It might be a little early to be contemplating my resolutions for the new year, but it's a little late for this blog, so I think they balance each other out.
Last week I received a letter I wrote during my last Katima-days. The purpose of this letter was to be sent 6 months after the program, reminding ourselves of the stuff we'd learned and wanted to remember. Since I didn't exactly feel like reliving the good times, I used it to outline the things I wanted to accomplish over the next year or so. Included in this text are a few little things that make me shake my head, such as: an inappropriate crush that makes me embarrassed to think about; a pep talk; the conviction to speak more French; and the desire to rule the world.
It came with impeccable timing - I was having issues at work and my past self assure me that I didn't have a take shit from anyone; I considered chopping my hair - again - and my past self told me not to; and my summer travel plans dwindled and I told myself I needed to go.
Lots of things have changed since then too. I realized I like girls, too; I've grown closer to a new friend while I've drifted away from an old one; I have another novel under my belt, co-authored by a great young woman and wonderful friend; I've grown into my skin and it feels great.
I think it's safe to say that my Mid-Year Resolutions and my New Year Resolutions are a circular Venn Diagram. I think it's also safe to say that I'm happy and even though I'm still fumbling through my life, I'm working up to being the best version of myself.
If that doesn't work out, I can always turn to cat burglary.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Insert Appropriate Title Here
I’m gay. Or bi. Or maybe just confused.
My mom says it makes sense, but not to me. I don’t know when admiring Megan Fox in Jennifer’s Body turned into gayness, but it seemed pretty sudden to me. Then again, no one seemed surprised when I ‘came out of the closet’. You would think that a girl who had confessed her love for Chad Michael Murray numerous times would have at least gotten a nonplussed ‘Really?’, but no. Do I send off some sort of vibe?
Whatever. Since I’m trying to ignore what other people think of me, so I guess it doesn’t matter if I have a neon sign flashing above my head. What I do care about (forgive the self-importance) is me. My doubts/confusion stem from the fact that I have never had a girl/boyfriend, and thus no experience to draw from. So it’s feasible that this whole argument could be considered moot. But it feels true and that’s all that matters to me.
My other teeny, tiny barrier is that I feel like I don’t deserve it. This sounds stupid, but hear me out. I’ve never been yelled at in Starbucks for holding a girl’s hand, or called a ‘homo’ or ‘dyke’. I’ve never been scared of rejection or violence because of my sexuality. I’m not even an advocate for gay rights. Yes, I believe that everyone should be treated equally and a lot of people are restricted from marrying the partner they chose, but I don’t believe in marriage and the only cause I can really get behind right now is the protection of the environment. How can I stand beside someone who has been the victim of discrimination, hate and ignorance and say that I am like them? It seems the height of pretention and naiveté to say that I, who have lost nothing, could be part of a group that has been so hurt and yet continues to fight for rights that I have taken for granted without question.
I don’t know. Like I said - I’m confused.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Pants on Fire
When it comes up in conversation I tell people I am a bad liar.
That is a lie.
I know when to lie, how to make you believe, and what to say when you think you're about to be caught.
The things I lie about are ridiculous trivial (seriously, I'm embarrassed thinking about it) and yet I feel so incredibly guilty after the words have parted ways with my mouth. I worry constantly that I'll be caught and have to explain why I did it.
It's embarrassing really.
But I never thought much about it until I read The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd. I don't know what made this last lie seem so horrendous, but I think this book had something to do with it. I did what was easy instead of what was right and I was ashamed - AM ashamed. My dilemma wasn't any sort of 'good vs evil' deal, but it hurt someone and that makes it so wrong I feel dirty. I don't want to feel this way anymore or even ever again. I let my fear of disappointing someone allow me to disappoint myself and I will not condone that sort of behavior.
I want to live with integrity, strength of character, honour and honesty. I've allowed myself to become a hypocrite and I won't anymore. I am going to be someone I can be proud of.
One truth, one choice, at a time.
That is a lie.
I know when to lie, how to make you believe, and what to say when you think you're about to be caught.
The things I lie about are ridiculous trivial (seriously, I'm embarrassed thinking about it) and yet I feel so incredibly guilty after the words have parted ways with my mouth. I worry constantly that I'll be caught and have to explain why I did it.
It's embarrassing really.
But I never thought much about it until I read The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd. I don't know what made this last lie seem so horrendous, but I think this book had something to do with it. I did what was easy instead of what was right and I was ashamed - AM ashamed. My dilemma wasn't any sort of 'good vs evil' deal, but it hurt someone and that makes it so wrong I feel dirty. I don't want to feel this way anymore or even ever again. I let my fear of disappointing someone allow me to disappoint myself and I will not condone that sort of behavior.
