working hard for his money

I was at the specialist with the ultrasound-thingy-place today and it was a bit of a disappointment. I'm always excited to see pictures of my organs and stuff on screen and then disappointed when I see that, really, it's just a bunch of static punctuated by more static and I have no idea what I'm looking at (and it's in black and white, what's up with that ;). Today's session started a bit tense as the technician was irritated that I hadn't drunk enough water to see what she needed to see and she ignored my repeated defense that "I FOLLOWED the directions". I'm pretty sure she thought I was lying and the madder she got, the more defensive I got until eventually I wanted to pee right then and there because THAT would show her but I didn't because, you know, I'm not 5. In addition to learning that my abdomen, that place that I thought housed my stomach etc, is actually just home to static, I also learned that my body processes water very slowly - at least in the land of ultrasounds.

Worse than her irritation, though, was the procedure itself. I thought that ultrasounds were taken from the outside, a little cold jelly on the skin and a mouse-like thingy zips around and takes pictures - easy - so you can understand my confusion when she asked me if I was allergic to latex, and maybe you can understand my misgivings when she applied a giant-sized condom to a giant-sized thingy and told me "don't worry, he works hard for his money". Turns out, ultrasounds may also be taken from the inside. Live and learn.

Perhaps even worse than the hard working ultrasound thingy and the technician's irritation combined is the fact that not long after she stopped sniping and began doing her job, she suddenly got very, very nice. It made me nervous. It made me think that she saw something and decided that it wasn't good karma to be mean to a dying lady just because she didn't drink enough water. I think there should be a rule, if you start off mean, stay mean. Or, you know, you could just be nice in the first place, especially if you're about to assualt a poor unassuming young maiden where few have gone before with a giant camera-slash-dildo.

stuff

Last Friday I had dinner with a group of friends I've known since I was just a fledgling, 12 year old, bekasanahh. In my mind they're the girls I've known since high school, I think they always will be. For that reason, my first thought when A sent this picture was one of idle curiosity, as in "Hmm, who are those women I'm sitting with?". It only lasted a split second but, hey, look at that, if they're women now, I must be too.



Mi, to my left, is my sister-soulmate-friend who knows me inside and out as I do her. I forget when or why it started but we've referred to each other as "mi" for what seems like forever. She's me only better. In high school when the rest of us were reading "Sweet Valley High" books, following each other to the shopping mall, and doing everything we could to avoid being different, Mi was reading "Jude the Obscure", attending protests and peace marches, and quitting much needed part-time jobs because she'd discovered they were using wood from endangered trees or something along those lines.

As if that's not enough to garner my undying love, she's crazy fun. When I think of her, I think of this: she called me over to help her wash her new-old car inherited from her grandmother and, when I got there, she was sitting in a tiny bikini on her driveway, beer in hand, scraping the "Don't Drink And Drive" sticker off the bumper while her neighbours struggled between pretending not to notice and shaking their heads disapprovingly. She was 16, she shouldn't have been drinking and anything. Funny Mi.

In other news, yesterday's journal entry: "Sun today, lots of it, face lifted to the sky in thanks. Man entering the coffee shop as I exited offered a surprise 'Good Morning', it was nice. The parking lot attendant waved me through for free just as I was mentally lamenting the $10 parking fee. Came across a very lost, very recent arrival to Canada and walked him to the subway stop. Took ages to understand what he needed and then where he needed to go as he spoke almost no English. Reminded of just how hard people work to create a better life for themselves. I'm working hard too. Feeling like I'm re-building myself from the ground up and it's hard but I'm lucky, lucky, lucky and grateful for the opportunity to do this at this point in my life".

Nothing profound there, I know, but after spending the better part of the last few months wondering how I was going to get myself out of bed and through the day I can't explain my relief at noticing the sun, it seemed so dark for such a long time. I'm getting my mojo back.

by the way, i lied

This...

"It took 7 months, 4 official address changes, a ridiculous number of hours on hold, and a visit to 5 different postal offices scattered throughout Toronto but Canada Post has finally agreed to deliver mail to my house again."

...was not enough to get Canada Post to agree to deliver my mail. Updated tally is 8 months, 5 official address changes, an even more ridiculous number of hours on hold, a visit to 7 different postal offices and new conversations with 3 different managers.

