No Comment?

Well, I did it.  Tonight I commented on a blog written by someone I don't know.  I have taken the first baby step into the blog world and toward inviting others to read my blog.  Yikes!

Because, of course, you realize that a blog comment is not just a blog comment.  Every action has a reaction, which goes something like this:

• I comment on said blog
• Blog Author reads my comment and wonders who the heck I am
• Blog Author goes to my profile to see who I am and sees that I have a blog
• Being a blogger himself, Blog Author is interested so comes here to see what my blog is all about

Now this is the part where he reads all about me and decides if either a) my writing or b) my journey or c) my person is interesting enough for him to continue reading and, possibly, to read on a regular basis.  This is interesting, yet somehow unusually scary. 

Until now, this blog has been for me and has been read only by people who actually know me.  There is safety in that.  But by commenting on the other blog, I have essentially invited Blog Author to come over here and check me out -- and decide if I am worthy.  Or rather, if my blog is worthy, which is really almost the same thing since I am essentially pouring all my innermost thoughts and feelings into this crazy thing called a blog.

But then, this blog - and, indeed, this particular part of my life - is all about figuring out who I really am.  So if I am all about discovering myself, why shouldn't others be allowed to discover me, too?

Me, Myself and I

Tonight I went to see a movie -- alone.  I have been going to movies alone for the past 16 years or so.  I would much rather go with other people but were I to wait for them, I might never go.  You see, I have this terrible habit of not ever planning to go to a movie.  It's almost always a last-minute idea and it's usually a mid-week late show.  It's no wonder I can't ever find anyone to go with!  So I go alone.

As I said, I started going to movies by myself about 16 years ago because, for many years, I lived abroad and it was rather difficult to find someone who wanted to see an English movie with me.  Eventually I had to choose between never seeing a movie in a theatre or never seeing one with anyone.  I'm not one to sit at home so going alone to the movies was simply the lesser evil.  I've never understood the social stigma attached to going to the movies by yourself so it was never awkward or humiliating for me.

In face, there was also a time when I used to go to dance clubs alone.  It's even harder to find people who like the same music as me and who like to dance so, again, I would just go it alone.  I've explained my love of dance and my need to dance before, so suffice to say that dancing alone at a club was a far lesser evil than not dancing at all.  Unfortunately, I'm not sure I could pull off hitting a club solo now, but one of these days I just might try.

So, for all the time that I've spent writing about my wonderful friends, there are times when they have other plans, leaving me to my own devices.  What I've been reminded of is that I'm not going to let their absence stop me from doing what I want to do.  Yes, the fun-o-meter never quite maxes out when I am by myself, but it sure revs a lot higher that it would were I to sit at home on the couch all evening.  And when I think about it, if I am a strong enough person to throw caution to the wind and go out alone, then I should be able to rely on that same strength for so many more things in life.  I'll have to try to remember that.

Sharing Time

Today a friend of mine posted on Facebook that she was looking for other bloggers.  Who, amongst her friends, kept a blog and who would be willing to blogswap?  I'll read yours if you read mine.  Initially I thought it was a great idea and I immediately responded, telling her I had a blog.  And then I stopped.  It hit me that if I put my blog address there on her Wall that other people might actually stop by and read my blog -- and that frightened me.  Why?

I am completely loving my blog.  I love writing it and I love that my friends read it and comment on it and share their thoughts about my thoughts.  But today I had to consider the possibility that people I don't know might read my blog.  Am I ready for that?  Although my blog is technically public, it never really occurred to me that just anyone might read it.  And now that I think about it, sharing my blog with random readers is really not that scary, given that they have no idea who I am.  I've got nothing to lose.

I have also not advertised my blog on my Facebook page.  I could.  I would have more readers, perhaps even more followers.  But do I really want all of my "Facebook Friends" and old schoolmates, colleagues and room moms reading about my innermost thoughts and private struggles?  Obviously not.  But why?

Why am I being so protective?  Why am I so unwilling to let the world in to my little piece of cyberspace?  I suppose because that would mean putting myself out there.  It would mean risking humiliation and showing vulnerability.  It would be careless.  And I'm not ready for that yet.  I wonder if I ever will be.

Where Have All the Photos Gone?

