Go South.

Fun, fearless, female.  Cosmopolitan magazine has such an award.  My first Cosmo was given to me by my mom on one of my birthdays. If you are old enough you may remember the Burt Reynolds spread where, wearing next to nothing, he posed on fur-like carpet.  Or I could just be remembering all of his hair.  We are talking about the mid-eighties when people needed more fur on their bodies rather than on their wax sticks.

Times change.  I still love magazines but now look for different things, while younger I looked for that perfect me located between the pages of jumping hot pink leg warmers and perfectly O shaped o- la- la- la-mouths. I wanted to be discovered like the Canadian supermodel Monika Schnarre.  I wanted to be discovered, I really did.  I met Monika twice: once when she was just starting out and she was signing Covergirl pictures at a mall in Mississauga, Ontario and the second time was during an appearance she was making at a local television station.  She was gracious.  I was happy to meet her again but was not as nervous and excited as I had been the first time.  I was more nerve wracked the one day I saw my English professor, George Bowering, poet and author, even though I had graduated from University nearly twelve years before.  Nerve wracked.  Not fun at all.

I have landed in the lap of my first attempt at meditation.  Deepak and Oprah want us to be fearless. Nerve wracked but for the right reasons, the butterflies in your stomach that lead you to your purpose rather than to your undoing.  I have never meditated before.   I was randomly looking through my Twitter and saw FREE meditation: Oprah and Deepak – Desire and Destiny – 21 Day Meditation experience.  This could not have come at a better time, life has been getting harder for me, I don’t have as much stamina to just keep pushing myself when, in my heart of hearts, I know that I am only weakening myself.   The hustle of life is only on our own shoulders. I just need to reconnect that hustle to my internal compass, the one that knows where I should go, where the path, whether less traveled or more traveled, is my path.  Oprah and Deepak assure me, and I do believe, that we each have our own Unique Purpose and it shouldn’t be that hard or that impossible to reach our dreams.  We just have to believe, be still, and listen to the quickening of our hearts when they propel us towards more love, or at least away from less of it.

We need to find our way, recognize when times change for us, when maybe being a fun, fearless female isn’t as important as being a well rested, somewhat calm and still fun mom with a healthy dose of fear.  I’m not sure if Burt would do a spread in Cosmo today, or if they would even have him, Cosmo is for the young.  Lately I’ve been picking up Zoomer and Quill and Quire.  

The other day my tv stopped working and rather than trying to make it work, getting angry that it wouldn’t work and trying really hard to make it work, I bundled up and took a brisk walk along our local seawall where I was treated to the loveliest and craziest sight, a bird migration.  It was National Geographic in action, in front of my eyes, and not on a tv screen.  There they were, in the thousands, in the Pacific moving together, just knowing that they were supposed to go together and where they were supposed to go because they were born with an internal compass that is only reinforced by the flock.  They all support each other in their trek.   It is important for us to find those supports, those waves that take us one step closer to our south in our winter.   

That long line in the water, that looks like a path, all birds.

Capable.

I carved my first, and second pumpkin ever yesterday, in tandem, having never carved a pumpkin before I was in deeper than I had bargained for.  I took the boys to a carving craft event and, of course, I didn’t really think that I would be doing most of the carving.  During the course of the carving they helped me find the right tools and helped too. It was not as hard as I thought it was going to be.  There are so many things in life that we don’t attempt or do because we are afraid that, for whatever reason, we are not capable.

I know I can’t sing.  I used to mouth the words in elementary school during choir.  I was afraid that I sounded terrible and might just ruin it for everyone if I was to let out the squawk that my singing voice was and still is.  I could probably though, with a voice coach and some training passably move through a karaoke session and impress a small audience of undiscerning listeners with my learned voice.

