We've All Got Problems

School is DONE! I have been out for a little more than a week. I feel aimless. There is the gnawing voice in the back of my head imploring me to go job hunting. That would help. But I don't want to. My resume is all brushed up and ready to go. But I just want to sit down and study for a final. My body is in intellectual no-mans-land. 

The crazy thing about being out of school, is that there is time to THINK. Oh god. I never realized how terrifying my thought life was before college. Before drowning it out with mitosis and meiosis, equilibrium and electrochemistry, Freud and Maslow. While I was feverishly studying for my finals all the grandeur of the electrifying summer activities I would partake in filled my mind. I planned on going belly-dancing, canoeing, hiking, and camping. I was going to get another part time job and make tonnes of money. I would indulge in so many live indie bands that my mind would burst at the seams like ones stomach does after Thanksgiving dinner. I planned on blogging everyday. I planned on jogging at 8am every morning.

Momentum lost, apparently. I've slept in every day. Haven't blogged until now. Haven't jogged yet. 

I suppose I'm being hard on myself. I have a habit of that. It's likely my body simply needs a bit of R&R. But I am BORED.  I miss the days and days of sitting with my four girls at our permanent place of study in the library, cracking jokes and making plans for the summer. 

Worst is the THINKING that accompanies boredom! The solitary sound of my own voice in my own head, just puttering around in there like an old man who's seen too much life. Depressed and cynical. Frail. 

My bored thinking makes me anxious. And fidgety. And I complain a lot when I'm bored. I recently asked my friend and sister as we were driving to the U.S. of A. if I complain too much. I had noticed it myself. Usually, when you notice that you're annoying yourself, others have been annoyed loooong before you yourself became annoyed with yourself. It was true in this case. Apparently I complain a lot. All the time. Whoa! Wait a minute. I DO NOT want to be that person. I know that person. Annoying is the only way to describe them. Well, me too I guess.

The thing is, I'm not always aware of it. I'm not sure why I do it. I'm not sure when I started, and when people started noticing it and classifying me as that person. It's hard to know how you come across to other people without asking. After asking someone, the only glimpse you can have of yourself is based solely on their own interpretation and honesty. Thankfully, I have friends I think I can trust in that area. 

However, it hurts to hear something like that. As much as I appreciate hearing the honesty, it still stings. So after asking and awkwardly laughing at the uncomfortable answer, I went silent. I tried to temper it, to sugar coat it for myself by saying everyone complains, that I'm not the only one that does it. I waited and listened for every time my sister and friend complained as evidence for my case. However deep inside I know I need to change regardless of other people's problems, because we've all got problems, and part of the problem with the world is that people use that as an excuse for not changing behaviour. So I went home, mindful of it. And I've been thinking and thinking about it ever since. Mitosis and meiosis have not come to my rescue. The dissociation constant has not come to my aid. Perhaps Carl Rogers is somewhere actively listening to my thoughts, saying, "Mmhmm. So you feel pretty down about your friend saying you complain? Is that what you're saying?" Yes idiot. That is what I'm saying. Now give me some advice and stop being so patronizing! 

Where to go from here? I'm not too sure. I essentially have two options: 1) change, 2) don't change. Pretty simple. I do have a whole summer to work on complaining. Maybe that could be my assignment. Should I go cold turkey, and cut complaining completely, punishing myself every time I make a mistake? Should I tape my mouth with duct tape and not allow myself to talk until I am sure I've eliminated it from my life?  Maybe I should do it slowly, like a diet where you tackle little bits at a time. Substitute my sugary cereal with a high fibre option the first week, then cut dessert the second week (but to be reasonable allow one a week) etcetera. I'll be like a smoker who takes it easy, who goes from one pack a day, down to 5 cigarettes a day, down to one. And then... okay maybe I'll keep it at one a day. Lets be realistic here!

Where No One Knows My Name

I grew up in a small town. The kind where everybody knows everybody, and everybody is in everybody else's business. I also grew up in a small church. Which is the same thing, only on a much more intense (and unfortunately judgmental) level. Growing up like that, you learn to

Hate.

It.

When I left Meadow Lake for Regina, I decided that was it. I would never look back. It was OVER. Emotionally and physically. It wasn't a hard decision to make. In fact it came quite naturally.

There is a song by the band Augustana called Boston. Some of you may know it. It's a really beautiful song about a girl that has had it up to her eyeballs with a place (California), and just wants to get out. The chorus is my favorite:

She said, I think I'll go to Boston

I think I'll start a new life,

I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name

I'll get out of [Saskatchewan], I'm tired of the weather,

I think I'll get a lover, and fly 'em out to Spain

I think I'll go to Boston

I think that I'm just tired,

I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind

It speaks so clearly about a feeling that so many of us get. I felt like that girl. For a long time. I just wanted to avoid the chaos and challenges that life and relationships brought. I had intense dissatisfaction regarding both. It was the same scenario when I left Regina a few years later. The idea of going somewhere and starting over was extremely appealing. Where no one knew my name. Where I could create my own meaning for my own name. Where I could start over, with new confidence. New vision. No past or peoples' opinions holding me back (please note that this is impossible and I know that. Personal problems are with you for life unless you deal with them).