Still no mail but there is change, they've also started marking mail sent in my name to my father's house "return to sender". Go Canada Post.

lets have bizarre celebrations

Lunch with a friend, an afternoon movie matinee, and reading real, live, oh-my-god fiction instead of research articles; that's right, I'm done my masters. Papers handed in last week and comprehensive exam written this morning - done. I spent the afternoon doing things I've been wanting to do for ages (above) and things I've needed to do for ages like 3 weeks worth of laundry, too many days worth of dishes, changing the linen, and putting out the garbage.

When I brought the garbage out I heard music, very loud classical music. I couldn't tell where it was coming from but it was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. I stayed outside for a while, leaning against a tree in this gorgeous spring evening letting the music wash over me; it was the first time in months that I've just...stood...and not felt guilty because there was something else I should be doing.

Luxurious. And strangely unsettling. I've gotten so used to the weight of the last few months that I almost miss it now that it's gone. I'm sure it won't take too long to get used to life as a non-stressed being. Besides, I'm already thinking about my PhD. Somebody stop me.

And the title, lets have bizarre celebrations? Hands down the best first line of any song, ever.

mmm..chocolate

The other day during an intake I asked a client, as we always do, about their drug use and they shared that they smoke 1/2 an ounce of marijuana a week.

Since I don't smoke and I don't do anything that involves numbers well, I have no idea how much that is is. Or if it's a problem. The closest reference point I could find to understand what 1/2 an ounce of pot looked like was to think back to the chocolate bar I'd eaten earlier that day which I'd noticed was 2 ounces.

That was the worst possible thing I could have done. For the rest of the session, all I could think was "mmm...chocolate..."

is it april 17 yet?

I left my job a year ago today. I wish I could say more about it, about what's changed, what I've learned, where I find myself, but I can't. It's wistful this feeling I have, this wishing I could know what I know but life is a blur and my head is spinning. After a year of feeling as if I'm running one step behind trying to keep up, nothing has had the chance to sink in. Not complaining. Just noticing. Noticing that I don't really know anything right now.

It's all done April 17. After that I plan to stay gainfully unemployed for four months to play, let it all sink in, and see what comes next. I think the real lessons of this year will be best found through hindsight and I can't wait for the space to process.

Random stuff:
-It took 7 months, 4 official address changes, a ridiculous number of hours on hold, and a visit to 5 different postal offices scattered throughout Toronto but Canada Post has finally agreed to deliver mail to my house again. Just in time for me to leave the country in a month.

-That someone or something comes easy does not mean that they require no effort. I learned that this week.

-My car died and I'm transit-bound. I've gotten so much work done on the hour long ride to and from work, it's been a blessing. I started driving again so I could go to the shala in the mornings but our lovely visiting Teacher is gone, the energy in the shala is empty, and home practice is exactly what I need. Plan to remain transit-bound for the remaining weeks.

-I had the nicest, most unexpected conversation with a visitor to Toronto this morning. I forgot how much, as a tourist, it means to have a real-live-actual conversation with a local, with someone outside of the tourist-service industry, and the warm impressions I've brought home with me as a result. I hope I did the same for her. She was sweet.

At this time last year I wrote of flip flops and sundresses. This year, not so much. Eat lots of chocolate and stay warm everyone :)

toronto updates its signage

I guess with the weather finally warming up, the city has had a chance to begin spring cleaning. I passed a new street sign today on my way from the shala to the coffee shop and I think it might just be my new most favourite thing ever.

It reads:

homeless sleeping
QUIET


I can already hear my father muttering to himself as he reads this and the indignation of living under Toronto's Liberal bleeding-heart-commie-pinko (did I forget anything dad ;) political rule comes rushing to the forefront of his mind.

Love. It.

why, oh why, does Hamilton keep calling me?

The book club that never reads was a huge amount of fun tonight. The one guy who always does read the book tried, as usual, to redirect the conversation to the pesky topic of the story at hand but he was outnumbered.

Instead we leapfrogged from topic to topic, falling into side conversations only to dovetail together again at a completely new, and seemingly random, point. Conversations are as likely to begin with statements like "I don't know how familiar you are with bigimpressivename's most recent archeological findings using carbon imprinting but..." as they are with "Well, it's like Richard Burton always said: 'Dick is not a name, it's an appendage'". Fun times.

