The Spring of My Discontent

I think I have finally reached my tipping point.

Rampant Apathy and Raging Discontent are vying to take centre stage in the theatre of my life.

I don't know who invited them to perform at the theatre, or why I let them in the door, but here they are and I must do my best to either boo them off the stage or hastily recast the production with Fun-loving Lightness and Fulfilled Exuberance; but I think I've lost their contact information

I know that RA and RD were attracted to my theatre by the feelings on the marquee: "Lonely" "Bored", "Disengaged", and "Unfulfilled". Signage that has been slowly put into place over the last few weeks.

RA and RD are here because I feel that I'm wasting my life and that the fun and joy that I do manage to feel is so small and fleeting that it hardly counts. I just feel there is something missing and I don't know what or how to find it.

Fittingly, I was sorting though a box of miscellaneous papers and came across this scribble that I can't remember when I wrote it but I thought it a rather apt expression about how I'm feeling these days:

There’s a void in my life. Something is missing that I can’t describe; a void that I can’t explain; an absence that casts a shadow across my mind; shading happiness and darkening ambition.

It frustrates me; the intangibility of it, the obscurity. I know that to define it would be to banish it; cast it out and liberate myself.

But its identity eludes me and nags on my mind; waking me early and keeping me up late. Occupying my thoughts; demanding to be heard and yet telling me nothing.

I suppose my solemn soliloquy is a bit melodramatic, maybe, but I think it does describe how I feel.

I'd love to chalk it up to PMS; or the poor weather (which is definitely a contributory factor, the latter, not the former); or a lack of sufficient exercise (for which the weather is also partially responsible); or too much gluten (definitely a contributing factor - my new toaster (Ted) is far too good at his job and I have toasted my way though an entire loaf of bread in about 3 days) but I think the problem still runs deeper than that. I'm frustrated with my life and don't want the life I'm living (and calling it "living" is a stretch, more like existing) but I don't know what I DO want from life therefore I don't know how to find it.

What do I have to do to get RA and RD yanked from the stage and how do I get in contact with FL and FE?

I think it's time my theatre got some new management!

I guess I need to slowly start changing the words on the marquee... "friendly", "fun", "caring", "capable", "amusing"... and dare I say "awesome".

To change the signage, I guess I also need to bring in a bigger audience to my theatre - I need to reach out to my friends and stop spending so much time in my head.

Maybe I need to start to volunteer somewhere, also a good way to get out of my head.

I need to not let the weather bring me down and get back into a regular fitness routine.

I need to tell Ted that we need to take a break for a while - I love him, but he's turning me into an addict (hmmm, fresh toast).

I think I would also benefit from a big hug and a kick in the ass; I'm just not sure what order I need them in.

And if anyone out there knows how I can get in touch with Fun-loving Lightness and Fulfilled Exuberance, let me know...

Maturity and Age

Initially, when he called me Seven I was flattered (I blame the Closet Trekkie in me who peeked out from behind the closet door and determined he was comparing me to the character Seven of Nine from Star Trek Voyager – HA, IF ONLY); then, realizing he wasn't a Trekkie (Closeted or otherwise) I thought it best to clarify what he meant. To which he responded that I was acting like I was seven years old - by which I was, still, in an odd way, flattered.

It wasn’t said in a negative manner, he wasn’t chiding me for acting juvenile, I think, in some way, he was amused by my blatant lack of maturity. I don't recall being accused of acting like I was seven when I was truly seven, so being accused of acting like I am seven when I'm soooooo (how many o's do I need!?) far removed from seven IS rather flattering.

I remember when I was a child I wished I was older, more mature and I would get frustrated or annoyed when I was treated like a child. I know as a teenager I was very serious and completely lacked the ability to laugh at myself. Anytime I accidently did something silly or stupid that generated a laugh from others I was upset. Don’t even get me started on how bad a “poor looser” I was – I am reminded of a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon in which Calvin pitches a very large fit when he looses at a game of checkers – that was me.

