Crossroads

 When is it time to leave?

I've pondered this question a lot lately. The past 9 years have been good to me, I've made a good solid career in one place. But things changed when my boss got cancer. I've been trying to tell if it was the cancer that did it, but then, can one person be the make-or-break of an entire organization? Maybe the negativity was always looming, and we just needed instability to unleash it fully.

Today, we celebrated Cam's life after his passing.

Do I owe it to what he built to carry on and try to pick the pieces back up? Is there a chance things will be on the upswing now that we've given ourselves that closure?  How long do you wait before your morale is boosted again?

Cam always wanted me to grow professionally, and I always thought it would be with this workplace. But maybe his encouragement for my growth can move on without the namesake of what he built. 

The real question is

Am I happy? And will I be happier if I make a change?

Grief.

"What do you think happens when you die?" he asked.

The girl shrugged. "I hope nothing. You'd just turn off like a T.V. There's comfort for me to think nothing happens, all that matters is what you make of your time alive."

"I'd like that," the boy answered.

They had been talking online for past a decade. He often prompted conversations with philosophical discussions, pondering life's mysteries. That day was a little different. There was a sadness hanging onto his words.

"Why do you think you did it?" The girl interrupted the silence.

"Hmm?" he knew what she was asking, but he'd make her say it. That was his expectation. Say what you really mean.

It was minutes before she spoke again. "When you tried killing yourself." 

"I was really tired, I wanted to sleep." He offered, aloofly.

She stared at her screen, shaking her head. "You know that isn't why."

"Have you ever played a video game?" He gave into the back and forth. She wouldn't let it go. She never let anything go. "You know when you finish all the levels, and you can still keep playing the game, but there are no goals left to achieve? You just keep wandering around and finding little side quests, but the story isn't going to evolve further. At some point, you get tired of doing that and want to turn the game off and stop playing."

"Why not play another video game, then?"

"Because it was my favourite video game and I keep wanting to go back to it to experience it for the first time, but I can't. The other video games just don't measure up and I always want to go back to that one."

She contemplated this, and part of her understood. Who was she to dictate what made life worth living? Still, she cared for her friend. "Could you do me a favour?" She asked. "I want you to get better, but if you can't, could you at least tell your family I exist so I don't wonder where you've gone for months and never find out what happened?"

He didn't give her that favour. Four months after he died, she came across his obituary. She had missed the funeral. Nearly ten months prior, he had started to push her away from their friendship. The conversation wasn't exciting anymore, he had grown tired of her usual complaints. Her husband was annoying her, people were generally stupid, work was overwhelming. None of it was relevant to him and he didn't want her negativity around him those days. She worked to give him the space he asked for, reaching out only a few times a month. After some time had passed and where no response was received, she stopped checking in on him. One day, she told herself, they would talk again on a daily basis like they had used to. It was just a crossroads for now.

Yet, still, the thought had crossed her mind. Was he isolating himself because his mental health had taken a turn for the worse? In one of the few answered texts she sent, she expressed worry for his wellbeing. He confirmed he was still busy living, and proceeded to ignore her friendlier greetings.

It is difficult to piece together those last moments. Why did he travel back to his home country? What prompted him to plan his exit? How long would it have taken for anyone to know he was there? What were his final thoughts?

Did he know she loved him? Platonic intimacy, she called it. Some kind of kindred spirit. She wouldn't find a friendship like his again, not for fifty lifetimes. At some point, she wondered if they could be romantically entwined, but she became glad for the lack of complexity to their part in each other's lives. She could express the ugly sides of herself to him without fear of a loss of attraction. They could share their emotions without feeling responsible for fixing the other. person His rigid lifestyle wouldn't interfere with her lackadaisical one. They didn't have to meet each other's difficult family members. They would grow old together, as friends, neighbours, across the hall in a senior's lodge, like they had once spoken about.

Except now, she will grow old alone, without her best friend across the hall.

A Picture of Poor Mental Health

In the last two months, I have planned five different successful events: two holiday craft fair fundraisers, two visits to senior homes over the holidays, and a community sleigh ride night. I have started publishing my community newsletter. I have been an ambassador for my volunteerism. I have set up Christmas trees four times. I have completed all of my Christmas shopping and wrapping. I have applied and successfully received grants for my day job. I have expanded my role at work to areas I love. I have dabbled in starting to drive again and have even started my own savings towards a new car. I've maintained a weekly social outing. I have also managed to reach out to friends I haven't seen in a while to catch up.