Lately I have been struck by a wave of nostalgia and have been poring over old photos, of which I have many.  Most are organized and in albums, arranged chronologically on my bookshelves.  Unfortunately, I've sort of dropped the ball the last couple of years (not just with photos but with so many other things) and so the photos from the last year or two are either sitting on the shelf waiting to be put into albums or, sadly, not yet printed.  But, luckily, these are not the photos I am interested in.  It is the older ones of friends, faces and places that have piqued my interest. 

Today, in particular, I was looking for a set of photos that were taken at a photo shoot about 12.5 years ago.  I was the model, my best friend was the photographer and we were putting together an album for my then boyfriend (now husband) for his 25th birthday.  My boyfriend and I were separated by an ocean at the time so a photo album of me was an appropriate gift.  My girlfriend and I had a fabulous time doing the photo shoot and shot about 8 rolls of film.  I picked a dozen or so of the best photos for the album, which my husband still has.  My friend, the photographer, is also an artist and painted one of the photos for my husband, which was his Christmas present this year.  It was seeing the painting that made me start looking for the photos to begin with.  But, alas, it seems the rest of the photos have disappeared.

This is not entirely surprising, given that I have moved 6 times on 3 continents since those pictures were taken.  And I have added a husband, two children and a wealth of their belongings to the mix.  The result is that there is a lot of stuff that I am responsible for keeping organized.  This last move was particularly unorganized, perhaps because of the sheer volume of things needing to be packed and unpacked, and I notice this whenever I attempt to unearth anything from the collection of boxes in our basement, like I did today.

It is quite possible that we will be moving again in another year or so.  I really, really need to sort through the stuff and nonsense in my basement before then so that we don't move it all again to our next destination - wherever that may be.  It is a daunting task, and I feel I have so many other daunting tasks to contend with.  But perhaps this is the one I can start with.  Make a summer project out of it.  Toil away at it little by little.  Maybe have that garage sale my daughter has been asking for years to have.  And maybe, just maybe, find those pictures.

 

Vision Boards

I went out with a girlfriend last night for "coffee" and the conversation came around to vision boards.  If you are unfamiliar with them, the idea is to make a collage of all of your dreams and goals that you would like to fulfill.   You are then to hang this collage in a prominent spot where you can look at it often and remind yourself constantly what you want to do with your life.  It's supposed to be inspiring.

I don't have a vision board.  It has been suggested to me on several occasions that I should make one.  Honestly, I don't really get the concept of them to begin with but even if I did and were to set about making one, I wouldn't have the foggiest idea what to put on one.  This goes back to how I'm supposed to marinate myself in my dreams".  I am beginning to think that I am really completely unable to look to the future and aspire to anything.  Up until now, I've basically been letting life happen to me and it's gone pretty well, I think, which makes it even more difficult to think about planning the future.

But surely there must be things I want to do, I hear you interject (I know because I get that a lot).  Why, yes, there are things I want to do but there are so MANY things I want to do, I don't know where to start.  This is where I find a vision board so limiting.  Can I put that many things on a vision board?  I kind of feel like I have to narrow things down to a top 10 list, which, obviously I have trouble doing.  My friend pointed out that when I met her last fall, I said the same thing, meaning 6 months or more has passed and I am still no closer to dreaming or even knowing what I want to dream about.

My husband has a vision board, which he made a while ago and stuck to the bathroom mirror.  It's a good spot for him because he looks at it every day.  However, it's also a bad spot because then I look at it every day.  And looking at his goals and aspirations every day I've realized is actually rather irritating for me.  "So take it down," my girlfriend said.  So I did - and moved it somewhere else where he can still look at it but I don't need to see it very often.  I can't really explain it except to say that it drains the energy out of me to look at his vision board.  It's not that his goals are bad.  They're just not mine.

So, what are my goals, my dreams, my visions?  I honestly don't know.  But I'm working on it and I'll let you know when I figure it out.

Changing Expectations

Our friend, Steve,  has written a book on marriage.  He's a clinical psychologist, has been married 14 years and is well-versed on the theme.  The book won't be released until next year sometime but last night we got a sneak peek at a presentation he gave.  The book is entitled, "The 6 Husbands Every Woman Should Have".

