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Grating Expectations

  • Posted on October 2, 2011 at 3:13 pm

Home, sweet home.  I didn’t realize how much I missed Starbucks and a washing machine that doesn’t take 2.5 hours to do a load, until I got home (of course, now I miss my daily pain au chocolat and having only a small selection of my wardrobe to choose from daily – #firstworldproblems).

It’s been odd being home.  My first few days were a blur, since they were loaded with jetlag and unrealistic self-imposed expectations.  But I’ve been home for almost a week now and I’m feeling more….settled, I suppose. It’s been a bit strange adjusting to “real life” again, even though my life in France wasn’t all that different from life here.  But there….there just seemed to be more time.  And realistically, I know that there are the same 24 hours in the day there as there are here, but somehow they disperse themselves differently.  I haven’t quite figured out how that happens.

On thing that has become increasingly obvious to me since I’ve been home is how “ill-fitting” I feel like I am, here in this little life I’m living. I realize that probably makes no sense, but let’s see if I can explain. Being in Bordeaux was like being in my own perfect, solitary universe.  I was by myself for two whole weeks.  I had no coffee dates, no meetings, no real interactions with people, no explaining to do – just writing, reading, learning and living.  I did exactly what I wanted to do, whenever I felt like doing it.  Sure, I had commitments, but they were commitments I was happy to have, and for the most part, they were flexible and I could attend to them when I felt like it. When hubby arrived for the final two weeks, he just squeezed into the empty space and we lived in our own perfect universe of two.

But coming home, the old, stand-by, evil thoughts start creeping in, and I’m having to battle feeling like the choices I’m making are somehow wrong. I’m realizing my discomfort of being in my own life boils down to this feeling that I am living my life incorrectly – and that’s a shitty feeling to have, when deep down, I’m living the life that feels right for me.

So, in an effort to banish those evil wrong feelings, I’ve decided to wage a bit of a war.  I’m making a list of all those cruddy, self- and society-imposed expectations that don’t seem to fit me, and I’m dreaming up ways to tell them off.  Maybe a future post?

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The Heart-poundingness of This

  • Posted on August 28, 2011 at 11:52 am

I am here.

Holy shit.

I. Am. Here:

4 weeks ago, it was nothing more than a crazy thought I had.  Something I “always wanted to do” and felt that eventually I would do – one day.  Until I really thought about it, and realized – now is my “one day.”

And now I am in disbelief when I look around this perfect little Bordeaux apartment.

It’s not quite sinking in that this is my home for the next month. I’ve unpacked. I’ve put underwear in drawers and shoes on shelves. I’ve figured out the French instructions on the washing machine and I’ve put on a load of laundry.

I’ve fumbled through half an hour of awkward Franglish conversation and instructions from the lovely girl who has rented me her apartment.  I’ve cried in embarrassment because I forgot to get money out to pay her my rent.  And it’s Sunday, so I had to max out every withdrawal limit on every card I have to pay her in volumes of tens and twenties.

I’ve spent just as much time on Skype with my hubby and my cats than I’ve been alone.

I’ve used the pink toilet paper in the bathroom.

I’ve put some of my favourite tunes on, and have welled up thinking of the 14 days that stretch ahead of me before my hubby gets here.  But I’m not lonely.  I’m not worried about being alone.

but I think I’m maybe afraid of being faced with…..this. I am overwhelmed with the independence.  The sheer joyful emptiness of the days ahead, and the fear of what I may (or may not) discover.  The heart-poundingness and the greedy anxiousness of wanting to know what these weeks will be like and what could be waiting to be uncovered (or not). I have a multitude of expectations and anticipations. But in contradiction, I also have no expectations whatsoever.

I think I’m probably going to write. A lot.  I don’t know how much of it will make it here onto this blog.  But I have some ideas….stay tuned.

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Au Revoir, Same Old, Same Old

  • Posted on August 16, 2011 at 4:05 pm

So, just as summer has finally arrived here on the west coast of BC, I’m making my final preparations for leaving.  And although I am REALLY excited (I finally confirmed an apartment today!), the feelings of doubt, worry, loneliness and what-the-fuck-am-I-doing are starting to set in.  For the most part, the feelings aren’t overwhelming, but they are there, just kinda lurking around the back of my consciousness, waiting for a perfectly inopportune time to spring forth.