Now I live in Vancouver. I LOVE vancouver. It's the first place I've lived that I can actually say that about. I mean all the right ingredients for what I want out of life are here. I'm so glad that all my frantic attempts to get away from a life I hated led me here. Except... now I want people to know my name. Starting over is tough. Knowing absolutely no one is hard. That dream of walking through a thousand faces without recognizing a singe one, when in reality, is empty. Unsatisfying. Terrifying.

I've turned 180 degrees. I've started my new life. I've realized I have to face my insecurities head on, not run away from them. I've discovered that your past follows you everywhere (I knew it before... just didn't want to admit it). I've also discovered PEOPLE are the most important thing in this world. People knowing about you. Understanding your context. You understanding theirs. When you find that place where you want to be, that desire for relationships blossoms. So the song quickly becomes:

Boston, where at least someone knows my name.

Tug of War is Only Fun On the Playground

It is REALLY hard to figure out what to do for one's life. I've wanted to be a model (I was young...then I didn't grow), a ballerina, an artist, a writer/journalist, a psychologist, a photographer, and -- more recently -- a dietician. The list is much more exhaustive. Believe me, I've been around the block. Listing the things I haven't considered would probably take less time. The dilemma is common for many people, especially in the same stage of life as me. But somehow being in this stage of "the unknown" brings with it feelings of loneliness, isolation and, ultimately, helplessness.

The problem is that I just like too many things, and I'm not overly good at any one thing. This combination leads to symptoms of job/career ADD. My process of jumping from career choice to career choice is much like watching a child with ADD have the absolute inability to focus their attention on anything in a productive way. Unfortunately, as far as I am aware, there is no career ritalin.

THE PROCESS:

It begins with the deep internal need to make something of oneself. An effort is made to satisfy this need that begets the following stages in the cycle of "reasoning":

Stage 1: reflective questions.

Everybody's got to be or do something, so what will I do? What do I like to do? What am I good at that can make me the most money? What drives and motivates me? What makes me happy deep inside?

Stage 2: attempt to answer questions by matching career descriptions with likes and natural abilities.

This is where it gets complicated, and perhaps where I go most wrong. Some people find it easy to solve the problem since they are so good at something that they naturally veer toward it. Often, they are also very passionate about it, which focuses them in a way completely foreign to me. The problem lies in not knowing exactly what you are good at, and as a result not having a real passion for anything (or is it vice versa...?). Because of this I usually sacrifice one of the two necessary components for job satisfaction when "deciding": natural ability or passion. The resulting internal conversation might go something like this:

*At age 7: "Modeling would be awesome because there are opportunities to travel and make lots of money and I would always look pretty."

*At age 15/16-21 or so: "I like taking pictures. PHOTOGRAPHY! That would be so cool! If I can't be a model I could take pictures of models. I could be artistic and travel!"

*Around 20-22: "Counseling/Psychology would be cool. I really want to help people. I'm compassionate and very patient. I'm really interested in how humans behave."

*Age 23: "I really want to help people. What involves helping people that I really like doing? OH! I like giving nutritional advice. I think eating right is really important in preventing illness. I could be a dietician!"

Stage 3: Self-doubt/reality

In this stage I either realize the that my dream career is unobtainable, become commitmentphobic, or both.

In the case of wanting to be a model, this was probably for the best. I never grew past 5'3" and I don't take criticism about my body very well.

Then there was photography. I bought a camera. Looked into photography schools. Got a job at Walmart Portrait Studio. Only to find out that I hate working with misbehaved children, parents usually behave worse (I frequently wanted to give them parenting lectures), and most of all I resented feeling forced to be creative. The passion just died. For whatever reasons. I chalk it up to the above list, but I still don't know clearly and exactly why. I do know that to this day I have no desire to pick up my $1800 camera.

Counseling/psychology. I Researched it. Thought about it. Decided not to for a variety of reasons, most of which are pretty feeble. Reasons like "I think I would get too exhausted helping people with their problems in that setting. I think I'm not emotionally strong enough. It takes too long to be a psychologist." The truth is, it remains something I consider doing. I'm just not convinced its what I really want to do. It's a bit like the guy who really likes a girl --enough to say he loves her -- but still hedges about and won't commit for whatever reasons.

Lets skip to the most recent.

My mother is one of those crazy nutritional experts (though not formally trained). I grew up on organic wheats and vegetables, unpasteurized milk and untainted hormone-free meat. Sometime last year I found myself giving someone some nutritional advice. I do it quite frequently, and in that moment something clicked. I went home and did some preliminary research, and decided I wanted to be a nutritionist. I was pretty positive I wanted to head in that direction. I was also at the place where I was sick of having half ideas and then not finding out for real if it was something I wanted to do. So I made the decision. I would get my life together and go to school.