I know this group because I used to work with some of them at one of my most favourite jobs ever. Tonight I got the inside scoop on an upcoming opening that I was encouraged to apply for. It's my dream job at my dream institution with my dream team. 16 hours per week in the late afternoons which leaves plenty of time for yoga and long, lazy mornings, working with a client group I'm experienced with, doing work that I like doing, and it's the perfect place and team to nurture me at this point in my career. Oh, and since it runs from September-April time off to travel is literally built into the job description.

The catch? The reason I left my 'most favourite job ever' was because of the distance, it's an hour drive from where I live.

We'll see. Maybe Hamilton isn't done with me yet.

spring

I wasn't sure about today.

It began as it does every morning with me pressing snooze, every four minutes for 20 minutes which, I know, makes no sense but that's not the point. The point is that this morning was different. It should have been a great morning since it followed the night that I slept more than three hours which, in itself, was a feat as sleep has eluded me lately; however, inbetween violently assaulting my alarm clock (who was really only trying to do his job, poor, misunderstood thing), instead of chasing after those precious extra minutes of sleep, I lay there moping. Oh, woe is me, another day. So much work to do, relationship confusion, job confusion, identity crisis; I simply can't face another day - quick, someone bring me my violin.

Sadly. I live alone and the cat that lives with me doesn't speak "whine" so, I got up. And damned if it isn't a freaking great day to be alive.

I dragged myself to yoga mentally preparing myself to defend my poor, fragile, woe-is-me-life-is-hard body from my uber-ashtangi teachers who tend toward aggressive in their adjustments but they denied me the opportunity to explain just how hard life has been lately by leaving me alone to practice in peace, interrupting me only once with the most gentle of adjustments. Practice felt good.

Work was punctuated by a series of family group emails bearing "spring has sprung" ditties initiated by my Grandmother who, in email land, we refer to as 'ima' (get it? ipod, ibook, ima...funny bunch, my family). I was stuck inside an institutional cement box so it could have been hailing frogs for all I knew but when I escaped at 3pm I discovered that it's true. Spring has sprung.

Maybe its spring, maybe its the sleep, maybe its any number of things but I feel alive with possibilities. My job, my apartment, my plans for the summer - all up in the air and, at this moment at least, I'm loving it. I feel free and open and constricted by the few plans that I do have. With the exception of the fact that the one person I'd like to spend time with isn't here, I'd be very happy to hang around Toronto, visiting, yoga-ing, minimal amounts of working, and maximum amounts of chilling for the summer. But then, this will be my last chunk of free time until next April so I also feel the call to take advantage of it and go somewhere far away. Having the option to choose is delicious.

I type from my mom's patio. The ravine to my left gives me the sound of the running river and calling birds and I sit, coat-free, squinting through my sunglasses while the late afternoon sun keeps me warm. Soon I'll leave to join the bookclub that never reads the books for the first time since November and I can't wait to see everyone.

Happy spring to you all :)

subway

The man across from me talks loudly to himself and the woman sitting beside him moves to sit next to me. Music escapes her headphones and works their way into my consciousness, pulling me from reading these words, which I love so much I've revisited the book several times over the past few years:

"I recommend it, by the way - pond watching - as therapy. There is something about water, even if you have no particular interest in the life forms within it. It is the medium we came from, after all. We were all rocked by water at our beginnings" Mary Lawson, Crow Lake.

A couple has occupied the seats to my left for several stops. They haven't exchanged a word or made eye contact with one another since boarding. I wonder whether they are soulmate compatible or alienated and dispassionate in their silence. I think the latter but then he leans over to brush a stray piece of hair from her cheek in what I assume to be a tender gesture. For some reason I'm relieved - they are connected. She looks down to watch his actions but doesn't turn towards him or acknowledge his gesture in any way and I return to interpreting their silence as distant. Her lack of engagement with him makes me dislike her.

The conductor admonishes those waiting on the platform to let riders off before trying to board. Two times. Its funny. He tries a new tactic, reminding us that we might find it easier to board if we would make use of more than one door instead of all trying to crowd in through the same one. But we're already on board and mid-tunnel. This is funny too. He must be having a very looong day down here in the dark tunnels and I hope his shift passes quickly for him.

ok, follow your bliss, you win

I don't know who wrote the poem that follows but its been drawn to my attention several times recently and, each time, I've resisted posting it. After it made its way to my attention again today, I give up. It wants to be read and I see beauty and strength in these words.

