Personal

The Broken Mirror

Note: I actually wrote this two and a half weeks ago in a fit of tears and I’ve been contemplating whether or not to post it since then. I tossed around the idea of password protecting it for a while and decided on just putting it out there. Hiding it went against what I strive for: sincerity. And though I realise posts after the excitement of the wedding competition should probably all keep riding the wave of the upbeat (and don’t worry, I’m okay, and said upbeat WILL return pronto), as I’ve mentioned in blog posts prior, I’m not one to pretend everything is sunshine and unicorns when behind the screen, it’s not. I may be shooting myself in the foot and alienating readers with this, but I’m hoping, contrary to what I’ve sometimes seen around the blogosphere, people might be drawn to the genuine rather than stories about cupcakes and puppies. But if this does push people away, I apologise in advance. I just have a really hard time sugar coating things when being real is so important to me.

This brings me to the issue at hand. Remember the List? Of course you do; I’ve been writing about my endeavours to tackle it since before it went public. I was talking about it earlier this week with someone, and I started worrying about the items that were going to be rather more difficult to achieve than others. Anyone can start exercising, or make smoothies, or floss. Anyone can make new friendships, or do karaoke, or learn to speak publicly with enough dedication and hard work. But what happens when something on your list seems to defy the way you’ve lived your entire life? I panicked a little when I revisited Number 12: Stop Hating How I Look.

How can you change the way you feel about something when the reality of it stares you in the face on a daily basis? What if I suddenly wanted to like, I don’t know, rap music, or root beer – things I’ve experienced, disliked, and subsequently formed an opinion on. I wouldn’t magically be able to start appreciating them when I already know I’m not a fan. I feel like it’s the same with how I look, as painfully awkard and superficial as this sounds. Every day I look in the mirror, or at pictures, and I think how repulsive I am. I want to Photoshop my nose because it’s hideously huge and I don’t understand how the rest of the world doesn’t see what I see. Every time I sit across from someone I worry if they’re secretly looking at my face and seeing what I see when I look in the mirror. Ugly. I was trying to explain myself to this person and found myself breaking down in tears at the thought of getting my wedding photos back – being completely natural and happy on the day, only to get the photographs back in a few weeks and be appalled at how awful I looked. In all honesty I’m dreading being the centre of attention and the subject of every photograph because I feel like every snapshot is another piece of evidence in the case that proves how unattractive I am.

This person asked me if outward appearance was important to me. If, in my list of goals for how I want to live my life, physical beauty or lack thereof was ever part of my equation. Every fibre of my soul wants to say no – because I know I would never judge someone based on how they look. But the reality is that a large part of the rest of the world does. There are countless studies on the human face in relation to partnerships, career opportunities, satisfaction with life – and every study proves that those who are considered to be more attractive do better at work, have higher salaries, larger groups of friends, and more satisfaction with their lives and relationships than those who feel, or are considered to be, unattractive. I know with everything I am that outer appearance doesn’t matter in the slightest, but I also know the way in which the world works. I genuinely feel uncomfortable in front of people, not just because I’m afraid of public speaking – and that’s something for which I’m able to take steps to tackle – but because I fear everyone in front of me is thinking the same thing about me I do. I can’t help but feel if I had plastic surgery, and looked how I want to look, that worry and self consciousness would disappear and I would be free to enjoy life, to be in front of people without fear and just do a better job, to be less afraid of getting out there into the world and making a difference, achieving my potential. How I feel about how I look is holding me back. But unlike social anxiety, it’s not something over which I have any control.

Anyone who’s been reading me for more than a couple of weeks will know I’m a huge advocator for taking control of your life. If you don’t like your circumstances, have the strength to dive in there and actively shape them into what you want them to be. I let fear and negative self talk rule my life for far too long – you all know that, and you know I’ve been jumping at everything I used to be scared of in the hope of becoming stronger for trying. I want to be comfortable in front of crowds? Jump right in and start practising instead of hiding on the sidelines. But the goal of being able to not see myself the way I have for so long – I don’t know where to even begin. I don’t know how to change a thought pattern – which sounds so hypocritical, considering I’m the biggest advocate for changing your thoughts in order to change your life. This person told me she doesn’t want me doing something drastic like surgery because she’s “seen me take the hard path before, and this seems like the easy road.” She wrote me a message earlier in the week:

You have transformed your life in ways I could never imagine, overcome huge struggles and you’re a better person because of it. I’m so proud of you. This is why I’m challenging you to once again take the difficult road of self-loving that I’ve seen you undertake time and again these past few years. I guess the reason I don’t see the need for you to resort to an extreme tactic to fix this ‘problem’ is that I’ve already seen you overcome so much that I don’t see how you can’t overcome this as well! Think about everything you’ve overcome… and I know it seems hard, maybe impossible, to see yourself liking the way you look, but just think, a couple of years ago would you ever have talked openly about your fears, would you have gone outside without makeup on, or seen yourself speaking in front of classes of people week after week, being on the radio, befriending STRANGERS… you probably never would’ve seen yourself loving those either! Don’t you see? Everything you’re feeling and saying now is just a repeat of what you’ve already overcome! With the same hard work and dedication you’ve already put into your life, you can overcome this as well. That’s why I don’t see the need to resort to such drastic measures, because I’ve seen you conquer challenges before and it’s made you stronger. I know you can get through this as well.

I hear the words and I know they’re true. I know with hard work and determination anything is possible. But I’m stuck right now, in a place where I feel there’s no way of seeing things any other way. I know I’ve said the same thing before about old habits, old thought patterns… but this time, I don’t see anywhere to ‘jump in’. I feel hypocritical encouraging others to change their thoughts and habits, to step outside what’s comfortable and grow and come out stronger on the other side. Putting time and thought into something so negative defies how I strive to live my life, and I feel almost ashamed to be writing about something so superficial. I want to smack myself when I think of the good I could be doing with my energy, when I think of how lucky I am to live the life I do… but I can’t seem to shake it. Is this just another on the list of insecurities I’ve had for so long, another challenge that can be overcome? It’s not body dysmorphia – isn’t that just when people feel they’re overweight and lean toward anorexic type behaviours… I don’t have any problems with my weight. That’s a lie (see? I can’t sugarcoat things). I do. I’m 104 lbs right now and I still feel like a whale after I eat a big meal. But I don’t skip meals or throw up or anything. I’m just naturally small framed and consequently the slightest bulge stands out a mile. To me – and so, in my head, to everyone else as well. I just want to be able to overcome it – all of it, not to be seen as attractive by other people, but to feel confident in myself so I’m not held back so much, so I don’t shy away from people so much, scared of what they might be thinking. I want to be able to be comfortable and confident. I want to be able to contribute to the world and this seems to be the one destination to which I can’t see a clear path.

I’m sorry for the uncharacteristic downer. I’m so sorry to write about something so superficial but I’m not going to pretend these thoughts aren’t in my head. This is me, this is my life and my thoughts, ramblings, ups and downs, the lot. I appreciate if you’ve made it this far. I just needed to be honest with how I was feeling and get it down, and if people stop reading, or judge me… well, those who are only around for the good times aren’t worth worrying about anyway. I’m not looking for comments on this post… I just had to get it out. But if you could go vote for me over at Weddingbells today… I’d really appreciate it. You guys are wonderful. And I’ll be back to normal next post, I promise.

The Scholarly Years

You know how your train of thought is the fastest mode of transportation there is, with stops throughout time, space, geography and chronology all packed into a rollercoaster 5-second trip? Except then, when you want to chronicle your journey, your reader is left wondering what the heck is wrong with you? Well, let’s just say I had one of those. Involving stops at lists of goals and realisations and memories and flashbacks to university and lightbulb moments which result in blog posts. Ahem. For whatever reason the search index inside my brain landed on this here topic, today I’m writing about something I’m surprised hasn’t come up before: the past!

The past… in terms of my education. I love finding out what other bloggers do for a living, and I’m sure many of you know what I do for a living (in which case please send the answer in a stamped addressed envelope to… let’s just say I am still title-less in my new position, but continually gratefully employed :)) – but I have no idea about how any of you got there. So allow me to start the ball rolling.

