Praising Myself

Often, we shy away from praise. More often, we stop ourselves from praising ourselves. Nobody likes interviews, writing a cover letter is hard, and society states we must be modest when receiving a compliment. Grateful. Always say thank you, never fully agree with the complimenter. Those are the rules.

It's come to my attention that I never speak to people about what I am good at. 

Last year, I started an initiative called Elf Anonymous. It was a simple idea: visit with seniors who don't see family over the holidays, and provide them with a gift. I advertised, mostly through Kijiji to see if any strangers would want to join me. An overwhelming 35 people responded, and I went in search of senior homes to partner with. Tonight, I was lucky to round up 15 volunteers, to make a difference in 15 seniors' lives.

However, I never have praised myself for my "saintly contributions" as my husband would call them. In fact, yesterday, my father called me, and I mentioned "I'm working with seniors tomorrow - I volunteer with them every Christmas". But Dad, you don't know that I made that happen. I created that opportunity to volunteer.

Tonight, I'm praising myself. 

I'm congratulating myself for bringing together a group of people, for managing chaos when the staff at the senior's lodge were uninformed about the event, and for making 15 seniors happy. 

I may not do everything perfectly. Writing this tonight reminds me that I need to spend more time on the phone with my own grandmother, who inspired Elf Anonymous. However, I think too often, we forget to praise ourselves. Perhaps it's time to start.

  

My Recent Fascination with Blind Cooking

I go in cycles when it comes to my eating habits. For a while, I'll keep up with the cooking, and be really excited about something I've taken to - like baking a lot of cakes, or playing with protein intake. After a while, though, I start to become bored with my cooking habits. Cooking has only been fun from a creative perspective to me. Recently, I've found a way to become creative with cooking that seems sustainable:

Blind Cooking

I've started to use Sustainable Produce Urban Delivery

(SPUD) after about a year since the last time I made an order through this local company. This time, I've changed my methods, and decided to sign up for the "surprise box", as I call it. I order a "salad kit" or the "vegan assortment" in which SPUD decides what you get, by packing a box full of whatever surplus veggies they have at

the time. I go into my cooking blind, unsure of what ingredients I'll have in stock each week. It forces me to be creative, to search for new recipes, and best of all, it makes me actually eat a copious amount of vegetables and fruits. I can't waste the ingredients (shopping local and organically is slightly more expensive, but I feel infinitely better about my meal choices). I have to look at what's in my fridge and figure out the best way to use up the veggies that aren't going to last as long. I'm especially happy that it makes me eat things I normally don't even look at in the grocery store (parsnips?!) because I have no idea how to incorporate them into my diet.

Tip of the Day: add some more creativity into your kitchen, and you'll want to spend more time there.

Where to Next?

For the first 18 years of my life, I had things figured out. My journey was a road map, destinations checked off one by one. I would go to school, I would get a job, and I'd probably be married by the age of 25. Kids were an uncertainty, as when I was twelve, I told my mother "either I'll be a single mother, or I'll be married without kids because I'm not sure I'll be able to love more than one person that much". I was a pretty wise twelve year old - that thought still creeps its way in now and again.

I think it was common for young girls to have this road map laid out for them. And for the first 18 years of my life, I was on track. Then when I was 18, I decided I should travel through a program called Katimavik. That was the first time I realized I might actually want to live in the woods in a lodge by myself, where I learned to bake bread from scratch, and had about million crushes on hippies I ran into.

I returned to Alberta after eight months, and I went back to my road map. I went to post-secondary, and I got a job, and I was on track to be married by the time I was 25.

The truth hit me when I was 24 and became single after a six year relationship. My identity wasn't banked on the fact that I had a partner, or that I would be on track to get married by a certain age. But in that moment, I stepped off my road map, and I realized for the first time in my life, that I never had a back up plan. 

Once I accepted that life had not gone according to the plan, other pieces started to fall apart. That job I had planned to have for the rest of my life, and spent the last five years working hard at? I hated it. My social life? Completely sucked. My hobbies and interests? I hadn't cultivated any. I was an empty vessel, travelling through space, following the plan that had been laid out for me. Focusing on the shoulds and avoiding the coulds or wants. My life was put together on the outside. People would tell me how jealous they were on my success and my hard work. But in reality, nothing was making me happy, and I wasn't being myself.

The truth is, when it boiled down, that hippie-loving, live-alone-in-the-woods Jillanne was still somewhere in there. And road maps were really never my forte. (Ask my husband, I am directionally challenged, even with GPS)

So...in the last four years, I've managed to go back to school and find a job I'm passionate about. Turns out, I found the job before I finished school. And now I'm facing another month until graduation, with no real plans for it, because I've found my peace for this chapter. I also found a new partner, and maybe wasn't married at the age of 25, but feel I was much more equipped to do it in this recent period. I know this isn't the end of the new map, but I'm happy to stay here for as long as my cup is full. I've studied business management, but I want to live in the woods some day.... 