We can, if we really want to, become better at something; we just have to know that the door is open for us if we really want it to be open.  We can’t be afraid.  I remember graduating high school and moving straight into university.  I quit rather quickly, but I didn’t quit with grace I just stopped going and eventually when I went back and finished, bringing my GPA up was a herculean effort because of the poor grades I had let myself get.  I dropped one political science class because I was petrified to do a ten page paper.  I had never done a ten page paper and didn’t even know where to start or how to ask for help.  I didn’t admit I was afraid.  My professor did not want me to quit the class; he thought I had some promise.  I did quit but eventually I went back, by the end of my final semester before graduating I was taking five courses and working three jobs while whipping out 20 page papers.  I overdid it, as I usually do, but I was determined near the end not to be hungry and to get my degree.

And I discovered something spectacular after finally going back and finishing, I was really great at English Lit courses and I really liked them.  I had always loved to read, you would find me buried in a book while walking home from school- and sometimes into a tree- you would find me buried in a book at a sleepover- in effect keeping me away from the scary world of girls socializing- and you would find me buried in a book before I went to bed.  I loved to read and eventually I loved to write.  I started writing poetry in grade seven, that year, on the same stage where I had mouthed the words to many a choir song I stood up and read my poem to an audience of parents and fellow classmates.  Only one person was chosen to read their poem and that was me.

At this point, a career in writing and English would seem a no brainer to most.  I have a thick head and it took to many years, some dark and some light, to finally come to the place that I have today.  I have my degree in English- recently found and dusted off-and next to it I have my first published piece of work – an essay from 2011 in the Globe and Mail.  It took me too many years but I am less afraid, of being the writer I am supposed to be.  I am working on a book and early on I almost stopped because I thought, “Who do I think I am, do I think I can write a book?  I’ve never written a book.  I can’t do it.” I just about shelved the whole thing when a tiny little voice from inside of me that was quite persistent, said “You can do it.”  I’ve got two carved pumpkins and two happy boys to prove that when you dive in and just do something, as long as you have the right tools and the right encouragement, you can do it.

My guys hard at work.

I quit smoking - Nine years ago.

I quit smoking –nine years ago.  Tonight as I left work I breathed in the fresh air and the tail end of someone else’s smoke as I rounded the corner away from the office.  I have never been disdainful (in fact once in a while I enjoy those whiffs more than I care to admit) of those who smoke after I quit.  I know how hard it can be.  To quit.  It was hard, even cancer didn’t quite put the brakes on the urge like I hoped it would.  Nothing seemed to work.

The love affair started somewhere after I turned sixteen, high school and a desire to rebel against something and perhaps be a little cooler than I actually was combined to create the perfect storm of a future smoker.  Add in a subsequent summer trip to Eastern Europe where everyone smoked everywhere - ashtrays in the office -I was hooked.  I smoked my heart out.  It was like the friend who was always there, a cigarette listened to my problems, my deep seated mistrust of myself as it connected or, in most cases, disconnected from the world – was solved for a moment when I smoked.  Nothing else mattered. With my coffee in the morning, with my drinks at night, with friends outside, at the office, at a party:  Smokers, my people.

I was never quite good at being a smoker, I always needed to have a drink of some kind to coat my throat from the searing the cigarette caused as it was inhaled: A coffee, ice tea, water, martini, something, anything to go with the smoke.  I would wake up in anticipation of that cigarette, some mornings it was the thing that got me out of bed.  My treat to myself. 

My boyfriends smoked, most of them, and the ones who didn’t, I am truthfully not quite sure how they put up with the stink.  Cigarettes smell bad. Period.  I used to coat myself in perfumes and mints to cover it up but ultimately nothing short of a shower and a laundry wash of my clothes made any difference.  There was the one time I smoked on an airplane (yes I am that old) and I was sick to my stomach from the stench of my neighbour’s cigarette.  I am not sure what kind it was but whoa it was too much, even for a fellow smoker.