I want to live with integrity, strength of character, honour and honesty. I've allowed myself to become a hypocrite and I won't anymore. I am going to be someone I can be proud of.
One truth, one choice, at a time.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Silence
I am clumsy. Ask anyone and they'll tell you: I stumble trhough rooms, over my feet and into awkward situations more often than not. Today, I stubbed my toes no less then 9 times.
But more than even my uncoordinated feet and legs, my tongue is my most clumsy appendage.
My words often trip over themselves in their haste to flee my eagerly parted lips, but my tongue balks at the task, mangling the sounds and syllables until I sound like a lunatic.
To be fair, my tongue is not the only culprit - my racing mind is a gleeful accomplice. Thoughts and feeling pingpong around my cranium, evolving faster than my words can accomodate and second guessing the things I thought I knew.
Nothing makes sense when you can't trust your words; when you can't force your tongue and mind to cooperate long enough to say what has to be said. How can you apologize when your inside voice is telling you you sound idiotic and your mouth refuses to wrap around the necessary sounds? How can you talk about your feelings when you can't raise your voice above a whisper?
I recently spoke with someone about my difficulty with French. They somehow managed to extricate my confession that I don't speak more because I'm afraid of how I sound. This holds true for every aspect of my life.
I want to speak, to yell, to cry, rant and ramble, but I'm afraid of how I sound. I'm shockingly terrified of how I will be percieved for the words I utter.
I am afraid to cry because it will mean I am vulnerable.
I am afraid to scream because it will mean I am noticeable.
My voice is one of my best gifts, but it is also the part of myself I am most afraid of. My voice is an invitation to be seen and I am still to shy to want that.
So don't look at me when I tell you I am broken, because if you can't see the cracks, I can keep pretending they'll be fixed before they're noticed.
But when you look me in the eye, you can't see it, but my heart is pounding in my chest and my survival instincts are telling me to SHUT UP! because if I keep talking, you'll see. You're shining a spotlight on the holes in my armor and I'm naked underneath.
But you barely notice, because you are a normal person and pulling words out of your mouth is not some kind of insane Herculean effort. But for me, it's like sucking snake vemon from an open wound.
I wish I could throw words like harpoons, landing gracefully and effortlessly on a target of my choosing, but for now, I'm stuck on a merry-go-round of doubt and fear and I can't find the E-brake.
Maybe you can shine the spotlight there for once, hey?
But more than even my uncoordinated feet and legs, my tongue is my most clumsy appendage.
My words often trip over themselves in their haste to flee my eagerly parted lips, but my tongue balks at the task, mangling the sounds and syllables until I sound like a lunatic.
To be fair, my tongue is not the only culprit - my racing mind is a gleeful accomplice. Thoughts and feeling pingpong around my cranium, evolving faster than my words can accomodate and second guessing the things I thought I knew.
Nothing makes sense when you can't trust your words; when you can't force your tongue and mind to cooperate long enough to say what has to be said. How can you apologize when your inside voice is telling you you sound idiotic and your mouth refuses to wrap around the necessary sounds? How can you talk about your feelings when you can't raise your voice above a whisper?
I recently spoke with someone about my difficulty with French. They somehow managed to extricate my confession that I don't speak more because I'm afraid of how I sound. This holds true for every aspect of my life.
I want to speak, to yell, to cry, rant and ramble, but I'm afraid of how I sound. I'm shockingly terrified of how I will be percieved for the words I utter.
I am afraid to cry because it will mean I am vulnerable.
I am afraid to scream because it will mean I am noticeable.
My voice is one of my best gifts, but it is also the part of myself I am most afraid of. My voice is an invitation to be seen and I am still to shy to want that.
So don't look at me when I tell you I am broken, because if you can't see the cracks, I can keep pretending they'll be fixed before they're noticed.
But when you look me in the eye, you can't see it, but my heart is pounding in my chest and my survival instincts are telling me to SHUT UP! because if I keep talking, you'll see. You're shining a spotlight on the holes in my armor and I'm naked underneath.
But you barely notice, because you are a normal person and pulling words out of your mouth is not some kind of insane Herculean effort. But for me, it's like sucking snake vemon from an open wound.
I wish I could throw words like harpoons, landing gracefully and effortlessly on a target of my choosing, but for now, I'm stuck on a merry-go-round of doubt and fear and I can't find the E-brake.
Maybe you can shine the spotlight there for once, hey?
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
When you say the sky is everywhere, you're thinking of the prairies
Days like today make me want to barrel up a mountain, fly to the top of a tree and scream at the top of my lungs.And then, fearless as the sun makes me feel, I will jump out of my tree and run mad through the forest.