I’ve always loved learning. I’ve always known I had a passion for the arts, literature and history – though I was raised on science fiction (and remain a lifelong devotee), I was absolute rubbish at actual science, and you could throw maths in there as well. I scraped by with a 70-something percent in chemistry, physics and calculus, but my mind and my heart were on fire when it came to the other side of the coin. I thrived on big art projects (including one seven foot tall sculpture made of wire, plaster, and lots of blue paint), historical accounts of battles and legends over a thousand years old, memorising Shakespeare and genuinely laughing at the jokes in Chaucer. Anything to do with numbers or formulas may as well have been Greek (sorry Ted), but give me a page of Middle English and I’ll be able to recite it back verbatim ten years later, the words forever ingrained in memory. But none of this mattered when it came to Going to University – at eighteen, I had no idea what course of study to pursue, or what job I wanted to end up with – so I threw myself into everything I loved in the hopes of some sort of epiphany. My post-secondary education included two years of Psychology, Medieval History, Medieval Heroes and Villains, Medieval Literature (do we sense a theme?), Literature from 1500 to 1900, the History of Art, Theatre, and, of course, Astronomy. Possibly one of the geekiest combinations of study ever? But I LOVED EVERY MINUTE. None of it was going to get me a job, mind you, but it satiated a thirst for knowledge of the minds of the past, the creativity behind the stage, the symbolism of literature, the stories of centuries gone by, and… the closest I’ll ever get to the Delta Quadrant.

Actually looking at it all written down here, the answer wasn’t to find a field of employment… it was CLEARLY to get me a time machine… but life happened, and I ended up diploma-less and stuck in my own corner of the galaxy. I never graduated university, and it pains me to this day to say it, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t get a heck of a lot of life experience in return. Amazing? At times. Hell? Also, at times. Invaluable? You better believe it. I’ve filled those years with as much learning as I could do, on my own, reading textbooks and tutorials and finding a job in which I found I had a bit of a flair for graphics for a few years. I always kicked myself because I never had the formal education to prove I could do it, but it led me to designing projects which seemed to naturally evolve into including other areas… writing… photography… a short stint in modelling… even voiceover work; things I never would’ve touched had I not been on this path. Great opportunities that arose which would otherwise have passed me by. I’m still fascinated by everything I threw myself into in school; a copy of Psychology Today falls into my letterbox each month, starships sit atop bookshelves, and framed prints of medieval manuscripts and Modigliani prints grace my walls.

I may not have the certificate. But my two year spell in post-secondary education has furthered my passion for learning – and everything that came after it I consider a path I was meant to be on. Now it’s your turn… how were your educational years spent? Did they have anything to do with where you are now? And did you vote for me today? (Speaking of which, you have been AMAZING so far!!) The button’s nice and shiny… 🙂

Pandemic

I started my new job this week, and things are definitely shaping up to be a whole new change of pace! I am still title-less, but the month of July is going to be filled with training, curriculum development, out of office visits and tonnes of learning. (AND VOTING. PLEASE. DID YOU DO IT YET? :)) It’s massively different than what I’m used to, and I must admit first day I was so overwhelmed and anxious about all the new responsibility I made myself physically sick and subsequently missed the next two days (I’m a winner, I know), but the nerves I think are finally subsiding a little. I’m thrilled to be part of a brand new project which is going to put me in a position that will not only push my boundaries (I’m going to be facilitating about 6 different modules – huge for the whole public speaking thing) but also put me in a position where I can really help people. One of the first things we were told was that the focus of this project was going to be not only helping the community, but empowering people – giving them tools and opportunities that will help them change their lives for the better. And that make me really proud. Along with teaching, I’m going to be doing some admin, some promotion and marketing, and toward the botttom end of the list – health and safety. Now, I may be a strange candidate for holding any portion of responsibility regarding other people’s safety or health (I think I made my stance on the government’s encouragement of mass vaccination quite clear during the H1N1 outbreak) – but thinking back to that got me thinking about the idea of what constitutes the idea of a pandemic – something which, when it comes down to it, causes widespread action in regards to something contagious.

When you hear the word, you automatically think of outbreaks of scary things like SARS, H1N1, Bird Flu… even the Bubonic Plague, and the masses subsequently running on something not too far from hysteria, having bought into the combination of newsreaders telling scary stories, but more accurately, fear. Fear is as contagious, if not more so, than whatever outbreak happens to be circling the newspapers. Did I know anyone in my city affected by any of these so-called pandemics? No, I knew a bunch of people who, upon the encouragement of lunchroom gossip and television sets, rushed to the nearest doctor’s office to have something injected into their bloodstream, or started wearing surgical face masks in the street. The fear of contamination was more contagious than the sickness itself. The word “pandemic” is defined as prevalent throughout an entire country, continent, or the whole world; widespread over a large area; general; universal. So why are we conditioned to evoke a negative connotation in response to hearing it? If something like fear can become pandemic – why can’t something more positive take over the masses?

In short, it can. Think about fashion trends – throughout the ages people have seen someone famous do something different, and rushed out in efforts to imitate their style or attitude. This may not always be for the best (Crocs anyone?), but it’s a mass movement to copy something based on personal admiration. Health movements have also swept nations (just look at Atkins and Green Monsters), and people across the globe have dropped their current habits and adopted new ones in the hope of bettering themselves. Spiritual teachings on how to become a better person have been written in books and shot to the top of the national bestseller list, sparking a movement of positivity across book clubs, across friendships, and across the globe. An idea to make the world a better place can pop up in a single man’s head, and before you know it, it’s become an international project with people across the globe hopping on board, all hit by the contagiousness of spreading joy onto the lives of others. Movies like Julie and Julia can inspire nations to learn how to cook; shows like Glee can inspire thousands to sing.

And then there’s blogging. Since I started blogging properly, not even a year ago, I’ve been inspired by people around the world who’ve set goals for themselves, pushed their boundaries, and written about their endeavours to become stronger, healthier, better people. I’ve lost count of how many 101 in 1001s I’ve seen around the blogosphere and have been inspired by other people’s 30s before 30 to create my own list of goals, which inspires me to grow every single day. You could say it’s contagious – hundreds of people reading hundreds of posts about growth and empowerment causing a “pandemic” of positivity. I love it. How great would it be if next time we witnessed something bad spreading – fear, gossip, rumours or hatred – we chose to instead spread something else? Combat the contagiousness of negativity and be the turning point to instead disperse something better. No dictionary tells us pandemics need to be bad. It’s often easier to go along with the masses. The phenomenon of mass hysteria proves that the strength found in numbers can allow people to do things that would be considered insane if they did them solitarily. But we’re all capable of rising above what’s popular. We just have to practice prioritising, and thinking for ourselves.

Oh, Canada…

Yesterday was Canada day.

[Church bells chime in the distance. Insert tumbleweed.] No, I’m kidding. 🙂

I’ve lived in this country for ten years this year, and though I may have the occasional moan about disliking Winnipeg, Canada Day always kicks my arse into gear with fireworks, flags, performances and MORE cake, since it also happens to fall on Sweet’s birthday. You all know I’m pretty patriotic when it comes to England. I post videos all over the place, burst into tears of pride at Britain’s Got Talent, have BBC radio accompanying me a good 12 hours out of every day, and am on an ongoing mission to convert all my friends to Dr. Who loving Anglophiles. I’m probably going to be rocking Union Jack socks at my own wedding. National pride is something I think the Brits do really well – they still flock together to support things their nation does brilliantly. And not so brilliantly, if you count their last World Cup game. It really makes me proud! But this week, on Canada Day? I wanted to take a second to forget all the things I dislike about where I live, join in with the rest of the nation and really appreciate the great things about this country to make it a day worth celebrating.

I love Canada for the education it’s given me, both scholarly and socially. I arrived fresh from a school of tucked in shirts and scoldings for more than one pair of earrings, where everyone was part of a sea of conformity. I was blown away on my first day in a real high school, where there were people of every clique or style imaginable. Sure, I spent my lunch hours in the physics room with the other IB nerds making science jokes and eating pizza with a knife and fork. But it doesn’t mean I wasn’t introduced to an enormous variety of people. I got to geek out in a program designed for kids who loved learning. I got to take classes with people who did improv and wore blue Mohawks and let me join their punk band. I got to experience a culture so drastically different from everything I’d grown up with, and I loved it.