But in the last few years something has changed – somehow, for some reason, I have become less serious and, for the most part, I can even laugh at myself. I have a couple of really good friends that help me with that – C & D who both poke fun at me from time to time and allow me to behave in a juvenile manner, heck, they even join in!

I still get annoyed when my toast burns and grouch about it for a minute or two, but it is no longer an “end of the world” event; and I am getting much better at taking that sort of thing in stride. (Actually, I have used my powers of commerce to procure a new toaster who is much more reliable and has yet to burn my toast – I even named him “Ted” – Ted the toaster – and I’m even willing to admit to it in print!) I have welcomed whimsy into my life; and try to add fun to every day. I often joke with my co-workers and when anyone asks what something should be called I always respond “Fred” – regardless of how useless the suggestion is.

On recent trips to Peru and New Zealand I took along my stuffed Tigger (just a little one, about the size of my fist) and had him posed in different places and took pictures of him. He wore a harness and I had him clipped to my bag and he bounced along wherever I went. I didn’t feel silly having a stuffed animal with me and I think, to some extent, my sister envied my ability to wander about with Tigger in tow not caring what others thought of it.

I am coming to the realization that for me Maturity is not the absence of juvenile behaviour but the wisdom of knowing my audience and acting accordingly.

So I will continue to act like I’m seven with my closest friends and continue to want to name everything at work, “Fred” and yes, I will continue to have a toaster with a nametag (did I not mention I gave him a nametag?) and I will continue to travel about with Tigger in tow. Silly, possibly, but silly in not necessarily a bad thing, as long as you know where and when it is safe to be silly.

Thinking Inside the Boxes

"See, don't knock the boxes," I heard myself saying to a friend of mine. Though I said it to her, it was really more of a comment to myself; a reinforcement that I do, from time to time, find myself on the right track.

We had been discussing different weight loss plans and theories and were discussing The Zone diet and how it worked and it suddenly occurred to me, my own approach to dieting is rather similar and, when actually followed properly, rather effective.

At it’s very basic; The Zone allots a certain number of servings of different types of food (Protein, Carbohydrates and Fats) at different times of day. This reminded me of my box technique; which involves allotting x number of servings of Protein, Fruit, Veg, Fats, Carbs and Water. These allow for me to account for the number of servings of each of these that I consume in a day – in order to limit the first five, and to encourage me to consume more of the final one – water.

The number of boxes I allot for each different food type was based on my past experience on various diet programs and reading I have done on healthy eating (including the Canada Food Guide).

It has worked in the past, it is visual; it is a version of accountability – right there, in black and white, is the evidence of my nutritional malfeasance, misbehaviour and excess; indisputable and indefensible.

It helped keep me aware of how much I was eating, and when… if at the end of the day, I was feeling peckish, I would look at my sheet and see I was more than maxed out on carbs and was lacking in the fruits and veggies department, I would force myself to put down the popcorn and slowly back away until I’m next to the fridge where I can head for the veggie crisper and grab some veggies to munch on.

It’s not rocket science; it’s not a quick fix; it’s personal accountability; it’s challenging; but it works! It helped me loose 40 pounds about 5 years ago.

Unfortunately it stopped working when I stopped doing it - shocking! Cause and effect so completely linked - who knew? “You mean I can’t eat bags and bags of Cadbury’s Mini Eggs and not gain weight??” “You mean a bag of chips isn’t a good source of nutritional sustenance.” Apparently, I can’t eat nothing but carbs for four days without suffering some negative nutritional ramifications. – NO KIDDING!!

I need to regain my focus before I regain too much more of something else. I need to rediscover my persistence and personal accountability when it comes to my food consumption.

So, starting today, I’m renewing my nutritional philosophy of thinking inside the boxes.

Nostalgia

I was chatting with a good friend of mine yesterday about the etymology of words and mentioned that I thought the etymology of the words nostalgia was interesting.

Nostalgia comes form the Greek words nostos - meaning 'return home' and algos - meaning 'pain'.

I thought it curious that nostalgia would be considered painful because I always think of being nostalgic as remembering the "good ol' days" which, I interpreted as a happy thing but my good friend C pointed out that it was likely that it didn't mean physical pain and was more likely meant remembering with regret or with longing; which, as it turned out, got me feeling rather, well, nostalgic.

