lessons we know so well, and even harder to forgive ourselves for forgetting them.
Water, Healing and Emotional Release
First Published on Facebook, as a Note: Saturday, May 3, 2008 at 1:42pm
It's interesting how we view cleanliness. Last year, we read some articles on miasmas in the 19th century and I remember being so intrigued by how our interpretation of health changed in such a short period of time and became so linked to cleanliness. From a "modern" psychological perspective, it is then interesting to look at how we view water and cleansing as restorative, when essentially when we cleanse ourselves, we're getting rid of part of ourselves.
That sense of shedding the bad to become good again is not a mere "modern" idea of health. Remember the bleeding ppl had to do to recover from the plague. From a modern standpoint we think that's reidiculous and scientifically prove that that was probably why more people died. So, what's to say now that scrubbing ourselves clean will actually cure us?
I don't know. And I fall victim to it myself. For some reason, cleansing is therapeutic. Even crying makes us feel better. There was this piece on the news this week about extreme sports being good for us because the adrenalin rush allows for an emotional release. The psychologist said this was healthy. So are tears. They are the definitive emotional release.
I like the motif of water and cleansing. I know it will make it into my novel. There are already scenes where water plays a huge part in at least two characters' healing and self discovery. And with a setting of Vancouver, you can't really NOT write about the rain.
I miss Vancouver rain. The April showers here have been nice and I've really enjoyed the immediate sunlight that comes with English spring rains. But I think Vancouver had more sunshine earlier in the year. Something about it being right on the coast. I miss the coast. I miss looking out onto the water and losing yourself in the possibilities of where that ocean touched. I'm on the largest island in the other ocean, yet it's not the same.
The issue I have most with cleansing for health - the release - is that it doesn't create anything. Of course, you rid yourself of the bad and think then that all that is left is the good, but don't you lose some of the good? Instead I think to really heal you need to create something out of that bad. Perhaps we need to get rid of most of it first, but in the end, it's like the piece of sand and the pearl. The clam was at first disturbed by the granule, but worked and worked at it until one day it became a beautiful pearl. I like that concept. It helps me get over the pain I feel from all of my mistakes.
It's interesting how we view cleanliness. Last year, we read some articles on miasmas in the 19th century and I remember being so intrigued by how our interpretation of health changed in such a short period of time and became so linked to cleanliness. From a "modern" psychological perspective, it is then interesting to look at how we view water and cleansing as restorative, when essentially when we cleanse ourselves, we're getting rid of part of ourselves.
That sense of shedding the bad to become good again is not a mere "modern" idea of health. Remember the bleeding ppl had to do to recover from the plague. From a modern standpoint we think that's reidiculous and scientifically prove that that was probably why more people died. So, what's to say now that scrubbing ourselves clean will actually cure us?
I don't know. And I fall victim to it myself. For some reason, cleansing is therapeutic. Even crying makes us feel better. There was this piece on the news this week about extreme sports being good for us because the adrenalin rush allows for an emotional release. The psychologist said this was healthy. So are tears. They are the definitive emotional release.
I like the motif of water and cleansing. I know it will make it into my novel. There are already scenes where water plays a huge part in at least two characters' healing and self discovery. And with a setting of Vancouver, you can't really NOT write about the rain.
I miss Vancouver rain. The April showers here have been nice and I've really enjoyed the immediate sunlight that comes with English spring rains. But I think Vancouver had more sunshine earlier in the year. Something about it being right on the coast. I miss the coast. I miss looking out onto the water and losing yourself in the possibilities of where that ocean touched. I'm on the largest island in the other ocean, yet it's not the same.
The issue I have most with cleansing for health - the release - is that it doesn't create anything. Of course, you rid yourself of the bad and think then that all that is left is the good, but don't you lose some of the good? Instead I think to really heal you need to create something out of that bad. Perhaps we need to get rid of most of it first, but in the end, it's like the piece of sand and the pearl. The clam was at first disturbed by the granule, but worked and worked at it until one day it became a beautiful pearl. I like that concept. It helps me get over the pain I feel from all of my mistakes.
A Less Fearful Future
First Published on Facebook, as a note: Monday, April 28, 2008 at 9:21pm
I had an amazing revelation this evening...and rather than having it forgotten by the mugs of hot chocolate I am about to pour down my gland-swollen throat, I knew I should put it down here so that I don't forget it and so that ppl back home know I'm doing ok...and still dreaming about the future rather than dreading it.
