A Year in a Jar

Before the countdown to the year of 2013, I stumbled across a post on tumblr that had been circulating for an interesting project: “Start on January 1st with an empty jar. Throughout the year write the good things that happened to you on little pieces of paper. On December 31st, open the jar and read all the amazing things that happened to you that year.”

A few of you may remember... but 2013 did not start off well for me at all.  I felt depressed, exhausted, and unmotivated to the world - this after 2012 being an amazing rollercoaster of a year.

Regardless, I found a large old mason jar in my parents' cellar and dedicated it for this project. It sat on my shelf for days, weeks, completely empty (void of the one paper i had folded on New Year's Day explaining the project).

I started considering replacing it with a smaller jar, thinking that at the rate my life was going, I would barely be able to fill a small jar with a year's worth of good memories. But I let it sit there, collecting dust with only a few measly folded papers over time from hazy memories of small things I had forced myself to write down. Little things that made me smile gave merit to be written down, just so the jar itself didn't look so sad.

As the year wore on, I kept forgetting about the commitment I'd made and would go ages without updating the jar with good memories and slowly I had to start retracing my steps to days I felt good and noting them down. Just a few short sentences or phrases that would sum up a feeling.

As it turned out, by the time I dumped out the jar on January 1st of this year, I had to shake it vigorously to get all the piece of paper out. It surprised me how many little pieces had slowly accumulated over the last 365 days.

I had an odd sensation of remembering writing moments down every so often, but couldn't possibly comprehend the amount I dumped out of the large jar.

I sat on my bed opening and unfolding these little snippets of the last year, and found certain moments and phrases standing out against others.

I felt I should share a few of that jumped out at me:

These two struck me as important moments in the spring months for a turn around in my mental focus from the deep dark wintery place my mind had been living in for months. These little moments made all the difference in the world.

Free. Something I rarely feel, something that is much needed.

 Not everything was deep and meaningful... after being sick for a multitude of days, my ears popping was literally the greatest thing that could have ever happened to me at that moment.

I do believe this one is self-explanatory.

This was one of the last ones I put in the jar from one of my last lectures this semester in which my professor ended his class with: "If what you're learning isn't resonating - even if it will get you a job - if it isn't hitting you right here, in your heart or your head, then go find the thing that does." I scribbled that passage down in the margins of my notes as good school advice, but it is transferable to life advice that I have come to learn as well.

I looked at these notes of memories scattered across my bed and could see a year of transformation, adventures and growth. Finding your place and self worth is not something that happens over night, like this jar of memories, it build slowly and subconsciously before it is over flowing, ready for you to accept it.

Here's to another year and another empty jar.

Embrace Yourself

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

I LOVE TAX RETURNS!!!!!!

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.

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 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)

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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!

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 dark GF side.
Image from: http://justvittles.com/favorites/food/products/snacks/glutino-gf-pretzels/

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