I live an incredibly privileged life. As today is International Women's Day, I feel it is necessary to say that I recognize that I am extremely lucky (in both the global and universal contexts) for many reasons: being born in Canada, having a wonderful family, living in a stable environment, enjoying good physical and mental health, having an education and job opportunities. The list goes on and on.
But today ... today I feel restless. I feel unsettled and uncomfortable. I am living a little in limbo right now, waiting on others to make decisions that will affect my life dramatically, and I am acutely aware that even if they decide to the negative I am too complacent to stay here.
I have lived in this city for the majority of my life. I know the town, I have my family and my people, I am comfortable in my job. A few years ago this life was still pushing and stretching me, but now it feels like it is closing in on me, shrinking down before my eyes.
This scares me. What if this is a pattern? What if nothing is ever enough long term? What if I never learn to be content with what I have and always have to push for more?
As I am only 26 and still have many aspirations (school, travel, work, family) I don't think I should be completely satisfied with my life right in this moment, but it's something I need to learn. I need to figure out how to live and love the life I have in each day, month, year and let the future be a dream, not my focus. How do you learn that?
But right now, I am restless. So restless in my head and my heart. I am searching for something more, something bigger, something new.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
Saturday, December 27, 2014
is there anybody out there?
I will never get used to the fact that sometimes a person dies and not only are we (the hospital staff) the only people to care, we are the only people who notice.
Friday, July 11, 2014
A world that calls
"I was a-ready to die for you, baby,
Doesn't mean I'm ready to stay.
What good is livin' a life you've been given
If all you do is stand in one place?"
- Lord Huron (Ends of the Earth)
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Anxiety, art, and appetite
I'm starting to understand why people are so scared of being alone; it's because it is effing scary.
Part of me wants to just edit out this part, to wear the proud, independent face that says I was just fine traveling alone; but I've spent all this time talking about honesty and vulnerability so here it is.
In the spirit of full disclosure, I spent the majority of yesterday having a minor anxiety attack - I could feel my heart absolutely pounding out a beat, I kept having to remind myself to breathe deeply, and my neck became incredibly sore just from tension. You know that warm feeling you get in your abdomen and chest when you're scared? Yep. All day.
Twenty minutes was devoted to looking up flights home, ten minutes to writing an email to my mom asking her to remind me that it would be an unwise way to spend $1400. The time change made it hard to find someone at home to talk to, but I was lucky to reach one very optimistic friend who told me gently, but firmly and under no uncertain terms, to get myself out of the apartment.
I stopped for a cafe au lait (like a latte, but way better) and marched myself right over to the Louvre. Holy cow, I had forgotten how impressive that complex is. It used to the home of France's royalty (until Versailles was built) and thus is HUGE.
Because it was a weekend, the place was packed but the tour I went on was made up of about eight people. I made friends with a middle-aged woman from Colorado who was traveling with her husband and we got to talking. She made me feel so much better. The tour was great - not too long but with lots of fun little details and facts - and my new friend (whose name I never learned) gave me a hug at the end and told me that I was going to be just fine and that I'd have a great time. Phew. I needed that.
The walk home was about 45 minutes, and I stopped to pick up some snacks. A bitter-sweet thing I inherited from my mother is that any kind of stress or anxiety causes me to lose my appetite. Completely. I haven't been hungry since landing here and what little I've eaten is just due to knowing that not eating isn't okay. I'm furious because I keep walking past these restaurants and bakeries and cafes and I know the food should look incredible, and yet it just causes my stomach to constrict even tighter. This will pass as I relax and I'll try to make up for lost time. But for last night, I got in just before the rain and curled up in my bed with cookies, yogurt, and a kiwi (healthy, right?) and watched a movie. One more brief moment of anxiety before dropping off to sleep, and this morning came before I knew it.
Today was better - much less anxiety - but I'll talk about that later. I will end with this, however: I'm now starting to understand people's obsession with Paris. What a city!
P.S. - My mom's email response to me was essentially "You can do it. Now take that $1400 you're not going to spend on a flight home and book yourself some tours! It'll go a long way!" I love you, Mama.