An important person in my life tells me frequently - and most often after she's run into somebody from my past - that she knows I will change the future. For the longest time, I believed her. And then I went to university, I learned about all these other people who had changed the world in the past and realized how difficult it really was to do so. So I stopped trying. Not on the surface, but in my heart. I told myself it was too hard. Instead, I should just try to lead by example. So I made myself into the person I thought other people should be. That only made me angry with people who didn't act the same way. But I grew. I matured and realized that I had to forget about those people. My father's words of advice, either given to me or reiterated by my sister to me, resounded in my head and helped me out through the tough times:
When you lose, don't lose the lesson. It's the best way to live without regret.
You can't change other people, you can only change how you react to them.
When you find a person you don't like, figure out what it is about them that you don't like and make sure you aren't the same.
And with those three sayings, you understand more fully why I think my father may never be the wealthiest man in the world, nor the cleverist, but he is definitely the wisest one I know.
But where did I go wrong? Where did I stop thinking about how I was going to change the world? Was it the old story about the man who, only on his deathbed, realized that the best way to do that would have been to change himself. Did I decide then that putting my talent to a more profitable means, like writing this novel that will never be finished (I still got 2.5 years, but it's terrifying me) rather than helping the world with it would be better for me? Or somehow I think the novel will change the world in some way too. Yeah, it might. But what about my brute strength. I've forgotten about that. And a farm girl should never forget about that (I even impressed a 10-yr-old at breakfast with my pipes today ;o))! If I think about it long enough, I think it was not getting a full scholarship in high school to UBC. And that's rubbish. I was less mature then, but I was still devastated at the lack of financial karma sent my way for everything that I did for my school, my community and my country. With what I was given, I think I did a lot. But I also think I was being a bit selfish and not doing it for them but for myself. And, two years later, I even told a dear friend from my childhood that I had given up on helping others because I was so worn out from high school. So, anybody from CHS reading this who has made tonnes of money since then should consider that when the donations they put back into the school go to the people who have been given the silver spoons, or ML's equivalence to that. But that's not what changing the world is about. And I've forgotten that.
Changing the world is about making a difference. The change should start with yourself and you should stop making excuses. I know that right now my employment is a volunteer so I feel like I can't do more than I am already to help others, but I've also lost sight of the people I should be helping. Africa was the topic this evening, and I thought back to Morocco, and Amy and Trudy in Honduras and I realized that my plans for the future are not going to make me the person I want to be. My plans for the future are exciting and ever-changing and terrifying because they are never the same, but they also lack the spirit I want to encapsulate. And when I get that spirit back, the future will not be so scary....
Or at least a girl can dream, no?
I had an amazing revelation this evening...and rather than having it forgotten by the mugs of hot chocolate I am about to pour down my gland-swollen throat, I knew I should put it down here so that I don't forget it and so that ppl back home know I'm doing ok...and still dreaming about the future rather than dreading it.
An important person in my life tells me frequently - and most often after she's run into somebody from my past - that she knows I will change the future. For the longest time, I believed her. And then I went to university, I learned about all these other people who had changed the world in the past and realized how difficult it really was to do so. So I stopped trying. Not on the surface, but in my heart. I told myself it was too hard. Instead, I should just try to lead by example. So I made myself into the person I thought other people should be. That only made me angry with people who didn't act the same way. But I grew. I matured and realized that I had to forget about those people. My father's words of advice, either given to me or reiterated by my sister to me, resounded in my head and helped me out through the tough times:
When you lose, don't lose the lesson. It's the best way to live without regret.
You can't change other people, you can only change how you react to them.
When you find a person you don't like, figure out what it is about them that you don't like and make sure you aren't the same.
And with those three sayings, you understand more fully why I think my father may never be the wealthiest man in the world, nor the cleverist, but he is definitely the wisest one I know.
But where did I go wrong? Where did I stop thinking about how I was going to change the world? Was it the old story about the man who, only on his deathbed, realized that the best way to do that would have been to change himself. Did I decide then that putting my talent to a more profitable means, like writing this novel that will never be finished (I still got 2.5 years, but it's terrifying me) rather than helping the world with it would be better for me? Or somehow I think the novel will change the world in some way too. Yeah, it might. But what about my brute strength. I've forgotten about that. And a farm girl should never forget about that (I even impressed a 10-yr-old at breakfast with my pipes today ;o))! If I think about it long enough, I think it was not getting a full scholarship in high school to UBC. And that's rubbish. I was less mature then, but I was still devastated at the lack of financial karma sent my way for everything that I did for my school, my community and my country. With what I was given, I think I did a lot. But I also think I was being a bit selfish and not doing it for them but for myself. And, two years later, I even told a dear friend from my childhood that I had given up on helping others because I was so worn out from high school. So, anybody from CHS reading this who has made tonnes of money since then should consider that when the donations they put back into the school go to the people who have been given the silver spoons, or ML's equivalence to that. But that's not what changing the world is about. And I've forgotten that.