Truth be told, I have been feeling nostalgic all week, possibly due to the looming presence of Easter and C's mention of longing and regret really brought it home for me.

My earliest childhood memory is of me, sitting behind my Mum on the back of her white three-speed bike, me securely strapped into a child seat, as we orbited the subdivision, houses always on the left, trees always on the right. I vaguely remember feeling free as we glided, effortlessly (at least for me) round and round. I wonder if I have felt as free since.

I also remember having a red tricycle with a big front wheel, with big black pedals attached to the front wheel and metal mudguard. I used to turn the bike over and crank a pedal with one had and get the big wheel going at a good clip and then with the other hand, I would drop pebbles down between the wheel and the mud guard and watch them go spitting out the front of the bike. I wonder what happened to that tricycle. I wish I remembered more about my childhood and my years growing up; a lot of it is just a blur or is completely absent.

Two of my favourite memories are of excursions I took with friends. The first one took place about 10 years ago when I convinced a then friend of mine who knew how to sail a boat to take me on a 5 day sailing trip around some of the islands near Victoria, B.C. It was a fantastic trip, very relaxing (well for me at least) and such wonderful weather; the water was calm and the sun was bright and sea breeze allowed us to travel under sail, rather than power, for the majority of the trip. My friend was even brave enough to teach me how to steer and let me sail from time to time, what a wonderful adventure - I had never sailed before - and sadly, I have never sailed since.

The second was a camping trip I took with another friend of mine about three years ago. I hadn't camped since I was a kid and I enjoyed every minute of it - except for the 60 minutes I spent one morning trying to light a fire - I'm sure my camping companion was less than impressed when I woke them up to start the fire for me. My absolute favourite part of the trip was when we rented a canoe and set off to paddle to the next lake. Theoretically, the four or five lakes in the area are linked by rivers, so we assumed that we could paddle from one to another. So the intrepid pair that we are, we set off in the general direction of the next lake buoyed up by the belief that we could make it to the other lake and back. As we approached the edge of the lake, it became apparent, that it wasn't a shoreline as much as it was an over abundance of lake grasses and the like, giving the dual illusion: from a distance, a shoreline; closer in, safe passage. We found a narrow channel (probably how the beavers swim about in the aquatic thicket) and bravely pressed on.

After numerous navigational alterations (still following beaver byways) and one or two boggy portages, our calm & serene scenic canoe trip had taken on the feel of a personal vendetta, us versus nature, like the explorers of old; we were determined to find the mouth of the next lake. But after finding myself hip deep in water I expected to be ankle deep, and slowly sinking into the boggy “lake bottom” (I use the term lake rather loosely at this stage in our quest) our steadfast belief that we could navigate to the next lake was beginning to waver. Once our laughter subsided, saner heads prevailed, and we retraced (for the most part) our path back out of the boggy thicket that hid the entrance to the next lake and headed back towards the open water of our lake of origin.

I had a wonderful time on that camping trip and sadly, I haven’t camped since. I hope that I can get out camping this year, if not with my stalwart canoeing companion; then maybe with another friend who will be prepared to have other adventures with me.

Not long after that camping trip, I spent a week in Jasper with my dog, Beau. I rented a small cabin and went hiking. Beau, being a reasonably old dog by then, was not as keen on hiking as he had been in his youth and after about an hour (or less) he didn’t want to walk anymore, so I picked him up and put him in my backpack, his little furry head sticking out over my shoulder and we happily hiked on (he ain’t heavy, he’s my doggie).

I’ve been missing Beau recently, it used to be just seeing Maltese that would get me upset, but now, it seems to be anytime I see a happy dog, I think of Beau and wish my life was not a dogless one.

Ok, I didn’t expect this trip down memory lane to lead to the doghouse. I guess that’s nostalgia for you, sometimes more algos than you’re prepared for.

It’s funny how the more I think about the etymology of nostalgia, the more truth I find in its origin. Even my happiest memories are tinged with longing. I suppose that’s just the way of things.