Somehow it will all come together. I'm not really sure how, but I'm confident that there's a house somewhere in the woods, where there's a perfect future of "volunteer-addicted-creative-digital-media-guru-and-manager" with lots of brownies and an endless supply of rich coffee. I'll hold onto my resume for you. Until then, I'll continue to serve my purpose where it feels right.

The Hormones Linked to My X Chromosomes

I'll throw you all for a loop here:

Women Get Emotional

Sometimes, I'm not sure why I'm emotional. Today, my dog woke me up from a nap because I was bawling in my sleep. Ask me to recollect what my dream was? I have no idea, but I know the solution is ice cream.

On Sunday, I attended church. 

Now, if you know me, you know I don't practice religion. I have nothing against it, but that's a discussion for another time. I went to church for my nephew's christening, but something the pastor said struck a cord with me. He talked about leveraging resources. He made an analogy to a plant, where it draws resources back from the leaves when the roots are dry. When a human's roots are dry, they draw resources from relationships, their time, their own hobbies.

I've been really good at pretending certain resources are more valuable than others.

I've forfeited exercise for family. Even though I've told them I have an exercise class, and they schedule our time together around mine, I only have enough mental capacity to deal with socialization or physical exertion. So I've told myself family is more important, and then promptly napped through my exercise class.

I've forfeited baths for homework. That's right, some nights I choose to finish an assignment instead of showering. I've mastered the art of styling my hair to look less greasy.

I've forfeited time with my husband for a routine for the dogs. If he's spending a long day away from the house, I make a point to work early in the morning, and come home when he's not, so that the dogs aren't locked in a kennel for more than 8 hours. But this means I don't see my husband for the day, as I have to jet off again to class for the evening most nights.

I've forfeited rational thought for HORMONAL RAGE AND TEARS AND BLOOD

When I've depleted all my resources, my X chromosomes act up, and I forget why I'm sad, or angry, or both. I've stressed time and time again that I am not an average woman, but in this, I hope I am normal. If not, I might need some good old hormone therapy.

This is the NSFW Part

I've ruined so many pants. So many pairs of underwear. I've actually stopped throwing out ruined underwear and commit myself to endure the stains simply because my budget can't afford to replace them. The thing is, women have periods. Mine are more ghastly than some women I've spoken to, but regardless, periods can actually do something to us on a hormonal level.

But here's another thing: it doesn't just happen with periods. 

Women are sensitive, hormonal, and chocolate-craving demons even on their best non-period days. I know there's a lot of media out there that talks about how women can be just as dominating and in-control as their male counterparts, and they can be. However, let's not completely erase our knowledge of hysteria, here. It's not worth sterilizing women over, but female hormones do exist, and they do need to be acknowledged. 

Is it so wrong for me to blame my irrational outbursts on my hormones? Is it wrong for me to wake up crying from naps, and chalk it up to "being a woman"? That's what I am, and I can't deny it sometimes makes me feel like a crazy person. I think I'll continue to blame X chromosomes once in a while. It's a better excuse than "clinically insane".

Gratitude on a Day of Gratitude

Today, I pause to think "what am I thankful for?", and there are so many things.

1) Family that cares

Often, I get annoyed of my family. "Really, do you have to force your way into doing things for me? I'm not a child anymore!" But in reality, I am aware that not everybody has the privilege I get when it comes to family. I have a father who has shoveled my snow on a work lunch break. I have a mother who - damned if she doesn't - will always let you know a "better" way to get things done. My sister is the most amazing mother to her children that I've ever witnessed, and on top of it, she's never said no if she can be there for others. 

In addition, I've gained a family of in-laws - with a mother-in-law who never takes a breath until she knows that guests have been served with a coffee, or today, turkey dinner. My father-in-law has always made a point to include me in conversation - what little of it the small talker participates in. I have a sister-in-law whose driven herself sick being a provider not only financially, but emotionally for her two little girls. My brother-in-law has just undergone an intense surgery, and I can bet you dollars to donuts he'll still be greeting us with a smile and offering booze for today's celebration.

2) A Home Sweet Home

I had some conversations last night about how I dislike my current home. It's not what Jon and I envision for our long-term future, and quite frankly, our neighbours suck. Yet, I'm thankful I have this home. I've realized over the last six years that "not having exactly what I want" has humbled me. 

Going back to family, I believe I was raised to never expect or even desire a cushy lifestyle. My mother was a woman who knew that brand name clothing was just superficial. Sometimes I look back at my childhood friends, who grew up in the same cushy area of the city as me, and I realize something happened in my life where I can hold a conversation with the down and out person at the bus stop, where I wonder if those same friends could. My comfort level isn't quite there yet, where I still stand guarded, but I never have left a conversation feeling like I'm better than anyone. Instead, I'm grateful I never had to experience what that person has gone through and hope that they can get to a better place. I don't live in the nicest neighbourhood anymore, but I don't feel like I deserve to either. This is where I am for this point of my life, and my means are equal to those I walk the same streets as.