This is the picture of somebody who has poor mental health.

By all means, I am succeeding. I have found ways to do well for myself. This doesn't mean I don't have days I have to consider a write off because my energy has vanished. It certainly doesn't mean I don't need to continually work on my mental health. I have a therapist, whom I speak to daily. Without her, my mental health would consume me as it has before. With her, I manage it. Life goes on, as they say, and with it, I continue to pick up my socks and chip away at it. However, a human's mental state is so fragile and cannot be something that once 'fixed' always remains that way. What took 29 years to reach out for help for will not fix itself over night.

Not everyone with poor mental health walks around with a neon sign that labels it as such. Please, reach out to those you love and let them know, whether they show they are down or not.

Transition: A Period of Rediscovery

It's been a bit since I've shared insights into my life through blogging. I've been silently (or as silently as an over-sharer can be) going through the motions of this period, sorting through a convoluted series of thoughts. Perhaps the most prevalent is that I am not special, so why would I share? I've lost a bit of my way. I've had to re-organize where I really want to be, what, and who I am. Not an uncommon pattern for me, but I think introspection has been at its strongest in the latest months. I silently went through a birthday, in which only four people outside of my family noticed. I've retreated from passions, because I had lost the good parts of myself in them. And so here I sit, in this period of transition, waiting to rediscover my pulse.

Tracing the makings of Jillanne

I finally willed myself to read again in September. I haven't picked up a book for pure leisure in about five years. I had turned to other creative outlets, but the ability to imagine from words on paper is a pure innocence that I had forgotten. I first learned to read when I was 3 years old, and wrote my first 30 paged book at the age of 8. I continued to write, but no writer can exist without appreciating the written prose of others. So I built a little library for my front lawn, and it still took three months to pick a book from inside of it. I read the book in two days flat, and I now have three more that sit on my shelf. It's felt good to re-trace my steps and get in touch with the first source of creativity I've known.

Purification

I also decided to go on a rampage of plant hoarding. I have a 9 foot tree in my living room, and added two more plants a week later. I've cleaned out and reorganized my home, getting rid of (some, but not all) the junk I've been holding onto. I believe clutter is a sign of depression - a sign of the inability to rid yourself of the stress and chaos that builds. Slowly, the clutter will become less, and I will be able to purify my house and my mind.

Relaxation

This one is a hard one for me. For the first time in five years, I've given myself the freedom to have zero obligations in my evenings and weekends. Sure, there will still be plans I've made for some weekends, but I have worked to silence those voices that chant "do something" at the end of my day. I can choose to do something, or do nothing. Doing nothing is the hardest - but most necessary - thing to do.

Therapy saves minds

It took a very long time for me to open myself to therapy. Some days, I don't need therapy. Some days, I just want to talk about my day, and I know that there's somebody there to listen. Some days, a suppressed memory hits me, and I need insight on it from somebody unbiased, who doesn't invest their emotions in me. I found a way to talk to a person through texting on a phone application, and it's helped me slow my brain down. My thoughts are not mine to burden all on my own anymore, although I continue to work through them; now, I have a toolbox to help me in that journey.

Reflection is the key to re-rooting your feet in the direction you want to be. At some point, I stopped thinking about who I want to be, and stopped believing it was achievable. However, the only place to get somewhere is to start by putting one foot in front of the other. If I happen to only make it 3/4 of the way, then I guess I'll get my exercise.

A Year as a Missus

A year and six days ago, I became Mrs. Jillanne Fay Bowler-Veltman. The title alone didn't change very much - nobody refers to me as Mrs. anyways. Nothing has changed in my relationship either - I'm still just as much in love with my husband as a year ago. The newlywed high didn't wear off just when my year expired. The last year has been one that I feel is representative of a healthy marriage: not the easiest, with a bit of work, but worth the effort.

A friend of mine, who was married at the time, got up on stage at my wedding and started her speech with "I don't know much about marriage..." Today, I share that sentiment. Here is what I do know:

I never get bored.