I look forward to looking back on this part of my life and remembering the friends and adventures that made 2009 a year full of fun, humour and adventure.

Easter Orphan

For the past several years, I have gotten a strange feeling around Easter and until today I wasn't able to put a label to it.

It was a feeling of discontent... no discontent is too strong.
It was a feeling of unease... no, that's not right either...
... absence, that's it. At Easter I experience a feeling of absence.

I'm not religious, so Easter holds no religious significance for me - my feeling of absence is purely a secular one. To me, Easter is a "family holiday" (considering it thus is probably my first mistake) not unlike Christmas and Thanksgiving - both of which involve a coming together of family to partake in ritualistic behaviours (my university anthropology class is finally paying off) and since I am single with my parental units and sister living at least two hours away I don't participate in Easter "festivities".

It's not that I particularly mind my participatory shortcomings, it's just that, at Easter, I am reminded of the fact that I AM single and that my family IS at least two hours away.

The majority of my friends have spouses, or partners, or other forms of family that they descend upon, or are descended upon by for Easter. The few that have no family close by have “surrogate families” that they have been adopted by over the years that they can spend Easter with. I have not yet been adopted, I am an Easter Orphan.

This feeling of absence is accentuated by overhearing people discussing their “Easter Plans” like it was some military manoeuvre or by having well-meaning people ask me, “So, what are you doing for Easter?” – to which I reply - “Oh, nothing” – which is generally met by a look of pity.

Please don’t pity me – that isn’t why I’m writing this blog. Nor am I writing it in order to root out an Easter get-together to crash (I flatter myself by thinking anyone actually reads my blogs). I’m simply writing to rationalize how I feel and hopefully make others (again, self-flattery here) realize that though their family can aggravate to the brink of madness, but they’re still family, they’re still there, close enough to get a hug from when you need it. Having family near by can often be a blessing - treasure them.

Although I am an Easter Orphan, I am still lucky.

I'm not alone in the WORLD and though I won’t get a home-cooked Easter Feast (given my current waistline that’s probably a good thing) and I won’t get any hugs on Easter, I’m not going to be completely alone on Easter.

I will, no doubt, call my Mum and tell her how much I love her. We may reminisce of Easters past and both wish there wasn't a one hour drive and 90 minute plane trip separating us. But still we are, in our own way, together for Easter.

Happy Dance

I was in an utterly fantastic mood walking home from work today.

I don't know if it was the utterly fantastic weather that greeted me as I left my dungeon like office for the day or the utterly fantastic song that I was listening to (Blues Traveler's "Just For Me") but whatever the reason I was in an uttlery fantastic mood.

Today it FINALLY FELT LIKE SPRING! The sun was shining warmly and the wind, for the first time this year, was not cold and biting. That alone is probably enough to put a smile on my face.

But the song... "Just For Me" isn't a new song, but it's new to me; I discovered it about a week ago, hidden amonst all the Blues Traveler songs I have and ever since the first time I've heard it, it never fails to make me smile. Not to mention make me want to sing along to it - which is never the best thing to be doing as you walk home from work - behaviour aberrant enough to get you locked up somewhere for a day or two.

The other great thing about the song is it's rhythm, which makes me want to dance - which is, I suppose, both a blessing and a curse; though it makes me happy enough to dance, to actually put it into practice could also end in "special attention". Since my dancing best resembles a vertal epileptic fit. Before you know it, I would be collected by a pair of charming paramedics and whisked off to "somewhere safe".

Further evidence of my musical insanity is that, so enraptured by the song, I played it for the entire 20 minute walk home (and for a three minute song, that's a fair number of repeats).

All this said, I think the song actually helps me keep my sanity - after all isn't it best to often do that which makes you happy? I know if I listen to the song, I will tire of it - too much of a good thing is still too much (I wish I could take that tact with chocolate).

With what is HOPEFULLY the final arrival of Spring, and the reactive abating of cabin fever, my mood may be improving a bit without the need of musical marajuana, but I'll still toke a bit, and in the privacy of my own apartment, I will do my happy dance - no medical professionals need respond.