The basic message is that people need to change throughout the course of their marriages and their lives in order to stay happily married.  You have to adapt to the changes life throws at you and, even more key, you have to do that together.  The checklist you have outlining the perfect partner when you are young and single ultimately changes as your life together does, as you travel through various stages in life.  (There are 6, hence the title of the book).  At each stage, life demands certain things of you and, in relation, your partner demands certain things of you.  If you fail to change and measure up to these constantly changing needs, it spells disaster for your marriage.  Likewise if you change, but not in the same manner as your partner or if only one partner changes.

Needless to say, all this gave me lots to ponder about my own marriage, the conclusion ultimately being that of course, Steve is right and what he describes is exactly what has caused the disenchantment in my own marriage.  My husband feels that I have not grown and changed enough over the years, that I am still too much like the young version of me he married.  I'm not as mature as he feels I should be.  I am not meeting his new list of expectations for this stage of life.  On the other hand, I feel that he has changed greatly.  He is very different from the man I married but, sadly, his changes do not line up with my expectations either.  The result is that we have literally grown apart.

Steve also made two other comments that I found very pertinent.  One is that you can tell what age an addict started using because they stop growing & changing and remain that age (until they stop using).  The other is that when the children are small, you have to be sure you don't lose yourself while trying to manage the chaos.  So I'm thinking that, like an addict (the children being my drug) you can probably tell that I haven't changed much since the age of 27 because I got completely lost in the role of mother/chaos manager.  It took me 10 years to figure that out, but now that I have and now that I seem to be making some headway into finding out who I am again, I hope to be able to grow a bit and change a bit, and with any luck it will be in the right direction.

On the bright side my husband and I still like each other so there is hope for our struggling marriage.  We are trying, with the help of a therapist, to get ourselves and our marriage back on track and slowly, things seem to be improving.  Some days I feel more optimistic than others but I know that only time & effort will make a difference, so I will continue to offer both.

Girls and Boys

When I was a child, I was a tomboy.  I love to climb trees, build a "dam" across the creek behind our house, and play cowboys and indians or dungeons and dragons with the boys who lived on our street.  As kids, no one really made a fuss that I liked to play with the boys.  My oldest friend in the world, who I've known since I was two, is a boy who lived up the street.

When I was in highschool and university, I still liked to hang out with the guys.  At parties, I would usually be out on the back porch drinking beer with the guys rather than inside with the girls.  I preferred the testosterone-laden conversations and the raunchy jokes, the cigarettes and the beer to the wine spritzers and discussions of weddings and home decor that took over the estrogen effused indoors.  I am still good friends with two guys I met when we were in our teen years.

Over the years I have made many friends with girls and guys alike.  I have more girlfriends than guyfriends and while I treasure all my friendships, I truly appreciate the friendships I have with the men in my life.  They show me a different perspective on the world and on relationships.  They think differently and give me insight into the workings of the male species.  And they make way better drinking buddies.

Interestingly, I have a hormone imbalance which has gifted me with more male hormones than the average woman.  I have often wondered if this is perhaps the reason why I have more male friends than the average woman and why I tend to seek out male friends and keep them around.

In addition to that, my personal beliefs and values do not necessarily coincide with those of the masses.  I believe in equal opportunity, that men and women can be close friends without anything getting in the way.  I am a fairly open-minded individual who, I realize, has a different definition of appropriateness than the average (North American) woman.  I am rather naieve, tend to believe too much in innocence and goodness and I don't get jealous. Sometimes I forget that most people don't think like me or behave like me and the reminders are occasionally harsh.  For me, a friendship is formed with a particular person based on mutual interests, insights and commonalities, not on what sex they are.

Three's Company

Recently I've become friends with a married couple.  It began as a friendship between me and the wife.  We are neighbours, mothers, and wives -- we have plenty in common.  She's bright, caring and funny.  And, like me, she doesn't feel like she really fits in in the little corner of the world we call home.

I got to know the husband initially in a more "professional" manner.  We have an exchange student and the husband is our area rep: our liaison, mentor and advisor.  We've had a lot of trouble with our exchange student so I've had more than average need to talk to him.  I was then able to get to know him in a more social level because of my friendship with his wife and the friendship between our children.

Lately the husband and I have become friends in our own right.  We are very much alike in very many ways.  We are both writers.  We both have an interest in metaphysics and related arts.  We each have a dark side.  He understands me in a way that only very few people in my life have ever been able to.

