2013 has been a tumultuous year to say the least.
I could turn this into a reflective piece on the challenges and triumphs that have occured in the last 365 days or so, but I feel any Google search of 'year in review' could tell you pretty much all you need to know.
I could reflect on my own year through a series of anecdotes that only myself and a few others may under stand the references, I have a journal for that.
Instead, I'd like to share something I've been trying to learn this year, whether I knew it consciously or not: To embrace myself.
I can proudly say that I have accepted myself, albeit fairly recently as well, but that I have yet to truly come to terms with embracing myself. Of enjoying who I am as a human being in a world of other human beings - each with different pressures from the exterior and interior.
The problem, is that we are always changing. I'm not the same person I was yesterday, a week ago, 6 months ago, 2 years ago. When you learn something about yourself, its often your past self, as a reflection. You have moved on from being that person and look back with a detached perspective. It is much harder to look at yourself in the present and look objectively at who you are right now, in this very moment.
We are often easy to criticize ourselves. I don't exercise enough, I should eat better, I should sleep more, try harder, be more social, read more, watch less TV, get that tattoo I've been meaning to for years. And on and on it goes. We can promise ourselves the future: when I get my own place, then I'll get a dog; after school is done I will look for a relationship; once I have more money I will get that goddamn tattoo.
Around this time of year is when people start to panic about new year's resolutions. These things we've put off, these things we want to change about ourselves, NOW is the time to do it. The reset of a calendar means the reset of our lives.
But I say phooey to it all. I know any resolution I make won't last 3 months until that guilt and self-criticism returns. I know some can use that as motivation, and cheers to those of you that can do that, but my mind takes that feeling and makes it exponential with every passing day until I never want to leave my room again. Why should I make myself feel that way?
I have learned my limits, I have accepted them. And while I'm still not totally there yet, I'm learning to embrace them as part of who I am.
I am learning to embrace the fact that I am an anxiety-ridden goofball who loves nerdy shows and media, an open minded internet-loving person who legitimately enjoys learning, a queer introvert who sings passionately off-key and loves the idea of a tattoo but sometimes gets freaked out by the commitment.
I am learning to embrace this person, because she may not be the same tomorrow.
For all we know, she may go out and get a tattoo.
In the mean time, Happy New Year.
"Be yourself - not your idea of what you think somebody's else's idea of yourself should be" - Henry David Thoreau
Also take a look at BuzzFeeds "New Year's Resolutions that are actually realistic" for a good laugh and a few good pointers.
Sunday, 29 December 2013
Friday, 29 November 2013
Dare Together
I'm not going to lie, this is a bit of a cop out of a post.
I haven't posted anything on here in months, and that's not due to lack of thoughts! But lack of time and motivation. But as the school semester comes to a close, maybe I'll get back to a few of those drafts I started...
In the mean time, I'm posting the product of a final project for one of my media classes - for two reasons:
1. As a back up link if my prof can't open the file via e-mail (because we all know it will be the one time a server crashes or the file accidentally gets deleted or the internet goes up in smoke... we've all been there)
2. For my own reference and hopefully as a useful gateway for others.
I was able to research the Toronto based organization The Pink Triangle Press. I created an info-graph as a way of presenting my research.
It is basically Canada's leading gay & lesbian media organization, and a great resource for LGBT history, culture, and community. It offers everything from an online newspaper, to LGBT friendly travel and business guides, television shows and even a dating site. Their vision and tag is Dare Together, and after reading up on their controversial history, one can respect their perseverance to become what they are today.
Now I'm not saying all this as a suck-up if my prof does stumble upon this.... those of you who know me, know that this is right up my alley.
Actually, while digging through a series of links upon links upon links during this project, I stumbled across the site for the Canadian Gay & Lesbian Archives (founded by the Pink Triangle Press...so it wasn't totally off topic). While looking at their site I got more and more excited about what it had to offer. Partly because it is so similar to the art organization I work for currently. I found so much of what I already do mirrored back at me, but at the same time eager to learn more. While the structure is similar, the content is different.
Who knows whether the cards will fall for myself to grab an opportunity to work with this organization but it was extremely refreshing to see that what I'm doing is leading me in the right direction.
I haven't posted anything on here in months, and that's not due to lack of thoughts! But lack of time and motivation. But as the school semester comes to a close, maybe I'll get back to a few of those drafts I started...
In the mean time, I'm posting the product of a final project for one of my media classes - for two reasons:
1. As a back up link if my prof can't open the file via e-mail (because we all know it will be the one time a server crashes or the file accidentally gets deleted or the internet goes up in smoke... we've all been there)
2. For my own reference and hopefully as a useful gateway for others.
I was able to research the Toronto based organization The Pink Triangle Press. I created an info-graph as a way of presenting my research.
 |
| Click here to see full size image |
It is basically Canada's leading gay & lesbian media organization, and a great resource for LGBT history, culture, and community. It offers everything from an online newspaper, to LGBT friendly travel and business guides, television shows and even a dating site. Their vision and tag is Dare Together, and after reading up on their controversial history, one can respect their perseverance to become what they are today.
Now I'm not saying all this as a suck-up if my prof does stumble upon this.... those of you who know me, know that this is right up my alley.
Actually, while digging through a series of links upon links upon links during this project, I stumbled across the site for the Canadian Gay & Lesbian Archives (founded by the Pink Triangle Press...so it wasn't totally off topic). While looking at their site I got more and more excited about what it had to offer. Partly because it is so similar to the art organization I work for currently. I found so much of what I already do mirrored back at me, but at the same time eager to learn more. While the structure is similar, the content is different.
Who knows whether the cards will fall for myself to grab an opportunity to work with this organization but it was extremely refreshing to see that what I'm doing is leading me in the right direction.
Sunday, 15 September 2013
The Art of Photography
Why did the chicken cross the road?
What came first, the chicken or the egg?
What is art?
These are questions that have plagued our existence for ages. We've all been posed with answers that are never as simple as they may initially seem. Despite the high percentage of philosophical focus directed on the existence of chickens here, I'd like to focus on the last of these three inquiries for a moment.
What is art?
A question asked on the first day of every Arts 101 class that will spark debate no matter what. Everyone's first answer: A painting.
And then someone else will pipe up: Well, sculpture is art.
And someone else: What about music? dance? theatre? design? writing?
Before you know it there is a list of mediums running from animation to film noir, from jazz music to installation, from poetry slams to modern dance. The point is to understand that art can be almost anything creative, in the eye of the beholder.
Regardless, we all find our niches and create our own structured definitions for what art is. We find our style and our medium, forgetting about the rest. When that definition is challenged, however, it can be hard to accept what another defines as art.
I work at an art gallery and have heard many an interpretation of what art is or should be over the years, from many people. Sometimes I agree, sometimes I don't. Often I'm just intrigued by how others see the world.
Today though, a patron's comment struck me harder than any in recent memory. After viewing our current exhibit that features many mediums of visual art, she went on to say how disappointed she was to see so much photography in a show themed around landscapes. Triggered from the fact that a photograph won an esteemed award from the jurors, she declared how she would never enter a show where such a thing could happen.
"My 30 - 40 hours of painting versus a snapshot?" she told me, "Anyone can take picture, and then with all that technology, anyone can make it look good. "
True, anyone can pick up a camera, anyone can engage the shutter.
But, anyone can pick up a paintbrush, anyone can make a brushstroke.
This isn't to say I don't see where her thought process is coming from. When an oil painting hangs on a wall, you can see the hours of work that went into it. In the layers upon layers of paint, in the detail and the complexity of movements from a brush. There are imperfections and - as Bob Ross would say - happy little mistakes. It is full of emotion and meaning.
A photograph... well it's just a moment in time, right? A frozen tidbit of a real world. How much work could go into that?
A camera is merely a tool, like paint or a brush. And it is the responsibility of the photographer to create something with it. Hours of planning, preparation and set up can go into a shot. A photographer thinks like a painter - finding composition, colour, light balance, meaning.
Both a painter and a photographer must use their tools to create the image. Where a painter sketches a drawing, a photographer sets up a shot. A painter chooses their palate, a photographer uses filters. Where a painter creates a wash, a photographer chooses an aperture.
A painter can spend a meticulous amount of time on the detail of a piece or can abstractly throw paint at a canvas to demonstrate their vision. A photographer can spend hours setting up a shot, or capture a fleeting moment. Both require skill, confidence, and technique.
But is it art?
You can't photograph fantasy or imagination. The camera can only see what is actually there.
It requires someone with a vision to do the impossible. Art is about emotion. A photographer must figure out how to augment reality and stir up emotion from an audience.
It is the creative process that people cannot always see in the end product of a photograph. A two dimensional, flat image as an end to a journey of vision, creativity and technique. An image left with the task of connecting with its audience emotionally, reaching deep inside to spark the child-like feeling of wonder and curiousity.
If that isn't art, what is?
Maybe the chicken knows.
"You don't take a photograph, you make it." - Ansel Adams
What came first, the chicken or the egg?
What is art?
These are questions that have plagued our existence for ages. We've all been posed with answers that are never as simple as they may initially seem. Despite the high percentage of philosophical focus directed on the existence of chickens here, I'd like to focus on the last of these three inquiries for a moment.
What is art?
A question asked on the first day of every Arts 101 class that will spark debate no matter what. Everyone's first answer: A painting.
And then someone else will pipe up: Well, sculpture is art.
And someone else: What about music? dance? theatre? design? writing?
Before you know it there is a list of mediums running from animation to film noir, from jazz music to installation, from poetry slams to modern dance. The point is to understand that art can be almost anything creative, in the eye of the beholder.
Regardless, we all find our niches and create our own structured definitions for what art is. We find our style and our medium, forgetting about the rest. When that definition is challenged, however, it can be hard to accept what another defines as art.
I work at an art gallery and have heard many an interpretation of what art is or should be over the years, from many people. Sometimes I agree, sometimes I don't. Often I'm just intrigued by how others see the world.
Today though, a patron's comment struck me harder than any in recent memory. After viewing our current exhibit that features many mediums of visual art, she went on to say how disappointed she was to see so much photography in a show themed around landscapes. Triggered from the fact that a photograph won an esteemed award from the jurors, she declared how she would never enter a show where such a thing could happen.
"My 30 - 40 hours of painting versus a snapshot?" she told me, "Anyone can take picture, and then with all that technology, anyone can make it look good. "
True, anyone can pick up a camera, anyone can engage the shutter.
But, anyone can pick up a paintbrush, anyone can make a brushstroke.
This isn't to say I don't see where her thought process is coming from. When an oil painting hangs on a wall, you can see the hours of work that went into it. In the layers upon layers of paint, in the detail and the complexity of movements from a brush. There are imperfections and - as Bob Ross would say - happy little mistakes. It is full of emotion and meaning.
A photograph... well it's just a moment in time, right? A frozen tidbit of a real world. How much work could go into that?
A camera is merely a tool, like paint or a brush. And it is the responsibility of the photographer to create something with it. Hours of planning, preparation and set up can go into a shot. A photographer thinks like a painter - finding composition, colour, light balance, meaning.
Both a painter and a photographer must use their tools to create the image. Where a painter sketches a drawing, a photographer sets up a shot. A painter chooses their palate, a photographer uses filters. Where a painter creates a wash, a photographer chooses an aperture.
A painter can spend a meticulous amount of time on the detail of a piece or can abstractly throw paint at a canvas to demonstrate their vision. A photographer can spend hours setting up a shot, or capture a fleeting moment. Both require skill, confidence, and technique.
But is it art?
You can't photograph fantasy or imagination. The camera can only see what is actually there.
It requires someone with a vision to do the impossible. Art is about emotion. A photographer must figure out how to augment reality and stir up emotion from an audience.
It is the creative process that people cannot always see in the end product of a photograph. A two dimensional, flat image as an end to a journey of vision, creativity and technique. An image left with the task of connecting with its audience emotionally, reaching deep inside to spark the child-like feeling of wonder and curiousity.
If that isn't art, what is?
Maybe the chicken knows.
"You don't take a photograph, you make it." - Ansel Adams
Sunday, 28 July 2013
The Drive for Potential
You know when you're biking or running or even sitting in your house playing a video game and you get that hit of an adrenaline rush where suddenly you're unstoppable. You pedal faster, run quicker, pound the controller until your thumb cramps (hey, it happens) because you know you can do this and you feel electric.