Nobody hates Canada. I’m living in the friendliest country in the world! In France, the natives will turn their noses up at you. In America, they’ll tell you to go back home and throw things at your baseball supporting, Canadian flag-bearing classmates. (Yes, I can vouch for this first-hand.) In England, you’ll walk cobblestone streets – covered in gob, pigeon poo and old chewing gum. But in Canada? Even the homeless tell you to have a nice day!

Living here, I get to experience a real white Christmas. Nothing can top spending Christmas eve huddled up inside with a warm mug of Baileys and hot chocolate, or popping out to grab some milk in deserted, twilit streets, freshly covered with the softest, sparkliest, most ABUNDANT snow I’ve ever seen. Sure, it sucks that we spend 8 months a year below zero. But there’s something magical about December in Canada, when the world almost transforms into the forests of Narnia.

It’s cheap to live here. Like, beyond ridiculously cheap. Allow me to demonstrate my living expenses for all my international readers. I live in a two-storey, pretty new house with hardwood floors, two big bedrooms, ten minutes away from downtown on a beautiful little street facing the river, with the downtown skyline in the distance. There’s no crime in my area, it’s close to everything, and the view is gorgeous. There’s a riverside path leading anywhere you want to go, and you can walk for miles under canopies of trees. Sure, there’s about a bazillion mosquitoes. But that’s small peanuts. (Ask me this again in a month.) My rent? $950 per month. Split between two. That’s $910 US. Six hundred quid. People are astonished when they hear how cheap it is to live here. Every time I want to move back home, I stop in my tracks and remind myself I’d have to work three jobs just to be able to afford a tiny little flat.

Summers here are beautiful. The skies are forever blue, the streets filled with festivals celebrating the arts, theatre, music, diversity and culture. I’m so excited there’s still another two months of it. And maybe best of all? It’s DRY. (No frizz!) But most importantly, Canada has brought me everything that’s shaped the last ten years of my life. It’s brought me culture. It’s where I learned I had a passion for design, for learning, and for writing. It has made me realise how much I love England, which, maybe I’d never have appreciated had I remained there. It’s dragged me through hellish situations which have given rise to a huge desire to grow. It’s where I shaped my friendships, grew closer with family, and learned of the kind of person I want to be. It brought me pain and passion, highs and lows, longings and gratitude, all the while giving me a landscape of natural beauty and extreme seasons. This country does battle together. Anyone who lives in Arctic conditions for two thirds of their lives are pretty tough cookies. But they’re also the friendliest, nicest people I’ve ever met.

Lastly – Arcade Fire anyone? Most of you know I’m passionate about great music, and though I am guilty of favouring British bands, Canada has produced one of the most amazing bands in a very long time. This is the band that was formed by a husband and wife team, went on to add tonnes more members, along with harps, accordions and string sections, and became nominated for 5 Brit Awards, 3 Grammys and 6 Junos, and more. They recorded their stunning second album in a defunct church, including the haunting Intervention, full of church organs, choirs, and lyrics that continue to wrench at the heartstrings half a decade on.Way to go Canada, for producing something this brilliant.

I may have been waving my England flag strong and proud during this World Cup, but this Canada Day? Here’s to you, Canada, for everything you’ve taught me, shown me, and been to me. I know I’ll whinge when the mosquitoes hit hard, and I know I’ll whinge harder when I’m stuck at a bus shack next February picking icicles off my eyelashes. But today, I’ll celebrate with the rest of the nation, for all the great things this country really is. It’s important to count our blessings every once in a while, after all, right? Happy birthday Canada – and happy birthday Sweet!

Wibbly Wobbly, Time-y Wimey

“People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint – it’s more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly… time-y wimey… stuff.”
– Doctor Who, “Blink”

I wish. There are many times in life I wish for the ability to travel through time. When I’m feeling nostalgic about England, I could hop in my TARDIS and go spend a week in Shakespearean London, and be home in time for tea. When I’m curious about life elsewhere in the universe, I could pop up to Saturn and explore. When I’m really poor after Christmas, I could go forward a few days and nab the lottery numbers. Or when I sleep two hours past my alarm clock on a Monday work morning (hello boss!), I could rewind to 11:30 on a Sunday night and decide NOT to go for coffee and philosophical talks on the state of humanity. Actually, scratch that, I definitely still would. I’d just remember to set the alarm instead. 🙂 I’m a couple of weeks into the 26 Before 26, and it’s already been a rollercoaster of nerves, excitement, and awesomeness – but the biggest challenge I’m having is with finding the time to do it all.

Our daily waking hours are finite. Unfortunately, no matter how many Borg regeneration alcoves one prototypes, this is a sad fact. If you’re going to throw two-dozen new things into the mix, this doesn’t leave much room for life in the status quo. My schedule in the last two weeks has been packed with visits, yoga classes, writing dates, birthdays and meeting amazing new people lately, but I’m not going to lie and say it hasn’t left me all sorts of exhausted! My problem is that I’m continuing to do all the things I did before I made the list – including wasting too much time on Facebook, watching too many Star Trek reruns (I have a Trekkie to convert!), straightening my hair, and cleaning the house. If I’m ever going to tackle this list, I’m going to have to re-prioritise – and some things are going to have to go.

I have to learn to ask myself if what I’m choosing to occupy my time is going to benefit me, or others, in the long run. There’s been all sorts of studies on Facebook usage, and I can’t help but think it’s a curse as well as a blessing. It’s full of win in terms of getting concert notifications, creeping on new friends’ likes and interests to see if they’re as big a nerd as you are, and to see how the girl that bullied you in high school is now an overweight mess. But it’s also awful. They change their privacy settings faster than the Enterprise rotates shield frequency under an attack from the Hirogen. You can peruse photos and interests all you like, until you look at your watch and realise your entire afternoon’s gone, and that a new album from a weekend get-together has just gone up and you weren’t invited. Facebook’s been hailed as the saviour of modern communication, reconnecting us with relatives and long lost friends. But in the last few weeks, in endeavors at balancing new activities, online presence, visits and hobbies, I’m finding online time to be more draining than it should be – and that it’s eating away at time I could be using infinitely more productively. Social media fosters an ephemeral feeling of connectedness, yet in reality causes enormous disconnect from real life. I had a great chat with someone recently about productivity, and we both decided that this probably has something to do with the increase in distractions as the world moves forward. In ages gone by, there was no Facebook, TV, blogging or MMORPGs. People had time in bucketloads, which they spent interacting with other people, seeing new places, coming up with ideas, which would pave the way to the way we see modern-day science. Without distractions, they were more productive.

I made the list to push myself out of my comfort zone, to experience and interact with the world in ways that would help me grow, help me become a better person so I could in turn do and become something better for the world. Wasting time wasn’t on that list, so as alluring as “social” networking is, I have to see both sides of the equation, and weigh out the pros and cons. Ask myself if spending as much time as I do online is in line with what I want my life to be. At the end of the day, it’s the things we did, the people we spent time with, the lives we touched and the memories we made that are going to be remembered. Not how many followers we had on Twitter, or how many blogs we commented on. I’m realising that in order to make room for the awesome, I have to cut out some of the crap. Allocating categories to productive internet time (AKA staying in touch with all of you lovely people) vs. wasted Internet time. So this means, as of now, I probably won’t be online as much as I may have been in the last little while. I probably also need to stop prioritizing laundry and a clean kitchen and just say to heck with it, sometimes there are more important things in life. Every 60 minutes spent reading status updates on a Sunday morning could be an hour running, learning dance moves, writing, or at a hot yoga class. (Sidenote: first one was full of accoustic live music, candles, and AWESOME.) Dr. Who‘s finished for another year, so there go TV Saturday nights. And I need to stop being so obsessive about getting enough sleep, and actually enjoy staying up with people I love spending time with, even at the risk of turning into a pumpkin.

There’s a lot I want to do, and I think it’s high time the routine was shaken up a little. Out with the old, and in with the adventure of the new. I want to be able to say I lived this year. It’s just going to come down to prioritising, and deciding what’s going to make the cut. How do you make time to achieve your goals?