The sun soaks into my pores and floods my bloodstream, shooting straight for my heart, until every pulse beats light through my skin.
It feels like my lungs are going to bust open, because my mouth can't gasp down enough oxygen to please them.
I can count these mind blowing moments on one hand. Since coming here, the weather has been painfully gray, but days like today make me want to jump for joy and sing like a loonie-toon.
Maybe spring really has sprung.
The sun soaks into my pores and floods my bloodstream, shooting straight for my heart, until every pulse beats light through my skin.
It feels like my lungs are going to bust open, because my mouth can't gasp down enough oxygen to please them.
I can count these mind blowing moments on one hand. Since coming here, the weather has been painfully gray, but days like today make me want to jump for joy and sing like a loonie-toon.
Maybe spring really has sprung.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Supposed Aimlessness
In an attempt to keep up with my average of 2 blogs per month, I present you with this short(ish)* blog. Bear with me.
My sister was with me this weekend. It seemed like all we did was talk. Sure, we roamed about Calgary in search of my new city, we ate, we drank (tea) and read. But the spaces in between were full of words. We have very few silences, my sister and I. I am continually astonished by the fact that we never run out of things to talk about. My lips will probably fall off before I can no longer think of things to pass from my mind to her ears.**
One of the things that came up was my alleged lack of direction. Although Katimavik has given me tonnes of ideas of what want to do when I leave, but still have no lead on a legit 'career path'.
But I had an epipheny: I decided that it doesn't matter. Well, not that, exactly. I decided that was wasn't directionless, or lost.
I realized that I am hungry. For life, among other things. I'm hungry for so many things, including but not limited to: experience, excitement, love, magic. I want to do everything, to try anything, go anywhere, be whoever I can be.
Maybe that's selfish. I know that I'm insanely blessed, that my life is something out of an average fairytale, and to ask for anything else might be pushing it. But I don't care. For once, I want to be selfish. I think it's okay to want this.
Most of all, I hope I'll always be hungry. And I hope I can spend my life with someone as ravenous as I am.
*(my first footnote! Exciting!) When is anything I ever write short?
**I find it incredibly interesting when people fear that they will run out of things to say to their 'partner', just because you see each other every day. The world is an ever changing place, sparking new thoughts, new conversations, constantly creating a whole new you. I don't worry about that kind of thing so much. I'm more of a 'What if I can't say what I mean? What if I'm too afraid to do what I have to? What if I can't do what I need to to keep you?'. But that's another blog entirely.
My sister was with me this weekend. It seemed like all we did was talk. Sure, we roamed about Calgary in search of my new city, we ate, we drank (tea) and read. But the spaces in between were full of words. We have very few silences, my sister and I. I am continually astonished by the fact that we never run out of things to talk about. My lips will probably fall off before I can no longer think of things to pass from my mind to her ears.**
One of the things that came up was my alleged lack of direction. Although Katimavik has given me tonnes of ideas of what want to do when I leave, but still have no lead on a legit 'career path'.
But I had an epipheny: I decided that it doesn't matter. Well, not that, exactly. I decided that was wasn't directionless, or lost.
I realized that I am hungry. For life, among other things. I'm hungry for so many things, including but not limited to: experience, excitement, love, magic. I want to do everything, to try anything, go anywhere, be whoever I can be.
Maybe that's selfish. I know that I'm insanely blessed, that my life is something out of an average fairytale, and to ask for anything else might be pushing it. But I don't care. For once, I want to be selfish. I think it's okay to want this.
Most of all, I hope I'll always be hungry. And I hope I can spend my life with someone as ravenous as I am.
*(my first footnote! Exciting!) When is anything I ever write short?
**I find it incredibly interesting when people fear that they will run out of things to say to their 'partner', just because you see each other every day. The world is an ever changing place, sparking new thoughts, new conversations, constantly creating a whole new you. I don't worry about that kind of thing so much. I'm more of a 'What if I can't say what I mean? What if I'm too afraid to do what I have to? What if I can't do what I need to to keep you?'. But that's another blog entirely.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Eat
This past week in Katima-life we were billeting. Which roughly translates into 'Go and live with a bunch of strangers (AGAIN) for 10 days and hopefull you don't die - I mean, have a nice time'. I'm not going to linger on this, because it's not what I started this blog for, but I will say I had an amazing week. I went to Canmore, Banff, and Kanaskis, cross-country skiied, sat in a hot spring and got to hang out with a 3 year old for 10 days. All and all, fantastical.