It's a great feeling. But it's one that we are often rarely able to associate with our day to day work or school. The monotonous ins and outs of work can rarely give you that rush. It's not like you're sitting filing paperwork going THIS IS THE GREATEST JOB EVER.
Alternately, if you do feel like that, then please inform me as to how I can get that job. But for the rest of us, it's easy to get bogged down by the mundane and lose sight of why we are doing what we are doing. Every now and then we need a boost to get that adrenaline rush going again.
Today I got that boost.
I met with a good friend and previous classmate for breakfast and we got talking about careers and changes and this very topic of feeling stuck in our ambitions. I couldn't help but laugh at how similar our lives are mirroring each other. Feeling stuck in a job, having an epiphany and then having that spark gather momentum into some sort of action.
I can distinctly remember two epiphany moments in my life.
First, when I was twelve, standing at the end of my driveway at 8:00am waiting for the bus, staring at the gravel beneath my feet and wondering what courses to take when I finally hit high school. I remember asking myself "Why am I here? What is my purpose in this life? There has to be a reason that I am standing here and not somebody else." I came to the realization in that moment that my purpose and my passion would be "To help, to make a difference, and to matter".
In my twelve year old brain this meant only one thing: well then I must go into healthcare.
Looking back at my naive self who was having a philosophical existential crisis at twelve, I cringe a little that I felt that that was the only way to fulfill those things. Because, of course not. I've grown up in a family that is largely involved in the arts and I should know better that the arts can make a difference.
But at the time, this epiphany sent me on a surge forward into a focused drive at succeeding this dream.
Fast forward almost 10 years and I had achieved my goal in some way, and was not feeling that fulfillment that I thought it would. I had lost my drive, my ambition, everything I had planned for had fallen in on itself.
This is when my second epiphany greeted itself to me. This time while sitting at folk festival and flipping through a program. I've told this story to friends of mine before (and probably before on this blog), but it keeps popping up because it was such a moment for me. I stumbled across an ad for a Media Studies for Social Change university program and my brain just sort of short-circuited into one word: yes.
I knew I was being sucked in by every advertising rule in the book but I didn't care because there was a spark. A rush of potential. This was something I knew I could do, something that I wanted and something that would still stay true "to help, to make a difference, to matter".
My friend experienced a very similar epiphany moment to the latter recently and we spoke for hours about these experiences. We talked animatedly, grinning constantly because we were hitting that adrenaline rush moment - but about life. When doors fly open with potential and you just want to surge forward with unstoppable force of endless possibilities.
I received second-hand rush from her spark. Just that feeling of I'M EXCITED THAT YOU ARE EXCITED WHICH MAKES US BOTH MORE EXCITED.
I have been reminded today about why I am doing what I'm doing, and that I have found my drive for potential.
"I sat down and tried to rest. I could not; though I had been on foot all day, I could not now repose an instant; I was too much excited. A phase of my life was closing tonight, a new one opening tomorrow: impossible to slumber in the interval; I must watch feverishly while the change was being accomplished." - Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
Images:
I Love Colouring Kid (source)
Hyperbole & a Half (source)
Friends gif (source)
-
A/N: I am aware I have been completely MIA on here in the last few months. Don't worry, I have many thoughts in the works just nothing else quite ready yet. Check back soon!
It's a great feeling. But it's one that we are often rarely able to associate with our day to day work or school. The monotonous ins and outs of work can rarely give you that rush. It's not like you're sitting filing paperwork going THIS IS THE GREATEST JOB EVER.
 |
| I LOVE TAX RETURNS!!!!!! |
Today I got that boost.
I met with a good friend and previous classmate for breakfast and we got talking about careers and changes and this very topic of feeling stuck in our ambitions. I couldn't help but laugh at how similar our lives are mirroring each other. Feeling stuck in a job, having an epiphany and then having that spark gather momentum into some sort of action.
I can distinctly remember two epiphany moments in my life.
First, when I was twelve, standing at the end of my driveway at 8:00am waiting for the bus, staring at the gravel beneath my feet and wondering what courses to take when I finally hit high school. I remember asking myself "Why am I here? What is my purpose in this life? There has to be a reason that I am standing here and not somebody else." I came to the realization in that moment that my purpose and my passion would be "To help, to make a difference, and to matter".
In my twelve year old brain this meant only one thing: well then I must go into healthcare.
 |
| I like science. I like animals. Guys, I'm gonna be a vet. |
Looking back at my naive self who was having a philosophical existential crisis at twelve, I cringe a little that I felt that that was the only way to fulfill those things. Because, of course not. I've grown up in a family that is largely involved in the arts and I should know better that the arts can make a difference.
But at the time, this epiphany sent me on a surge forward into a focused drive at succeeding this dream.
Fast forward almost 10 years and I had achieved my goal in some way, and was not feeling that fulfillment that I thought it would. I had lost my drive, my ambition, everything I had planned for had fallen in on itself.
This is when my second epiphany greeted itself to me. This time while sitting at folk festival and flipping through a program. I've told this story to friends of mine before (and probably before on this blog), but it keeps popping up because it was such a moment for me. I stumbled across an ad for a Media Studies for Social Change university program and my brain just sort of short-circuited into one word: yes.
I knew I was being sucked in by every advertising rule in the book but I didn't care because there was a spark. A rush of potential. This was something I knew I could do, something that I wanted and something that would still stay true "to help, to make a difference, to matter".
My friend experienced a very similar epiphany moment to the latter recently and we spoke for hours about these experiences. We talked animatedly, grinning constantly because we were hitting that adrenaline rush moment - but about life. When doors fly open with potential and you just want to surge forward with unstoppable force of endless possibilities.
I received second-hand rush from her spark. Just that feeling of I'M EXCITED THAT YOU ARE EXCITED WHICH MAKES US BOTH MORE EXCITED.
 |
| In true Chandler Bing fashion |
"I sat down and tried to rest. I could not; though I had been on foot all day, I could not now repose an instant; I was too much excited. A phase of my life was closing tonight, a new one opening tomorrow: impossible to slumber in the interval; I must watch feverishly while the change was being accomplished." - Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
Images:
I Love Colouring Kid (source)
Hyperbole & a Half (source)
Friends gif (source)
-
A/N: I am aware I have been completely MIA on here in the last few months. Don't worry, I have many thoughts in the works just nothing else quite ready yet. Check back soon!
Thursday, 4 April 2013
Come to the GF Side....We Have Pretzels
It's interesting, in the last year or so, I've had 4 or 5 friends "come out" as Gluten-Free because of problems with wheat, barley or oat based foods once they reach their 20's. This is a common type of story it seems with this allergy. It can develop over time without any noticeable discomfort or it can be the bane of your existence for years until you finally find the cause. The latter is basically my mom's story in developing the allergy. She didn't figure out until her mid-20's that it was breads, pastas and baking that was giving her grief; she then cut gluten from her diet completely and hasn't had a problem since.
As my mom was GF by the time I was born, she knew what to look for and the house was already half adapted for the life style (my sister and dad don't have the allergy and thus still had normal breads and pastas). Whatever it was that tipped her off that I might have the allergy as a baby, she caught it early because I literally have no memory of NOT being gluten free as a kid. If I ever did accidentally eat something with gluten in it (believe me, it's in waaaayy more than what you may think as the obvious) I didn't get big stomach aches per se, but my immune system would just absolutely crash and I'd get sick.
Though my allergy is MUCH less severe now (in reverse it seems to almost everyone else) I still try and maintain a GF diet overall. I find it keeps me healthy and I say better safe than sorry.
But, I remember being so self conscious about my lunches in public school. Constantly being made fun of and having to explain how I couldn't eat wheat. Kids would look at my - albeit dry and cardboard like - rice bread sandwiches like I was some freak. I really didn't care about eating my alternatives at home, but I hated having to eat at school or in public.
Now, know that this was the '90's and gluten allergies were fairly hush-hush. Peanut allergies were barely being addressed at the time. So trying to explain, at 7 years old, to your classmates why you couldn't have the class pizza was embarrassing and a pain in the butt.
Because of this, over the years I would try and hide the allergy. People stopped commenting on my lunches or noticing that I wouldn't buy food from the cafeteria, but if there was a party or if someone brought food to share, I'd give in to the pressure of conforming and take whatever was offered. Better that than being the only kid sitting there not eating and making everyone uncomfortable.
Now this is just my personal experience. I know allergies can be hugely important to be aware of, such as peanut allergies, and it is essential that everyone be on the same page. But for me, my allergy wasn't even that severe sometimes and was more just this annoying social problem.
Sometimes if parents or teachers found out they'd try and compromise by buying or making something gluten free - which was almost worse. If you aren't familiar with the diet, know that it is quite a task trying to find something with flavour that doesn't have the texture of concrete. There are about 10 times more options available today than when I was a kid. It used to literally be one shelf in one aisle in one grocery store that would offer subsititutions. So parents would buy the first thing they saw that said "Gluten free" or "wheat free" on it and presume it was edible. If that wasn't bad enough, it would usually be presented to me in one of 2 ways:
1. A big awkward production on behalf of said grown up to show they were including me. eg. "Okay kids! Here's the pasta alfredo with garlic bread! - OH AND SHANNON I HAVE YOUR SPECIAL PLATE RIGHT OVER HERE. NOW I KNOW YOU CAN'T HAVE BREAD BECAUSE OF YOUR ALLERGY SO HERE'S A CARROT."
or
2. I would be taken aside into the kitchen like I was being ushered to the Principal's office and said grown up would try and quietly give me the alternative in hopes that the other kids wouldn't notice the obvious difference between the giant double layer chocolate cake that everyone else had and the sad excuse for a charred lump of rock I was eating.
Surprise - both were equally humiliating. I grew to loathe the allergy. I hated the way it outcasted me just enough in social gatherings to make them awkward. I didn't want to offend anyone by not eating their food, and they didn't want to look ignorant by not addressing my allergy. What a lovely uncomfortable impasse. Thus, as I hit my teens I decided if no one asked, I wouldn't tell. I just ate and went along with whatever and if I had to pay for it later then so be it. Obviously this was not the best line of thinking, but in my head it saved a lot of social anxiety.
It really wasn't until I was heading off to college that I learned to embrace my Gluten Free-dom. I decided that with a fresh start I would be forward and have a take-it-or-leave-it attitude if people thought it odd.
What I didn't expect, was to find a whole culture that I had been missing out on. One of the very first friends I made in my program I found out immediately was Gluten Free and talked passionately about cooking. As our conversation about this common ground expanded, others piped in with mentioning family or friends that they knew who were also GF. Suddenly it was like the Gluten Free gods opened up and were showing me this new world of acceptance.
In my second year of college I moved in with a classmate and she knew right off the bat that I had to buy my own alternate groceries, but when it came to my turn to cook dinners she was very open to letting me cook GF. In fact she often admitted to not being able to tell the difference from me cooking rice pasta, or making pancakes with potato flour, or buying snacks with GF flour mixtures. She was very accepting and encouraging, which in turn made me more willing to experiment with my alternatives. As I've grown older I can handle wheat in small dosages more often, so long as my diet stays mainly without it. And this isn't to say that everything GF is comparable. Nothing beats freshly baked muffins or a good old bagel, but c'est la vie.
I've grown to have a good support system of people who understand what I eat and why I eat it. I have friends who know when to drag me away from a bakery window as I drool over muffins, or who will ask if I can have something before serving it, or who aren't weirded out if I have to bring a substitution. I know a lot of people who are adapting the lifestyle now either as a way to try and eat more healthy or to aid in health problems and have started turning to me for questions.
Suddenly I've gone from the outcast who can't eat anything, to some guru on the topic.
So, this is a message to 7 year old me:
I know your bread tastes like cardboard now and people are jerks, but your day will come just you wait. Also the flavours get better.
And the greatest pretzels known to mankind are invented.
 |
| And God Said: Let there be Heaven in a Snack. |
Just trust me on this one.
A/N: I intentionally did not mention Celiac's disease here as it does not apply to my personal situation. But if you do suspect you may have or could be developing an intolerance or allergy to gluten, please talk to your doctor about the possibility of Celiac's. I am no expert on the topic either, I just encourage the acceptance of the
Image from: http://justvittles.com/favorites/food/products/snacks/glutino-gf-pretzels/
Sunday, 17 March 2013
The Sound of Silence
I will be making a post about my week without social media and all the interesting comments about that, but I feel I needed to focus this one merely on one aspect of my media detox that was expected to a point, but impacted me more than I could have imagined.