One of the many things I have in common with them is that we are none of us in perfect marriages and the problems they have are similar to the ones that I have with my husband.  Unfortunately, because of their history and the baggage they still carry, certain comfort barriers have been breached and I have somehow managed to exacerbate their problems.  Not me personally, but the situation I've created.  On the one hand, having me as a catalyst has forced them to grapple with long-dormant issues, which, I hope, will start the ball rolling towards healing themselves and their marriage.  On the other hand, I feel like I've rocked the boat and I am terribly afraid that our friendships may not be able to swim.  And I really need them to.

I am not sure how to move forward but I know that we can not move backward.  I am in the unusual position of being confidante to them both.  I hope I can serve them both equally well and, in the end, help them as much as they have helped me.

We Are Searchers All

I realized today that there is something else that my best friends and I have in common: we are all introspective, still trying to figure out who we are and what our place is in the world.  None of us quite fit in, one way or another.  We are all intelligent, beautiful people but for some reason we are not ever completely at peace with ourselves or our lot in life.

We are thinkers, and perhaps this is our downfall.  Maybe we spend too much time considering ourselves, contemplating who we are, trying to make ourselves better people.  No, not better people, whole people.  We are always looking for that missing piece, that will somehow make us fit and make us complete.  None of us knows if we will ever find it, but we search.

The quest is our bond.  We understand each other and we help each other explore and investigate.  We support each other through our journeys of self-discovery and although each of us has a slightly different story, we know we are all travelling this road together.

I don't know if any of us will ever find what we are looking for, but perhaps with the strength and support of our friends we will at the very least find some level of contentedness.

Get Into the Groove

Thursday, April , 2010

Something else in my world is finally going right.  I'm not sure if this is due to the turn of the tide in the rest of my life or just out of sheer determiniation.  Whatever the case, tonight I found my dance groove again.

I am a dancer.  My life is not complete without dance and for the past 3 years or so, my style of choice has been highland dance.  I had my first highland lessons when I was about 3 or 4 years old.  I believe I only danced for a few months before my teacher passed away and the lessons stopped.  Although I lost my opportunity to continue highland dance lessons (and become a championship dancer), I never lost my love of the bagpipes.

Fast forward 30 years.  In a quest to get out of a rut and make a conscious effort to spend more time on myself, I decided I needed to take dance lessons.  I couldn't settle on anything until I spied a poster of a piper at a dance studio.  I started highland lessons immediately and fell in love with it all over again.  That was 3 years ago.  In the meantime, I have progressed nicely, winning numerous medals and trophies at competitions, and I am able to legitimately call myself a highland dancer.

Or rather I was doing that up until last August, which is when I completed my Novice level and advanced to Intermediate.  I think the freak-out factor involved with the level change combined with the chaotic circumstances of my life and that of my teacher, prevented me from dancing for the better part of the next 6 months.  I would go to my lesson sporadically but I began to doubt whether I would ever really dance - or compete - again.  And it made me sad.

But finally, after months of doubt and frustration, things are falling into place.  I've been going to lessons regularly and actually seeing improvement.  My stamina is building and I think I will be competing at my first Intermediate competition at the end of May.  It hit me last night after class that I really can do this.  In an hour-long class, I danced a 6-step Fling, a 2&2 Sword, a 4&2 Trews and a Flora.  Not perfectly, but I did it.  My lungs burned from the exertion but I did it.  My muscles ached but I did it. 

I am back and it feels great.

On the Right Path

It was confirmed to me this evening that suppression does indeed lead to loss of vitality and a lack of energy -- not just in me but in all people.  Not that I needed the confirmation: the past week has been proof enough for me to know that stifling any part of myself, especially for so long, is not good for me.  And honestly, at this point I don't much care if it's bad for other people or not, I'm just trying to figure myself out.

I seem to be on the right track then, with this blog.  It is allowing me to unleash my creativity to the world, or at least the 4 of you who read this.  It's a good start.  It not only allows me to write but also to "publish" what I'm writing.  The blog is a stepping stone on my path.  It starts here and, hopefully, will overflow into other forms of writing thereby watering the creative soul I have kept buried for so long.  And as it begins to grow and blossom, I can only hope that the rest of me will too.