But the reason I brought this up is that the room where I slept when I away was their office/library. So, of course, first thing I did after unpacking my toothbrush was creep the books. And on the bookshelf (other than four Harry Potter books, first sign we were going to get on swimmingly) was Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.
I have been meaning to read this book, but ever since the movie came out, you have to know someone who know's someone to get your hands on a library copy. So I was content to wait until the hype blew over, but fate stepped in and presented me with a lovingly worn copy.
So I started reading this book with few reservations: I saw the movie, I wasn't expecting anyting mind blowing or stunning. So I was incredibly suprised to find myself devouring this book with a ferocity that hasn't beatened me over the head in a while.
But, you know, I'm not even writing this to review the book for you. For the purpose of this blog, I'm going to push aside the wonders of Liz Gilbert and simply focus on one aspect of it: Italy.
Italy is Liz's first stop on her journey of sel-discovery and it would not be an exaggeration to say that is was basically just a food orgy. She went there to find pleasure and found it in the form of gelato.
This book was (other than a delicious overload of food) a explosion of intention that beat me over the back of the head. I realized what I'm going to do when I leave Katimavik.
This might come as a shock to some people, or it might just seem like the natural progression of my aimless youth, but this is actually really a wonderful step towards a plan for me. A couple weeks ago, if you asked me what I'm doing in the fall, I would have said something noncommittal like 'I'm still looking at a few options' (there were no options) or 'I'll probably travel a bit' (which is true, but incredibly vague). Now I know, with the conviction of a teenager who thinks they're invincible, that I'm going to Europe in the fall.
Looking back on this post, it seems like a lot of preamble to what I actually want to talk about. Must work on summarizing!
Long ago, in a farway place, my sister and I hatched this grandiose plan of travelling the globe, working on organic farms, eating pasta under the Leaning Tower, speaking French horrendously in Paris. We picked all the places we were going to go and I made a map to better orient myself with that goal. But then I was accepted on this crazy adventure called Katimavik and it slipped to the back of my mind. But now it is back in the fore front and I'm so incredibly excited that I can barely contain myself.
October is going to see Alex and I in Europe, with back packs and languages books, arguing at the train station about whether the go to Madrid or Barcelona - which one we will go to first, of course, because we are young and crazy and we are going to put our own individual stamp on the map.
Does any one know where we can find a good stamp?
But the reason I brought this up is that the room where I slept when I away was their office/library. So, of course, first thing I did after unpacking my toothbrush was creep the books. And on the bookshelf (other than four Harry Potter books, first sign we were going to get on swimmingly) was Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.
I have been meaning to read this book, but ever since the movie came out, you have to know someone who know's someone to get your hands on a library copy. So I was content to wait until the hype blew over, but fate stepped in and presented me with a lovingly worn copy.
So I started reading this book with few reservations: I saw the movie, I wasn't expecting anyting mind blowing or stunning. So I was incredibly suprised to find myself devouring this book with a ferocity that hasn't beatened me over the head in a while.
But, you know, I'm not even writing this to review the book for you. For the purpose of this blog, I'm going to push aside the wonders of Liz Gilbert and simply focus on one aspect of it: Italy.
Italy is Liz's first stop on her journey of sel-discovery and it would not be an exaggeration to say that is was basically just a food orgy. She went there to find pleasure and found it in the form of gelato.
This book was (other than a delicious overload of food) a explosion of intention that beat me over the back of the head. I realized what I'm going to do when I leave Katimavik.
This might come as a shock to some people, or it might just seem like the natural progression of my aimless youth, but this is actually really a wonderful step towards a plan for me. A couple weeks ago, if you asked me what I'm doing in the fall, I would have said something noncommittal like 'I'm still looking at a few options' (there were no options) or 'I'll probably travel a bit' (which is true, but incredibly vague). Now I know, with the conviction of a teenager who thinks they're invincible, that I'm going to Europe in the fall.
Looking back on this post, it seems like a lot of preamble to what I actually want to talk about. Must work on summarizing!
Long ago, in a farway place, my sister and I hatched this grandiose plan of travelling the globe, working on organic farms, eating pasta under the Leaning Tower, speaking French horrendously in Paris. We picked all the places we were going to go and I made a map to better orient myself with that goal. But then I was accepted on this crazy adventure called Katimavik and it slipped to the back of my mind. But now it is back in the fore front and I'm so incredibly excited that I can barely contain myself.
October is going to see Alex and I in Europe, with back packs and languages books, arguing at the train station about whether the go to Madrid or Barcelona - which one we will go to first, of course, because we are young and crazy and we are going to put our own individual stamp on the map.
Does any one know where we can find a good stamp?
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