I want you to think of one of your all time favourite songs. A song that has impacted you, a song that makes you smile, a song you can dance to - what ever you like. I want you to go to your music player or youtube and find that song. Play it. Close your eyes, and let the melody take over your world, let the harmonies reach into your soul, let the beat became your heartbeat.
Now imagine that song being plucked from your life. You'll never be able to hear it again. All you have is the memory of it etched in your mind. Never again will your ears hear those vibrations that resonate with you so deeply.
That was my week.
I know that may sound a tad over the top, but I don't think I fully comprehended music's constant impact in my life until I didn't have it anymore.
I realized I use music to judge my sense of time. I know that I can listen to 3 songs in the morning between when my alarm goes off and when I need to leave. I know that between 5 and 8 songs can last my drive to school. A playlist of about 15 songs can cover my break between classes and that an instrumental playlist is the perfect background to studying or writing notes. I can pump myself up with the radio's Top 20 countdown for a few hours that is needed to clean my room and do laundry. I can set a sleep timer of 20 minutes of music to lull me to sleep at night.
When we have it we take it for granted. Oh just a few songs on the radio, or our favourite playlist - I'm sure I can live without Mumford & Sons for a few days. But to wake up to silence, to drive in silence, to work in silence - it was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of my life.
It affected me on a psychological level I had not expected. Even though I was sleeping more, I woke up tired with no motivation. My driving became erratic, I sped and got distracted easier than I'm confident in admitting. I couldn't focus on my work, thus becoming further agitated and frustrated. At home I had no motivation to be productive and the emptiness of the air sent me spiraling downwards.
I had planned a week of activities and cleaning and over all rebooting of my life, but it suddenly all felt pointless and unachievable. It felt like there was a physical door between me and productivity and the only key to unlock the door was some form of music.
I tried to substitute by humming to myself and creating playlists in my head, but I often lost lyrics or tunes became jumbled. I played the piano which helped ease any pent up anxiety, but could only help so long as I was playing. As soon as I stopped I returned to a state of unease.
As much as I value how deep my connection is with music, it does worry me that I rely so heavily on it. I don't know if it's something that is a healthy aid or if I use it as a crutch. I found myself excusing my lack of activity because I didn't have music. As silly as it sounds, it felt like the genuine truth. I felt crippled because of the constant deafening silence.
I realized how much time I spend on my own with music as a constant form of company. Many of my closest friends live far away and with communication to them practically cut off, I couldn't rely on my invisible one to hold me up.
My mood has always been directly correlated with the music I surround myself with - almost anyone can relate to that. We listen to upbeat music when we are happy or want to cheer our selves up, we play quiet acoustic songs for times of focus or reflection, pop music for dancing or socializing. Without these options, I couldn't properly judge my moods or change the funk I was in.
I wanted to be motivated, happy, inspired, encouraged - but the enveloping silence seemed to shackle me in a dark place.
When I woke up this morning I didn't grab my computer and open iTunes as I thought I would. I rolled out of bed and got up and found myself at the piano once again. I wanted nothing more than to just fill my world with sound but I couldn't bring myself to even turn on the radio. I started to play, letting my mind wander over the chords, arpeggios and crescendos. I think I was scared. I wanted the silence to end, but didn't know how to handle a reintroduction without falling into a relapse of reliance.
As I write this, I am blasting A Great Big World as a way to reverse a week of melancholy, but I think I will need to ease my ears back into this world. I feel relief but also a sense that maybe I need to rethink how I handle my silences and my music in moderation.
In the mean time, hello iTunes my friend, it's nice to see you again.
Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. - Berthold Auerbach
I want you to think of one of your all time favourite songs. A song that has impacted you, a song that makes you smile, a song you can dance to - what ever you like. I want you to go to your music player or youtube and find that song. Play it. Close your eyes, and let the melody take over your world, let the harmonies reach into your soul, let the beat became your heartbeat.
Now imagine that song being plucked from your life. You'll never be able to hear it again. All you have is the memory of it etched in your mind. Never again will your ears hear those vibrations that resonate with you so deeply.
That was my week.
I know that may sound a tad over the top, but I don't think I fully comprehended music's constant impact in my life until I didn't have it anymore.
I realized I use music to judge my sense of time. I know that I can listen to 3 songs in the morning between when my alarm goes off and when I need to leave. I know that between 5 and 8 songs can last my drive to school. A playlist of about 15 songs can cover my break between classes and that an instrumental playlist is the perfect background to studying or writing notes. I can pump myself up with the radio's Top 20 countdown for a few hours that is needed to clean my room and do laundry. I can set a sleep timer of 20 minutes of music to lull me to sleep at night.
When we have it we take it for granted. Oh just a few songs on the radio, or our favourite playlist - I'm sure I can live without Mumford & Sons for a few days. But to wake up to silence, to drive in silence, to work in silence - it was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of my life.
It affected me on a psychological level I had not expected. Even though I was sleeping more, I woke up tired with no motivation. My driving became erratic, I sped and got distracted easier than I'm confident in admitting. I couldn't focus on my work, thus becoming further agitated and frustrated. At home I had no motivation to be productive and the emptiness of the air sent me spiraling downwards.
I had planned a week of activities and cleaning and over all rebooting of my life, but it suddenly all felt pointless and unachievable. It felt like there was a physical door between me and productivity and the only key to unlock the door was some form of music.
I tried to substitute by humming to myself and creating playlists in my head, but I often lost lyrics or tunes became jumbled. I played the piano which helped ease any pent up anxiety, but could only help so long as I was playing. As soon as I stopped I returned to a state of unease.
As much as I value how deep my connection is with music, it does worry me that I rely so heavily on it. I don't know if it's something that is a healthy aid or if I use it as a crutch. I found myself excusing my lack of activity because I didn't have music. As silly as it sounds, it felt like the genuine truth. I felt crippled because of the constant deafening silence.
I realized how much time I spend on my own with music as a constant form of company. Many of my closest friends live far away and with communication to them practically cut off, I couldn't rely on my invisible one to hold me up.
My mood has always been directly correlated with the music I surround myself with - almost anyone can relate to that. We listen to upbeat music when we are happy or want to cheer our selves up, we play quiet acoustic songs for times of focus or reflection, pop music for dancing or socializing. Without these options, I couldn't properly judge my moods or change the funk I was in.
I wanted to be motivated, happy, inspired, encouraged - but the enveloping silence seemed to shackle me in a dark place.
When I woke up this morning I didn't grab my computer and open iTunes as I thought I would. I rolled out of bed and got up and found myself at the piano once again. I wanted nothing more than to just fill my world with sound but I couldn't bring myself to even turn on the radio. I started to play, letting my mind wander over the chords, arpeggios and crescendos. I think I was scared. I wanted the silence to end, but didn't know how to handle a reintroduction without falling into a relapse of reliance.
As I write this, I am blasting A Great Big World as a way to reverse a week of melancholy, but I think I will need to ease my ears back into this world. I feel relief but also a sense that maybe I need to rethink how I handle my silences and my music in moderation.
In the mean time, hello iTunes my friend, it's nice to see you again.
Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. - Berthold Auerbach
Friday, 8 March 2013
Going Off the Grid: Media Detox Week
Hi all!
For my Media Studies course at university this semester I have an assignment called a "Media Detox Project". Basically I've been monitoring my media consumption/usage for the past week, showing how much it is integrated in our lives, and then I will be cutting it all out for the following week.
So, from Sunday, March 10 until Saturday, March 16 I will be removing all excessive media from my life.
And guess what? I challenge you to do it with me! Honestly, I think it's good to step back and remove ourselves from the media saturated world we live in every now and then.
Now I'm not asking you to live like a pioneer with out electricity, but rather just finding alternatives to being constantly 'plugged in' to a digital world.
So, this means no social networking, texting, television, movies, radio, music, etc. I know I'm losing you all already, and you don't have to do it to the same extent as me (you're not being marked on it). But just even try and limit yourself to the minimal amount of usage of these things as you can.
Exempt from this would be use of media for school or work. I don't want to be blamed for you failing a test or getting fired from your job... stay in school kids.
Things you can do instead:
-Use a telephone! Yes, that box thing with the buttons that we use every day for texting... did you know you can also communicate in real time with people you know using your voice?!?! They don't even have to be in the same room! CRAZY TALK.
-Write/send a letter! With a real pen! On real paper! And then a magical mail service will teleport that letter to the person its intended for in 2-5 business days! I'M NOT MAKIN' THIS STUFF UP KIDS.
-Read a book! ON REAL PAPER
-Play a board game! ITS 3D CGI IS SO REAL YOU'LL REALIZE IT'S NOT ACTUALLY CGI
-Exercise! MAYBE...
-Work on Art Projects! MAKE THAT BIRTHDAY PRESENT YOU'VE BEEN PUTTING OFF FOR 8 MONTHS
-Be social! Go out and see some live music, or live theatre, or live sporting event! YES THESE THINGS HAPPEN OUTSIDE OF A TV SCREEN
-Clean! BECAUSE YOUR ROOM IS A TORNADO
-Bake/Cook! YOU WILL SUDDENLY BE EVERYONE'S BEST FRIEND
-Walk a dog! Don't have one? Steal a friend's! Walk a cat! BEWARE OF ANGRY CAT
- Have a drink! IN MODERATION - REMEMBER: ST. PATRICKS DAY IS SUNDAY
I think it will be a fun experiment and I invite you to join in on thepain fun.
Otherwise I will see you all in a week, if I make it.
"'cause even on a slow day I can have a three way
Chat with two women at one time
I'm so much cooler online
So much cooler online"
-Brad Paisley, Online
For my Media Studies course at university this semester I have an assignment called a "Media Detox Project". Basically I've been monitoring my media consumption/usage for the past week, showing how much it is integrated in our lives, and then I will be cutting it all out for the following week.
So, from Sunday, March 10 until Saturday, March 16 I will be removing all excessive media from my life.
And guess what? I challenge you to do it with me! Honestly, I think it's good to step back and remove ourselves from the media saturated world we live in every now and then.
Now I'm not asking you to live like a pioneer with out electricity, but rather just finding alternatives to being constantly 'plugged in' to a digital world.
So, this means no social networking, texting, television, movies, radio, music, etc. I know I'm losing you all already, and you don't have to do it to the same extent as me (you're not being marked on it). But just even try and limit yourself to the minimal amount of usage of these things as you can.
Exempt from this would be use of media for school or work. I don't want to be blamed for you failing a test or getting fired from your job... stay in school kids.
Things you can do instead:
-Use a telephone! Yes, that box thing with the buttons that we use every day for texting... did you know you can also communicate in real time with people you know using your voice?!?! They don't even have to be in the same room! CRAZY TALK.
-Write/send a letter! With a real pen! On real paper! And then a magical mail service will teleport that letter to the person its intended for in 2-5 business days! I'M NOT MAKIN' THIS STUFF UP KIDS.
-Read a book! ON REAL PAPER
-Play a board game! ITS 3D CGI IS SO REAL YOU'LL REALIZE IT'S NOT ACTUALLY CGI
-Exercise! MAYBE...
-Work on Art Projects! MAKE THAT BIRTHDAY PRESENT YOU'VE BEEN PUTTING OFF FOR 8 MONTHS
-Be social! Go out and see some live music, or live theatre, or live sporting event! YES THESE THINGS HAPPEN OUTSIDE OF A TV SCREEN
-Clean! BECAUSE YOUR ROOM IS A TORNADO
-Bake/Cook! YOU WILL SUDDENLY BE EVERYONE'S BEST FRIEND
-Walk a dog! Don't have one? Steal a friend's! Walk a cat! BEWARE OF ANGRY CAT
- Have a drink! IN MODERATION - REMEMBER: ST. PATRICKS DAY IS SUNDAY
I think it will be a fun experiment and I invite you to join in on the
Otherwise I will see you all in a week, if I make it.
"'cause even on a slow day I can have a three way
Chat with two women at one time
I'm so much cooler online
So much cooler online"
-Brad Paisley, Online
Thursday, 14 February 2013
Evil Pink Teddy Bears
I don't hate Valentines Day.