3) That support system

I've been lucky in the past few years to establish a support system. Beyond my husband, who is forever my own personal counselor and best friend, I have a small and wonderful group of friends. These are the people who I can catch up with when I come out of hiding - as I often become a recluse (side note: I haven't physically socialized with a person beyond family in almost a month, and I feel fine) - and it doesn't feel like much time has passed at all. I also have a strong group of women who make up my volunteering core, and are there when I need the guidance.

The snow is coming down, but there's something beautiful about today.

When "I'm Busy" Became the Truth and Not an Excuse

We've all done it. We're in our PJs at 7pm on Friday night, munching on a bag of popcorn, and our friend texts "Hey, come hang out tonight". Our response?

"I'm Busy"

In my case, it could have been an invitation to something three days from now, but my current mood states I'm lazy, tired, or grumpy, and therefore

"I'm Busy"

At some point, though, I actually became busy. I stopped enjoying my PJ popcorn nights, and started thriving on productivity.

Let's review a basic week in my current life:

168 hours to spend

-20 hours at work

-10 hours spent commuting to and from work

-9 hours spent on class

-6 hours spent commuting to and from class

-15 hours minimum towards homework

-10ish hours spent volunteering for GEARS

-10 hours dedicated to eating...possibly cooking

-4 hours to exercise with commuting

-2 hours for bathing

-5 hours for household chores, including grocery shopping and other errands

-2 hours of undivided attention to the dogs

-2 hours (yes, that's about it) of undivided attention for the husband

....that leaves about 72 hours for sleep, or 9 hours a night

Now, I don't actually sleep 9 hours a night (I'm lucky if I get past 7), but that's besides the point.

I never really saw a progression of how much less time I was giving myself as I decided to add things to my schedule. Sometimes I feel guilty, as though I need a reason to push aside other plans friends might throw at me.

Then I remember, "I'm Busy" is a reason.

"I'm Busy" doesn't mean I don't want to hang out, it means I can't at the moment. "I'm Busy" is not a hidden message that I don't like you, it just means that in order to make you a priority, I need to get some of my overwhelming tasks out of the way. "I'm Busy" just means that - I'm Busy. It's okay to be busy - especially when it's not an excuse anymore. And I'm glad it isn't.

The Shame of Being Married when Singledom is so Rough

My social media as of late has been flooded with articles and memes telling me exactly why I need to be ashamed of my marriage. Cheering on the singles out there, they root for those who are on a life journey, figuring out who they are, and trying to create better versions of themselves for their future. The women who don't need a man to help them get there, and who are doing it completely on their own.

But the truth is that I, too, am on a life journey of figuring out who I am and trying to create a better version of myself.

I just happen to have a partner and a ring on my finger to do it.

The articles and memes I've come across have been telling the following about what kind of person I am for choosing to get married:

"Being married means you are not an independent woman"

"Being married means you base your worth off what others think of you"

"Being married means you are not thinking for yourself or trying to achieve your personal goals anymore"

and my personal favourite,

"Being married means you think you are more accomplished than single women"

So let's address these:

"Being married means you are not an independent woman"

Yes, there are some things I don't like to do alone. I won't go to a movie by myself. Sometimes I ask my husband to drive me to places because I'm directionally challenged and don't want to get lost (or because I have poor time management and miss the bus). And if I'm trying something new and scary, I want him to join me. However, these are all things that single people would like a friend to tag along for as well.

I still go to my exercise classes, volunteer with the groups I support, and start my own side-projects - often without telling my husband until an hour before the event takes place. There are many social outings I go to - especially with my girl friends - where the husband is not in attendance. We each have our own interests and dreams, and operate as individuals who happen to love each other and sometimes share things in common.

"Being married means you base your worth off what others think of you"

Self-esteem doesn't change with relationship status. Rather, our own issues with how we feel relative to others' opinions of us has nothing to do with how much we desire, or don't desire, to be in a relationship in this point in time. I generally do care about how others think of me, as much as I attempt to pretend I don't. However, I cared about what people thought of me when I was five, and dating wasn't even something that existed in my vocabulary. I don't know if my desire to be validated by others influenced my choice to get married, but I can say I try less to impress others since meeting someone who allowed me to completely be myself and decided that was good enough.

"Being married means you are not thinking for yourself or trying to achieve your personal goals anymore"

Right now, I'm in University. I am doing my own projects, and I've started up a little tradition at Christmas that was something I fully believe in. My husband has told me to step back several times from the amount of effort I put into general life events, but I have a really hard time listening to him. 