Changing the world is about making a difference. The change should start with yourself and you should stop making excuses. I know that right now my employment is a volunteer so I feel like I can't do more than I am already to help others, but I've also lost sight of the people I should be helping. Africa was the topic this evening, and I thought back to Morocco, and Amy and Trudy in Honduras and I realized that my plans for the future are not going to make me the person I want to be. My plans for the future are exciting and ever-changing and terrifying because they are never the same, but they also lack the spirit I want to encapsulate. And when I get that spirit back, the future will not be so scary....
Or at least a girl can dream, no?
Whipping the Cream before the Cherry Placement
First published on Facebook, as a note: Monday, April 28, 2008 at 11:00pm
This is a deep contemplative outreach into my inner psyche. How one can reach out into one's inner psyche, I may never know, but that is the beauty of the english language, and one of the reasons I love writing so much.
I just received an email reply from a friend who has been through quite a year. This friend is a kindred spirit, and on the list for people I need to have a coffee with in the next five years! (Although, a Grounds for Coffee cinnamon bun would be way way better than any of that Second Cup nonsense they have in good 'ol' Ottawa...followed, of course, by a game of frisbee overlooking English Bay rather than getting caught in a thunderstorm while climbing on old prime ministers, although both were fun at that time.) In my latest email, I mentioned an anecdote comparing life to a sundae that my aunt told me four years ago about the state of my life right now. Four years have passed and I find myself in a similar position, still wondering if I'll ever have the cherry on top of that sundae.
Basically, I have most of the sundae prepared. And it's quite delicious. I envision mine a bit like a trifle, with the layers of cake and pudding and whipping cream. Ice cream is good too, and makes it more of a sundae, no? Maybe neapolitan, 'cuz I can never chose which flavour is my favourite. And while we're at it, a few maltesers in the mix wouldn't hurt either. My personality has a few hard bits that melt in your mouth when you suck on them long enough and let them. That's not the part that's changing though. The sundae has basically been set for my life, but I'm "putting the cherry on top" as my aunt told me. For how long? I can't remember her saying...and I'm beginning to think that it will always be that way.
I'm not ready for the cherry though. Perhaps that's why I chose to run off this year. I want to mess around with the whip cream for awhile, trying out some different things before settling on a good brand of the white, fluffy stuff. I already have a vague idea of what the cherry will be, but finding the right ingredient to compliment it is difficult, and one shouldn't be hasty with important decisions.
This is a deep contemplative outreach into my inner psyche. How one can reach out into one's inner psyche, I may never know, but that is the beauty of the english language, and one of the reasons I love writing so much.
I just received an email reply from a friend who has been through quite a year. This friend is a kindred spirit, and on the list for people I need to have a coffee with in the next five years! (Although, a Grounds for Coffee cinnamon bun would be way way better than any of that Second Cup nonsense they have in good 'ol' Ottawa...followed, of course, by a game of frisbee overlooking English Bay rather than getting caught in a thunderstorm while climbing on old prime ministers, although both were fun at that time.) In my latest email, I mentioned an anecdote comparing life to a sundae that my aunt told me four years ago about the state of my life right now. Four years have passed and I find myself in a similar position, still wondering if I'll ever have the cherry on top of that sundae.
Basically, I have most of the sundae prepared. And it's quite delicious. I envision mine a bit like a trifle, with the layers of cake and pudding and whipping cream. Ice cream is good too, and makes it more of a sundae, no? Maybe neapolitan, 'cuz I can never chose which flavour is my favourite. And while we're at it, a few maltesers in the mix wouldn't hurt either. My personality has a few hard bits that melt in your mouth when you suck on them long enough and let them. That's not the part that's changing though. The sundae has basically been set for my life, but I'm "putting the cherry on top" as my aunt told me. For how long? I can't remember her saying...and I'm beginning to think that it will always be that way.
I'm not ready for the cherry though. Perhaps that's why I chose to run off this year. I want to mess around with the whip cream for awhile, trying out some different things before settling on a good brand of the white, fluffy stuff. I already have a vague idea of what the cherry will be, but finding the right ingredient to compliment it is difficult, and one shouldn't be hasty with important decisions.
Impact, Creativity and "How to Change the World" Plan No. 567
Originally posted on Facebook, as a note: Thursday, May 1, 2008 at 10:51pm
The Fool
The Fool desires to achieve great things in life, but does not always anticipate the hard work required. Full of curiosity and searching for answers, the Fool symbolizes a new beginning and endless optimism. He must be careful in the decisions he makes, as his lack of experience is often a hindrance. While other may avoid taking on insurmountable odds, The Fool will attempt to accomplish near impossible goals with almost reckless abandon.