The idea of a time to celebrate the ones we love. An excuse to shout from the rooftops the extent to which we care for the people in our lives. A time to love and be loved. Love, in any form, drives our interactions - whether it be familial, friendly, or romantic - it connects us and pushes us to be better people. Why shouldn't we celebrate that?
But, what I do hate is the consumerism that surrounds Valentines Day. It is the commodity of the event that has conditioned me to be bitter and roll my eyes at any mention of it. On January 2nd the grocery store turned into a sea of pink. New Years was over and done with and it was time to remind us just how much we need to buy helium filled heart-shaped balloons with teddy bears on them saying "I wuv u!". Chocolate and jewellery sales skyrocket and its those fiery cinnamon hearts are suddenly everywhere.
Suddenly Valentines isn't about the personal interaction with the people you love, but a public display of buy! Buy! BUY!
Gee doesn't this sound familiar?
Christmas traditions? BUYING THE TREE, BUYING PRESENTS, oh yeah and seeing the family, BOXINGDAY WEEK SHOPPING!
Easter traditions: BUYING THE EASTER EGGS, BUYING CHOCOLATE, something about going to church, BUYING MORE CANDY.
Our traditions have become those that involve consuming these things and have lost the ideals that the stand for.
Yes, Valentine's gifts are ways of expressing our emotions - as are most any gifts - but the sentiment can be lost by competition and the need to 'out-do' each other, or other couples or other years. Everything needs to be bigger and better or else it means nothing.
This is not to say that the entire holiday has fallen apart. I can be a hopeless romantic as much as the next person and sweet stories of love can make me a puddle of goo. But the stories that can reduce me to such a state rarely involve grandiose gifts and elaborate planning. Often they are stories of the small and subtle gestures that get me. Acts of kindness, acts of nostalgia, acts of sentiment. The things that really mean something to us beyond a commodity.
I'm rarely bitter about Valentine's day due to the fact that I'm single. I joke with my friends about "Single Awareness Day!" but never as a cry for attention. I honestly never felt like I was missing out on the roses and teddy bears. What makes me bitter about Valentine's is that the meaning has been lost to all the pinks and reds of store fronts and the constant push to shove the idea down our throats that we need to buy the biggest and best gift or our significant other won't love us anymore. The entire industry is ridiculous, sexist, classist - all to make us feel like we need their product to feel loved.
I know I sound like a Valentine's Scrooge here, but as I stated earlier - I do love the idea of expressing our love.
So, forget the stores and the candies and the nauseating teddy bears, to all the people in my life who are important to me and who put up with me, and who may not hear it enough:
I love y'all, and Happy Valentine's Day m'dears... just don't expect any gifts from me.
I don't own Lotso the bear from Toy Story 3 because I'd prefer not to be murdered in my sleep, but nonetheless you can get him here.
The idea of a time to celebrate the ones we love. An excuse to shout from the rooftops the extent to which we care for the people in our lives. A time to love and be loved. Love, in any form, drives our interactions - whether it be familial, friendly, or romantic - it connects us and pushes us to be better people. Why shouldn't we celebrate that?
But, what I do hate is the consumerism that surrounds Valentines Day. It is the commodity of the event that has conditioned me to be bitter and roll my eyes at any mention of it. On January 2nd the grocery store turned into a sea of pink. New Years was over and done with and it was time to remind us just how much we need to buy helium filled heart-shaped balloons with teddy bears on them saying "I wuv u!". Chocolate and jewellery sales skyrocket and its those fiery cinnamon hearts are suddenly everywhere.
 |
| Don't let the pink fluffiness fool you.....He's full of evil. |
Suddenly Valentines isn't about the personal interaction with the people you love, but a public display of buy! Buy! BUY!
Gee doesn't this sound familiar?
Christmas traditions? BUYING THE TREE, BUYING PRESENTS, oh yeah and seeing the family, BOXING
Easter traditions: BUYING THE EASTER EGGS, BUYING CHOCOLATE, something about going to church, BUYING MORE CANDY.
Our traditions have become those that involve consuming these things and have lost the ideals that the stand for.
Yes, Valentine's gifts are ways of expressing our emotions - as are most any gifts - but the sentiment can be lost by competition and the need to 'out-do' each other, or other couples or other years. Everything needs to be bigger and better or else it means nothing.
This is not to say that the entire holiday has fallen apart. I can be a hopeless romantic as much as the next person and sweet stories of love can make me a puddle of goo. But the stories that can reduce me to such a state rarely involve grandiose gifts and elaborate planning. Often they are stories of the small and subtle gestures that get me. Acts of kindness, acts of nostalgia, acts of sentiment. The things that really mean something to us beyond a commodity.
I'm rarely bitter about Valentine's day due to the fact that I'm single. I joke with my friends about "Single Awareness Day!" but never as a cry for attention. I honestly never felt like I was missing out on the roses and teddy bears. What makes me bitter about Valentine's is that the meaning has been lost to all the pinks and reds of store fronts and the constant push to shove the idea down our throats that we need to buy the biggest and best gift or our significant other won't love us anymore. The entire industry is ridiculous, sexist, classist - all to make us feel like we need their product to feel loved.
I know I sound like a Valentine's Scrooge here, but as I stated earlier - I do love the idea of expressing our love.
So, forget the stores and the candies and the nauseating teddy bears, to all the people in my life who are important to me and who put up with me, and who may not hear it enough:
I love y'all, and Happy Valentine's Day m'dears... just don't expect any gifts from me.
I don't own Lotso the bear from Toy Story 3 because I'd prefer not to be murdered in my sleep, but nonetheless you can get him here.
Tuesday, 12 February 2013
Let's Talk Day: Anxiety
I don't ever remember having an anxiety problem before college.
That's not to say I wasn't ever anxious. I was constantly in a state of worry and I did a lot of performance arts (dance, music) and would have 'pre-show jitters' but never anything debilitating. I would stress, worry, and get paranoid over little things - but it was usually short lived and forgetable.
I'm not sure when exactly this changed. I was fairly shy my first semester of college and thankfully was able to find friends who quickly became close and trustworthy. In a demanding program like ours, you needed a strong support system of your peers or you die. We had lab sections for many of our classes and during exams would also have lab practicals to show the skills we'd learned beyond the theory.
This type of testing was never a strong area for me. My mind blanks under pressure and I don't like being caught off guard. Even with weeks of preparation I would still go in with sweaty palms. At the beginning it was stressful, yes, but again similar to just nerves before going on a stage.
As the first year went on, despite my overall good grades coming out of the practical portion, these nerves kept getting worse.
I remember before one nursing practical, having to wait for my name to be called and ending up sitting on the ground because I felt nauseous and dizzy. It took two of my close friends to calm me down, remind me to breath and try and calm the sudden tremors I was having. I was panicking over the practical yes, but this reaction my body was having was something also completely new to me and scared me just as much.
It felt like a switch flipped in my brain and everything was crashing down and closing in all at once and I was babbling nonsense and could physically not stop shaking.
After that, I'd hoped the case had been from sleep deprivation and the week of exams I had been suffering through, but the instance had me on edge. I was scared that it would happen again which in turn made me more anxious.
The co-op I had that summer was brutal and affirmed the growing sense of anxiety in my chest. My boss was not a pleasant man to work for. Yes the job was demanding and new, but it was manageable. My boss was not. He was intimidating, short-tempered and very demanding in his own right. Although he did rather like me as a summer student, no one was safe during any of his bad days. Every rank of seniority could and would get yelled at and tension was always high. This sort of conflict is every sort of environment my personality cannot handle. But, I needed the job and it was only for a few months. Thus, I started going to work half an hour before any one else - I would prep for the day so that when everyone arrived, everything was ready. I also did this so I could have some time to my self with my sanity before the day started. During the day, I always offered to develop radiographs as it would give me 5 minutes to sit in the dark and breathe without the fear of someone walking in. These efforts deemed futile though as almost every day I ended up going home in near tears, stressed, angry, and exhausted. My sleeping patterns turned upside down, I had indigestion constantly, a tight knot in my stomach became permanent and I stopped wanting to eat in fear that I would just throw it all back up.
I started taking mild anxiety pills if I felt particularly unstable before work as needed. They weren't any heavy prescription drug, just plant based calming tablets that seemed to help a bit. This went from every so often, to a few days a week, to popping one in every morning before I walked out the door. I hated taking them, but the second I stopped the nausea, shaking, sweating, cramps all would return.
I was angry a lot, and although much of it was directed at the job, it was also at myself for not being strong enough to take on these challenges. That summer I grew a very tough skin in terms of working conditions - but my emotional stability was shot. The verbal abuse the employees had stuck with me long after. I found myself on edge more often and smaller events would send me into a spiral downwards of anxiety and fear.
The entire thing is illogical, my body and mind reacts to the unnecessary extreme. That's what frustrates me the most. It's embarrassing and can make you feel like a coward.
A few years have past since that summer, a few more anxiety attacks along the way, but also a few moments of self-realization. I can come across as confident and present myself as laid back - but underneath there is often a version of me hitting every panic button imaginable. This is not to say that I'm in a constant state of anxiety. I often am genuinely relaxed and confident in my abilities. But there are times when an unstoppable force takes over. I know certain circumstances that can trigger the anxiety and try to avoid them, but they are not always unavoidable and that's when it gets rough.
I've never been actually diagnosed with a form of an anxiety disorder, and I don't want to be self-diagnosing and say I have something or another when I might not. I know of people who struggle with much more extreme cases of anxiety every day and that it can be much more debilitating to their activities much more than what I've described here. All I'm doing here is stating my personal experiences with the anxiety I've had and how it's affected my life. I would love to be the person who can stand up to those that push me down, or be confident enough to take risks with out dwelling on the consequences, or be the first to start a conversation with a stranger. But that's just not me.
All I can say is to allow those who are close to you in. Give yourself a support system of people you trust to tell you that you can get through this and that you are stronger than your anxiety. Someone to guide you across whatever struggles you are battling, to remind you to breathe and offer a hand to hold.
If nothing else, just know: It's okay to be scared.
Bell Let's Talk Day: "Talking about mental health is the first step in making a difference in the lives of all Canadians."
That's not to say I wasn't ever anxious. I was constantly in a state of worry and I did a lot of performance arts (dance, music) and would have 'pre-show jitters' but never anything debilitating. I would stress, worry, and get paranoid over little things - but it was usually short lived and forgetable.
I'm not sure when exactly this changed. I was fairly shy my first semester of college and thankfully was able to find friends who quickly became close and trustworthy. In a demanding program like ours, you needed a strong support system of your peers or you die. We had lab sections for many of our classes and during exams would also have lab practicals to show the skills we'd learned beyond the theory.
This type of testing was never a strong area for me. My mind blanks under pressure and I don't like being caught off guard. Even with weeks of preparation I would still go in with sweaty palms. At the beginning it was stressful, yes, but again similar to just nerves before going on a stage.
As the first year went on, despite my overall good grades coming out of the practical portion, these nerves kept getting worse.
I remember before one nursing practical, having to wait for my name to be called and ending up sitting on the ground because I felt nauseous and dizzy. It took two of my close friends to calm me down, remind me to breath and try and calm the sudden tremors I was having. I was panicking over the practical yes, but this reaction my body was having was something also completely new to me and scared me just as much.
It felt like a switch flipped in my brain and everything was crashing down and closing in all at once and I was babbling nonsense and could physically not stop shaking.
After that, I'd hoped the case had been from sleep deprivation and the week of exams I had been suffering through, but the instance had me on edge. I was scared that it would happen again which in turn made me more anxious.
The co-op I had that summer was brutal and affirmed the growing sense of anxiety in my chest. My boss was not a pleasant man to work for. Yes the job was demanding and new, but it was manageable. My boss was not. He was intimidating, short-tempered and very demanding in his own right. Although he did rather like me as a summer student, no one was safe during any of his bad days. Every rank of seniority could and would get yelled at and tension was always high. This sort of conflict is every sort of environment my personality cannot handle. But, I needed the job and it was only for a few months. Thus, I started going to work half an hour before any one else - I would prep for the day so that when everyone arrived, everything was ready. I also did this so I could have some time to my self with my sanity before the day started. During the day, I always offered to develop radiographs as it would give me 5 minutes to sit in the dark and breathe without the fear of someone walking in. These efforts deemed futile though as almost every day I ended up going home in near tears, stressed, angry, and exhausted. My sleeping patterns turned upside down, I had indigestion constantly, a tight knot in my stomach became permanent and I stopped wanting to eat in fear that I would just throw it all back up.