I tried to quit a few times throughout the years but never had much luck.  I kept trying.  I would tell myself, you smell bad, this is bad for your health, this is- breaking the bank account-expensive, what in the world are you doing, still smoking?  How many years has it been?  I had cancer, I quit for a while.  I started again. And the cycle was vicious, quit, look longingly at all those people enjoying their few moments of peace as they breathed it in and breathed it out- and I would start again as soon as I was really upset over something or sometimes just because I could.   And then I quit one day for good.  How did I know it would stick?  I didn’t, I just had to have the faith.  I was pregnant; after all, I had to give it one good try.  One year later my husband quit.

Knowing.

We are all experts at something.  Lately I am really good at being tired.  In general I am good at pretending that I am fine.  Fake it till you make it.  Sometimes this works. 

Our fish died yesterday and my children, Nicolas, who is eight and Lucas, who is seven, had a funeral for it with daddy.  I was not at home when she died and did what we do when someone dies; got some food.  I brought three different flavours of ice cream home to distract them.  Both kids had cried for Baby, yes our little goldfish was named Baby.  Chris, my husband, put a lot of effort into trying to save this tiny little life but she didn't make it.  My son hugged me today and said, "I love you so much I hope you never die."   My boys now know a little about death. One minute you're here and the next you're flushed down the toilet having taken your last breath.

My friend knows a little about MS, she was diagnosed a few weeks ago.

I know about cancer.  I was diagnosed with Ewing's Sarcoma fifteen years ago.  I sit here now, married with two children and can't believe how lucky I am. I am not immune however to worrying too much or caring more than I should about too many things.  I have always been like that, never quite fitting in because I said the wrong thing at the wrong time and always worrying about it, alone.

I know about love.  When Chris and I got together the pieces of a puzzle that were not quite right snapped together.  It has sometimes been hard, especially when the kids were very little, but we have been married for nine years and he is everything to me.  I am everything to him.  We know how to be together.

I don't know why I still keep waking up in the middle of the night though.  I have trained myself to stay in bed and do my very best to get some rest.  I have two children to look after and a job to go to.  I can't sleep all day.  But some days that is all I want to do.  Curl up in a ball and make the world go away for just a little while as I gather some more strength to do the things I know how to do.  Live.

We all hunger to know what makes us feel alive, some of us just 'know' like when they meet their soul mate and some of us stumble upon our purpose like blind mice with a whiff of cheddar under our nostrils, it's this way, no that way, and somehow eventually we get there and realize that we could see all along and are not quite sure why it took us so long.

I know how to have friends now and am not quite the misfit I once was.  I have learned how to fit in, most of the time.  Now all I want to do is know how it feels to be an author.  Finally.

We have so much time.

One of my most recent favourite quotes I heard is this: Patience is a parent who has witnesses.  How much more patient are we when we know someone is watching? A lot.  I am much more likely to yell a little louder when my front door is closed as opposed to when it is open.  I don't think I am alone.

My son asked me: "Is having kids hard?" I said: "Yes" He said: "Oh because you have to look after them and take them to school and stuff." And yes, I guess all the stuff we do is hard, but the hardest thing is thinking about the stuff I haven't done.  Like not signing them up in time for swim classes for another year in a row, losing the field trip form and not feeding them enough healthy foods.  I think about all of these things while I am not taking my break at work because I have too much work to finish and then when I talk to my therapist we talk about all the things I am not doing for myself.

One of my most favourite shows is Enlightenment with Laura Dern.  There is one line in particular that sticks with me from that show, and I am not sure if I am quoting it directly, but it goes something like this: "We have so much time." She says this as she is paddling down a river with her ex-husband thinking about their past.

We do have time.  But, we don't have enough time for everything. Period.  There sure are a lot of shows and a lot of magazines (of which I love a lot of!) that make us think we really should have it together enough to feed our kids organic free range apples along with waking up with long silky fuzz free hair as we get ready for the day in a perfect wrinkle free pants outfit whilst sipping on our very own green kale organically sourced coffee Frappuccino as we get to our fabulous jobs that we love so much.  In this world we never raise our voices and our children are angels that we never have to call more than twice because we have the control in the family.