It just doesn’t seem real. And oddly enough, I’ve been pretty content lately.  But I suspect it’s because I have this month of new adventure stretching out before me.  I’m no longer staring at a blank canvas of same-old, same-old.  I have purposeful lists, and a very definite deadline.

And a part of me is concerned that a month just won’t be long enough.  What if the 4 weeks pass, and I’m feeling no different than when I left?  What if I haven’t made peace with all that uncertainty? What if I don’t read all the books I brought with me?

The truth is, I don’t think it will be long enough.  How could it?  It’s a little unrealistic to think that 4 weeks in a foreign country are going to suddenly make everything make sense. I have a lot of things I want to make sense of.  It’s a pretty tall order.

But at the same time, I know the trip needs to be long enough, as is. I don’t want it to turn into an escape.  I could spend an eternity living in France “figuring it all out” but if I never came home, would I really have a chance to notice a different between the before and after?

So.  It is was it is.  It will be what it will be. And I’m going to do everything I can to just completely roll myself up in the sites and sounds and experiences of Bordeaux and not waste a moment of any of it by sitting and feeling bored or undeserving or lonely or crazy.

I’m going to be in Bordeaux.

My life is crazy.

——–

P.S. I haven’t left yet, and before I go to France, I’ll be in Ireland for a week.  But I do plan to blog while in France, so stay tuned!

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My French Peace-Making, Gum-Chewing Mission

  • Posted on August 6, 2011 at 9:41 am

When I was at the peak of the most-stressed time in my life, I had a recurring dream that I was chewing gum – a very large wad of gum – and went I went to throw it out, it got stuck on my teeth and I kept pulling it out of my mouth in long stretchy strands, but there was always more and more of it. It would wrap around my teeth and I could feel it unravelling along my gums. But I was never free of it. There was always more gum.

It got to the point where these seemingly tame gum dreams became more like freaky nightmares. In fact, I stopped chewing gum altogether (while awake) because the dreams were so intricately tied to my psyche; I didn’t even differentiate dreaming and waking. I just knew I shouldn’t chew gum.

I got curious about what this meant, so I turned to my good friend Google, and found myself a dream dictionary. Apparently, I am not the only person who has had this odd dream. It said:

“To dream that you are unable to get rid of your gum, suggests that you are experiencing some indecision, powerlessness or frustration. You may lack understanding in a situation or find that a current problem is overwhelming.”

Strangely enough, this made sense to me. I was in a job I hated. I had so many things I wanted to do, but I didn’t know how or when I was going to do them. I felt frustrated and lost and like my life was completely out of my own control. (all this from a giant piece of gum?!?)

So, what did I do? I quit my job. I shook things up in my life; I started tackling my life list. And the gum dreams disappeared.

To my recollection, I haven’t had a bizarro gum dream since quitting my job, but I’m still haunted by the intuition my dreaming self seems to possess. I don’t really wish to irritate my subconscious again.

Which is why I’m going to live in France for a month.

I am not at peace with my inner self (please excuse how cheeseball that sounds but I don’t know a better way to put it). I have explored, I have tried new things, I have taken classes, learned, traveled, experienced, lived, but I have never felt 100% content. I’ve always, somehow, felt undeserving.

So, I am removing myself entirely from my current life. Just for a little while, in hopes to make peace with some parts of my psyche.

I want to feel free to be creative, and to create, in whatever way I choose, whenever I choose.

I want to not feel burdened by the weight of intelligence, and instead, feel liberated by the creative resources of my own brain.

I want to make peace with the fact that I don’t make as much money as my peers.

I want to determine if I feel that I should be doing something more with my life, or if I am actually content with where I am.

I want to feel like I deserve to sit and read a book for 4 hours straight.

I want to befriend the cliquey high-school bitches that live in my mind and tell me I can’t/shouldn’t/don’t know how to do things.

I want to be free of the day-to-day things that tie me down and seem to overwhelm any creative urges or instincts I might have.

I want to indulge in some pure and total selfishness (and feel content about it).

So, I am going to France to live. For a month. In two weeks time, I’m embarking on a short one-week trip to Ireland with a good friend, and instead of coming home, I’ve changed my flight, and I’m going to Bordeaux, France. I’ve rented an apartment there for 4 weeks. I’m taking a two week intensive French course, and for the final two weeks, my hubby will be joining me, and we’ll eat baguettes and cheese and drink wine along the Garonne river.