I started taking mild anxiety pills if I felt particularly unstable before work as needed. They weren't any heavy prescription drug, just plant based calming tablets that seemed to help a bit. This went from every so often, to a few days a week, to popping one in every morning before I walked out the door. I hated taking them, but the second I stopped the nausea, shaking, sweating, cramps all would return.
I was angry a lot, and although much of it was directed at the job, it was also at myself for not being strong enough to take on these challenges. That summer I grew a very tough skin in terms of working conditions - but my emotional stability was shot. The verbal abuse the employees had stuck with me long after. I found myself on edge more often and smaller events would send me into a spiral downwards of anxiety and fear.
The entire thing is illogical, my body and mind reacts to the unnecessary extreme. That's what frustrates me the most. It's embarrassing and can make you feel like a coward.
A few years have past since that summer, a few more anxiety attacks along the way, but also a few moments of self-realization. I can come across as confident and present myself as laid back - but underneath there is often a version of me hitting every panic button imaginable. This is not to say that I'm in a constant state of anxiety. I often am genuinely relaxed and confident in my abilities. But there are times when an unstoppable force takes over. I know certain circumstances that can trigger the anxiety and try to avoid them, but they are not always unavoidable and that's when it gets rough.
I've never been actually diagnosed with a form of an anxiety disorder, and I don't want to be self-diagnosing and say I have something or another when I might not. I know of people who struggle with much more extreme cases of anxiety every day and that it can be much more debilitating to their activities much more than what I've described here. All I'm doing here is stating my personal experiences with the anxiety I've had and how it's affected my life. I would love to be the person who can stand up to those that push me down, or be confident enough to take risks with out dwelling on the consequences, or be the first to start a conversation with a stranger. But that's just not me.
All I can say is to allow those who are close to you in. Give yourself a support system of people you trust to tell you that you can get through this and that you are stronger than your anxiety. Someone to guide you across whatever struggles you are battling, to remind you to breathe and offer a hand to hold.
If nothing else, just know: It's okay to be scared.
Bell Let's Talk Day: "Talking about mental health is the first step in making a difference in the lives of all Canadians."
Tuesday, 5 February 2013
Because I knew you, I have been changed For Good.
Today I had to say goodbye to one of my best friends.
She was small, not the sharpest tool in the box and many would cringe when I talked about her.
But she was important, she was a rat, and her name was Elphie.
The name came from Gregory McGuire's book Wicked. If you are familiar with his work or with the smash hit broadway musical based off it, you will know about Elphaba. For those of you who don't know (because you have been stuck under the nearest rock for 10 years) the story is that of The Wizard of Oz as told by the Wicked Witch of the West: Elphaba Thropp. It basically turns the entire original story on its head, telling how Elphaba and Glinda met and became friends before Dorothy dropped a house on Elphaba's sister. The core of the story is that Elphaba is inherently good. She tries to use her magic to help others, but her green complexion and knack for magic make others believe she's a social menace.
My love for the book and musical aside, what does this have to do with a rat?
Well, couldn't the same thing be said? They have a history of being vermin and carriers of disease (sorry about the plague and stuff), and people are turned off by their skinny tail and piercing eyes. Any mention of rats in public is met with disdain and a shudder.
I never understood this generalization. Rats are one of the smartest rodents out there and can survive in many conditions with digestive systems of steel. They are incredibly sociable and make profound bonds with those they trust (don't believe me? I feel a certain Oscar winning Pixar movie might sway your opinion).
So, for something so smart and kind, all they receive is predisposed hate.
Now are we seeing the connection?
Elphie and her sister Sophie were welcome to the home of me and my roommate, Alyssa, in November of 2010. They two of them were our detox from school. The spare room became their playground. Alyssa's clothes rack became their jungle gym (fit with our renditions of Mission Impossible theme playing in the background). Sophie was the larger, more dominant, adventurous and co-ordinated. Elphie on the other hand stayed small, followed her sister around, and often tried to jump head first into a wall outlet.
That room is also where I learned that Elphie probably genuinely thought she was a flying squirrel. This came about while I was lying on the ground doing homework as she ran around. I heard a few scrapes and then silence, I looked around not seeing her anywhere. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw movement on the top shelf of the empty clothes closet. The next few seconds that transpired could be likened to that of BBC Sherlock's "Reichenbach Fall". Wherein we locked eyes, I got out "no-!" before she took a leap of faith. Just like Sherlock, she plummeted, limbs scrambling outwards, except when she hit the ground, she bounced (If only Mr. Holmes was so buoyant). I was sure she had just tried to commit suicide and that all of her bones would be broken from the height of the fall. But she simply looked slightly stunned, turned around, and tried to climb back up to do it again.
The closet doors stayed shut after that.
The girls turned into 'teenagers' and started trying to eat each other so some crafty separation took place. Then before we knew it, the semester was ending, and Alyssa and I were heading our separate ways for home. She took Sophie, I took Elphie and thus ended that chapter of all of our lives.
Over the next few months, Elphie got an upgrade in her cage from nice little condo to giant mansion. Her confidence grew and her spunk along with it. I would come home to mysteriously chewed pillows, curtains, and even two viciously murdered helium balloons - all while Elphie sat by her door looking innocently at me.
She would rattle her water bottle because she knew the sound drove me up the wall, her addiction for yogurt drops almost led to a nose bleed on both of our parts and that whole "jump head first" attitude never went away.
Despite these things, she was always company. Someone to come home to after a tiring day. Someone who could cheer me up with her antics and activities.
Last spring, I got word from Alyssa that Sophie had quite suddenly gone downhill and she wasn't going to make it much longer. It took us both by surprise and hit us hard because they both had been so healthy and Elphie continued to act as lively as she had ever been.
It wasn't until quite a few months later, as summer came to an end, that I started seeing a change in Elphie's behaviour. Quite small at first: a little trip here, a little face-plant there. Nothing overly noticeable at first because honestly she had never been the most co-ordinated rat. But it started to happen more often, and she started looking more stiff as she ran up and down her stairs.
Things really got weird when she started cuddling with me. No, really. Normally, while I'd have her out she would always be off sniffing things, hiding places, jumping off other things. But she refused to ever just sit in my lap or hands. Sometimes she would last 30 seconds on my shoulder, but only to calculate her best trajectory to jump - I swear she trying to live up to her name with this whole Defying Gravity method acting.
But as winter approached she started curling up in my lap, or snuggling into my side, even started falling asleep. It was during these times where I saw more grey fur, her muscle tone disappearing and her arms stained from wiping red tears. She was turning into a little old lady.
But a goddamn spunky little old lady. She would be that woman walking down the street with a walker, and when you offered to help her with her bags, she would spit her dentures in your face and hobble away laughing.
This is where it became hard for me. Her body was telling her to slow down but her brain was still telling her YOU SHALL FLY ONE DAY MY PRETTY. It became a matter of quality of life. She still seemed to be enjoying her senile self, even if her limbs decided not to cooperate some days.
Things started to get truly rough for both of us a few weeks ago. She stopped being able to hold her food as her arthritic front paws could no longer grip the seeds. She was smart though and would invent ways of propping up the food for her to just face plant into and munch on. A few more choking instances later, and seeds were removed from her diet. After a particularly scary coughing fit last week while I was skyping with Alyssa, hand feeding soft food was the new rule. After that, serious problems came into effect: incontinence, loss of control of bowels, seizures, phlegm, upper respiratory infection. To the point where all she wanted to do was curl up in my housecoat with me and sleep all day.
I told her many times that it was okay to just let go, but her eyes told me "but mom, I could still flyyyyyyyyyyyy".
I hoped that she would just go in her sleep - and a few times I thought she did. She got told off afterwards for sleeping with her eyes open. But, a decision had to be made, her quality of life was not what it once was.
And so we reach today. I'm happy to report she was feisty to the bitter end. She bit me, escaped her cage twice, tried to jump off the exam table at the vet (maybe this time we fly??!) and almost bit the vet. She put on a brave face even as her lungs were giving out on her. In the end, she went quickly and quietly and had her favourite treat by her side.
When I step back, it can seem a little silly to put so much effort and care into a tiny rodent. Call me crazy, but it I don't think it was silly at all. She had every bit the personality of a cat or dog or horse (and probably more brains than some of those) and taught me many lessons about life and living life to the fullest - even if that means jumping head first into the unknown.
I like to think that right now she and her sister surrounded by the aroma of yogurt drops and are leaping off of whatever mystical clouds they're hanging out on and are finally defying gravity.
"It may well be, that we will never meet again
In this lifetime, So let me say before we part
So much of me, Is made from what I learned from you
You'll be with me, Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine, By being my friend."
-Elphaba, "For Good", Wicked
She was small, not the sharpest tool in the box and many would cringe when I talked about her.
But she was important, she was a rat, and her name was Elphie.
The name came from Gregory McGuire's book Wicked. If you are familiar with his work or with the smash hit broadway musical based off it, you will know about Elphaba. For those of you who don't know (because you have been stuck under the nearest rock for 10 years) the story is that of The Wizard of Oz as told by the Wicked Witch of the West: Elphaba Thropp. It basically turns the entire original story on its head, telling how Elphaba and Glinda met and became friends before Dorothy dropped a house on Elphaba's sister. The core of the story is that Elphaba is inherently good. She tries to use her magic to help others, but her green complexion and knack for magic make others believe she's a social menace.
My love for the book and musical aside, what does this have to do with a rat?
Well, couldn't the same thing be said? They have a history of being vermin and carriers of disease (sorry about the plague and stuff), and people are turned off by their skinny tail and piercing eyes. Any mention of rats in public is met with disdain and a shudder.
I never understood this generalization. Rats are one of the smartest rodents out there and can survive in many conditions with digestive systems of steel. They are incredibly sociable and make profound bonds with those they trust (don't believe me? I feel a certain Oscar winning Pixar movie might sway your opinion).
So, for something so smart and kind, all they receive is predisposed hate.
Now are we seeing the connection?
Elphie and her sister Sophie were welcome to the home of me and my roommate, Alyssa, in November of 2010. They two of them were our detox from school. The spare room became their playground. Alyssa's clothes rack became their jungle gym (fit with our renditions of Mission Impossible theme playing in the background). Sophie was the larger, more dominant, adventurous and co-ordinated. Elphie on the other hand stayed small, followed her sister around, and often tried to jump head first into a wall outlet.
That room is also where I learned that Elphie probably genuinely thought she was a flying squirrel. This came about while I was lying on the ground doing homework as she ran around. I heard a few scrapes and then silence, I looked around not seeing her anywhere. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw movement on the top shelf of the empty clothes closet. The next few seconds that transpired could be likened to that of BBC Sherlock's "Reichenbach Fall". Wherein we locked eyes, I got out "no-!" before she took a leap of faith. Just like Sherlock, she plummeted, limbs scrambling outwards, except when she hit the ground, she bounced (If only Mr. Holmes was so buoyant). I was sure she had just tried to commit suicide and that all of her bones would be broken from the height of the fall. But she simply looked slightly stunned, turned around, and tried to climb back up to do it again.
The closet doors stayed shut after that.
The girls turned into 'teenagers' and started trying to eat each other so some crafty separation took place. Then before we knew it, the semester was ending, and Alyssa and I were heading our separate ways for home. She took Sophie, I took Elphie and thus ended that chapter of all of our lives.
Over the next few months, Elphie got an upgrade in her cage from nice little condo to giant mansion. Her confidence grew and her spunk along with it. I would come home to mysteriously chewed pillows, curtains, and even two viciously murdered helium balloons - all while Elphie sat by her door looking innocently at me.
She would rattle her water bottle because she knew the sound drove me up the wall, her addiction for yogurt drops almost led to a nose bleed on both of our parts and that whole "jump head first" attitude never went away.
Despite these things, she was always company. Someone to come home to after a tiring day. Someone who could cheer me up with her antics and activities.
Last spring, I got word from Alyssa that Sophie had quite suddenly gone downhill and she wasn't going to make it much longer. It took us both by surprise and hit us hard because they both had been so healthy and Elphie continued to act as lively as she had ever been.