Most days my kids drive the bus in our family and we just let them think that we think we are in control.  Most days my hair is a mess and my outfits mismatch terribly.  I try to make my own coffee in the morning so as to save a few bucks for anything.  Just saving the bucks is a miracle. My job is good.  Do I want to be doing something else?  I think a lot of us, and I am just guessing here, would say yes.

The beauty of life is that we can keep trying.  At some point in the day, every day, I say thank you for my kids.  They are beautiful and in so many ways they have saved my life.  I say thank you for my husband. I am living a blessed life.  I try not to forget that when, like this morning, I was on call number six to get my eldest to brush his teeth so that we could get to school on time. 

Time is a bit like wine.  You love to have it (some of us do).  If you have too much you might get too loose and if you have too little you never loosen up enough.

How many different people are we in one day?

Today I am a mother, a wife, an employee, a friend, a pedestrian, a consumer, and right now a writer.  We flit through some of these tags more easily than others.  Have I really been a friend today?  I was supposed to phone my friend who had a pretty serious procedure at the hospital today, but I haven't yet and it is too late.  I am guilty of not being perfect.

I will phone her tomorrow and she will understand because she is my best friend.  She will know that I probably had less than two hours of sleep, again, after so many weeks of sleeplessness, one would think that the body would somehow adapt.  Like the stick bug that looks like a tree.  But no I have not adapted, I am, more than exhausted.  I still managed to work a full day, and I think, be relatively coherent and productive.  I managed to get my son to soccer and make a fairly healthy dinner.  I even managed to sit down to eat my own dinner. 

In the past, the fact that I haven't swept the floor, finished the dishes or cleaned the bathroom would have kept me from writing this.  But now, I really want to focus on the writer in me.  Next to being a wife and mom it is who I was meant to be.

Social Media Newbie

Sleepless nights are not a turn on.  Sleepless in Seattle, no I'm Sleepless in Vancouver and instead of finding a wife, although I could really use one, insert my husband's smirk here, and instead of setting up a meal plan or re-reading War and Peace (notice how I got that in there, yup read it once and have to be honest did not understand all of it).  Yes instead of doing anything somewhat useful like folding that basket of laundry that is still staring at me one wrinkle at a time, instead of doing any of these potential useful things, I joined Twitter, tumblr and Instagram (was already on Facebook and Pinterest and had fleeting moments of excitement with both of them but soon life got in the way).

But not this time, this time I kept at it and discovered TheBloggess and am reading her book, it is lol funny (yup I even getting used to using the lingo).  Kelly Oxford, your book is next, the hardcover was a little pricey for me.  But damn you are funny, I might shell out for it, I mean if I can buy a coffee a day I can save...

This is how things go on the Internet, you surf from one idea, blog, tweet to twit and back.  I've joined the madness.  I feel like a kid who has tasted their first piece of candy ever, "this is freakin amazing, I want more." And so you put your kid on a diet (kind of - just the trying to be healthy kind of diet unless you actually put your kid on a diet, no one here is judging).  You pat their head and say, "I know I like candy too, but I can't have it all the time."

I stopped looking at Twitter for one day.  Diet.  I finally tweeted and I have seven whole followers and am quite excited about them, thank you seven followers.  And of course, now I might have to go look up Group of Seven because I can.  And that is what this is all about. 

I've also lost sleep over the rules, who can you reply to?  Anyone?  Will they read it? If they do will they think I'm stupid?  Who do I think I am, no one is going to read it.  And so the words wrap their way around my brain until I still can't sleep and am no closer to finding sheep. Unless I look them up on the Internet.  Pretty sure I saw a cool Twitter feed about it. And since no first post would be complete without a photo - my awesome family.