There are days I turn down social events because I'd rather stay home with my husband, or where I tell others "hold on, I need to ask him what our plans are for that night". However, I think I'm allowed those moments, or else there wouldn't be much of a relationship.

"Being married means you think you are more accomplished than single women"

The only time I have thought a person was less accomplished than me for being single is when they have presented it as a problem, and insist on telling me how negative their life is because they don't have a partner. In fact, I don't consider that a lack of accomplishment, but a lack of personality and independence. Seeing singledom - or marriage - as a problem only shows that you are too concerned about relationship status and either how others view you for it, or you are unhappy with some other aspect of your life and dealing with it incorrectly.

Marriage has never been an accomplishment to me. Marriage is just something I decided I wanted when I met somebody I wanted it with. I'd like to be able to enjoy it without having to feel guilty for "bragging" when somebody is currently taking a different life path than me. At one point in my life, I was never going to get married - and that's okay for people who choose that path too. 

My advice is to embrace singledom when it happens, and congratulate the marriages.

Being single or married isn't a thing to be judged. Life unfolds however it does, and nobody can predict where it's going to take you. Some people find a really good match, others don't. Some people don't want to find a match and have other priorities in life. Most of us don't have a clue what we're doing.

These articles and memes we read perpetuate a sense of guilt. We're supposed to feel shameful that we're happy and in love. We're not supposed to post pictures of us with our spouse, or write really heartfelt public messages to them. We are defenseless to our single friends when we complain about being tired and they shoot back with "well, at least you have someone to help with that". There are so many things married women are made to feel bad about in these articles. By all means, yes, cheer on the independent woman who doesn't need a man's validation. But there's a way to do it without comparing a single woman to a married one, and degrading the married women for having that man in their life.

Relationships are complicated enough. Let's try not to add judgement into the mix.

Just One Foot in Front of the Other

Today I ran my first race ever. Ran...jogged...walked, whatever. I entered my first race ever. It was 5km, and I ran perhaps 3 of those kilometers. Which for me, was a giant feat.

I hate cardio. And as most people do, I also avoid things I hate. So I didn't train myself for the race until four days ago. I practiced running just 1km, and nearly died for five hours after. I tried pacing myself and did better the second time. However, when I approached the event today, I tried to talk myself out of it. "I can just walk the whole thing".

I made an executive decision to not do what I've always done in the past. I forced myself to do something I hated. So I started the race running. I took breaks and walked. I slowed my pace to a light jog. But I crossed the finish line 10th out of 83 runners. All because I just put one foot in front of the other.

Sometimes we need to do things we hate. Sometimes we need to just go forward and stop thinking about taking the easier path. Sometimes those decisions lead to greater things.

Since joining The Greater Edmonton Animal Rescue Society, I have had the opportunity to see time and time again, the effects of being part of something bigger. Something that seems impossible. Something that when you look at the big task in front of you, you end up wanting to take the easier route. But in reality, putting one foot in front of the other gets you to where you need to go. Slowly but surely, you see the effects of your work, and the bigger picture comes together.

And you know what? 10th place isn't so bad.

The Meaning of Christmas:A Short Story

I haven't written fiction in a long time. Upon applying for scholarships, I decided to take a gander at writing a piece, addressing issues that seniors face. Inspired by the giving I witnessed last Christmas with Elf Anonymous, I addressed how I imagine the holiday might be seen through a senior's eyes.
________________________________________________

The Meaning of Christmas

It’s Christmas again. Just another day. I have no major plans. I don’t know why there’s so much hype about a holiday like this. It’s so much work, and for what? To have it dwindle away to nothing for the remainder of the year?

Susan became my inspiration for Christmas. Motherhood was so rich to me. When Susan would get excited, it was as though the golden flecks in her brown eyes would glow brighter. My Susan, she used to love Christmas. She would idolize me at Christmas time. I became her knight in shining armour, the star she’d wish upon at night. For one week, I was priority over the neighbourhood children. We baked cookies. We built snowmen. We decorated. It was a great time of year.

Christmas became my project. Many of my projects – the wool pants I knitted, the jars of jam I attempted to sell at the farmer’s markets, the parent’s committee I formed – all floundered. Christmas stayed. I created traditions. I built that foundation that continued for a lifetime. Two days spent on shortbread cookies, colouring dough with food dye, and using our hands to mold cookies like playdough for what cookie cutters couldn’t handle – fireplaces, snowshoes, and igloos. An affectionately named “snow day”, building snowmen, making snow angels, tobogganing, making tire d'érable, and sipping hot chocolate. Staying up late Christmas Eve, trying to shoo Susan to bed, so that Santa could make his appearance. Long after  Susan stopped believing in Santa, I continued to take a bite off a cookie and leave a note for her to find in the morning. It was her favourite part, even at eighteen years old. It was our little tradition.