Energy Flows Where Attention Goes

Go out and live. Break your heart with too much caring, and gather around you the knowledge that you can survive. Risk it all to do what you love, and know that you are strong enough to go on, win or lose.

If you wait for the moment when everything is ready, you will never begin. And if you spend your whole life waiting for the storm, you’ll never enjoy the sunshine.

Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. When you have exhausted all possibilities, remember this — you haven’t.

Every adversity, every failure, every heartache carries with it the seed of an equal or greater benefit. It also has the potential to open your eyes and your heart.

Far away in the sunshine are my highest inspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see the beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead.

It’s not what you are, but what you don’t become that hurts.

Follow Your Bliss

I love it most for the first and the last lines. The first because a year ago I promised myself that I would go out and live, I'd give up what I was content with to rediscover what I love, and I would love someone fearlessly. It's been terrifying. There has been adversity, heartache and failure but there has also been an opening of eyes, heart and inspiration - they've just been slower to follow and I've been impatient. So, there is that. The other reason I love the first lines so much? I've been more than a bit sucky through it all, It doesn't hurt to be reminded that I'm strong when the scaredy-cat inside of me is quaking in her boots.

And I've never heard the sentiment of the last lines expressed in quite this way: "It's not what you are, but what you don't become that hurts". I've thought a lot about this and, I'm not not so sure I agree, but I've really enjoyed the food for thought.

making room

March 21, 2007

Spring equinox today. Does that mean something? Is it a "time" for something? Should I be concluding, honouring, or manifesting in some way? Given that it's spring, a time for new life and for rebirth, I'm going to manifest.

I manifest inspiration, enthusiasm, opportunity, options, possibilities, lightness, and joy. New doors will open. Options will arise. Support will be there. A new life will begin.

I'm strangely excited by it. I say strangely because life is full of endings right now; some expected, some unexpected, some unwanted. There is sadness, loss and disappointment. There is also fear. I'm scared. There's no escape from the uncertainty of the future, no escape from the fact that I don't know what I'm doing. I'm without a plan. So it feels strange to be excited; strange, confusing and wrong all at the same time. Should I be excited when I'm so scared? And sad? And when I know nothing for certain? Am I allowed to feel excitement as well?

Although this post is full of questions, I'm not looking for anyone to give me answers. I have my own and, for those still pending, there's a sense of acceptance that's been missing as of late. Things will come. They already are.

Last week I was telling someone of my thoughts of redacting my resignation and returning to my old job. I liked it well enough, loved some parts of it, it paid the bills, required little effort - why not? Still, as I outlined my reasons we both knew that the main reason was because it was a sure thing and I'm way freaked out by not knowing what comes next professionally. His response was "don't be conservative". Simple, but good.

Quotes about "living fearlessly", poems titled "follow your bliss", career possibilities all find their way to me; new connections are popping out of the woodwork and old ones are rearing their heads to say hello.

Inspiration, support, options and possibilities are there. Maybe I just had to stop obssessing over the endings to allow room for the beginnings.

ekah

I originally titled this post 'my sister is brilliant' but I have two sisters who are each brilliant and who each bring me such gifts that that didn't seem right. This post, though, is about my younger sister, Ekah.

I emailed her this morning asking for a poem and she complied. I forgot the power her words have to bring me to tears - so poignant; hopeful and heartbreaking at the same time. Again I'm reminded that she writes better than I think she will ever let herself know. I know I've mentioned that in other posts, but whenever I read one of her poems, see the pictures she's created, feel the energy she brings, I wish that I could pull her, just for a minute, from herself so she could see what I see.


She's an ugly girl, that wants to be pretty
She's a pretty girl, with ugly ways
She's clean for you
because she got dirty

took extra care
to look untouched.

She knows you love her, but stand alone
so she rebels in private
and meets you on sundays

She's a smart, dumb girl
that wants too much
but won't get enough.

She uses your head
because hers is too hard.

She's a cop out
that puts too much in

She's all over when you're gone
but goes back to where you found her.