Germany Killed The Radio Star (and why that’s A-OK)

This weekend was a whirlwind of musicals, radio shows, Greek history lessons, babies, Daleks, candlelit hot yoga (check!) and, of course, football. Friday night we went to see RENT, one of my favourite musicals, which was as always, brilliant, after which we came home to finalise the tracklisting and do a bit of research for the RADIO SHOW we’d be hosting Saturday afternoon. There was a battle raging inside me between ridiculous levels of excitement and downright terror, but after some late night text reassurance and the comfort in taking Sweet on the air with me, I gave in to the former. Saturday afternoon, we arrived with CDs and notes in hand, ready to go – until we got about 20 minutes into the show and realised we were going to run out of music before the hour was up! We ended up going off on random tangents about inventions, traumatising videos and Britney Spears’ Photoshopped legs to fill up the time, and in between trivia, bad jokes and some of the best music around, we finished up with about 10 seconds to spare. I was thrilled by the end of it, and I’m totally excited to do it all over again next week!

The rest of the evening was spent with curry, Scrabble and the Dr. Who finale – a debrief for another time (sidenote: I want that ‘something blue’ at my wedding) – and then Sunday morning rolled around. The England v. Germany game. Let’s just say that nervous feeling I had in the pit of my stomach was well-warranted. I could finish the rest of this post ranting about ignored handballs and twatty referees who couldn’t see a goal if the ball sprouted arms and legs and started dancing around the net singing Three Lions, but you know what? Germany deserved that win, not just for their amazing swiftness and ninja-like reflexes, but for everything you can take away after the game.

Looking at the German team, it’s pretty easy to make parallels between gameplay and real life, and lessons to learn in order to flourish. Let’s take a look at the team before the game. They’d just had an embarrassing loss to Serbia, were facing a team who’d just surprised the world and beat the pool frontrunners, and their country’s faith in the team was waivering – just looking at the white out of the crowd, with cries of God Save the Queen almost drowing out the swarm of vuvuzelas, the support in the stadium was heavily English. The game even began with the German anthem being booed. But Germany triumphed – England were indecisive, too deliberative in the brief windows of opportunity with which Germany had no hesitation in grabbing by the horns. Take a look at that for a second. They were outnumbered 3-1 in terms of fan support, clearly not the stadium favourites, heckled and cursed for a good 90 minutes – but they went ahead and blew it out of the park anyway. Am I the only one that finds that inspiring?

I guess it hit home a little bit because it’s been somewhat a theme of the last little while – trying to do big things when the odds are stacked against you. When you’re popular, or seen as successful, or have a great job or social group or whatever to fall back on, you can afford to take your time; weigh out the pros and the cons, take the easy route of sticking to what’s comfortable because you know you’ll always be safe. Well in England’s case yesterday, it didn’t work. Germany latched onto those tiny windows of opportunity, defying a crowd of 40,000 supporting the rivals, and won spectacularly. I think there’s a lesson there – if you want to succeed at something, even if you’re not popular, even when people are actively trying to take you down – instead of succumbing to defeat or retaliation, prove them all wrong and just be brilliant. I know in my life, there are people who still see me as the anxiety-ridden, awkward social misfit I was a couple of years ago. But I think we all have a choice – let other people define you as something negative, or take a leaf from Germany’s book, choose to actively try and defy expectations, and prove that you can be something. As bitter as I probably should be about the loss, I’m proud of Germany for taking action and advantage of every opportunity. I think it’s something we can all apply to our daily lives.

You’ve got to hand it to England though – their sole moment of glory came in the form of a single goal – caused by the player being punched in the face with a football. Which, if nothing else, made for pure comedy gold. 🙂

The Road to Pro – well, a step, anyway

This may be my shortest post ever. But it’s Friday, and I don’t usually post on Fridays, so it’s two lines more than normal! I just wanted to note that I finally took a little step (like on my list)… and set up a (very amateur) portfolio site for my writing and design work. When I have actual money, or coding skills, or web designer friends who REALLY like me a lot, I’ll get a proper, professional-looking one. But for now… it’s a step further into the 21st century. And it’ll do. Click that new tab to take a peek and let me know what you reckon! 🙂

The Physiology of Fear. And How to Pwn It.

Once upon a time, I had a dream. A dream of being able to stand in front of a group of people and speak, with excitement, passion and confidence, without fear taking over, making my hands tremble and voice shake, without the constant worry of being good enough, intelligent enough, or entertaining enough. If you’ve been reading for a while now, you’ll know that it’s an ongoing challenge, and something I’ve been trying to tackle at every opportunity. But getting my body to cooperate with the direction in which my mind wants to go has proved… difficult. The first efforts were small. Attending meetings at work, and actually speaking up instead of keeping my mouth shut for an hour. Breaking out Cranium at parties and choosing Star Performer over Word Worm. Facilitating workshops to groups of 5 or 6 . Tiny steps along the path to my goal of shaking free the fear. Talking the talk is becoming easier, but physically walking the walk? Not so much.

Through those workshops, I realised something that helped push me forward: I wasn’t public speaking, I was teaching. I was giving people information that they could use to help them succeed. When I started thinking of it that way, it was a doddle. No longer was I in the spotlight, all eyes on me, ready for judgment day, but I was simply being blessed with the opportunity to pass on helpful information to others. The desire to help outweighed the fear, and it became okay. It became okay when it stopped being about me.

A few weeks ago, however, I was put into one of the most terrifying situations I could imagine. All the extroverts out there may very well laugh at this – but I had to do a public reading of a piece of my own written work. Fiction. In a public bookshop. I couldn’t use the same mechanisms I could in front of a class, because I wasn’t “teaching” or providing anyone with helpful information. I was just baring my words to the world; something I’d poured my heart into was to be lifted from the refuge of the page and thrust into the great wide open. I was petrified. I arrived at the bookshop an hour early, frantically texting one of my dearest friends, ordering a large glass of wine, and trying to remember to breathe. The seconds crawled by and the world followed in slow motion; rows upon rows of chairs slowly growing, bodies starting to fill them. I’d prayed nobody would come, but the faces kept coming, their words of encouragement and support filtering through my ears, landing heavy on a rapidly beating heart. 6:00 rolled around. I was up.

The 10 minutes seemed almost an eternity, but I kept reading, my eyes glued to the page. As the words came out, I tried to lose myself in the story I’d created, forcing my mind into the scene and the character, subsequently forcing out thoughts of self-deprecation. I made it through, took a deep breath, and lifted my head. I saw rows of smiling faces and clapping hands. I heard “wow”s whispered and was asked when I was going to finish the book. It didn’t seem real – I felt like I was living someone else’s life for a moment; someone who was actually able to do something well in the real world – and I couldn’t quite grasp it. A moment I’ve longed for for as long as I can remember, and I came out the other side unscathed.

So I did what any hip and cool person would do, and proceeded to burst into floods of tears. I don’t know what it was – the release of weeks worth of pent-up nervous energy, the unexpected victory, the compliments I’d spent years convincing myself I wasn’t worthy of receiving – or a combination of the three, but I bawled like a BABY. In front of everybody. Luckily I was back in my seat, and even luckier I was struck after my performance, but it was something I’d never felt before. As with every difficult thing, practice = less panic and greater confidence, so as uncomfortable and scary as it is, I have to keep going.

So, next steps? I’ll do what I always do, and throw myself in at the deep end. My new job starts in a matter of weeks, fifty percent of which is going to be teaching in the biggest classroom in the building. This weekend and next, I’ll be standing in for a couple of DJ friends of mine who host their own radio show (who just had a beautiful baby girl, who though adorable, may not fit right at home in a radio studio). Hosting it. I want to learn new coping mechanisms of how to throw off the anxiety and embrace the challenges and opportunities. Mentally, I think I might be on the right track, but how do you overcome the body’s natural tendencies to fall into the physiological reactions to fear? The heart racing, the hands shaking, the pit of the stomach wallowing, and the mouth drying. Changing your mind about something is one thing, but changing your body’s defiant behaviour is quite another. I want to get in front of those classes and behind the mic and just bask in the excitement of it all – project enthusiasm and confidence, rather than the telltale signs of nerves. I’m really working on changing the way I think about the situations – but any tips on altering the way I physically react would be hugely appreciated.