Susan started dating at 16. Her boyfriends always liked my traditions more than their own family Christmases. They started to become a part of our celebration. One boyfriend, when Sus…my daughter turned eighteen, they became serious. He would help my husband Ron chop down a beautiful evergreen for the Christmas tree. He’d go on the ladder to hang the lights. I became fond of that boyfriend.

Sus… my daughter, she started to get busy. She got married to that boyfriend who helped chop down the trees, and moved out to the country side. There was still Christmas and birthdays. “Mom, I’ll come to bake shortbread”, she’d say, and we’d bake shortbread over her four day visit. One winter, we got silly and made snow angels in the back yard. She bought me flowers for my birthdays. A tradition she started. Christmas stayed more or less the same. It kept its foundation from all those years ago.

My daughter had her own daughter one day. Maddie was such a joy. My traditions were appreciated twice as much – albeit it with more presents under the tree thoseyears. My daughter started to miss my birthdays. I could make do without the flowers. Christmas stayed. Those traditions were exciting for Mad. “For the grandchild”, my daughter would say. “We’ll make a visit for that girl with the curly blonde hair.” I only saw them once a year, but it was the best time of the year.

Ron died. We had been married for 62 years. I decided to downsize to an apartment. I didn’t need the nurses on sight, but my daughter told me it would be good for later. A frame of Ron’s vows from our wedding day stays above my bed. “I’ll always support you and your projects”, he had said.

Christmas became harder. I didn’t have a stove, and there wasn’t anywhere for a tree. There wouldn’t be room for presents. That woman with the golden flecks in her brown eyes brought me to her house to see the child with the curly blonde hair. She’d try to get me to make shapes out of coloured dough for something called shortbread. “It’s like playdough!” The child would tell me. I didn’t like that tradition.

Last winter, a woman called and said “I don’t think I can bring you over this weekend. The highway driving is terrible.” I told her I thought she had the wrong number. That woman with the golden flecks in her brown eyes never came on Christmas morning. I wonder if she got lost. I ate turkey with my friends here at my home instead.

“No visitors today?” Nurse Rickman asked this morning during breakfast.

“I never have any.”

I don’t know who would have visited me today. Was I expecting somebody? Why would she ask me that?

It’s not like today is a special holiday, is it?

Why I Dread Graduating from University

I reviewed my class schedule the other day and realized I actually had one too many classes scheduled for the upcoming semester - my final semester - of University. I did a celebratory dance. Yes, just four more classes until graduation!

Four. More. Classes.

Ensue panic here. I don't actually have a plan for post-graduation. I don't have any job prospects in mind. I haven't looked into advancing myself to what my degree would qualify for. I haven't even done a single job search with "management" as its title.

And I'll let you in on a secret: I don't want to.

In fact, I've done a few recent job searches, for "fun jobs", like dog-walking, dog-sitting, pretty much anything with dogs. Some weekend work, like sitting in a call-centre. Just something "mindless" and fun to pay the bills on the side of my part-time administrative job, but that has nothing to do with me getting a degree.

But people expect, if you get a degree, you want the job.

I used to scoff at people who "wasted" their time getting a University degree, and then promptly worked at [insert fast food chain here]. That was before I was a University student and had the revelation of "why rush?". It's not that I never want to put my degree to use, it's just that I'd rather enjoy life before spending my life reading textbooks slowly transforms into working long shifts and having to do damage control on the sidelines. Plus, I'm not really qualified to be a manager just yet. I'm actually quite under-experienced and think I'd prefer the good old-fashioned method of working my way up the ladder, getting a couple of mentors, and specializing my skills. I really, really, love fund-raising for not-for-profits - a small component of my current job description. Yet, I don't have many projects I can put my name on for the fund-development committee. I'd like to work on that. I'd also like to work on managing a group of volunteers, a committee, a small group, before going in with the big fish.

Life is too short to define yourself by your job. 

I'd love to soak in my marriage, perhaps plan our future - with or without kids - and enjoy the fact that I educated myself, gave myself a great experience, and now have the paper qualifications to pursue a lot of the areas I am drawn to.

Yet, naysayers will continue to pressure me.

This is the part I dread. The part where family gatherings turn into berating me with questions about my career path. Did you apply for this recent posting? Did you ask your boss for a promotion? What are you doing differently at work now? Is there a lot of opportunity out there? When are you going to leave your current job? When will you start working full time?

They're going to happen. Those questions, and ones I haven't even planned for, will now become a part of my conversations in passing. I'll be dodging questions, avoiding confused stares, ignoring the echoes of everyone's collective thought, "what's wrong with her?".

Nothing is wrong with me.

Education does not always mean bigger and better things. Sometimes by circumstance, sometimes by choice. Whatever the reason, it's not something that can be explained to those standing on the outside looking in. The people who made it big right away with their degree, or wish they had a similar degree - or, perhaps, they are trying to proove to themselves why they never went for that degree, and how truly "useless" it really is. Those people will never understand your choices with your own education, because they are not you.