She ripped herself off, by turning you on

She takes baths by candle
but gets dirty so fast

She gave too much
but not enough
on purpose.

She's wide wide wide
closed.

hell hath no fury like a wet cat

Long ago, when the cat first moved in, someone sent me a comic strip that said "God gave us dogs to remind us to get outside and cats to remind us to sit and enjoy the moment". Tonight, after a day which may best be remembered as "the day I could do nothing right", I did both.

When I got home from work the cat, sensing my mood, disposed of his usual tear up and down the length of the apartment and sat on my lap, purring, while we watched the light change. After a while of that, with some self-pity thrown in for good (bad?) measure, I roused myself and headed to my sister's to take her dog for a walk in the park. Chevy ran ecstatic circles around me while I rediscovered the smell of earth, the sound of my shoes squelching in deep mud puddles, and the pink sky of sunset framed by the forest instead of city buildings.

I also met George who greeted me by wrapping his jaws around my right thigh. Any other time, that might be the prelude to a damn fun night but George was a dog. A very big dog who his owner introduced as a "real mr. grumpy-boots" which, I suppose, is more positive than introducing him as "rabid". A hug from my sister, a phone call from my cousin, a deep breath of spring in the air, and the pure, unadulterated joy of dogs running in the park helped make the events of "the day I could do nothing right" melt away.

I also discovered something that the comic strip forgot to mention: nothing, and I mean absolutely NOTHING, can top the sight of a cat falling into a bathtub full of water. That shit is gold.

all that you can't leave behind

In two completely unrelated events, last week began with hospital tests and ended with a funeral. With the combination of the two so close together, I have death on my mind. And life. I've been thinking about what makes a good life, what I'd like to see when I look back at the end of it all.

Seeing those gathered to honour L. at the service, looking at the pictures strewn across several bristol boards, pictures where she was rarely alone, instead always surrounded by loved ones, listening to messages from her Grandchildren about the shared gift of baking or gardening; it occurred to me - this is what it is all about.

It's about love. About the family I build, the lives I touch, the gifts I share. It's about what I leave behind.

So. What do I want to leave behind?

like butterflies dancing across my back

OK. Permission granted to roll your eyes all you want, I know I did, but remember, I didn't ask for it; the words popped completely without encouragement into my mind this morning when I was being adjusted by my teacher's mother (herself a yogi and teacher for 30+ years): "like butterflies dancing across my back". Having spent most of last night awake, waiting for the death grip of a sugar rush to leave my very tired body (note to self: it doesn't take half the pan to 'test' the brownies you baked to bring to work), I chalked the butterfly imagery up to exhaustion. Then it happened again. Another adjustment and there they were, the words themselves dancing across my mind in this crazy, pink cursive script. And I'm not even a pink-cursive-script-liking kind of person. Uber-ashtangi, muscle wrenching adjustments my ass! Those were the most gentle, powerful adjustments ever. I'm inspired.

This inspired me too: "The seeds of some trees are so tightly compacted within their protective covering that only the intense heat of a forest fire can free them, allowing them to sprout". Out of fire comes life. Love. That.

And, for the record, if any of you are wondering whether I've noticed what inspires you - I have. Scaredy-cat resigned from my job post = nothing, boobs and blowjob posts = comments.

Filthy readers ;)

hyvaa shittia

I'm almost loathe to write about this morning in case anyone chooses to make mountains out of what was a supercool experience; but I'm so excited that I'll brave the threat of pop-psychoanalysis anyway.

I met with my meditation teacher this morning and, after sitting for some time, we were talking, not surprisingly, about meditation. About the push and pull for attention, the mind's need to follow sounds...memories...stories...anything to occupy itself and provide distraction from the very simple state of being fully present - just me, right here, right now. He caught onto something in the way I was describing my experience with the morning's meditation, he noticed judging in my speech. In return he seemed genuinely puzzled and was talking about the possibility of NOT judging meditation as 'performance' (that kind of misses the mark) but to use it as an opportunity to just notice. Notice what comes up, the 'good' and the 'bad', and welcome it all equally - without commenting, judging, or applying value. Of course, I know this. I know it a million, trillion times over but, damn, its hard.

As he was talking about not following thoughts, not judging, just being me, right here, right now. A voice popped into my head; a questioning, tentative voice asking "But what if you don't like who you are?" and, of course, it wasn't entirely a hypothetical question, what I meant was "But what if I don't like who I am?". Wow. Where did that come from?