Failing that, pictures of kittens/celebrities falling over/the OMG Cat/OMG Cat vs iPad always fixes anything. 🙂

In which I accept sweets from and get into cars with strangers

Okay, first order of business here is a MASSIVE THANK YOU for all the birthday wishes this weekend! You guys absolutely made my week and I love you all!! Also? BEST. BIRTHDAY CAKE. EVER.

So, moving on, one of my tasks on the 26 Before 26 was to meet new people, branch out and make new friends. Pardon me while I get a little deep for a minute, but I’ve had the experience once before where I’ve put something out into the universe, and the universe has abruptly halted whatever it was in the middle of only to deliver in abundance. In situations where I’ve suddenly decided I didn’t like something about the way I was living, and actually declared I was going to bloody well do something about it, things seemed to… kind of just fall into place? I don’t know what to chalk it up to, but the universe is proving to be a supremely awesome listener/provider. One of the things I’ve been uncomfortable with in my life lately is the lack of really close friendships. There are people I absolutely adore… but have moved away for education, still live back in England, or I just don’t see as often as I’d like to here in the city. And I want to change that this year. I want BFFs, dammit!

So, in the last week or so, things have started changing. New people have started cropping up at every turn, and with them (hopefully!) the opportunity to build the foundations of new friendships. It started just over a week ago when someone who’d originally been a Facebook suggestion (You have 8 friends in common! Surely you know each other!) turned into a weekly penpal with whom I started exchanging emails for the past couple of months. We shared all sorts of interests, and he recommended the book I’m currently reading (and ADORING) on life, purpose and seeing the world differently. (Review to come!) Long story short, we met in person last weekend – and proceeded to chat for over three hours about where we grew up, football, science, philosophy, music and personal goals… TOTALLY nerded out, and it wasn’t awkward in the slightest! I really hope this turns into a more regular thing – and I’m still surprised this person still actually showed up after a random ‘hello Internet stranger, you seem awesome, be my friend? kthxbai’ – but as a mid-twenty something in a world where friendship circles already seem to have formed long ago, making new ones calls for something outside the box. Even if that’s at the risk of coming across a total weirdo. I’m very grateful the risk was worth taking and I’m hoping this is the beginning of a great friendship. 🙂

Coincidentally, said recommended book had a part to play in last Tuesday’s event: going out for dinner with one half of the duo that’s going to perform at our wedding in December. I interviewed one half of Keith and Renee a few weeks ago for the magazine that was kind enough to publish me, and Keith used to pop into the post office where I worked back in 200….3? On top of touring the world, travelling to Africa to build schools and water supplies and going across the country promoting positive messages and new albums, he plays in the same church band Sweet does on Sunday nights. Oh, and coincidentally does hot yoga every day, and is totally up for a buddy. Turns out the author of that book I’ve been reading is one of his favourites, too, so we chatted about literature, personal growth and making a difference in the world over dinner. One of the most POSITIVE people I’ve ever met in my life – it was great just to get to know someone so upbeat that little bit better, and with both of these people, it felt more like I was catching up with an old friend I’d had for years than someone I didn’t really know much at all. After dinner he drove me to the bookstore and bought me a book I “had” to have. When I asked why, he said “because you basically quoted the title of the book while we were talking,” and he felt like I was “meant” to have it. What was it called? Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life. If you’ve been reading for a while you’ll know how incredibly meaningful and apt that is. I was left with a really good feeling of just finally having the right people on my path, who left me feeling like I could totally be myself, and that was absolutely okay, and full of encouragement, inspiration, and real self belief. I can’t even describe the sense of excitement I felt after two such awesome connections within such a short time frame.

Then came Thursday. The Meetup. I went to the pub to meet a group of “strangers” – the Winnipeg Creative Society ‘Secret Handshake’, who get together once a month for networking and chatting and sharing projects. Sounded totally my cup of tea, so I’d added a few people on Twitter before I went, and since it was around my birthday, what I thought was a joke about cake and party hats TOTALLY became a reality when I got there. I ended up quickly surrounded by about 40 people wearing elasticated pink cones on their heads, with a giant carrot cake, candles, all singing me happy birthday!! I “knew” maybe two people, who I’d only been tweeting with for a couple of weeks, and proceeded to chat with a whole bunch of other people about work, about creativity, technology, writing, art and sci-fi. There were too many people to meet individually, but the ones I did get to connect with were awesome, and as a result I am apparently now starring in one advertisement, one music video, having ice cream with a new neighbour and going to a dance party at a composer’s house, as well as preparing for an ’80s karaoke night in drag. After the cake actually showed up, I’m taking everything entirely at face value. This is going to be fun 🙂 Someone caught some video clips on the night (and edited this on their iphone!!) (including the cake!)

Photos courtesy of Luc Desjardins @ http://www.at-first-sight.ca

I spent so many years consumed with the worry that I wasn’t popular enough, fun enough, or into the same things as most people, worrying about something being wrong with me because I didn’t have those Sex and the City friendships by which I seem surrounded. Only recently, I’ve been learning, writing, and thinking more about the importance of staying true to who you are and letting go of the cares and worries of how big (or small) a social circle is. I think it was shortly after my impromptu blogging rant that I really began to believe and carry out the notion that you shouldn’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not in order to fit in. If you have to carry around a persona that masks your true self, how will you ever have true friends? I spent far too much time prioritising popularity over integrity, and it almost shames me to say it. I guess it’s all part of growing up and finding out who you are. But these days, I’m learning that when you cease to empower societal expectations, almost dictations that you need to look or act a certain way in order to succeed in life, life just starts to become genuine, natural, and incredibly fulfilling. When you choose to let go of what doesn’t matter… the people that do will naturally start to flow in.

I feel blessed right now for the changes happening in my life, and excited about what’s to come in the near future. I sign off today with a song that I feel is quite fitting these days – reflecting a journey from fear to awareness, from old chapters to new journeys, from uncertainty to determination, and of the excitement I feel this very moment.

…Stars, hide your fires, for these here are my desires,
And I won’t give them up to you this time around
And so I will be found with my stake stuck in this ground
Marking the territory of this newly impassioned soul…

Twenty-Five

At the beginning of the month, on top of being slightly lame and asking the Internet how I should celebrate my 25^th, I decided I wanted to make a list of goals for the year of 25. I’ve heard from so many people that 25 was their best year EVER, and I really think this will help make it awesome in terms of challenging myself, trying new things, and continuing a journey of growth. So here’s what I’ve got so far. The 26 Before 26:

Get in crazy good shape. I’ve used my back pain as an excuse for far too long, and I’ve come to the realisation that it’s going to hurt whether I’m exercising or not, so I may as well be doing something good for myself! Right now, I’m running once every two weeks. Not a good plan. Now my evening classes are done, I’m scheduling time for at least 2-3 times a week for running, and getting back on board with strengthening exercises as well. SO I CAN DANCE LIKE TOBIAS.
Start hot yoga. There’s a place ten minutes away from me that I’ve heard rave reviews about, and I’ve talked about trying it (without actually doing it) for six months now. And last night I met up with someone for dinner who absolutely raved about it, goes for two hours every day (intense!!), and offered to be my hot yoga buddy. Apparently it’s life changing! Hopefully as much so just three times per week.
Learn a choreographed dance. Last week I posted videos from this year’s Britain’s Got Talent finals and the incredible precision, strength and creativity of some of those dancers just blew me away. So what if I wasn’t in gymnastics or dance at five years old? I may be 20 years late to the party, but even if it’s just learning Bad Romance off YouTube, I want to dance properly. Or pop and lock. Yes, I realise the eighties are calling and want their moves back. Yes, I also realise I will need to vlog this. I’m on it. 🙂
Team up with Sweet and cover a really popular song in a totally different style. Bluegrass Radiohead or something, I don’t know. He’s a drummer and has guitars and banjos upstairs, I’m sure we could figure something out! And I can bash a… Tupperware drum? I just think it’d be really fun, and the whole point of covering a song is to do something different with it, right?
Get my driver’s license. I know this is the only 2010 resolution I haven’t tackled yet, but I still have 6 months left of the year. 4 before the snow comes back. I need to get my arse in gear.
Write non-blog or magazine material. The creative writing class I took this spring really opened my eyes to what I really love to write. Blogging and writing for magazines is all well and good, but I’ve found that I don’t really feel proud of that kind of style when showing it to people. I’ve been working on some fiction over the last couple of months and have found a passion for literature, for creating, for the English language, and for eloquent prose, and I’m feeling totally motivated to keep going. Even if it is a sci-fi story. 🙂
Meet new people. Pretty self-explanatory, but just taking opportunities to invite people into my life instead of being held back by societal “norms” of keeping to myself. I’m not going to lose anything by trying. This one started last Saturday, when I met my first Internet Stranger (thank you Brittany for checking in throughout to make sure I was safe, LOL), a friend-of-a-friend penpal of sorts I’d been exchanging emails with for the last couple of months. It was a brilliant time, not awkward in the slightest, full of interesting, inspiring, fun and intelligent conversation, and I’m really hoping the beginnings of a new friendship. 🙂 This challenge continues this week , when I meet a bunch of local ‘strangers’ I met on Twitter for a “Creative Show and Tell”. Who are apparently bringing me birthday cake. At the pub!
Do REAL karaoke. The infamous Wicked! attempt was tough cookies but it went over pretty well, and even if I can’t sing well or reach the high notes it doesn’t mean I don’t LOVE doing it!! This year I won’t be scared to break into song, and I want to gather enough balls to do it in front of real LIVE people. 🙂 Partner in crime, anyone?
Plan meals and cook better. One of the big things I decided in January was that I wanted to cook from scratch more often instead of getting so many takeaways. This proved far more difficult than anticipated and we’ve ended up eating out at least once a week. I want to make it a routine to shop on Sundays, and prepare for a week’s worth of meals, including buying less prepared/easy stuff and switching to healthier options. Including switching my beloved morning porridge to these Green Monsters – started this week, YES that is spinach in a smoothie… but I just feel better starting the day without copious amounts of sugar and carbs.
Speaking of cooking, MAKE ENGLISH FOOD! There’s a local place called The Brit Café that makes brilliant Toad in the Hole, Bangers and Mash, Steak and Kidney Pudding, and of course, Fish and Chips, and I miss it all terribly. I want to make something traditionally English. But maybe once every 6 months, because I don’t want to be a lardarse.
Floss. Self-explanatory.
Stop hating how I look. Short of winning the lottery, I can’t change it. I can’t half the size of my nose or shrink my chin or erase the bags under my eyes. I can’t grow taller and I can’t chop my thighs in half. I can’t make my hair naturally straight and healthy and I can’t in good conscience keep up the “olive skin” look. I want to be able to look at a picture of myself and NOT have my first thought be of how much I wish I could change. I want to seriously be able to like myself just the way I am. Apply to myself what I try to do with life: that things are the way they are for a reason, and to make the most of the cards I’m dealt.
Get a laptop and become a Starbucks blogger. Or writer. I just want to get out there and do more writing.
Perform something in front of my coworkers. Around Christmas there’s all sorts of festive events – costume competitions, talent shows, games and cook-offs – last year I was too scared to get up and rock the sing-off. But it’s all in good spirits, and nobody really cares if it’s any good. This year, I’m joining in.
Teach a full class of people without shaking with nervousness and actually be excited about doing it. In the year of 24, I managed to work up to a classroom full of about 8 people, max. I want to be able to do 30 like a proper teacher. In July, I’ll be starting a new position where facilitation makes up fifty percent of my job. For some reason they think I can do it. I just want to thrive on it instead of being scared, and fuel the nerves into enthusiasm, focusing on the fact I’m in a position to relay information that will help people. Which is way more important than fear!
Get (and stay) entirely debt-free. After the Europe trip in August, the only major expense left is the wedding, for which we’ve been putting money aside for months. Sweet’s parents are helping with the cost of the food (which is an ENORMOUS help, we’re so lucky!!), and with our savings (and DIY stuff), it’ll hopefully not be TOO big a surprise in December. I can’t even imagine having $0 debt, but I’m determined to get and stay that way during 25.
Volunteer somewhere. I haven’t volunteered in two years now and I feel dreadful about it. I’m going to make time for a good cause again.
Go on a blogger meetup. Some of my favourite people in this world live MILES AWAY FROM ME and it’s about time I met them. And thankfully I am marrying the best man in the world, who BOUGHT ME A TICKET TO CHICAGO this September. I get to see Ashley and Brittany, Jen and Phampants . Go on a chocolate tour and visit a secret bar and dress up and have a Glee-off and my first big girly weekend ever. SO. EXCITED.
See more of the world. Somewhere I’ve never been before. And soak up every last drop.
Go a bit feng shui. Right now my walls are covered in black and white photos from a year or two ago, and oversized framed Doctor Who, Tim Burton and Hives posters. Sure, I have some “grown up” stuff, too – the Book of Kells hangs proudly in my living room along with a cityscape of the London skyline. But I need more art. Modigliani, this is your year to move from my heart to my bedroom walls.
Finish my tattoo, even if I have to be hypnotised, drugged, hardcore trained or anaesthetised. This thing’s getting finished THIS YEAR.
Forgive. I’ve learned that relationships will only work if two people’s timelines are ready to coincide, and that it’s okay to opt out if clearly the timing isn’t quite right, all the while having faith and leaving the door open. I also realise that by not forgiving people, we waste so much time we’re given on maintaining grudges and harbouring negativity, instead of doing the hard thing, sucking it up, swallowing pride and actually being the one to take the difficult step toward what’s hopefully a better future.
Do something drastic with my hair. After the wedding I have no reason at all to keep abstaining from haircuts and keep it black, so I may very well go for a totally different cut and colour. Hey, I’ve had a pillarbox red pixie cut; nothing can be too drastic! (What’s that, pictures?)
Become more spiritual. I don’t tackle the topic of faith on my blog at all because it’s something I’m still relatively new to, but I’m determined to grow more spiritually this year, and learn all I can about faith and purpose in this world, really figure it out and try to be the best person I can be. Things have happened in the past week that are just BEYOND coincidental and I feel are leading me down the right path, and I’m so excited to explore that this year.
Stop being scared of talking on the phone. I know it sounds ridiculous but I’m more scared of talking on the phone than I am of talking in front of a group of people. Up until now, this has pretty much been my rulebook (you can’t say you don’t agree with at least HALF of those!!), but I’d love to be able to chat on the phone or ring somebody up without worrying that I’m bothering them. Less e-mail time (well, maybe not) and more real conversations. This means phone me up and hold me to it. 🙂
Set up a professional website. (Read: have someone set one up for me.) Right now I’m using a WordPress-hosted site for my graphics and writing portfolios and though it does the trick, it’s hardly the most impressive thing in the world. This will be the year I get a site to match my business cards, and look like a real pro.

This was a tough one to make – but I’m going to ask you lot to keep me on track, and I’ll be sure to share the fun ones when they happen. Can you do me a favour? Take a look at the list I made for 24. Just a few bullet points about halfway down the page, but this time last year, they seemed impossible. I can’t believe this weekend I will be 25. This year’s flown by and been full of amazing things, in a large part thanks to YOU, and I really hope I can fill this upcoming one with even more adventure. Wish me luck!! Has anyone else made one of these lists? If not, what would you put on yours? Resolutions don’t only have to come in January. 🙂

See you on the other side!

In which I celebrate 25 with Internet strangers and…

It has come to my attention that within a matter of weeks I will be turning 25 (contrary to popular belief – when asked how old he thought I was, my stepmum’s son replied “16”!!). Since my last birthday, I’d like to think of the year so far as the year of finding myself in this world. It sounds dreadfully cliché, but I feel like I’ve really been… awakened? And maybe even grown more in the last 365 days than I have in my entire life. I’ve been reading a lot of blogs recently that talk of new chapters, of goals and determination, awakenings and realizations, and it makes my heart happy to read that so many of us are going through such positive transformations.

I’ve heard the term “quarter-life crisis”, but I don’t think the word ‘crisis’ is that fitting at all. It would be fine if, upon reaching our mid-twenties, we all went into a panic about time running out and not having long before thirty and OMG what do I do with my life everyone else has a degree and a house and a baby on the way and WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME. But these days, instead, it seems this generation is waking up. Questioning and exploring and pushing ourselves out of our comfort zones. Not being content to settle, or let people tell us we’re not good enough. Proving our capabilities to the world and learning to love ourselves. Maybe it’s just a blogger thing, maybe it is generational, but whatever it is, it’s making me smile.