Supression

I've come to realize that I've been stifling myself for years. There has been a long, slow progression of suppression and I realize that I am now just a meager representation of the person I once was. 

I suppose it is only natural that, as we age, time constraints and responsibilities push aside many of our interests and hobbies.  While that may be true, I also believe that I have been pushing away many of my interests, passions and emotions simply because I have felt that I had no one to share them with.  Granted, over the years I have also developed a few new hobbies and rediscovered a few long dormant skills but for the most part I have all but buried most of what made me who I am.  Or at least who I was since I'm still trying to figure out who I am.

I've been trying to figure out why these friends I've been raving about are so important to me and why they have been so instrumental in helping and healing me.  I think it's because when I am with this small, select group of people I can really be me, uninhibited.  They know all of me and all of my layers and we share things.  We share interests (primarily creative ones like writing and art) and we share ourselves with each other.  I am not afraid to be myself with these people because I know that they will understand my deeper layers.  I know this because theirs are very much like mine.

Now that I know this, I need to dig deeper a little more often and coax out the creativity.  Spending time with the people who understand me will hopefully help me do that, and with any luck they will be able to help me find more of the person I was -- because I miss her.

 

Laughter is the Best Medicine

It's a total cliche, I know, but it is so true for me, at least at this particular juncture in my life.  Laughter has literally cured all that ails me.  Perhaps not *all* that ails me but a considerably large portion thereof. 

I can't remember having felt this good in a very, very long time.  I know that I still have a long way to go to get my life back on track but I think I might be able to do it now -- and do it with a smile on my face.  Heck, even my husband remarked that I am in a good mood.  The last six weeks or so have been horribly grey and filled with doom and gloom (in the truest sense) and it just feels so good to be able to shake that off and look at life through rosier glasses.

This past week was Spring Break and, as you know, I was able to spend a large part of it with friends.  Some friends were old friends in Canada and others were new friends here (in the US).  My husband did not come to Canada with the children and me and once I was home, I was spending so much time with my friends here that it actually bordered on husband neglect.  I might have felt guilty about it except that I was too busy enjoying myself.  I figured that Hubby would be so happy for me that he wouldn't mind so much if I neglected him a little and I was right. He's been a trooper through the past few weeks.  He's let me be all moody and miserable and hasn't said too much about it, bless him.  Needless to say then, that he is just as happy as I am to see me with a smile on my face.

And that smile is there because my friends make me laugh.  All the time.  And when you laugh enough in a day, the smile sticks with you.  So my plan for happiness -- for the next while at least -- is to spend as much time as I can laughing with my friends.  I just hope they're ok with that...

Is Ignorance Bliss?

I've been wondering lately if perhaps it would be easier for me to be happier if I wasn't so sensitive to other people's feelings.  What if I were the kind of person who only worried about myself and my own feelings?  This is rather an impossible question, since being a mother makes me incapable of only thinking of myself.  I constantly have two other smallish beings to think about, care about and nurture.

But then there are also all the other family members and friends whose feelings I truly care about and who, as whole people, I truly care about.  If I cared less about them, would I be able to care more about myself?  And in doing so, would it be easier to place myself and my own feelings, wants, needs and desires on the top of the heap? 

My theory goes something like this: if I were less sensitive to how other people are feeling, I would be less prone to worry about them, would spend less time thinking of them, and would have more time to think of me.  I would therefore be happier due to being able to concentrate more on myself.  I wonder if perhaps I just need to be a bit less sensitive, less empathetic, and be a mite more ignorant. 

They say ignorance is bliss.  I wonder if maybe they are right. 

Making Memories

Yesterday I thought to peruse a blog that two of my friends follow.  The entry was about the ancient art of making mixed tapes.  Back in the day, this is what we did for people with whom we wanted to share a bit of ourselves.  It would take hours of fiddling and frustration to get the songs in just the right order and sounding good. 

Today, oddly enough, I received a mixed tape from a friend.  Well, a CD, actually, but same difference.  It had been promised a while ago but due to technical difficulties, I just received it, very appropriately, today.  Having just read Cabo's blog, I think it made me appreciate it even more.  For this is not just a CD with "high octane" tunes, it's a memory in the making.