Part of me wants to just edit out this part, to wear the proud, independent face that says I was just fine traveling alone; but I've spent all this time talking about honesty and vulnerability so here it is.
In the spirit of full disclosure, I spent the majority of yesterday having a minor anxiety attack - I could feel my heart absolutely pounding out a beat, I kept having to remind myself to breathe deeply, and my neck became incredibly sore just from tension. You know that warm feeling you get in your abdomen and chest when you're scared? Yep. All day.
Twenty minutes was devoted to looking up flights home, ten minutes to writing an email to my mom asking her to remind me that it would be an unwise way to spend $1400. The time change made it hard to find someone at home to talk to, but I was lucky to reach one very optimistic friend who told me gently, but firmly and under no uncertain terms, to get myself out of the apartment.
I stopped for a cafe au lait (like a latte, but way better) and marched myself right over to the Louvre. Holy cow, I had forgotten how impressive that complex is. It used to the home of France's royalty (until Versailles was built) and thus is HUGE.
Because it was a weekend, the place was packed but the tour I went on was made up of about eight people. I made friends with a middle-aged woman from Colorado who was traveling with her husband and we got to talking. She made me feel so much better. The tour was great - not too long but with lots of fun little details and facts - and my new friend (whose name I never learned) gave me a hug at the end and told me that I was going to be just fine and that I'd have a great time. Phew. I needed that.
The walk home was about 45 minutes, and I stopped to pick up some snacks. A bitter-sweet thing I inherited from my mother is that any kind of stress or anxiety causes me to lose my appetite. Completely. I haven't been hungry since landing here and what little I've eaten is just due to knowing that not eating isn't okay. I'm furious because I keep walking past these restaurants and bakeries and cafes and I know the food should look incredible, and yet it just causes my stomach to constrict even tighter. This will pass as I relax and I'll try to make up for lost time. But for last night, I got in just before the rain and curled up in my bed with cookies, yogurt, and a kiwi (healthy, right?) and watched a movie. One more brief moment of anxiety before dropping off to sleep, and this morning came before I knew it.
Today was better - much less anxiety - but I'll talk about that later. I will end with this, however: I'm now starting to understand people's obsession with Paris. What a city!
P.S. - My mom's email response to me was essentially "You can do it. Now take that $1400 you're not going to spend on a flight home and book yourself some tours! It'll go a long way!" I love you, Mama.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Fly in the ointment
I do this thing right at the very start of every trip where I second guess the whole thing. For a short while, I just know that the whole idea was not a good one and I should have just stayed home where things are familiar - my city, my friends, my routine, my bed. What usually gets me out of this rut is whoever I'm traveling with telling me to buck up and get it together.
Houston, we have a problem. There isn't anyone else here to tell me to suck it up and go out. There is nobody to coax me into a new outfit and out the door, where I'm sure I will remember all the reasons that make this such a great idea.
My flight was a very pleasant one, despite the fact that I was in the middle row. I sat next to a very kind couple (Evangel and Carmi) and they were a treat to talk to. The food was decent, the movie selection was varied, and despite the lack of window or friend's shoulder I got about 3-4 hours of sleep. It certainly didn't feel nine hours long!
Carmi, Evangel, and I all caught the train from the airport to downtown Paris together and fate also allowed that they needed to catch the same metro line as myself, so we did that together too. Then I said goodbye, got off at my stop, headed up into the daylight to text my host so she could come get me from the station and ... failed to send. No worries. Try again. Failed to send. Craaappp. I tried several variations/additions, muttered curses at the phone company who told me this would be just fine, waved off the young guy trying to be "helpful" and made my way into a coffee shop where the nice man called my host and told her where I was. Thank goodness there are kind people in this world.
Anne came and picked me up and brought me the two blocks back to her place, which is adorable. She is obviously an incredibly kind person, and has helped me with a map, given me some suggestions, let me take a nap (my run-of-nights, two-days-of-a-semi-normal-schedule, eight-hour-time-changed body is very confused), and now I'm trying to convince myself to go out. I know (part of me does, anyhow) that once I get out of here and start seeing Paris I'll remember why I came; why I decided that "nobody had the same vacation time as me" wasn't a good enough excuse not to travel.