It wasn't until quite a few months later, as summer came to an end, that I started seeing a change in Elphie's behaviour. Quite small at first: a little trip here, a little face-plant there. Nothing overly noticeable at first because honestly she had never been the most co-ordinated rat. But it started to happen more often, and she started looking more stiff as she ran up and down her stairs.
Things really got weird when she started cuddling with me. No, really. Normally, while I'd have her out she would always be off sniffing things, hiding places, jumping off other things. But she refused to ever just sit in my lap or hands. Sometimes she would last 30 seconds on my shoulder, but only to calculate her best trajectory to jump - I swear she trying to live up to her name with this whole Defying Gravity method acting.
But as winter approached she started curling up in my lap, or snuggling into my side, even started falling asleep. It was during these times where I saw more grey fur, her muscle tone disappearing and her arms stained from wiping red tears. She was turning into a little old lady.
But a goddamn spunky little old lady. She would be that woman walking down the street with a walker, and when you offered to help her with her bags, she would spit her dentures in your face and hobble away laughing.
This is where it became hard for me. Her body was telling her to slow down but her brain was still telling her YOU SHALL FLY ONE DAY MY PRETTY. It became a matter of quality of life. She still seemed to be enjoying her senile self, even if her limbs decided not to cooperate some days.
Things started to get truly rough for both of us a few weeks ago. She stopped being able to hold her food as her arthritic front paws could no longer grip the seeds. She was smart though and would invent ways of propping up the food for her to just face plant into and munch on. A few more choking instances later, and seeds were removed from her diet. After a particularly scary coughing fit last week while I was skyping with Alyssa, hand feeding soft food was the new rule. After that, serious problems came into effect: incontinence, loss of control of bowels, seizures, phlegm, upper respiratory infection. To the point where all she wanted to do was curl up in my housecoat with me and sleep all day.
I told her many times that it was okay to just let go, but her eyes told me "but mom, I could still flyyyyyyyyyyyy".
I hoped that she would just go in her sleep - and a few times I thought she did. She got told off afterwards for sleeping with her eyes open. But, a decision had to be made, her quality of life was not what it once was.
And so we reach today. I'm happy to report she was feisty to the bitter end. She bit me, escaped her cage twice, tried to jump off the exam table at the vet (maybe this time we fly??!) and almost bit the vet. She put on a brave face even as her lungs were giving out on her. In the end, she went quickly and quietly and had her favourite treat by her side.
When I step back, it can seem a little silly to put so much effort and care into a tiny rodent. Call me crazy, but it I don't think it was silly at all. She had every bit the personality of a cat or dog or horse (and probably more brains than some of those) and taught me many lessons about life and living life to the fullest - even if that means jumping head first into the unknown.
I like to think that right now she and her sister surrounded by the aroma of yogurt drops and are leaping off of whatever mystical clouds they're hanging out on and are finally defying gravity.
"It may well be, that we will never meet again
In this lifetime, So let me say before we part
So much of me, Is made from what I learned from you
You'll be with me, Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine, By being my friend."
-Elphaba, "For Good", Wicked
Sunday, 27 January 2013
History in the Making - Yeah...So?
When we ask "Who cares?" it is often to brush off a topic we don't like or want to talk about. But sometimes it can show how much we care by the normality of not caring. Allow me to elaborate.
Last night, history was made as Kathleen Wynne won out against her opponent, Sandra Pupatello in a third-ballot victory at the Liberal leadership convention, giving Ontario our first female, openly gay Premier.
But what I found most liberating is that those two points I just highlighted are not the highest topic of discussion. Yes, it has been a historical moment for those of us fighting for gender and LGBTQ equality, but it's not overblowing the political issues at stake.
I find there are stages of media and societal attention with bringing these topics into the spotlight.
There is total ignorance and blindsiding - where the media refuses to acknowledge women and LGBTQ members at all, or very minimally, out of fear and prejudice. The risk of 'exposing' people to the thought that it is okay for women and gays to hold such powerful roles in society. The media keeps it quiet in an 'out of sight, out of mind' type of policy.
There is the 'coming out' stage, where the only thing the media focuses on is gender or sexual orientation. We saw a lot of this in the US election this past November with huge headlines focusing on 'The first female this" or "the first gay that" rather than political standings. This can be great exposure to showing progress towards equality.
But then there is another stage to be reached. Where it is public knowledge that a politician is female or gay, and the topic fades into the background again. Not because society is turning a blind eye, but because there is a level of acceptance that can look beyond those labels to the political issues at stake. I feel that is where the large divide between the US and Canada lies.
We are celebrating the history that was made last night for equality, but it's not the headline of every news story. Front pages of newspapers this morning are not simply "GAY FEMALE NEW PREMIER" but rather titles directed at Kathleen Wynne as an individual winning this leadership. Those points are not shunned from the media spotlight entirely - almost every article mentions the 2 facts - but they are not the first things that people are reading. Often further embedded in articles the points come up, but not with the fever and shock value that can be seen in media in the States.
One CBC News article stated:
There is no questioning or speculation about Wynne's abilities based on her gender or sexual orientation. There are no FOX News debate panels accusing her of sending out the wrong message because of the fact that she is female and gay. Our media journalists know it is pointless to try and spin the story in that direction because Canadians will just react with "Yeah...so?"
We have come to a stage of conditioning where we see these points for what they are: facts. There is no need for debate.
The debates lie within the politics. There is no doubt, Wynne will receive media criticism, there will be questioning of her abilities - but it will be from political and economic stand points about hard-hitting issues for the province's citizens.
The same CBC article finished with:
Today we are celebrating a win for our province, and tomorrow we'll all go back to complaining about the weather.
Referenced: CBC News, It's a Wynne-win for Ontario liberals, January 26, 2013.
Last night, history was made as Kathleen Wynne won out against her opponent, Sandra Pupatello in a third-ballot victory at the Liberal leadership convention, giving Ontario our first female, openly gay Premier.
But what I found most liberating is that those two points I just highlighted are not the highest topic of discussion. Yes, it has been a historical moment for those of us fighting for gender and LGBTQ equality, but it's not overblowing the political issues at stake.
I find there are stages of media and societal attention with bringing these topics into the spotlight.
There is total ignorance and blindsiding - where the media refuses to acknowledge women and LGBTQ members at all, or very minimally, out of fear and prejudice. The risk of 'exposing' people to the thought that it is okay for women and gays to hold such powerful roles in society. The media keeps it quiet in an 'out of sight, out of mind' type of policy.
There is the 'coming out' stage, where the only thing the media focuses on is gender or sexual orientation. We saw a lot of this in the US election this past November with huge headlines focusing on 'The first female this" or "the first gay that" rather than political standings. This can be great exposure to showing progress towards equality.
But then there is another stage to be reached. Where it is public knowledge that a politician is female or gay, and the topic fades into the background again. Not because society is turning a blind eye, but because there is a level of acceptance that can look beyond those labels to the political issues at stake. I feel that is where the large divide between the US and Canada lies.
We are celebrating the history that was made last night for equality, but it's not the headline of every news story. Front pages of newspapers this morning are not simply "GAY FEMALE NEW PREMIER" but rather titles directed at Kathleen Wynne as an individual winning this leadership. Those points are not shunned from the media spotlight entirely - almost every article mentions the 2 facts - but they are not the first things that people are reading. Often further embedded in articles the points come up, but not with the fever and shock value that can be seen in media in the States.
One CBC News article stated:
Wynne said the province is ready to accept an openly gay woman as premier.
"The province has changed, our party has changed. I do not believe that the people of Ontario ... hold that prejudice in their hearts," said Wynne, who is married to Jane Rounthwaite.
There is no questioning or speculation about Wynne's abilities based on her gender or sexual orientation. There are no FOX News debate panels accusing her of sending out the wrong message because of the fact that she is female and gay. Our media journalists know it is pointless to try and spin the story in that direction because Canadians will just react with "Yeah...so?"
We have come to a stage of conditioning where we see these points for what they are: facts. There is no need for debate.
The debates lie within the politics. There is no doubt, Wynne will receive media criticism, there will be questioning of her abilities - but it will be from political and economic stand points about hard-hitting issues for the province's citizens.
The same CBC article finished with:
Jackie Blackett, speaking from Toronto’s gay village, said Wynne represents a refreshing change in Ontario politics.
"I think it’s great,” Blackett told CBC News. "It should be an equal opportunity for everyone. It just shows that society has really progressed. Personally I don't think anyone’s sexual orientation should be a factor."
Today we are celebrating a win for our province, and tomorrow we'll all go back to complaining about the weather.
Referenced: CBC News, It's a Wynne-win for Ontario liberals, January 26, 2013.
Friday, 25 January 2013
Of Coffee Shops & Gas Stations
I had a existential life numbing moment at a gas station today.
I was leaving campus and realized my car was running near empty. This gas station is at the opposite end of town from campus with about 3 other stations in between, but it's always the cheapest and friendliest. Definitely worth the risk.
I made it there, pumped my gas, headed in to pay. As I opened the door, pulling out my wallet I heard someone behind me say, "Shannon?"
I turned around, recognizing the voice, and had to do a double take. A delivery man stood there beside a boxes of windshield washer fluid that had just been dumped off a trolley. It took a moment for my brain to figure out who I was looking at. Because the face that was smiling at me was one that I normally associated with the smell of coffee and the sound of a broom sweep or the chime of a door bell. It was a face that greeted me every day for 8 months asking me how my day was and if I wanted 'my usual'.
"Dave!" I exclaimed completely taken aback. Sure I'd run into him before, at the health food store, passing on the street downtown, or at festivals when his coffee shop would have it's mobile service set up.
Dave's corner coffee shop was the best little gem in our town. An old style cafe that few knew about. Two years ago when I landed my first job out of college, his cafe was the closest place for lunch to my work - other than a Chinese buffet restaurant. During my first week at the clinic I brought a lunch but ended up just sitting in the back room eating by myself, even the clinic cat ignored me. My second week, I decided to venture out and see what places were good.
I'd always seen his shop downtown. But it was a place that just sort of blended in with the background. Not that it never looked appealing, it just was a place I had never gotten around to going in to. So as I wandered over my lunch break I found myself entering the cafe with the ringing of a bell. An old man sat on a bar stool by the window reading the paper with his coffee, an oldies radio station played above, but otherwise the place was deserted. I hovered awkwardly, not sure whether I should leave or hang around. I pretended to browse the menu on the chalkboards while taking in the place. There wasn't really a way to explain it other than 'quaint' and 'homey'.
After a few quiet minutes where I wondered if maybe they were closed and I'd totally just barged in, a man finally came rushing up from the back room, wiping his hands on his apron. He smiled warmly, apologized if I had been waiting and asked what I liked.
I ordered and sat on a bar stool while he and his barista worked away, staring out the window people watching, every so often glancing at the newspaper the elderly man had left behind. He came over with my food and drink and made a comment about the headline on the newspaper beside me. I ate quietly as he swept the floors humming to some Elvis song that was playing.
I returned the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. The place was a nice contrast to my work, a calm in the middle of the daily storm. Dave properly introduced himself on the 4th day, seeing that I kept returning, and continued to bring me my order, comment on the newspaper headline, and sweep the floor.
At first, I thought they were just being pleasant for my business, but as those few days turned into weeks, the barista, Christine, soon memorized my order and Dave would lean against the counter and ask me about my day. With the chime of the door, I'd hear "Shannon!" as I waved in greeting. They knew when I just wanted to sit in the quiet, or when to strike up conversation or when to let me rant about work. I knew when to just breeze in and take a seat, when to wait out of the way when 20 construction workers would come in at once, when to open the door for that elderly man.
As my months working at the clinic dragged on, my lunches at the cafe became more appreciate escapes. Coworkers joked that I always disappeared for lunch - though on many occasions I recommended the cafe to them. Dave and Christine would notice if I was late working a shift, or remind me when my break was almost over. I learned about Christine's boyfriend and her dog, listened to tales of Dave's chickens, talked about art and food and pets. The three of us would sit and look out the cafe window, watching the construction site of the town's new library and made comments on how ugly the thing looked.
Autumn hit and I got a nasty cold, on the third day of being stuffed up and all around miserable, Dave slipped some vitamin c packets to me with my tea, saying he'd picked them up for me at the health food store that morning, 'oh and it's all on the house today, get well sickie'.