I don’t know if I’ll come back a changed person, but I hope so. I don’t know if I’ll make peace with all those self-constricting demons in my mind, but I’m going to try. I don’t know it I’ll ever be able to chew gum again without thinking about my life as a whole – but maybe that’s a good thing.

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Creativity Needs No Road Map (apparently)

  • Posted on July 25, 2011 at 11:27 am

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about creativity.  Actually, I’ve mostly been thinking about it this morning because the lovely Michelle Ward, aka the When I Grow Up Coach, posted a link to a fabulous podcast from Creative Living with Jamie featuring Brené Brown (how’s that for a linking extravaganza?!?).  I’ve never been an avid podcast listener – in fact, this was my first EVER – but it got the (lately) squeaky wheels in my creative noggin’ a turnin’.

Undoubtedly, I would classify myself as a creative person.  But I think I’ve struggled with it for a long time. More often than not, I’ve been “socially acceptably” creative.  This is a label that’s been mostly self-imposed, I realize now, but for most of my life, I’ve yearned to be creative – but not too creative, in case the rest of the world thinks I’m a nut job.  Sure, I performed in plays – but only as a hobby.  I’ve sung in choirs and vocal groups – but more as a pastime, not as a career.  I’ve dabbled in photography, writing, acting, singing, card-making, gardening, arranging music – all sorts of things.  But I’ve always felt like I needed to have a “purpose” for those things.

For example:

Photography – hmmmm, a new possible career path?

Writing – hmmmm, a means to develop myself as an “expert” in a given area (ie. coaching)?

Acting – hmmmm, it runs in the family so it must be something I *should* do…and hey, maybe I can build that resume and maybe make some money one day?

Singing – see “acting”

Card-making – hmmmm, a possible Etsy side business?

Gardening – hmmmmm, must have a pretty garden like the neighbours and hey, maybe there’s another career option?

Arranging music – hmmmm, more along the “acting” and “singing” lines?

I’ve never really just let myself be creative for the sake of being creative.  Somewhere along the lines, I lumped myself into the “smart girl” category and let myself get carried away by thoughts of using my smarts to make money, and then feeling utterly let down by the fact that although I probably could use my smarts to make cashola, I would likely want to poke my eyeballs with a fork if I subjected myself to that, day in and day out.

So, instead, it appears I have leaped from the “smart girl” category into the “creative girl” category, and now I’m rolling all sorts of creative business ideas through my brain and getting frustrated and cranky with figuring out how to make money from those. When did my world become all about looking smart and/or making money?? It seems to be the overruling law of my life. For like, EVAR.

I have rarely let myself be creative for the sake of being creative – I’ve always had an ulterior motive. Which, ultimately, is so unbelievably smothering to my poor old creative self.

Right.

So, I started this post with the intention of talking about something else entirely (still based in the world of creativity), but look where I’ve ended up (well, really, you have no comparison because you didn’t know where I was going in the first place).  BUT, I will point out that it does feel just a little bit wonderful to let my creative side just blab onto the cyberpages, destination unknown.

Apparently creativity doesn’t need a fucking roadmap, so maybe I should just stop trying to make one. Just be creative.

Seriously.

 

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The Same Whiny Crap

  • Posted on July 6, 2011 at 3:39 pm

I kinda feel like I’ve been on a bit of a vacation lately.

Work has been slightly slow (as it normally is this time of year).  I’m not at rehearsals 3 times a week.  And the weather has been gorgeous these last few days, which means I’ve been spending my time either reading a book on my patio, or up to my elbows in dirt in my garden.

You would think this would be thrilling for me, and for the most part, it is. But there’s also that side of me that rears it’s ugly head every now and then, when I am reminded that most people don’t have this luxury.  Most people are sitting inside air-conditioned offices at 3:20pm on a Wednesday afternoon.

Unfortunately, I spend an unnatural amount of time fretting over what those office-dwellers must think about someone like me. Do they think I’m lazy? What would I say to that?  How do they manage to keep up with their daily lives because I’m busy as heck and I don’t work 9-5?  Would they be bitter if they could comment on my lifestyle?  And how would I respond?  And why (WHY?) do I deserve a life like this?