I know I need to just do it - get up off this bed, grab my jacket (I think it's warmer in Edmonton today .. boo!) and go see something that makes my jaw drop. I'm thinking Notre Dame. Maybe that's just what the doctor ordered.
Houston, we have a problem. There isn't anyone else here to tell me to suck it up and go out. There is nobody to coax me into a new outfit and out the door, where I'm sure I will remember all the reasons that make this such a great idea.
My flight was a very pleasant one, despite the fact that I was in the middle row. I sat next to a very kind couple (Evangel and Carmi) and they were a treat to talk to. The food was decent, the movie selection was varied, and despite the lack of window or friend's shoulder I got about 3-4 hours of sleep. It certainly didn't feel nine hours long!
Carmi, Evangel, and I all caught the train from the airport to downtown Paris together and fate also allowed that they needed to catch the same metro line as myself, so we did that together too. Then I said goodbye, got off at my stop, headed up into the daylight to text my host so she could come get me from the station and ... failed to send. No worries. Try again. Failed to send. Craaappp. I tried several variations/additions, muttered curses at the phone company who told me this would be just fine, waved off the young guy trying to be "helpful" and made my way into a coffee shop where the nice man called my host and told her where I was. Thank goodness there are kind people in this world.
Anne came and picked me up and brought me the two blocks back to her place, which is adorable. She is obviously an incredibly kind person, and has helped me with a map, given me some suggestions, let me take a nap (my run-of-nights, two-days-of-a-semi-normal-schedule, eight-hour-time-changed body is very confused), and now I'm trying to convince myself to go out. I know (part of me does, anyhow) that once I get out of here and start seeing Paris I'll remember why I came; why I decided that "nobody had the same vacation time as me" wasn't a good enough excuse not to travel.
I know I need to just do it - get up off this bed, grab my jacket (I think it's warmer in Edmonton today .. boo!) and go see something that makes my jaw drop. I'm thinking Notre Dame. Maybe that's just what the doctor ordered.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
This is it
I have gotten some very mixed reviews on my plans to travel to Paris and Rome by myself. Generally I get one of two reactions; Reaction 1: "Wow! That is so exciting and brave! Good for you ... you're going to have an amazing time!" Reaction 2: "Oh. Wow. That sounds a bit scary. I could never do that."
There have definitely been way more Reaction 1s than 2s, which is reassuring. Whether saying it admiringly or worriedly, whenever someone says "I couldn't do that" I want to yell right in their faces, "I'm not sure I can either! That's the whole point!" I think mostly it's the nervous tension I'm feeling that makes me want to yell it - I am scared; really nervous about what this trip will be like - but I really don't feel like there's anything that makes me more capable of this than anyone else I know. If anything, I feel less equipped for this than I think many of my friends would be/are.
Tomorrow is departure day and I still have quite a lot of things to do before then. I'm also nursing a brutal cold that came out of nowhere. Literally, yesterday morning when I got up I was fine. I had a little trouble staying on top of my breathing when I went for a run, but still felt okay when I got home. After an afternoon nap I woke up with a pounding headache, congested sinuses, and that thick, fuzzy feeling that accompanies a bad cold. I've been knocking back the fluids and vitamins and I'm crossing my fingers that I'll have kicked the worst of this by the time I land in Paris in ... 38 hours!
It's strange to admit that the thing that annoys me most about this cold is that I have no appetite. This is the one symptom that I consider to be completely unacceptable in light of where I'm going. I want to eat ALL THE FOOD. I want to want to eat all the food.
We shall see what tomorrow brings, and how I cope with all the independence. I hope to keep a journal to record my thoughts and rants on this coming-of-age trip. I will read some books, stare at beautiful men, savour my wine, taste new foods, feed my soul the food of incredible sights and sounds. I shall embrace the solitude as a friend I don't yet know but plan to love.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Life is for the Brave
The longer I live the truer I find that to be.
When I live safe, I live small. Life without chances or risks is predictable, and predictable is boring. The times in my life I am the most happy are when I'm gambling a little bit - work, vacation, romance, friendship - they are all high risk, high reward.