Autumn turned into the first nips of winter, Christine's car wouldn't start and Dave had to go help her, leaving me in charge of the cafe if anyone were to walk in. I sat there with my tea and my newspaper, complete emptiness surrounding me, and I thought to myself that it was just as warm and homey as the first day I'd stepped in, if not more so. Things weren't going well at my work at this point, and I knew my daily trips to this place may soon be coming to an end.
I was right as it turned out, and as the job finished I made promises of coming back whenever I could. Everyday turned into a few times a week, which turned into once a week which turned into whenever I had a chance to drop in. But every time, Christine still knew my order, Dave still delivered it, commented on the newspaper headline, and swept the floor.
Come spring, I was still jobless, Christine got engaged and the library was finally finished. That didn't stop us from still sitting there and commenting on how ugly it still was.
Life changes though, I kept telling myself to go drop in to the cafe, but circumstances never worked in my favour. Every now and then I'd bump into Dave or Christine and we'd catch up quickly, but even those occurrences eventually pittered away.
And so here I was, standing in some gas station, some one year later, not totally comprehending the circumstances.
Dave told me he'd sold the cafe and quit the business. Christine still worked there, but with the new owner. Dave opted for a new outlook on life and is currently working as a delivery guy. We only talked for a very brief two minutes or so, as he had to get back to work and I had to move my car.
The whole conversation was over too quickly and we both parted ways. I'm sure my shock was apparent and I came up short on what was socially acceptable, feeling incredibly awkward as I drove away. I also felt illogically emotional over what Dave had told me. Had it really been that long since I'd walked through the cafe's door? I thought back, and it had been sometime last July that I had stopped in there. Everything had seemed fine and stable back then, I wondered how much I had missed that led to Dave up and quitting. Surely not that much could have changed?
But that's when it hit me - I was the pot calling the kettle black. My life is nothing like it was last July. In fact it had been around that time that my entire outlook on life changed, my goals changed, and I changed. I'm definitely not the same person who used to walk into his shop everyday.
Of course life changes, and it changes fast. Sometimes without us realizing. It took this complete random happenstance of a run in for me to truly see that. Though I don't know all of Dave's story, I couldn't help but compare our situations. Working in the service industry can be hard and draining, but to customers and clients, we never show it. But when you reach the point where you don't find joy in your work anymore, sometimes you just have to hang up your coat...or sometimes your apron. It's not easy to leave a work placement that gives you job security and monetary stability, but sometimes you have to take the risk. It may mean you are unemployed, or have to go back to school, or pick up a job as a delivery man. But if you feel that even these little changes increase your mental well being, well then the world is yours to take.
I'm not sure if I'll see Dave again. I guess I always took him and the cafe for granted as always being there. I hope I do, and I hope I can thank him for his small part in that chapter of my life.
I think I'll pop in to the cafe this weekend, say hi to Christine, snoop out the new owner. Just this time I'll have to imagine listening to Dave's comments on headlines and his broom sweeping the floor.
"I never knew, just what it was, about this old coffee shop I loved so much" - Landon Pigg, (Falling in love at the) Coffee Shop
I was leaving campus and realized my car was running near empty. This gas station is at the opposite end of town from campus with about 3 other stations in between, but it's always the cheapest and friendliest. Definitely worth the risk.
I made it there, pumped my gas, headed in to pay. As I opened the door, pulling out my wallet I heard someone behind me say, "Shannon?"
I turned around, recognizing the voice, and had to do a double take. A delivery man stood there beside a boxes of windshield washer fluid that had just been dumped off a trolley. It took a moment for my brain to figure out who I was looking at. Because the face that was smiling at me was one that I normally associated with the smell of coffee and the sound of a broom sweep or the chime of a door bell. It was a face that greeted me every day for 8 months asking me how my day was and if I wanted 'my usual'.
"Dave!" I exclaimed completely taken aback. Sure I'd run into him before, at the health food store, passing on the street downtown, or at festivals when his coffee shop would have it's mobile service set up.
Dave's corner coffee shop was the best little gem in our town. An old style cafe that few knew about. Two years ago when I landed my first job out of college, his cafe was the closest place for lunch to my work - other than a Chinese buffet restaurant. During my first week at the clinic I brought a lunch but ended up just sitting in the back room eating by myself, even the clinic cat ignored me. My second week, I decided to venture out and see what places were good.
I'd always seen his shop downtown. But it was a place that just sort of blended in with the background. Not that it never looked appealing, it just was a place I had never gotten around to going in to. So as I wandered over my lunch break I found myself entering the cafe with the ringing of a bell. An old man sat on a bar stool by the window reading the paper with his coffee, an oldies radio station played above, but otherwise the place was deserted. I hovered awkwardly, not sure whether I should leave or hang around. I pretended to browse the menu on the chalkboards while taking in the place. There wasn't really a way to explain it other than 'quaint' and 'homey'.
After a few quiet minutes where I wondered if maybe they were closed and I'd totally just barged in, a man finally came rushing up from the back room, wiping his hands on his apron. He smiled warmly, apologized if I had been waiting and asked what I liked.
I ordered and sat on a bar stool while he and his barista worked away, staring out the window people watching, every so often glancing at the newspaper the elderly man had left behind. He came over with my food and drink and made a comment about the headline on the newspaper beside me. I ate quietly as he swept the floors humming to some Elvis song that was playing.
I returned the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. The place was a nice contrast to my work, a calm in the middle of the daily storm. Dave properly introduced himself on the 4th day, seeing that I kept returning, and continued to bring me my order, comment on the newspaper headline, and sweep the floor.
At first, I thought they were just being pleasant for my business, but as those few days turned into weeks, the barista, Christine, soon memorized my order and Dave would lean against the counter and ask me about my day. With the chime of the door, I'd hear "Shannon!" as I waved in greeting. They knew when I just wanted to sit in the quiet, or when to strike up conversation or when to let me rant about work. I knew when to just breeze in and take a seat, when to wait out of the way when 20 construction workers would come in at once, when to open the door for that elderly man.
As my months working at the clinic dragged on, my lunches at the cafe became more appreciate escapes. Coworkers joked that I always disappeared for lunch - though on many occasions I recommended the cafe to them. Dave and Christine would notice if I was late working a shift, or remind me when my break was almost over. I learned about Christine's boyfriend and her dog, listened to tales of Dave's chickens, talked about art and food and pets. The three of us would sit and look out the cafe window, watching the construction site of the town's new library and made comments on how ugly the thing looked.
Autumn hit and I got a nasty cold, on the third day of being stuffed up and all around miserable, Dave slipped some vitamin c packets to me with my tea, saying he'd picked them up for me at the health food store that morning, 'oh and it's all on the house today, get well sickie'.
Autumn turned into the first nips of winter, Christine's car wouldn't start and Dave had to go help her, leaving me in charge of the cafe if anyone were to walk in. I sat there with my tea and my newspaper, complete emptiness surrounding me, and I thought to myself that it was just as warm and homey as the first day I'd stepped in, if not more so. Things weren't going well at my work at this point, and I knew my daily trips to this place may soon be coming to an end.
I was right as it turned out, and as the job finished I made promises of coming back whenever I could. Everyday turned into a few times a week, which turned into once a week which turned into whenever I had a chance to drop in. But every time, Christine still knew my order, Dave still delivered it, commented on the newspaper headline, and swept the floor.
Come spring, I was still jobless, Christine got engaged and the library was finally finished. That didn't stop us from still sitting there and commenting on how ugly it still was.
Life changes though, I kept telling myself to go drop in to the cafe, but circumstances never worked in my favour. Every now and then I'd bump into Dave or Christine and we'd catch up quickly, but even those occurrences eventually pittered away.
And so here I was, standing in some gas station, some one year later, not totally comprehending the circumstances.
Dave told me he'd sold the cafe and quit the business. Christine still worked there, but with the new owner. Dave opted for a new outlook on life and is currently working as a delivery guy. We only talked for a very brief two minutes or so, as he had to get back to work and I had to move my car.
The whole conversation was over too quickly and we both parted ways. I'm sure my shock was apparent and I came up short on what was socially acceptable, feeling incredibly awkward as I drove away. I also felt illogically emotional over what Dave had told me. Had it really been that long since I'd walked through the cafe's door? I thought back, and it had been sometime last July that I had stopped in there. Everything had seemed fine and stable back then, I wondered how much I had missed that led to Dave up and quitting. Surely not that much could have changed?
But that's when it hit me - I was the pot calling the kettle black. My life is nothing like it was last July. In fact it had been around that time that my entire outlook on life changed, my goals changed, and I changed. I'm definitely not the same person who used to walk into his shop everyday.
Of course life changes, and it changes fast. Sometimes without us realizing. It took this complete random happenstance of a run in for me to truly see that. Though I don't know all of Dave's story, I couldn't help but compare our situations. Working in the service industry can be hard and draining, but to customers and clients, we never show it. But when you reach the point where you don't find joy in your work anymore, sometimes you just have to hang up your coat...or sometimes your apron. It's not easy to leave a work placement that gives you job security and monetary stability, but sometimes you have to take the risk. It may mean you are unemployed, or have to go back to school, or pick up a job as a delivery man. But if you feel that even these little changes increase your mental well being, well then the world is yours to take.
I'm not sure if I'll see Dave again. I guess I always took him and the cafe for granted as always being there. I hope I do, and I hope I can thank him for his small part in that chapter of my life.
I think I'll pop in to the cafe this weekend, say hi to Christine, snoop out the new owner. Just this time I'll have to imagine listening to Dave's comments on headlines and his broom sweeping the floor.
"I never knew, just what it was, about this old coffee shop I loved so much" - Landon Pigg, (Falling in love at the) Coffee Shop
Monday, 21 January 2013
This is not The Great Perhaps
"I go to seek a Great Perhaps" - Francois Rabelais
This is not a happy post.
I'm just going to flat out say that off the top. I pondered about even writing and posting this, but this is something I feel I need to get off my chest.
It is also me asking for help, because, I obviously can't handle this one on my own.
Here we are: A new year, a new beginning ...right?
When I came into the beginning of 2012 I felt rejuvenated. I felt free and optimistic about the future. My life had unexpectedly fallen apart at the end of 2011 and I chose to look at it as a fated opportunity. With the ringing in of the new year, would be the ringing in of a new chapter. I was terrified but also incredibly excited, and for the first time since I can remember, I had no plans. The world was my oyster and I felt energized to take it.
Fast forward a life-changing year of ups and downs and here we are entering another one. 2013 has chimed in with the usual lights and hurrah. It's been a few weeks now, but everyone is still running on that high of a new beginning. Out with the old and in with the new, as they say.
But what if you weren't finished with the old? What if you liked the old? We are always so eager to be rid of a year. That the next will be better. That it will bring bigger and brighter things. We reflect back on 365 days (give or take a leap year) of the good and the bad before tossing it behind us. There is a closure to the past where the door becomes locked and the key thrown away.
As the clock approached midnight on this New Years Eve, I found myself wishing that the universe would pull a "Groundhog Day" on me. That the clock would strike midnight and everyone would yell HAPPY 2012!! and I would mysteriously find myself back at the New Year's Party the year previously.
This thought surprised me. I didn't understand why I was longing to reverse to a time of such uncertainty in my life. I'm on a new path now, and I really love this new path... so, why don't I want to go forward? In these first few weeks of the year, this question has been bothering me. Nagging at me during any moment my mind isn't otherwise occupied. Why am I not excited about moving forward?
I've been feeling very melancholy lately. I've been dreaming of another time, another place. Sometimes from my memories, sometimes from my dreams. As the winter holidays came into full swing in December, I found myself not able to get into the holiday spirit at all. I wasn't a full out Grinch, but I definitely felt like I was walking around with a little cloud of bah-humbug hovering over my head. I pegged it on the warm weather and less than seasonable accumulation of snow. But, I knew at heart it wasn't really that. It was something else. Something that had nothing to do with my environment, but just - me.
I was the one that was off, not the weather.
But I brushed it to the side, I thought it was residual stress wearing off, I thought the feeling would pass with time. But as New Year's rolled around, I felt the same aching in my chest for something more. But what that something is - I have no idea.