To be honest, I have hesitated against writing on this blog lately because I really feel like most of my “problems” are fabricated because of those aforementioned questions and worries.  I seriously struggle with how whiny it all sounds. But the truth is, I don’t have any real answers to those questions. I don’t know why I get to have this life, and sometimes the guilt is a little overwhelming.

BUT

This blog is about learning to live my life out loud. And this – reading books and gardening and writing whiny blog posts – this is my life right now. So, my challenge is – how can I write about my life honestly without sounding like a spoiled housewife? How can I convince myself, and the office-dwellers (more accurately know as the evil voices in my head), that this life, however  luxurious t may seem, is still honest and healthy and above all, my choice?

Time to figure that out. ‘Cause I’m getting tired of writing the same whiny crap.

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Listen

  • Posted on June 8, 2011 at 3:06 pm

I went to a really cool play yesterday.  Surprisingly, it was an ESL high school drama production.

How did I end up at that, you ask?

Well, it’s a bit of a long story that goes a little something like this:  a few years back, I directed and produced a production of The Vagina Monologues (I actually did this for about 8 years).  One of the women in the last production I worked on is a high school drama teacher.  A few months ago, she emailed me asking if I would be part of a panel of “expert professionals” for her ESL drama class, who were working on writing, producing and presenting a play based on their experiences coming to Canada.  The “professionals” were brought in to answer questions about their field of expertise from the students. Now, I am, by no means, a “professional”, but I went anyways because I thought it would be a fascinating experience. And it was.

Professionals from various local theatre companies and organizations had volunteered their time to come in and talk to these students – directors, writers, actors, lighting designers, producers, stage managers, composers.  It was truly an impressive group of people, and I was really honoured to be a part of it.

Because yesterday, these students finally presented their play.  And it was magnificent. Magnificent because it really made me think, and definitely pulled on my heartstrings a bit.

Many of these students had been sent to Canada, alone, without their families.  They were expected to come here, learn the language and culture, make friends, do great at school, and make their families proud. But can you imagine what that would be like?  What kinds of difficulties you would have?  what kinds of prejudices you would be greeted with?

The part that got me though, was that these kids were incredibly intelligent, creative and thoughtful. I think that very often we look at people who don’t speak our language and assume they are somehow less intelligent than us.  I know I’m guilty of that.  But how impossible would it be to express your intelligence and creativity without the words or the language to do so? I’ve never spent a long amount of time in another country, so I can’t really imagine how frustrating it would be to try and communicate all the wondrous and original thoughts that go through my head on a daily basis if I was limited to doing it in a foreign language.  It would be incredibly isolating.

The cool thing is is that this performance gave these students a voice.  It gave them the opportunity to be heard.

And it struck me that one of the things we all really want in this world is to be heard.  Maybe we don’t want to be shouting our message from the rooftops or performing on a large stage in front of huge audiences.  But we do want to be heard.  We want to know that someone out there is listening and understanding.

I’ll be making more of an effort to listen.

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The Case of the Crappy Yoga Instructor – or not?

  • Posted on June 2, 2011 at 12:02 pm

On Tuesday morning, I went to a rather horrifying yoga class.  I try to go every Tuedsay and Thursday because the classes are really small, and I love the teachers on these mornings.  Unfortunately, this past Tuesday, there was a substitute teacher.  But I stuck around anyways because this particular teacher is a regular at the studio, so I thought I’d give his class a try.

It truly was horrific.

This instructor had us doing all sorts of poses that I’d never done before.  We were bending in ways I didn’t think was possible. And I was frustrated.  I’m not a very flexible person to start with, but I’m trying to get better.  Unfortunately, I spent most of the class either sitting or lying on my mat in total embarrassment and disbelief.  And the more I sat there, the angrier I got.  What got me even more riled up was that the instructor seemed perfectly willing to help everyone else who looked like they were struggling, but never so much as looked my way.

So, I continued to sit and fume and send out evil vibes.

And then I thought to myself, “Maybe he’s not helping me, because I’m sending out these awful, evil, “you suck” vibes.  Yoga does tend to be a lot about energy, so I decided to refocus.

I focused on sending out happy, “it’s okay – I’m learning” thoughts. I put a smile on my face. I changed my energy.

And whaddaya know, the instructor came over to help.