On many different levels, I really don't think I'm all that bad but I guess there's that core, that doubting, that questioning of myself, my worthiness, my goodness; that's there too just beneath the surface, spinning madly to attach to thoughts, sounds, memories, stories, even criticisms and judgements...whatever it takes to keep from peeking behind the curtain and considering the fact that there is that part of me that wonders if I'm good enough - and suspects that I'm not.

That sneaking little suspicion seems to be popping up now more than ever and, given all the changes and uncertainty in my life, it makes perfect sense. Without those external things to latch onto by way of defining myself, I'm just left with me. And, please, don't get me wrong - I don't think that's such a bad place to be; my ego is pretty healthy. Usually my teacher doesn't say much but today was different; today he contradicted me. He stated that he didn't really buy that I believed that, that I didn't like myself, he thought that it was just a 'safe', comfortable place for my mind to go. I think we were both right. I know this may not sound like such a big insight to you but, for me, it's like a light went on in a corner of a room that I didn't even know was there; I'm super excited.

As we talked I felt the inanity of it and had this wish to be a fly on a wall, to witness our conversation and watch as he made his third separate attempt to explain the various alternates to self criticism or judging. It was like being being oriented to a world that I really didn't have the social background to integrate myself into on my own. Even at the time I could see the humour of it as I stopped him to clarify for the millionth time "Ok...so, wait...when I think X I should just accept it? Let it be there without buying into it? Without attaching to it?"...long pause..."Really?".

Hmm. Interesting idea Dr. Meditation ;)

who? me?

I was talking to one of my favourite people in the entire world today and, as is the case with all our conversations, after we hung up the phone I sat lost in thought, letting snippets of our conversation float to the surface before drifting away. We have the oddest synchronicity, he and I. He's my spiritual twin, my mirror, and he has the habit of saying exactly what I need to hear. I often feel like I've exhaled whatever it was I needed to release or relax into after we've talked. It's perfect.

Today he was talking about his 3 year old daughter, how he's noticed that she will not do things if told - pushed - to do them but that if left alone and given space, she'll do it of her own accord. Yeah. I know that that's not news, that you've probably observed that with other beings in your life, but it was exactly what I needed to hear today.

I'm pushing the universe on a million different levels to reveal what it has in store for me. There are too many unknowns in my future which feel all too real because I 'officially' resigned from my job yesterday. I'm scared and I'm pushing. My incessant, constant, scratching need. to. know. is pushing, pushing, pushing in this hopeless, impossible game that I can't possibly win. I know it, I know I can't push things to reveal themselves before their time but, in my fear, I forget.

It was good to be reminded by K. today. Every time I replay his words in my mind I get this kind of abashed, embarassed grin on my face and feel that pushy part of me look around with mock innocence as if to say "Who me? Pushing?" with lips pursed in a too-casual whistle. Yeah, you, pushing - I see you.

It's good to have mirrors.

you mean that's NOT the best thing ever?

Many, many years ago when I was working on my undergrad degree I participated in a PhD research study in exchange for course credit. Since the study explored the connection between depression and dependency, we were asked to complete a questionnaire about our experience with depression, our social network, who we turn to for support/advice, our ability to make independent decisions etc. before being selected (or not) to participate. We received class credit just for completing the questionnaire so I considered it an easy grade - I was surprised when they called me to participate.

It turns out they wanted me to join the 'other' group, the control or comparison group because my scores for 'dependency on others' was so low. As in the lowest he'd seen. Ever. I remember that because he repeated it over and over. Each time he marveled at my low dependency scores I responded with a kind of 'aw, shucks' duck of my head, a little embarrassed at his outrageous flattery.

It wasn't until several years later that I realized that he may not necessarily have been paying me a compliment.

the difference between a teacher and a Teacher

I practiced beside a visiting student at the shala this morning. She clearly had a practice she was comfortable with and each time my Teacher made a suggestion or tried to adjust her she stopped him by saying "I can't".

As I watched Matt respond to this time and time again with the same level of quiet patience and faith I realized something: a Teacher responds to "I can't" by asking you to try - not "because they said so" or to prove them right but to give you the opportunity to prove yourself wrong.