I'm not saying I will let my degree go to waste. Education is never a waste. Maybe someday I'll be a mother, and need to use the negotiation tactics I learned in Organizational Management: Managing Negotiations, or maybe my Introductory Accounting course will better help me budget for my savings. Or maybe I will move onto a management position one day, and use my degree to advance myself in the workforce. There's so many skills out there, why limit myself to just a "job" for the sake of it?

We Were Friends

I was informed, just minutes ago, that a long-time friend of mine had passed away. I'm not sure how to process it, but here are some of my favourite things about Matt Popoff:

He was eclectic.

Matt smoked a tobacco pipe. He was always ready with a random fact. He wanted to be a journalist, and had a vocabulary that put mine to shame (and I started reading chapter books when I was four).

He was eloquent.

Did I mention the vocabulary? 

Matt always had an affinity to playing the modern gentleman, and made sure to address me with a proper title, such as "little lady" or "miss".

He was sensitive

Matt and I had a routine of messaging each other once or twice a year online. Usually, it consisted of summarizing our lives in a single paragraph. The last time I caught up with him, he was approaching the one year anniversary of his father's death and was telling me about his emotional turmoil. Matt always felt honour towards his inner circle, and spoke of his bond with family often.

He was always attentive in conversations, and I don't think there was ever a time where he didn't make sure to ask how I was doing, or direct the conversation away from him and onto my stories.

He was a little weird

He dragged me into an arcade to play Dance, Dance Revolution (I refused). He would always be ready for a joke that passed off as "maybe serious". He didn't dress like any of the cool kids.

The thing about Matt was that we weren't really friends. We met on the Internet, through a site called Nexopia. We only met in person once, at West Edmonton Mall  - the dreaded day of Dance, Dance, Revolution (he was really good at it!). After that, we spoke twice a year for 12 years.

We Were Internet Friends

But I'll be damned if anyone tells me that the Internet can't brew meaningful friendships. How can you process the death of somebody you once knew, but never really knew? Why does it, then, feel strange to hear of their passing? Why are there still the memories, strong in your mind? If they weren't a real friend, then why do you know them well?

We Were Friends. 

RIP, my friend, Matthew Alexander Popoff.

My Soul Has a Name

It's name is "The Cabin".

People won't understand it the way I do. The Cabin lives within me, but it's a place too, down by Gull Lake. Most of people who I talk don't get it. "You sit in a place, without TV, without Internet, and just...stare at the trees?" Yes, yes, I do.

The Cabin encompasses a way of life that drags me into a meditative state. It's slow. It let's you be alone. It let's you enjoy company without distraction. You actually - get this - play board games with your uncle. Or you take a long walk on the beach. You - get this, again - enjoy washing dishes by hand, as you overlook a calm breeze blowing over the back yard. If you hear your neighbours, it's inviting, not annoying. You take naps when you want them. You eat ice cream once a day. You enjoy the rain pouring down the glass windows. You sip your coffee on the deck in the sunshine. You want to make an excuse to mow the lawn, just to drag out the day and enjoy the outdoors. Most of all, you take the time to smile at people you pass on the road. 

I've actually only ever truly meditated once in my life. It was at The Cabin. I wet walking, and three hours passed, and I hadn't remembered walking that far, or even that I was walking until I snapped to reality, and realized I was at the beach walking back towards The Cabin. My mind had completely gone blank for three hours, and all I remembered was listening to the stillness of my surroundings. Solitude is the greatest blessing on this planet. It is so, so important to be alone.

The Cabin has become my test for those who become close to me. I've never intentionally tried to "test" anyone by bringing them out there, but I've always wondered why I tend to either become closer of drift apart from them after an invitation to The Cabin. This past weekend, Jon said to me, "I don't know why, but I always fall more in love with you when I'm out here". I responded very quickly with 

"because it's my soul"

Upon further inspection, that is the honest truth. The Cabin is the one place where I am completely myself, and feel free to live life in the pattern I wish. Few people get to see that, but when the do - if they seem to not respond well, or can't hack the way I operate, it seems like part of me has been rejected. Things don't seem the same anymore after that. Jon gets to see my soul, and he loves it, and he belongs at The Cabin, where my soul exists.

The Cabin will always be that special piece of me, whether in reality or in memory.

Dwelling, and the Art of Letting Go

Over the weekend, I was brought to face one of my greater demons: 

I dwell on things a lot.

Even when I know something is in the past, and that's where it belongs, if it gets brought up, I instantly become thrown into a consecutive week of replaying the incident in my mind. Realizing this has lead to another one of my other most hated attributes about myself: 

I'm easily drawn into gossip. 