Perhaps the thing I love the most about my husband is the feeling that I can continue the conversation. I always have somebody to talk to - who I want to talk to - and with whom I always have new things to talk about. I'm introverted, which often prevents me from being social with friends or family. However, most of the time I don't really feel the need to leave the house, because I get my social fix right at home.

It's never not going to take work

Life is unpredictable, and as such, you can't control everything that's thrown your way. This last year, my husband was suddenly laid off work. I could have thrown a temper tantrum, put up a wall, and reverted to feelings from a previous relationship where I was being manipulated financially. However, I chose to actively support my husband. Not everything will be easy, but being supportive of each other helps you get through the difficult times.

I'm secure in where I'm at

He chose me as his wife, and I would choose him as my husband again if I had the choice. Being married hasn't changed how I feel about my husband, but it has changed how I feel about my future. I'm excited to move forward, and now I have a partner who will help me do it.

If I'm so smart, why do I feel so dumb?

If I'm so smart,

Why do I feel so dumb?

If I'm so smart,

Then why is the best feeling

feeling numb?

I'm fine,

I've always been just fine.

Life couldn't be greater,

It's my favourite story,

In the worst time.

When everything is working

just as it should be.

The only thing I can think

Is why, poor

poor me.

I'll push you away,

I'll push them away

I'm only book smart,

I look smart,

It's only straight A's

If I'm so smart,

Why do I feel so dumb?

If I'm so smart,

Then why is the best feeling,

feeling numb.

Choosing a Career Over Diet

After 19 months of practicing pescetarianism, I made the decision to re-introduce meat into my diet. I've been relatively quiet, as I'm sure there is a world full of judgement out there, but as people slowly start questioning my decision, I wanted to highlight some of the factors that have lead me there:

Adolescence

When I was 16, I started having fainting spells. For a period of three months, I was fainting up to eight times a day. I fainted walking upstairs after waking up, fainted in the shower nearly every morning, fainted a few more times at school (which my teachers chalked up to sleeping in class), and then promptly came home to sleep, be woken for dinner (trying not to faint), and then go back to sleep again. I was working a part-time job at Zellers, and even had the unfortunate incident of dropping to the concrete floor in front of a customer. I was tested by doctors for a variety of things: drugs (no matter how much I insisted I had never even had a sip of alcohol), STIs (no matter how much I claimed I wasn't sexually active), lyme disease, thyroid deficiency and epilepsy. Out of everything, the only factor that proved to contribute to my fainting was a case of anemia "that shouldn't cause you to feel that weak". Over time, the fainting spells became less frequent, but were still happening once or a twice a week. That was just my life: I knew what to watch for and would go find a nice place to sit down with my head between my knees until I at least wouldn't lose consciousness.

When I was 18, I got a prescription for birth control, and miraculously, the fainting was limited to once or twice a year. I could handle that, and chalked up my previous incidences to lady problems and hormone inconsistencies.

Being an Adult...sort of

I live most of my 20s just getting by on my naturally low energy. I was chronically low on iron, but was "functional". I went to work, came home, napped, and spent my evenings on the couch. I was very unhappy, but I was functioning.

When I was accepted into University in 2013, I slowly became happier. I worked less, and thus avoided the draining days at my job. University allowed for mental breaks, but also more naps, so I was a little perkier when I needed to be.

Cutting the Meat

In 2015, I was suddenly cut hours at my horrible job (shout outs are given in previous posts). I was a full-time University, and found myself suddenly needing to switch my schedule around so I could take on a day job, as opposed to the weekend shifts I had been working. The day job I found was part-time, and involved sitting at a desk. My University classes were 3 evenings a week, and the rest of the time was mine to own. I found myself with more free time, and a ton of energy I needed to spend. 

That's when I decided to take care of my body. I dedicated myself to working out, and putting in the effort to meal plan. Vegetarianism was something that had crossed my mind previously, but I just never put the effort in. I decided to first cut out red meat from my diet, followed by chicken (which I never liked eating), and that was where I stayed for the next 19 months.

I felt less bloated than ever, and lighter in my physical activity. Cutting the meat also helped me really pay attention to what I was eating, because I had to watch my protein intake. Prior to this, I just was stuffing my face with whatever suited my mood.