For instance, a few months ago a friend of mine moved and found a mixed tape I'd made for him ca. 1995.  I'd completely forgotten that I'd made it so he sent me a list of songs, which went like this:
SOFT
Darkening of the Light - Concrete Blonde
Bleed a Little While - Lowest of the Low
Damn Your Eyes - Sinead O'Connor
Pretty - The Cranberries
Bizarre Love Triangle - Frente
Path of Thorns (Terms) - Sarah McLaughlin
At My Funeral - Crash Test Dummies
Tiny Little Song - Barenaked Ladies

NOT SOFT
Big Time Sensuality - Bjork
Breakin' Up - Violent Femmes
Plush - Stone Temple Pilots
About a Girl - Nirvana
Killing in the Name - Rage Against the Machine
Jesus Built My Hotrod - Ministry
Animal - Front 242

Just reading the song titles and artist names brought back fantastic memories of him and that particular time in my life.  It was also a curious exercise to look back and try to remember why I picked those songs and why I put them in that order.  What message was I trying to convey?  Or were they simply just songs I liked at the time?

I was a great lover of mixed tapes.  I made many and made them joyfully -- and received them equally so.  I still have all the mixed tapes (and CDs) I was ever given -- and yes, I still have a means with which to play them.

Of course, the art of making a mixed tape has since been usurped by the evolution of technology.  It is so much simpler now to burn a CD using digital music on a computer.  But I think we all still love getting a mixed tape, even if it is a CD.  The sharing of music is the sharing of oneself: I like this. I hope you like it, too.  It lets the listener discover new things about the person who made the tape and often opens the door of discovery, challenging the listener to broaden their musical repertoire, their ideas and themselves.

So thank you to everyone who has ever made me a mixed tape, for sharing a part of yourselves and your lives with me.  And for making memories.

"Hope is a Waking Dream" - Aristotle

It's helping, this new way of thinking.  I am beginning to see the light and that very small glimmer of hope.  Hope.  Now that I've said it, I realize that I've been without it for a very long time.  With any luck, it will actually stick around because I quite like the feeling that there's even a small chance that things will improve.  Those of you who have ever felt hopeless will understand what I mean and those who have not are truly blessed to have never been there.

I think today actually began on Saturday and built up to the present.  I've spent so much time over the past few days with dear friends who let me be myself, which was imperative to starting the change.  The fact that these friends are uniquely qualified to make me laugh is also crucial.  So starting off in a good mood certainly spawned the movement.  This was then followed by a very good chat last night (see yesterday's post) all of which allowed me to free myself today to doing things for myself.  Not that I really accomplished anything inspiring (laundry, watered and pruned my houseplants) but I did everything because I wanted to do it.  I certainly needed to do laundry and the plants needed watering but today I did those things without being tormented by the monstrous Shadow of Ought.  It my seem trivial but for me it was monumental, enlightening and motivating. It was a glorious change for me and truly felt like today was a brand new day. 

Now if only I can keep this up for the rest of my life -- or even just a series of tomorrows. 

Thinking of Me

Following a nice chat I had tonight, I concluded that a large part of my unhappiness and unproductiveness comes from the fact that I don't do enough for myself.  The theory goes that I would be much better at getting things done if I was actually inspired to do them for myself instead of for others.  There is obviously enough rebel in me that if someone tells me do something, or insinuates that I ought to, then I won't do it.  The theory applies to everything from tidying the house to finding a career.  In order for me to want to accomplish anything, I need to really want to do it for myself.

The trouble is that I spend most of my time taking care of everyone else.  This is what I do and this is what I'm good at and while I quite enjoy doing it, it doesn't leave me much time to do much for me.  I don't spend enough time thinking about me and what I want.  I think if I did that and could figure out what I wanted, I could probably take a step or two towards making it happen.

I actually stumbled upon a version this idea a few years ago when I took my first ever holiday by myself.  For almost a week I ceased to be anyone's mother or wife and I was just me.  It was a glorious time and I decided to take steps to ensure that I didn't forget who "Me" was.  I made a grand list of things I wanted to do and things I wanted to change and I even got a tattoo to always remind myself that I mustn't ever forget who I am.

While I have gotten better about remembering who I am amidst the loving chaos of family life, I obviously haven't been doing enough to really discover who I am and what I want out of life.  I must make a more concerted effort to make time for myself and think about myself, my wants, my needs and my desires. I need to marinate myself in dreams, as my therapist said and, I now realize, I must also marinate myself in me. 