I was talking to a friend recently who made the point that I am very guarded in my relationships. Apparently I always follow up a vulnerable snippet of conversation with a joke or sarcasm - something to cover up my moment of openness. I was a little surprised (first, that this was the case and second, that he'd been so perceptive as to pinpoint this behaviour) but as we talked about it I both recognized the habit and was able to account for its origin.
Vulnerability never used to twist my guts the way it does now; I was much more free to share of myself with others. Sure, I got hurt (often, and badly), but the passion and accessibility of being so honest and exposed allowed me to connect very intensely with the people in my life. I didn't feel the need to shield myself with sarcasm or humour because I not only wanted but actively sought close friendships and connections.
That all changed around the time I turned 17. The details are unimportant, but I'm not exaggerating when I say that I got my heart broken (not by a boy) in a way that caused me to need a shell simply to survive. Even though I have learned to cope with and absorb that part of my history, I still feel the need to guard myself from ever experiencing anything even remotely similar.
I can have an abundance of both liking and love for people and then simply let them fade out of my life with minimal regret. After high school I said goodbye to all my friends and currently do not speak to any of them. It's not that we're on bad terms, I just let the friendships go. The same applies to the people from the Bible school I attended for three semesters, camp, past jobs, university, everywhere. There are a few friends who are a core part of me, but most of my friendships are ephemeral. And it truly isn't because I don't like the people or enjoy their company; I really believe it's because I don't let them see past the walls that I wear to keep myself safe.
The risk of connecting so easily and deeply with people is that you'll get hurt, and you do. Often. But, looking back, the potential rewards outweigh the negatives. I remember what it was like to share of myself so easily and openly. I remember what it was like to connect so well and so often. I remember what it was like to really know people, and know that they knew me (the real me) too. I miss it.
I used to think I would get smarter as I got older. This is not always the case. Turns out I have had this all wrong recently, and that I had it totally right as a kid. But the time has come to be brave, to be the me that I was before the walls and the transient relationships, because life is for the brave.
When I live safe, I live small. Life without chances or risks is predictable, and predictable is boring. The times in my life I am the most happy are when I'm gambling a little bit - work, vacation, romance, friendship - they are all high risk, high reward.
I was talking to a friend recently who made the point that I am very guarded in my relationships. Apparently I always follow up a vulnerable snippet of conversation with a joke or sarcasm - something to cover up my moment of openness. I was a little surprised (first, that this was the case and second, that he'd been so perceptive as to pinpoint this behaviour) but as we talked about it I both recognized the habit and was able to account for its origin.
Vulnerability never used to twist my guts the way it does now; I was much more free to share of myself with others. Sure, I got hurt (often, and badly), but the passion and accessibility of being so honest and exposed allowed me to connect very intensely with the people in my life. I didn't feel the need to shield myself with sarcasm or humour because I not only wanted but actively sought close friendships and connections.
That all changed around the time I turned 17. The details are unimportant, but I'm not exaggerating when I say that I got my heart broken (not by a boy) in a way that caused me to need a shell simply to survive. Even though I have learned to cope with and absorb that part of my history, I still feel the need to guard myself from ever experiencing anything even remotely similar.
I can have an abundance of both liking and love for people and then simply let them fade out of my life with minimal regret. After high school I said goodbye to all my friends and currently do not speak to any of them. It's not that we're on bad terms, I just let the friendships go. The same applies to the people from the Bible school I attended for three semesters, camp, past jobs, university, everywhere. There are a few friends who are a core part of me, but most of my friendships are ephemeral. And it truly isn't because I don't like the people or enjoy their company; I really believe it's because I don't let them see past the walls that I wear to keep myself safe.
The risk of connecting so easily and deeply with people is that you'll get hurt, and you do. Often. But, looking back, the potential rewards outweigh the negatives. I remember what it was like to share of myself so easily and openly. I remember what it was like to connect so well and so often. I remember what it was like to really know people, and know that they knew me (the real me) too. I miss it.
I used to think I would get smarter as I got older. This is not always the case. Turns out I have had this all wrong recently, and that I had it totally right as a kid. But the time has come to be brave, to be the me that I was before the walls and the transient relationships, because life is for the brave.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)