Going to college was a major hurdle cleared! I was actually acting on something! All the other options I just talked myself out of. I didn't act on them. I had a goal! I had focus! How exciting! The only problem is that I started doing more research on what exactly a dietician does. A vast majority of dieticians work as management or clinical dieticians. Neither of these appeal to me at all. They involve food management and menu planning. The area that really interested me was that of the community dietician. They are more public figures who give advice, work more on a one to one basis with individuals who want to improve their health through diet. My dream was to own my own business eventually. I still like that idea. But at the same time...

I don't know if I actually want to do it. I just don't think I want it enough.

And the freakish career tug-of-war persists.

I found an inspiring quote some time ago; "Don't ask yourself what the world needs: ask yourself what makes you come ALIVE. And then go and do that. Because what the world NEEDS IS PEOPLE who have come ALIVE". The truth of it rings really true for me. Most of my indecisiveness revolves around this persistent tug-of-war between wanting to be useful in society and wanting to find and do what I'm passionate about. So what makes me come alive? People. Working with them, usually as a team. Building relationships. Reconciliation. Finding middle ground. Fairness and justice. A good story, whether in print or film. Discussing ideas, points of views. Debating ethical issues. Literature. Symbolism. Giving advice. Writing. Music. To name a few.

I know for certain that menu planning does NOT make me come alive.

New Flat: Sneak Peak

HI!

We have a new place!

It's so cool, it even has a mail slot in the door.                                                                                                                                                                   

                                               

                                                                                                              

For more details... come visit soon!

Viva la iPhone

     Of late, every morning I wake up the first thought in my head is, "Maybe today will be the day I buy an iPhone." I'm not an overly compulsive person, especially when dealing with consumerism, change, and commitment. I get a little nervous just thinking of taking that leap; changing providers, forking out over $200 for the phone (I'm a bottom of the poverty-line student), and signing the necessary 3 year contract in order to do so. So I hedge about and yap about how much I want one. I get as close to buying the thing as I can and then retreat as if it will somehow destroy me (it might). 

    My inability to take the simple plunge of buying an iPhone makes me wonder how I can resist that powerful beast called consumerism. I'm really good at it. It really annoys me. I mean, it's so bad, that it happens almost against my will.

As far as I'm concerned, there are merely two kinds, or lets say types, of consumers: Type 1 and Type 2. Type 1 is like myself, as I described above. As far as I'm aware there aren't many of us out there, because if there were, the economy would be in a much worse state than it presently is because nobody would buy anything ever. The second type is the opposite. I'm sure Type 2's would find the above thought process utterly foreign and unnecessary. Type 2's do not experience that struggle. They would simply go out and buy it and not think twice. They are the happy, carefree ones. They're the ones that get everything when it first comes out. They don't usually experience the frustration of buying the "new" iPhone 3GS only to have the latest version come out a few days later because they delayed the whole damn process for too long. Why not just buy the thing right away if you're gonna end up buying it anyway? 

    But Type 1's are cautious, responsible, and massively afraid of debt. They figure all Type 2's are in a heap load of debt (which they are, right?). Someday their whole system will crumble around them and leave them destitute. However, at least they had fun in the process.

    The whole point of this is to work myself one inch closer to buying that sexy piece of beauty called the iPhone. It's taken a lot of effort so far, as can be seen! All of my principles are screaming NO. I know all the reasons I shouldn't, and there are many. Yet there is a tiny bit of Type 2 in me begging for some nourishment. I should nourish it... tomorrow. 

On Templating (add this new verb to your dictionary...or not)

      Creating a personalized template is not easy. I wanted to create my own, because the one I have is, quite simply, not satisfactory. I'm in extreme envy of my brother in law's blog layout, so I want to customize my own. I became very excited when, on looking up how to write my own, they (Blogger) made it sound as easy as taking a crap.

     My excitement was short-lived, however, when I looked further and saw that "easy" was the equivalent of learning how to master the violin in under a day. Not gonna happen.

    Apparently I did not inherit my father's computer savvy. Thanks for nothing, useless genes.

New Year, New Blog

I recently moved. If you know me, you know I hate moving. Moving makes me grumpy. It will make you want to vomit all over me if you are around me while I'm moving, that's how nauseating my grumps are. Just ask my sister, who moved with me. You may be wondering why I'm writing about moving. There is a point. While moving, I realized that I had an entire box-load of diaries and journals, all of which were only written in a few times. I felt VERY deeply that it was a waste of my effort to lug those useless journals around. This blog is an attempt to reduce such excess baggage. I have no idea what I'll write about in here. There will be many entries that address my love of coffee, and my feeble attempts to exchange my coffee with tea, which is much better on the body. I'll probably try to discuss politics and end up looking like an idiot at least once. Poetry (none of which will rhyme or follow any set of rules) might pop up from time to time. Others entries will be about all the people I've loved who haven't loved me back. Just kidding. I don't talk about that stuff (I might keep one journal...ahaha). My efforts will be scattered at best. But at least there will be one less box next time I move.