And maybe get another tattoo...

There'e No Place Like Home

Today is my last day at home.  Tomorrow I shall pack up my children and our belongings and head home. It amazes me that statements like this no longer confuse my children but it seems they have figured out that I have two homes.  One is in Canada, where my family resides, although my parents no longer live in the house I lived in with them.  Nonetheless, this general part of the GTA is still home to me.  This is the home of the heart.  My other home is the house in which I currently live.  That home is nomadic and is the home of my belongings and my life and changes rather frequently.  The children, and probably anyone else who knows me, know that when I am at my house and talk of going home, it means Canada.  If I am in Canada and talk of going home, it means I am going to my house.

Now that I think of it, I also have a third home, which is in BC.  This is where I grew up and although it has been many, many years since I lived there, it still holds a piece of my heart.  When I see the mountains my spirits soar and I feel like I can breathe again.

I wonder if my children will ever have anywhere they can call home.  My son is 10 and has lived in 4 cities in 3 countries.  My daughter is 8 and has lived in 3 cities in 2 countries.  They have lived longest in the US but they are not US citizens, so what currently feels like home to them is not a place they can choose to live in without great amounts of time, effort and money put into settling mundane beurocracy.  And should the US be the place they choose to call home when they are older, it is likely not the place they will find their parents.

We have not made "home" a simple concept for our children and sometimes I wonder if they will ever have a sense of "home".  I hope they do, because it is always refreshing to have a place to go home to - to regroup, reconnect, recollect and rejoice - no matter where it is.

To Change or Not to Change?

I am struggling with the concept of change.  There are many kinds of change and I like to think of myself as a master of many.  To begin with, I move with my husband and two children every 3 years or so.  This in itself necessitates many changes: country, city, house, school, friends, stores, cars, and a general way of life.  I like to think that I deal with these kinds of change quite well.  But recently I have become aware that despite all these external changes that I have learned to conquer over the years, there is one change I am loathe to consider: changing myself.

It has been recently and frequently drawn to my attention, in many different ways, that there are parts of me that are not, perhaps, ideal.  I have been adament about not changing anything about myself simply because someone else tells me to.  I do not believe I should change myself to please someone else. In fact, this is one of my fundamental core beliefs: if you don't like me for who I am then tough shit.  I also fundamentally do not believe that what I do is a reflection of who I am.  I don't believe that being a poor housekeeper does not make me a bad person any more than working a 16-hour a day job makes one a good person.  As the joke goes: sitting in a church every week doesn't make a person a Christian any more than sitting in a garage makes a person a car.

But what if I'm wrong?  What if changing some parts of myself and my behaviour would actually benefit me in the long run?  What if these other people are right and they just see that I can be a better - or at least more productive - person than I currently am?

So I am torn.  Lately I have lost enough self-confidence to start thinking that maybe I should work on improving myself.  But where is the line between changing for someone else and changing to improve yourself (at someone else's suggestion)?    

Hugs

I love hugs.  Proper hugs.  Not the fake, superficial kind of hugs but good, full-frontal, squeeze-me-tight-and-show-me-that-you-care hugs.  Love those.

I come from a hugging culture.  Where I grew up everyone hugged everyone all the time.  In some countries, people shake hands but where I'm from, people hug.  At least my generation do.  The older ones probably shake hands.  But I hug.  And I miss it.  And I miss living in a place where hugging is commonplace and hugs are given, received and exchanged on a regular basis.

So next time you see me, hug me tight & show me that you care.

Friendship Immersion

I am immersing myself in friendship and it is fantastic.  My two children and myself have come "home" for a 5-day visit.  We are staying with my parents but my main goal is to spend as much time with my friends as is humanly possible.  The wonderful thing about the friends I have here is that they have been my friends for a long, long time.  We have passed that magical point where we have known each other longer than we have not.  Although all the new friends I have are precious and although I will cherish any new friends I will make in the future, nothing can replace a friendship that has lasted more than half a lifetime.

So when I come "home" I spend as much time with my friends as I can (balanced, of course, with spending time with my family).  Today I spent a couple of hours with one of my best guy friends.  Tomorrow I'll be spending the day with my best girlfriend, her sister and all our respective children.  The following day will be spent with my two best girlfriends, our children and a few of our nieces. Then one last day with the girlfriend(s) before we head back to our house again.  It's going to be fabulous!