I had a thought about my thesis today. I think it's fitting considering that it has now been over a year since I put that plague to rest. Suddenly today I wanted to go expand upon it. There was a draft of my conclusion that went on this tyrade about what the Marie Stopes Foundation does today and how our vision of health has changed in the last eighty years. And then I was thinking about the best question - one of the few I can remember - from my Defense: what does she mean by nutrients? That would be an amazing area to look into.
<<..and I know very few ppl have done that, and I'm a tad weary about sharing the idea on a public forum such as this, so I'm also gonna copyleft the thought. I don't plan on making money off of it, and therefore nobody else should either.>>
And it made me think about the second last note I left, about how I'm gonna change the world. Recently, I've worked with some young girls and made a conscious effort to be a "body positive" role model for them. They're all on the verge of becoming teenagers, which means the £%^& is about to hit the fan in that area, and I really want to help them feel good about that £$%^ before the fan goes too fast for them. I've dealt with the £$^% my entire life, but it's only been the last few years where I've actually been able to stop the fan. And it's tough and there was a moment when I witnessed an adult pressing the accelerate button for one of the girls and I was sick afterwards. It was even worse because the adult was supposed to be caring for the girl at the time. How can you be caring for somebody when you're fucking with their psyche that much? And if I knew that, I would feel so much better about myself right now...
I don't know if I could work with teenagers, though. I really don't feel I have the patience to be there for those hormones. I wasn't really there for myself, and I don't want to go back there...but perhaps the difference I make in this world won't be on a one-to-one level with people, although I do best at the interaction...There is another level I excelled at, and I tried it out with a kid last Monday and craved doing it again...
I've actually been missing that a lot this year, and probably because I'm not so stressed with school, I could handle dabbling back into the fine arts again. I miss the customes you hide yourself in and let your imagination run wild with. I miss not just the memorisation of the lines but feeling the words so much that it becomes reaction rather than action. In short, I miss the performance.
Hmm....we'll see. These are all new thoughts. At least my mind isn't empty with things for it to do. I just need to chose something. But, as Kristin pointed out, Edmonton is not without its art scene. Perhaps this will cover next fall and winter...and then I can move onto the next adventure.
The Fool
The Fool desires to achieve great things in life, but does not always anticipate the hard work required. Full of curiosity and searching for answers, the Fool symbolizes a new beginning and endless optimism. He must be careful in the decisions he makes, as his lack of experience is often a hindrance. While other may avoid taking on insurmountable odds, The Fool will attempt to accomplish near impossible goals with almost reckless abandon.
I had a thought about my thesis today. I think it's fitting considering that it has now been over a year since I put that plague to rest. Suddenly today I wanted to go expand upon it. There was a draft of my conclusion that went on this tyrade about what the Marie Stopes Foundation does today and how our vision of health has changed in the last eighty years. And then I was thinking about the best question - one of the few I can remember - from my Defense: what does she mean by nutrients? That would be an amazing area to look into.
<<..and I know very few ppl have done that, and I'm a tad weary about sharing the idea on a public forum such as this, so I'm also gonna copyleft the thought. I don't plan on making money off of it, and therefore nobody else should either.>>
And it made me think about the second last note I left, about how I'm gonna change the world. Recently, I've worked with some young girls and made a conscious effort to be a "body positive" role model for them. They're all on the verge of becoming teenagers, which means the £%^& is about to hit the fan in that area, and I really want to help them feel good about that £$%^ before the fan goes too fast for them. I've dealt with the £$^% my entire life, but it's only been the last few years where I've actually been able to stop the fan. And it's tough and there was a moment when I witnessed an adult pressing the accelerate button for one of the girls and I was sick afterwards. It was even worse because the adult was supposed to be caring for the girl at the time. How can you be caring for somebody when you're fucking with their psyche that much? And if I knew that, I would feel so much better about myself right now...
I don't know if I could work with teenagers, though. I really don't feel I have the patience to be there for those hormones. I wasn't really there for myself, and I don't want to go back there...but perhaps the difference I make in this world won't be on a one-to-one level with people, although I do best at the interaction...There is another level I excelled at, and I tried it out with a kid last Monday and craved doing it again...
I've actually been missing that a lot this year, and probably because I'm not so stressed with school, I could handle dabbling back into the fine arts again. I miss the customes you hide yourself in and let your imagination run wild with. I miss not just the memorisation of the lines but feeling the words so much that it becomes reaction rather than action. In short, I miss the performance.
Hmm....we'll see. These are all new thoughts. At least my mind isn't empty with things for it to do. I just need to chose something. But, as Kristin pointed out, Edmonton is not without its art scene. Perhaps this will cover next fall and winter...and then I can move onto the next adventure.
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