Even when I know in my heart that I don't need to be a part of a conversation, and can easily suggest I don't want to talk about a person, part of my brain thrives on being able to join in on the secrets being told behind a person's back.

In the past, I've removed people from my life who induce me to gossip. I've avoided socialization for months after being brought into my dwelling state, simply to be able to "get over" something I thought I was already over. I tell myself the environment I'm around is negatively affecting the way I think about people and the way I worry about decisions I've made. The reality, though, is that

I need to be the one in control.

I need to take a look at why I'm drawn to gossip, why I continue to relive the past and play out scenarios that could have changed it, and why I care what others think of how I handled a situation. My decisions are mine alone, and I need to stand up for them. I need to tell people that when I choose to not associate with others, it doesn't mean that I want to incessantly dissect their nature without their awareness. I need to tell people that yes, maybe I didn't handle something in the best way, but with my abilities and knowledge at the time, I did what needed to be done. I need to be proud of those decisions, and stop looking for a way to explain why I made them - to others or myself. I need to stop explaining entirely. It's none of anyone's business, and I know deep down that I've allowed myself to move forward from negativity. I need to stop aiming to demonstrate that negativity to others and allow them to figure it out for themselves.

I need to make more room in my brain to focus on me, where I am, and where I'm headed.

Forget about the rest. Forget about what others are doing. Forget about what's already been done. I'll just do me.

A few months ago, I found a meditation called letting go, which has helped me immensely. I need to remind myself to go back to that place when I start to get dragged into my primitive mental patterns.

The Best and Worst Coexisting in Time

I came across these benches the other day:

The one on the left says "The worst bench on 118th ave", and the one on the right says "The best bench on 118th ave".

Normally, I don't pay attention to where I'm walking, and I've passed these benches a million times. But that day, I was putting up posters on the post between these benches and happened to notice their message.

It made me think about perspective - how "the best" and "the worst" coexist in time together, and the only reason we see one over the other is based on the angle we see the situation from.

Recently, I was involved in planning a festival, that, two weeks before the date, was rendered a $0 budget. It was the worst time - trying to plan something that was supposed to have funding. But it was the best time - coming together as a team and seeing everyone who pitched in to pull off something that seemed impossible. I chose to focus on the latter. The day of the event, I thought it was the most fun I've had in a long time at a community festival. I even danced to some music, and I completely white-girl-dance to the point of being too embarrassed to do it in public. I actually was excited to see children approach me to play my carnival games (where I offered to be, even though I'm not a kids person). And I almost teared up out of joy a few times.

People approached me telling me how stressed out they were - the bathrooms were overflowing, we were running out of BBQ food, there were a couple of vendors who were unhappy, and a few awkward encounters because of miscommunication. Each time somebody told me something, my internal response was "THIS IS AWESOME!!!" It was the best day. For some, it was the worst day. But it was all in the perspective of the beholder.

FYI, there was enough BBQ for those who wanted it, vendors settled down, and the toilets remained disgusting, but as far as I know, nobody peed their pants.

Gratitudes 2.0

Lately, I've been feeling a little monotonous. Boring. Restless. 

The wedding is over. For a ten months, I had The Biggest Day of My Life to plan. I looked forward to summer. While I continue to bask in the light of this season and the newlywed bliss, change in my dreamy world is afoot. I go back to University in three days. I love learning, and I actually enjoy school, but the daunting Adult Responsibility and Routine are creeping up on me. That means going back to meal-planning and prepping, and having long days fueled by Starbucks. No more naps, or sleeping in. Also, I haven't done a full body work out in almost a year, and I'm finally starting to feel like the lazy piece of lard I am. That feeling should have set in sooner, but honestly, when I was so busy mentally, I didn't feel as terrible physically. I forced myself to sign up for a fitness class today in hopes I can get a routine going.

Today calls for some gratitude to push the "blah" out of my brain.

Today I am grateful for:

1. Eggs

Eggs are the easy protein I need when I want a well-balanced meal. Tonight, I made Korean rice bowls with vinegar-y veggies and a fried gooey egg on top, and it comforted every part of my insides.

2. Artistic Outlets

I love to paint. So much that I don't have room for my paintings anywhere in my house. Many of them are amateur, and not really worth an art show, but I like it. Today, I included my dogs in the art and made flowers.

3. Solo time with Mom

I don't get a lot of visits with just me and my mom. I find it really difficult to have a good conversation at family dinners. In fact, if it were up to me, I'd only do coffee visits with anyone in my family. My mom paid me a visit today and it was a great interaction without all the background noise and
interruptions that usually come with my family.

It's important to be grateful when you feel inevitable forces dragging you down.

Gratefully Yours,

Jillanne Fay

One Month Post-Marriage

Yesterday marked one month of being Mrs. Jillanne Fay Bowler-Veltman. The feeling continues to be surreal. I continue to wander my way through this new territory of relationship statuses, trying to soak in what it all means - or what it doesn't.