The best part of all is that after only a day here, I feel so much better already.  I can feel a wee bit of energy coming back and I am beginning to feel like that big cloud that has been hanging over me is starting to dissipate.  The world is starting to seem a bit brighter and I am starting to feel a bit lighter.  I can only hope that after 4 more days spent immersed in the presence of those people I love and cherish I will be well on my way to mending myself.

A friend of mine said the other day that he was in pieces, but at least they were all within view.  I have been in pieces for the past month but couldn't find any of them. My friends have helped me find the pieces and with any luck, I'll be able to start putting myself back together soon.

That's What Friends are For

Today I spent 6 hours driving in the car to visit my family in Canada, which gave me lots of time to think and reflect upon many things that have transpired over the past few days.  What I realized was that despite - or rather because of - the recent insanity and emotional upheaval in my world, I have been spending a lot of time this week talking to a few very special people I like to call friends.

For the past few weeks I was so miserable that I was unable to really talk to anyone about what was going on.  My husband suggested on Saturday, when I was in the depths of despair, that I call my best friend and talk to her.  I did, but she wasn't home.  She was where I would have rather been: collecting sap in the sugar bush with 3 small children and a heavily tattooed man.  Just as well, because I doubt I would have been able to carry on a coherent conversation.  When I did finally talk to her a few days later, we had a wonderful conversation that did me a world of good.

The following day I had a spontaneous lunch date with another girlfriend who is going through her own emotional and physical upheaval as she struggles through the semantics of divorce.  I hadn't had a chance to have a good talk in ages so it was fabulous to be able to air all of our cumulative grievances and offer each other a listening ear, a word of support and a big hug.

Yesterday, when the shit hit the fan at my house, I felt so incredibly blessed to have two other good friends with me via text and in person all day and all night long.  I find it even more interesting that these friends - who, luckily, are also neighbours - are people I have not known very long but with whom I have become very close very quickly.  And thank God for that!  There were innumerable text messages all day long, followed by a visit to my house and then the offer of refuge and a bottle of wine at their house.  They listened to me, offered words of wisdom, hugs and, most importantly, they made me laugh.

These friends have all shared with me their own personal battles as well.  I realized that I am only able to share my troubles with those whom I know have troubles of their own.  It seems almost counterintuitive to burden those who already have issues with my dilemmas, but then I believe that because they are able to trust me by sharing with me their problems - however major or minor they may be - I feel I am then, in turn, able to share my stories with them.  I know they will listen and I know they will understand.

Most of the time I feel very alone, even when I am surrounded by people.  This week has proved to me that I really do have people in my life -- and even in my neighbourhood -- who really do care about me.  I hope they understand how much it means to me that they are there.

Anger

I got angry today.  My therapist would be pleased.  I'm surprised.  I am not familiar with anger.  Yes, I get angry with my children every now and then but that is generally frustration that gets expressed as anger.  This was a different anger and anger is certainly not what I do.  More often than not, when things do not go right, when my expectations are not met, when I find things out of reach or beyond my control I get sad.  Sadness is what I do (althought lately, it's been despair).

The other day there was an incident at home with our exchange student which really made me hit rock bottom.  The only way to protect myself and my emotional well-being was to conciously decide not to care anymore.   So I decided I no longer cared what he thought of me.

And let me tell you: it is SO much easier to be angry with someone and tell them exactly what you think when you don't care what they think of you.  I had nothing to lose so I could put it all out there   I don't think I've ever don't that before.  I can't say I enjoyed it and I'm still not settled (there are still some issues that need to be discussed) and I am rather burnt out by the whole emotional turmoil of it all, but I have learned something.  Namely, that I care too much about other people.  I care too much about their feelings and about their opinions of me.  I am a being too social for my own good.

Obviously I can't go around not caring about everyone but I can see that anger is not such a bad thing when it allows me to open up and say what I think.  I guess balance is the key.  I don't want to be angry all the time but maybe it's better than being sad all the time.  I don't know what to make of all of this but I'm learning.  It's exhausting and unsettling to experience all these new feelings but with any luck I'll come out of it a more well-balanced person who can get angry at people that I like and care about.