Unfortunately, his form of help meant bending my body into strange, painful, “only contortionists can do this” kinda shapes. And I immediately got frustrated again. Tears were rolling down my face in discomfort and humiliation. I left class mortified and pissed off.

As I was driving home, I thought about the nasty email I intended to send to the yoga studio owners, detailing all the awful moments I had to endure in that yoga class.  But as I plotted out that email, I started to realize, that I didn’t really do anything in those uncomfortable moments to help or stand up for myself.  I’m not sure why, but I expected that yoga instructor to read my mind.  Which, thinking back on it, seems a bit ridiculous.  He’s never met me before.  He knows nothing about my yoga practice. He knows nothing of my abilities.  Why didn’t I speak up?

I could have asked for help when those crazy poses were being done.  I could have asked him for a simpler pose to do. I could have spoken up and said, “please stop bending my body into crazy positions, you medieval torturist.” But I didn’t. Instead I sat there, emitting evil vibes and letting myself get more and more pissed off.

Bottom line – I could have taken more responsibility for my own comfort and happiness.  I still feel like the instructor could have done more to help me and/or pay attention, and I certainly won’t be going to any more of his classes. But it was a good reminder that I am ultimately responsible for myself and my own well-being.

What do you think? Was this a case of a shitty yoga instructor? Or should I have spoken up for myself? Or maybe it’s a bit of both?

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Going Down in Flames

  • Posted on May 25, 2011 at 12:12 pm

I just told one of my favourite people (and favourite writers) that she’s a failure.  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I thought to myself, “Oooooh shit.  This could go one of two ways…..either really, really good or really, really badly.”

But you know what she said?

“Thank you. You’re my original cheerleader, and I truly value your words.  Even the hardest ones to hear.”

Holy amazingness.

If there’s one thing I took away from training to be a life coach (aside from the fact that I don’t want to BE a life coach), it’s that if you truly value, respect and trust someone, you can (and should) be honest with them. And if they truly value and trust you, they will respect your honesty.

That’s not to say that I should go around telling all my favourite people what I really think of them, no holds barred.  With this particular person, I know that I did it with kindness and ultimate love (as does she).  You see, she’s not a failure.  In fact, she’s damn fucking amazing.  One of the toughest, funniest, joyful-est, determined-est (but scaredest) people I know. And her fear is getting in the way of her amazingness.  More specifically, her fear of failure is getting in the way of her amazingness.  And isn’t that ironic?  (dontcha think?) Being afraid to do something because you’re afraid of failing, does not equal being a success.  It’s failing in a passive way. Is that better than a total, all-out failure? I’m not sure…

Anyways, it got me thinking.  Is there anything I’m passively failing at? Sometimes it’s hard to see those things yourself, but if I were to look really closely and honestly at myself, I wonder what I’d discover. If I looked at myself with the same love and respect that I looked at my friend today, what would I see?

“Though I may be going down, I’ll take in flames rather than burning out” ~ Sara Bareilles, “Uncharted”

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Reframe of Mind

  • Posted on May 24, 2011 at 5:11 pm

Lately I’ve been really curious about the power that my thoughts and state-of mind have over my general well-being. A few weeks ago, I was going crazy with boredom because I kept telling myself I had “nothing to do.”

This morning I woke up, and when that seemingly giant list of things to do started waltzing through my brain, I immediately got that familiar stress-case feeling I get when I think “I’m too busy.”

And yet, I still have the timely luxury of sitting here in Starbucks, typing this fine blog post for you people.

(by the way, there is a couple across from me here, alternately sucking on eachother’s fingers.  I want to stare at them so I can figure out what the hell they are doing, but I don’t want to appear rude)

And so, it leaves me wondering – am I manifesting my own anxiety?  And if so, how much of it am i manifesting?  How much of it is because of the weather? (I’m very much believing that the crap weather is intensely affecting my moods lately). How much of it is directly related to my list of things to do (or lack of)?

I guess I want to try and reframe the way I approach my own attitude to time. If I mentally tell myself that “you have lots of time,” will I be able to shake that stress-case feeling that I get sometimes?  Alternatively, if I give myself a “you’re blessed to have this much free time” pep talk, whenever I’m feeling underwhelmed with things to do, will I be able to curb those feelings of crazy boredom?

I’m not sure.  But I’m willing to give it a go.

As long as it’s sunny outside.

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