Marriage Means a Mental Shift in Your Relationship

Marriage so far has made me feel mentally closer to my husband. Our honeymoon - one week of absolute bliss in the presence of each other, and on my part, away from all contact with anyone else I knew outside of a few phone calls to my parents - meant that we embraced being with each other, and only each other, for a whole week. When we returned from the honeymoon, neither Jon or I felt the need to go and socialize with our regular contacts - we were fulfilled in life existing just with the two of us. 

I've been selfish about my wedding photos. I know people were there, and saw everything that happened. Yet, part of me wants to reserve my marriage - including the wedding - to myself. I want to bask in the glory that is our love, and I feel like I desensitize myself to that feeling the more I share our photos. This is the first time in my life I haven't wanted to share my exciting moments with social media.

It's not that being married suddenly made me love my husband more. It's that being married made my plans for my future with him a reality. I'm not saying everyone needs to get married to feel committed to each other - I felt committed to Jon within weeks of knowing him. If marriage isn't your thing...well, you probably haven't read this far into this blog post. However, what I'm saying is that for me, marriage changes my mind frame. I have committed to spending my life with this man, and I have publicly announced our relationship is worth the effort - every effort - that is required for that lifetime. And he has too. So as long as that effort is there on both ends, being a wife feels fantastic and makes me want to swallow him in tiny pieces so that he can live inside of me.

*Ahem* Onto part two...

Marriage Doesn't Change Your Relationship

The best advice I got on my wedding day came from a friend who just got married in August of 2015. I asked him "so what is married life like?" And he responded "It's the same. Be prepared for a whole lot of the same". And you know what? I am okay with this.

You shouldn't marry a person because you're hoping for marriage to change your relationship. You should marry them because you like the way things are and want to keep what you have.

Being married means we still have small and petty arguments. It means we continue to sit on the couch some nights, being complete zombies and staring at a screen. It means I still get annoyed that Jon puts the teaspoons and tablespoons in the same compartment in the drawer. And it means that he still gets annoyed when I let our coffee table get cluttered with ignored mail and empty envelopes.

Being married also means we still make breakfast together when we have a morning off. It means we still enjoy walking the dogs together on sunny days. It means we still say "I love you" every night before bed. It means we still have amazing conversations we wouldn't have with anyone else - often keeping us up way too late. And it means that we continue to encourage each other to stay on track with our goals.

I'm okay with things staying the same. I can't wait for the same forever.

Is it Selfish to Enjoy Doing Acts of Selflessness?

This is Buddy. A month ago, we made the decision to foster Buddy permanently. "Permanent foster" sounds like an oxymoron, but that's what she is. Buddy will be 17 in September, so the rescue she was surrendered to isn't putting her up for adoption, but she needs a retirement home, and that's what we'll be. She spent her first night here yesterday.

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Sometimes I question whether or not I'm a good person. I know nobody can be perfect, and trust me, I've got some faults. I'm not very good at confrontation and come off passive aggressive, I can be too judgmental, and I generally don't trust others.

Then there's all the good things I do. I volunteer. A lot. In the past, I've volunteered for the Canadian Cancer Society, a learning disabilities center, The United Way, a kids summer camp, seniors lodges, The Sexual Assault Center of Edmonton and as a photographer for a Remembrance Day ceremony. I currently volunteer for my community league, Elf Anonymous, and The Greater Edmonton Animal Rescue Society (where we got Buddy).

Volunteering is a complex addiction of mine. I don't expect accolades for anything I do. I become involved with the causes I feel strongly towards. I believe in strong communities and neighbourly bonds. I believe in giving seniors validation of their existence when life gets lonely. And I believe that animals are pure creations of the Universe that deserve kindness and the experience of love at least once in their lives. I volunteer for all these things because sitting idly and choosing to do nothing where I can help create change in one aspect of the world is not an option.

The addicting part of volunteering is where things confuse me. I'm addicted to the feeling I get from volunteering. It makes me feel, and believe, that I am a good person. When I volunteer and realize that I am slowly contributing to something that feels like how the world is supposed to be, I feel really good about myself. I am mighty, I am powerful, and I am a really nice person.

Is it selfish to feel this way? Am I volunteering for the wrong reasons? Isn't volunteering supposed to be 100% selfless? You aren't supposed to give yourself credit for doing work that isn't supposed to be about you, right?How am I supposed to be doing a selfless act when it makes me feel so good about myself in the end? Doesn't that mean that it's no longer "selfless" and now I am just doing it for the "selfish" reasons?

These are all questions I have to ask myself when I get the "activist high". At some point, I tell myself to calm down, and that - no matter the reason I take on these hats - at least the job is being done. Because doing is better than ignoring.

Does that still make me a good person? I'm not sure, but I do know Buddy is happily settling into our home.