I feel like I'm living two lives right now. The life where everything is happening: I go to school, I go home, I go out with friends, I go grocery shopping, I work on projects, I look for a job, I feed the cats, I repeat. In these moments I feel normal, I feel put together, I feel like I'm on the right track. Or at least a stable track if nothing else. And then there's this other part of me who is living a very different life...if one can even say that. More so, it is dreaming of another life. I imagine where I'd be if I hadn't lost my job, if I hadn't switched careers, if I hadn't moved back home, if I'd stayed in contact with more people, if I was braver to tell the truth, if I was more confident, motivated, inspired.
These aren't necessarily regrets, as much as they may sound like it. They are simply visions of what might have been. Sometimes I crave them more than anything, sometimes they give me perspective for where I really am today. But in some respects it still feels like I'm living this other life where these things are happening. A wise fictional wizard once said "Of course its happening inside your head... but why on earth should that mean that it's not real?"
I feel like I'm standing in a door way. Half of me can see a future and a presence of all of these opportunities and experiences, the other half of me is looking in a completely different direction - but I can't experience either of them fully because I'm stuck in this door way.
I've talked myself in circles about this. That I should just let it go, focus on what is real and happening. Live in the now and enjoy the life I am living. I've given myself all the talks...but I'm still grasping to this 'something else'. Even though I still don't fully understand it, I'm absolutely terrified to let go.
At the beginning of last year I decided to throw caution to the wind and chose to live life for myself.
This year all I want to do is curl up and hide.
So this is me, saying:
I'm scared, and I honestly have no idea what to do.
“Before I got here, I thought that the way out of the labyrinth was to pretend that it didn't exist, to build a small, self-sufficient world in the back corner of the endless maze and to pretend that I was not lost, but home. But that only led to a lonely life accompanied by the last words of the already dead, so I came here looking for a Great Perhaps, for real friends and a more-than-minor life.” -John Green, Looking for Alaska
This is not a happy post.
I'm just going to flat out say that off the top. I pondered about even writing and posting this, but this is something I feel I need to get off my chest.
It is also me asking for help, because, I obviously can't handle this one on my own.
Here we are: A new year, a new beginning ...right?
When I came into the beginning of 2012 I felt rejuvenated. I felt free and optimistic about the future. My life had unexpectedly fallen apart at the end of 2011 and I chose to look at it as a fated opportunity. With the ringing in of the new year, would be the ringing in of a new chapter. I was terrified but also incredibly excited, and for the first time since I can remember, I had no plans. The world was my oyster and I felt energized to take it.
Fast forward a life-changing year of ups and downs and here we are entering another one. 2013 has chimed in with the usual lights and hurrah. It's been a few weeks now, but everyone is still running on that high of a new beginning. Out with the old and in with the new, as they say.
But what if you weren't finished with the old? What if you liked the old? We are always so eager to be rid of a year. That the next will be better. That it will bring bigger and brighter things. We reflect back on 365 days (give or take a leap year) of the good and the bad before tossing it behind us. There is a closure to the past where the door becomes locked and the key thrown away.
As the clock approached midnight on this New Years Eve, I found myself wishing that the universe would pull a "Groundhog Day" on me. That the clock would strike midnight and everyone would yell HAPPY 2012!! and I would mysteriously find myself back at the New Year's Party the year previously.
This thought surprised me. I didn't understand why I was longing to reverse to a time of such uncertainty in my life. I'm on a new path now, and I really love this new path... so, why don't I want to go forward? In these first few weeks of the year, this question has been bothering me. Nagging at me during any moment my mind isn't otherwise occupied. Why am I not excited about moving forward?
I've been feeling very melancholy lately. I've been dreaming of another time, another place. Sometimes from my memories, sometimes from my dreams. As the winter holidays came into full swing in December, I found myself not able to get into the holiday spirit at all. I wasn't a full out Grinch, but I definitely felt like I was walking around with a little cloud of bah-humbug hovering over my head. I pegged it on the warm weather and less than seasonable accumulation of snow. But, I knew at heart it wasn't really that. It was something else. Something that had nothing to do with my environment, but just - me.
I was the one that was off, not the weather.
But I brushed it to the side, I thought it was residual stress wearing off, I thought the feeling would pass with time. But as New Year's rolled around, I felt the same aching in my chest for something more. But what that something is - I have no idea.
I feel like I'm living two lives right now. The life where everything is happening: I go to school, I go home, I go out with friends, I go grocery shopping, I work on projects, I look for a job, I feed the cats, I repeat. In these moments I feel normal, I feel put together, I feel like I'm on the right track. Or at least a stable track if nothing else. And then there's this other part of me who is living a very different life...if one can even say that. More so, it is dreaming of another life. I imagine where I'd be if I hadn't lost my job, if I hadn't switched careers, if I hadn't moved back home, if I'd stayed in contact with more people, if I was braver to tell the truth, if I was more confident, motivated, inspired.
These aren't necessarily regrets, as much as they may sound like it. They are simply visions of what might have been. Sometimes I crave them more than anything, sometimes they give me perspective for where I really am today. But in some respects it still feels like I'm living this other life where these things are happening. A wise fictional wizard once said "Of course its happening inside your head... but why on earth should that mean that it's not real?"
I feel like I'm standing in a door way. Half of me can see a future and a presence of all of these opportunities and experiences, the other half of me is looking in a completely different direction - but I can't experience either of them fully because I'm stuck in this door way.
I've talked myself in circles about this. That I should just let it go, focus on what is real and happening. Live in the now and enjoy the life I am living. I've given myself all the talks...but I'm still grasping to this 'something else'. Even though I still don't fully understand it, I'm absolutely terrified to let go.
At the beginning of last year I decided to throw caution to the wind and chose to live life for myself.
This year all I want to do is curl up and hide.
So this is me, saying:
I'm scared, and I honestly have no idea what to do.
“Before I got here, I thought that the way out of the labyrinth was to pretend that it didn't exist, to build a small, self-sufficient world in the back corner of the endless maze and to pretend that I was not lost, but home. But that only led to a lonely life accompanied by the last words of the already dead, so I came here looking for a Great Perhaps, for real friends and a more-than-minor life.” -John Green, Looking for Alaska
Friday, 18 January 2013
You Can Be Happy, If You Let Yourself To Be.
I came to this realization a little while ago.
It’s not earth-shattering, mind-blowing, or life-altering; but I believe it is something we often forget.
We always hear phrases like Don’t worry, be happy or Smile today or Pass on happiness, but we all know, sometimes it’s just not that easy.
Sometimes you just don’t feel happy. Sometimes you just want to curl up in a ball and just rot away until the universe implodes on itself. Sometimes that’s okay.
I’m not saying you have to turn into the crazy person who smiles at everyone and their mother on the bus everyday, but rather to just be happy in life.
Be happy with the life you are living. It may not be the ideal life, or the life you expected; but life is what you make it to be. Make it one that you enjoy.
I’ve struggled a lot, not with the feeling that I am unhappy, but rather with the feeling that I don’t deserve happiness. Why should I be happy when there are so many who struggle everyday?
Then I heard the phrase You can be happy, if you choose to be. I liked the idea, but the word ‘choose’ struck a chord. Choosing to be happy is not as easy as flipping a switch.
After thinking some more I liked the idea of allowing yourself happiness. That it is okay to smile, be optimistic, to look on the bright side of life.
By allowing yourself to open up to joy, the little things, the small victories; by changing your perspective of the life you are leading to a brighter one, you may just end up happy.
It’s not earth-shattering, mind-blowing, or life-altering; but I believe it is something we often forget.
We always hear phrases like Don’t worry, be happy or Smile today or Pass on happiness, but we all know, sometimes it’s just not that easy.
Sometimes you just don’t feel happy. Sometimes you just want to curl up in a ball and just rot away until the universe implodes on itself. Sometimes that’s okay.
I’m not saying you have to turn into the crazy person who smiles at everyone and their mother on the bus everyday, but rather to just be happy in life.
Be happy with the life you are living. It may not be the ideal life, or the life you expected; but life is what you make it to be. Make it one that you enjoy.
I’ve struggled a lot, not with the feeling that I am unhappy, but rather with the feeling that I don’t deserve happiness. Why should I be happy when there are so many who struggle everyday?
Then I heard the phrase You can be happy, if you choose to be. I liked the idea, but the word ‘choose’ struck a chord. Choosing to be happy is not as easy as flipping a switch.
After thinking some more I liked the idea of allowing yourself happiness. That it is okay to smile, be optimistic, to look on the bright side of life.
By allowing yourself to open up to joy, the little things, the small victories; by changing your perspective of the life you are leading to a brighter one, you may just end up happy.
Sunday, 6 January 2013
Life: A Novel
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| C. Shannon Hawke 2012 |
From the moment we are born, we become the narrator, a setting is developed and characters are introduced. There is character development and growth, the plot thickens, secondary and tertiary characters are introduced. There are climaxes, twists, surprises. We are writing histories, tragedies, romances, comedies, fantasies. There is a beginning, a whole lot of middle, and inevitably - an end. We are writing a novel that will only be completed with our final breath.
But is that the end? Not necessarily. We live on through those who choose to pick up our dusty covers and take a look at the pages within. Our books will be passed on for future generations. Sure, pages will be ripped out, chapters will be extracted and edited, short summaries will be produced. We all become stories; some become novellas, others encyclopedias.
We are all writing our own story.
So, what comes next in yours?
Friday, 4 January 2013
"Hi...Is this thing on?"
Hello there bloggerverse,
First and foremost I should probably introduce myself and get that out of the way:
I'm Shannon, a 22 year old college-graduate-turned-university-student with no clue where I'm going in life. Ain't we just off to a great start already. In 2011 I graduated college as a Veterinary Technician, and after a series ofunfortunate events found myself rethinking my entire outlook on life. One year later, I am back in school majoring in 'Media Studies for Social Change'. If that isn't a pendulum swing of interests, I don't know what is. If the last year has taught me one thing it's that life takes you places you never necessarily planned on going, but that you should make the best of whatever uncharted path you end up on.
Though this blog is new, and it will take some adjustment on my part to figure out how everything works (aka bear with me if this place looks like a bit of a mess for a while), I am no stranger to the blogosphere. Between a long time follower of many blogs of many sorts, and being an active producer on your typical social media websites (facebook, tumblr, twitter, youtube, yada yada yada) it's actually a wonder it has taken me this long to finally get here.
So what's the point for creating yet another online account that I need to remember a password to? Why should you bother to keep reading my brain vomits? Well to answer the former, I feel every social media has a different purpose. Yes, there is overlap between each, but each can hold their own as a form of expression. The purpose of this blog...well I don't quite know yet. It's a place for my thoughts on life, news, and imagination, I suppose. A place to rant and rave, to muse ideas, to publish thoughts. And as for the latter question - well I guess that's up to you. I can't dictate whether anyone will be reading this but me, but I'd love if you'd join me.
To get things flowing, I may recycle some of my thoughts from other sites and documents of mine as we get started here.
I am excited for what's to come here,
and welcome to my little corner of insanity - I hop you enjoy your stay. :)
Shannon
First and foremost I should probably introduce myself and get that out of the way:
I'm Shannon, a 22 year old college-graduate-turned-university-student with no clue where I'm going in life. Ain't we just off to a great start already. In 2011 I graduated college as a Veterinary Technician, and after a series of
Though this blog is new, and it will take some adjustment on my part to figure out how everything works (aka bear with me if this place looks like a bit of a mess for a while), I am no stranger to the blogosphere. Between a long time follower of many blogs of many sorts, and being an active producer on your typical social media websites (facebook, tumblr, twitter, youtube, yada yada yada) it's actually a wonder it has taken me this long to finally get here.
So what's the point for creating yet another online account that I need to remember a password to? Why should you bother to keep reading my brain vomits? Well to answer the former, I feel every social media has a different purpose. Yes, there is overlap between each, but each can hold their own as a form of expression. The purpose of this blog...well I don't quite know yet. It's a place for my thoughts on life, news, and imagination, I suppose. A place to rant and rave, to muse ideas, to publish thoughts. And as for the latter question - well I guess that's up to you. I can't dictate whether anyone will be reading this but me, but I'd love if you'd join me.
To get things flowing, I may recycle some of my thoughts from other sites and documents of mine as we get started here.
I am excited for what's to come here,
and welcome to my little corner of insanity - I hop you enjoy your stay. :)
Shannon
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