Since my last birthday, I’ve been on a mission. I’ve really tried throw myself into terrifying situations, knowing that the only way to overcome them is to take a leap of faith and throw myself in headfirst, assured by the hopes of coming out the other side unscathed, and for the most part, relatively untraumatised. Learning to weigh my priorities, and realising fear is never going to outweigh the desire to grow, to serve, and to inspire. I’ve added to my education, I’ve had doors close and new, shinier ones open. I’ve grown in my faith and been amazed at the unfolding of the grand plan in front of my eyes, but I still have so much to learn. I’ve come out of my shell of an existence and led meetings, taught classes, and serenaded the Internet, Broadway-style. (I’m sure that’s going to resurface on my wedding day.) I’ve learned to give myself a break and actually have a little bit of self-belief – an ongoing effort that I hope one day may become effortless. It’s been a year of a 180-degree change, and so many amazing things, and for all of the above I’m eternally thankful. But I’m still fuelled by the desire to keep learning and growing, and I want the year of 25 to be even better. I want to continue this journey of learning, of growth, and of becoming someone who’s capable of contributing something good to the world. To continue to document my story in the hopes of encouraging others to begin theirs.

In the next couple of weeks, I’m going to come up with a new list. 26 before 26. Twenty-six new things I’ve never done before that will keep my horizons open and keep pushing me forward. Twenty-six dreams to achieve and twenty-six experiences to make my little corner of the world that little bit better.

Looking back at this past year, the ups, the downs, and the incredible difference a change in attitude can make just fills me with excitement at what 25 could bring. But first, I have a question for you all. After seeing what you guys got up to in Vegas, who else could I ask how to celebrate? Last year I was put on a glider plane, taken shopping, and ended the day with friends at a local wine bar, surrounded by laughter and sparklers. I do have a handful of wonderful people I love dearly, but my relationships with them are separate of their relationships with each other. Ideally I’d love to have a costume party, or a posh wine and cheese cocktail night like a Proper Grown Up where everyone got dressed up in dress shirts and cocktail dresses. With endless rounds of Cranium and Balderdash, surrounded by great music where everyone would get along with each other like a house on fire. But I don’t want to put anyone into an awkward situation where they don’t know anybody. And I don’t want to force anyone to do something they’re not interested in! (Like a cheese rolling competition – you can’t tell me this wouldn’t be the funnest thing EVER!! Anyone? Hillary? :))

So how do I celebrate 25? My birthday falls on Father’s Day this year, so naturally I’ll be spending most of the day with my Dad. And two nights before, I’ll be meeting a bunch of awesome Internet strangers – apparently the city has a group of local “creatives” who meet up at a local pub monthly and share projects and drinks – which can definitely count as part of the festivities!! But SATURDAY NIGHT is still open… and your thoughts as to how to spend it would be greatly appreciated! And yes… a mass group Skype date definitely counts as a suggestion. As does a one-man World Cup party. 🙂

Go!

Masked! AKA “The One Wherein I Lose Any Street Cred I Ever Had”

I was talking to Ashley a few weeks ago, and we got onto the topic of birthdays and of parties and, in natural progression… of costumes. Somehow the topic came up with Stephany too – and this post has been a few weeks coming. In all my years of sharing apartments with flatmates, the one good thing (and there really weren’t very many) was that we were always up for having all our friends over to celebrate, whether for birthdays, Hallowe’en, Comic Con or just the fact that pirates are awesome – we always found an excuse to don our best costumes, and I’d spend weeks putting them together. Maybe it’s part of growing up, maybe it’s shifting social circles, or maybe it’s just getting old – but I haven’t found an excuse to dress up lately, which makes me rather a sad panda. I still want to break out Poison Ivy or Silk Spectre! But the talk got me thinking, and I thought I’d share pics some of my favourites with you. A little while ago, I wrote a post called Unmasked. I thought it was only fair to bring you the other side: Masked!

April 2007: Snowbird, from Marvel’s Alpha Flight.
This was for a Heroes vs. Villains party.
And no, I definitely can no longer fit into that silver spandex.

Comic Con 2007: Edward Scissorhands.
This was TONNES of fun, except for the fact that leather trousers + heavy wig
and makeup = A MILLION DEGREES!! I have no idea who the Star Trek guy is,
but random trekkies = pictures.

Hallowe’en 2008: Blonde Wench vs. Brunette Wench!

Christmas costume competition at work, 2009: Ebenezer Scrooge.
Well I wasn’t going as a bloody elf!

Comic Con 2008: World of Warcraft Night Elf. Yes, I was purple.
I had to sew myself into this one and I couldn’t sit down all day.
But it was probably my favourite costume ever.

And always, always, a costume for ’80s parties. And apparently a dance move.

It’s funny how throughout those years, I was terrified of being in front of people as myself, yet I loved going out in costume. I suppose it was like a disguise… I wasn’t comfortable with who I was, and people loved the person I was pretending to be. This year… has been my journey of self-discovery. I don’t need a mask anymore… but that doesn’t mean I don’t still love to indulge in nerding out. 🙂 This year, I’m going back to a Con, or a Hallowe’en party, and I’m making the best costume yet. And owning it – not confident just in my sewing abilities… but in myself, too. And (not that he knows it yet) Sweet is dressing up with me! Now comes the hard part: what to make! (Note: 5 months may seem like plenty of time, but I kind of killed my last two sewing machines. Either we don’t get along, or my hands are covered in sewing machine repellent. So this, as with previous costumes, is going to be done by HAND. Carpal tunnel anyone?)

Thoughts? 🙂

Tattoo: The Results (AKA: Epic Fail)

So…. last Tuesday night was the Big Tattoo Expansion Appointment. (For those who missed it, the story of why I had to get it is here.) And it can only be described as one of the most epically awful experiences ever. I’ll spare you the details of everything I’ve done over the last few years to try and lessen the back pain – you already know I’ve seen more specialists than Heidi Montag’s seen the sharp side of a scalpel. But despite the difficulty, I was determined to get this monstrosity made into something meaningful I could be proud of again.

Monday night, avoiding all advice against psyching myself out, I got barely a couple of hours sleep in apprehension, tossing and turning until about 2am. I spent most of Tuesday researching options for lessening the pain of tattooing over skin that’s already extremely sensitive, bought a topical anaesthetic which would supposedly numb the skin… only to be told by the tattoo artist around lunchtime that it was a bad idea. It would be great if my procedure was going to be less than 45 minutes. Otherwise, for the remaining 2 hours, as it started to wear off, I’d feel all the pain I’d previously been numbed to on top of the new pain I’d be experiencing as he continued, and on top of the already existing condition, it would probably be “unbearable”. His advice: save it for when I come back to get chunks shaded in smaller blocks of time.

So Tuesday. 4:45 pm. I stop at an ATM, take out $300 and head over to the tattoo parlour, feeling slightly sheepish in a white tank top and a black and pink skirt. They were playing Daft Punk followed by the Spice Girls though, so I couldn’t be that out of place. They printed the oversized new design, and took me in to get prepped. I’ve had tattoos – I knew what to expect. I was silently praying for a case of mind over matter, that somehow the pain would be lifted just for a couple of hours so I could get this taken care of.

It didn’t start off too badly, but about 15 minutes in he was already asking if I was okay because my back was “jumping” a lot. The muscles were going into spasm – just like they did for the longest time before I started going for regular massage at the slightest touch. My face was down on the chair; I held my breath hoping the tears would be held back too. 20 minutes in and it was already excruciating. He’d started way out over my left shoulderblade, it being the “better” side of my back, but as he got closer to the spine it became more and more unbearable. I couldn’t help the tears, and I felt like a spectacular loser. I’d told him about my back problem when I initially made the appointment, but I don’t know if he remembered. I took a break, caught my breath, and decided to keep going. I found myself exhaling, afraid to take a breath in for fear of it hurting more, whispering “it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay” between needlings. But it wasn’t okay. The muscles kept spasming, and then my whole body started shaking, just like when I got the cortisone shots. I couldn’t stop, and suddenly I was taken over by fear and pain. I knew if it was this bad on the left side of my back, the ‘bad side’ wasn’t going to happen. I’d been defeated.