I was still napping nearly every day (albeit shorter naps), but I chalked this up to simply just having a 12 year habit that was hard to shake.

The Decline of Iron

This past January, I accepted a full time position at my work. Again,schedule changes demanded lifestyle changes. I wasn't fitting in naps anymore, and I was completely exhausted by the time I came home. My iron levels plummeted again (a ferretin level of 2mg, when the minimum requirement is 12mg). I stopped being able to meal plan appropriately, and the fainting spells returned.

I realized that while my pescetarianism was relatively healthy prior to the recent iron plummet, I was still substituting the fat I was missing from meat with junk food. I was still carb-loading more than I was loading myself with protein on my long days, and one of the reasons I still had energy in the prior 19 months was because I had the luxury of recharging with a nap. It dawned on me that I wasn't being a "good" pescetarian who was really paying attention to what her body needs.

At first, I tried introducing beef broth to my diet for the added protein. However, two weeks ago, I was experiencing such a strong dizzy spell, I caved and went to get a Big Mac. Now, I know a Big Mac is likely the worst source of meat protein on the planet, but I was surprised to find I wasn't sick, and the texture of meat didn't throw me off. For the last two weeks, I have re-introduced red meat into my diet (I still hate chicken).

Right now, I'm choosing the diet that works for me. I can't keep up with changes in my lifestyle and expect to maintain similar results. I commend those who choose a meatless diet and find ways to maintain it, and perhaps one day, I will return to it myself. However, for now, I've had to part ways with some of my meatless dishes (I still intend to have a few vegetarian meals in my day).

Stop Caring

Do people actually have zero fucks to give? What is that like? I'd want to know.

I tell myself - and others - over, and over that I really don't care, that I can be myself and will be my happiest if I just stay true to myself. And that's all true...to an extent.

When somebody I have an imaginary sense of loyalty to hurts my feelings - because yes, names will always hurt me - I spiral. I start caring, and I'm back to junior high, where I was willing to be the butt of a joke, willing to act out for attention, willing to play up the "oblivious weirdo" that everyone loved me for - all for a friend.

Why do we care about having friends? There are only a few, that I have found, who truly let you be yourself. The happiest version of you. And no matter what the Internet memes say, or people cheer themselves on about, there's always a tiny little fuck to give. Even when I try to shove it down, it's there, and the smallest thing will remind me of it.

I know I can't expect somebody to save my feelings, to censor their comments to me, and not be their truest self. I don't want anyone to change for me, but then it leaves me to question why I constantly find myself trying to change for others. Why do I need to mask my reactions, show them that I'm not hurt by their comments?  Why should I avoid setting boundaries for the sake of avoiding a two hour drawn out conversation that always, always leaves me in tears and forces me to contemplate whether the friendship is worth it?

I'm tired of caring, but I can't stop caring. 

...and then it hit me

I'm done University.

I. Am. Done. University.

I finished my last class two months ago, my last exam a week later. Just now, the reality of my life is hitting me. I'm no longer a student. I am a living, breathing adult, who has finished the era that is most commonly associated with your 20s, although I barely escaped it before my 20s were over.

So this is the picture of adulthood:
-Working full time
-Relaxing evenings, equally 1 part lazy, and 1 part trying to figure out how to keep busy
-Scheduling my "fun" into regular evening and weekend hours
-Trying to balance the small remnants of a social life I have
-Volunteering, always
-More cuddle time with my dogs, out of guilt of not spending nearly enough time with them from 8-5pm anymore
-Figuring out what my new hobbies will be (I may or may not have ventured into the worlds of colouring books, excessive Netflix watching, and my first grab at DnD - which I loved)
-Failing to exercise due to fatigue and scheduling
-Occasionally eating Mr. Noodles for dinner

For some reason, when I was a child, I pictured being an adult as having some sort of symbol - you'd know when you made it. But it turns out, I don't know I made it. I don't think I ever will, and I'm starting to think that might be a good thing. If life is a constant period of transition, it means you're progressing, moving forward, through a roadmap without any specific direction. If I ever stop and think "this is where I should stay", I think I might be ready to die. If there aren't any more steps to take forward, then where are you really going? What is the point?

Maybe this is what adulthood feels like. Moving too fast to really want to slow down.

Onward to new life chapters, I suppose!

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?