I heard the artist talking loudly, words of this being “a first in all his seventeen years of tattooing” and how there’d be no way he’d ever be able to get it to line up again,” and how I still had to pay him for the whole thing despite only having a quarter of an outline finished. $320 including my deposit, and I left sobbing, my head flooded with all the old voices that told me I wasn’t good enough or strong enough. That not only was I going to have to continue to wear this badge proclaiming my past mistakes, but I have to add another to it, telling the world I just made another one, drawing attention to my former naivety, and ridiculing my present efforts at ridding myself of it.

On the way to the appointment, I’d come up with an idea I thought would help me through it. None of us can write a new past for ourselves, but we can make the choice to start writing a new ending. I wasn’t going to “erase” my past with laser removal, I was going to embrace it for the lessons it taught me, the person it made me, and add to it, it becoming part of something bigger and better, more meaningful; still there, comprising yet also hidden by the person I am today. I thought this would help me get through it, but now it feels like a punishment. That I must be made to wear this badge of past failures, and that I would be made to live with constant pain, day in and day out ensuring I cannot cover it up.

But I have to remind myself that nothing that’s worth doing is done easily. The process of personal transformation was sparked by things nobody should have to experience, though I’m not ready to share those just yet. The most difficult times have led to a determination to change them, and I’m confident I’m doing all I can to achieve that. But it all seems so easy in comparison to ongoing physical pain, when all you want is for your body to have the strength to be a reflection of the person your mind has worked so hard to become.

Lesson learned? No, if the lesson is that I must resign myself to being branded with my past mistakes. I can’t do anything I can keep trying physical therapy, but I don’t know if it’s working. The effects are fleeting and expensive. I have to accept that in its current state, my back (and bank account) isn’t going to be able to handle another attempt at tattooing. So, I must find another option. Laser tattoo removal? Perhaps. Though there are only two places in the city that do it – one accompanied with a barrage of horror stories, also costing an arm and a leg, and the other, a cosmetic surgery clinic, an awkward experience in that I worked there for all of three days before quitting based on moral objections. Wouldn’t that be fun to go back? Apparently it hurts just as much, and is just as expensive, and would take just as many sittings as finishing the tattoo. Which apparently can’t be done, because “there’s no way my back will be able to take it in this condition, and there’s no way the design would be able to be lined up again.”

This is what I am left with. It looks strange and unattractive, but isn’t that often what the road to growth is? It’s not cookie-cutter, it’s incomplete, and it’s not something, at first glance, one would wish for. But it’s real. It’s a representation of a determination to face my past and embrace it, and of trying to make it part of who I am no matter how painful the process. On Wednesday I met with another tattoo place, somewhere infinitely more understanding, more welcoming, with more impressive portfolios. I was told about the options of going to my doctor to get some strong pain killers prescribed before coming in, and that yes, they could work in small sections – but it was going to be incredibly costly to do it that way. At this point, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. But until I figure it out, I will wear this disfigurement knowing that one day, with guts, strength and tenacity, and it will become something beautiful.

Dad

Today is my Dad’s birthday. He sent me an email the day yesterday, with the subject line saying “Last Day Blues” which went on to talk about how “old” 48 was. I love my dad dearly and he is many things, but old he is not. I hope he’s reading this, where at the end of the day there might copious amounts of comments telling him how NOT old 48 is.

My dad has always been number one in my life. I remember growing up laughing out loud at all the things he’d say, proud to have such clever and witty genes, hoping that one day, I’d be as well-spoken, fun and entertaining as he was. We’d go on trips around Europe, he and I basking in the sun by a cool swimming pool, each eating Calippos and drinking Fanta. One of my more vivid memories is of him sellotaped to a lilo (I don’t know what you call them in north America!) and being thrown in at the deep end, laughing so hard I cried.

I remember my first “work experience” at school – I must’ve been about eleven, and I went with him to British Aerospace. I learned about planes and missiles and all sorts of things eleven year old girls don’t understand at all, but felt incredibly grown up following him around, proud to be introduced as his daughter as everyone greeted us with an enormous smile. There was always a feeling of respect and appreciation from people around my dad. You could tell they admired him, and that he made working there fun.

I remember Christmases with my dad, helping him cook in the kitchen as he taught me what a sweetcorn fritter was and how they were a staple of holiday dinners. I remember his patience as well as his jokes as he tried to help a hopeless girl understand the concept of trigonometry. I remember his words of advice and encouragement when I decided to move out for the first time, and his support every time I’ve ever moved. Which, in the last five or six years, has been more than a fair bit.

I remember when my parents separated, that instead of driving us apart, it brought us closer. I broke up with a long-term boyfriend that same November, and I remember sitting on my makeshift couch in a half-empty apartment on Christmas Day with my Dad, eating packet mashed potatoes and microwave turkey, there for each other in our hours of need. He came with me to see the “most unfestive movie we could think of” afterward, too.

We’ve shared everything over the years, the most recent of which have brought us closer than ever. He was there through my breakup from hell, standing up for me to some absolutely awful people, and avenging my ex in a rather… unbloggable, but downright hilarious way! He visited my nan (his mum) in her hour of need this year, bringing together a family that hadn’t spoken in years, which was nothing short of miraculous. He came back with all sorts of old photographs and stories, nic nacs from aeons ago, reminding me always that what’s happened in the past doesn’t necessarily have to dictate the future. That sometimes, there are more important things in life. He continues to inspire me to this day.

Happy birthday to my wonderful Dad, my best friend in the whole world. Someone who unconditionally sees the best in people, in situations, and in other people’s intentions. Someone who planted the seeds for a lifelong love of music, who still makes mix CDs for me and cranks up the ones I make for him. Someone who shed a tear when I got my Gaelic tattoo translating to “my father’s daughter”. Someone who got me up at the crack of dawn on my birthday two years ago and took me on a surprise trip around Paris. Who put me on a surprise jet plane for my birthday last year. Someone who’s always encouraged me to follow my dreams and to do the right thing, even if sometimes those things are the most difficult. Happy birthday to the man I couldn’t be prouder to call Dad. I love you.

What are you waiting for?

I remember, maybe a little less than a year ago now, my first (and perhaps only) true light bulb moment. Do you ever find yourself in a place where all around you, you can see things in life you wish were different? The year from summer 2009 – 2010 has been one of self-discovery for me, and it all began with that moment. The moment when it dawned on me, for the first time, that my circumstances were never going to be what I wanted unless I took the steps to make them that way.

If you’re reading this on my blog, you’ll know that I’ve written on and off about my past struggles with anxiety. I think this is the first time I’ve ever written about them in the past tense. If you’re reading it on Samantha’s (I’m guest posting for her today; do check out her blog, as she’s just wonderful!), then I should probably give you a little bit of a back story.

This time last year, I was seeing a therapist for a social anxiety disorder. I don’t like the idea of therapists, really. I also don’t like the term “social anxiety,” and I especially dislike the word “disorder”. It evokes images and feelings of being afraid, of allowing something to control you, and of something being wrong with you. Although perhaps that was the motivation I needed – I’ve learned over the last little while that the bigger the discrepancy between where you are and where you want to be, the stronger the motivation to change. I think it was a result of years of low self-esteem – with friendships and relationships, I often latched on to whoever showed the slightest interest, even if it probably wasn’t a good idea to have them around. I learned my lesson the hard way – got kicked out of where I was living, had one ex-boyfriend jet off halfway around the world never to come back, and had another gradually sap about $12,000 out of my bank account, start doing drugs, and get arrested for physically abusing me in the street. I think these things, combined with my ongoing self-doubts to make me want to retreat from the world. I gave in to the inner voices that told me that I wasn’t good enough. That I wasn’t worthy enough to be treated well, and that I had nothing of value to offer the world. That I should keep my mouth shut, because everyone would see how useless I “was”. I was terrified. But I allowed it to happen.

Looking back, I want to take hold of my 22-year old self and give her a good shake, but at the same time, I have to remind myself that things happen for a reason. If it hadn’t been for the bad, I never would have been fuelled to grow in order to find the good. I think in life, we can be nudged slightly, reminded that what we’re doing isn’t good for us. This can be in the form of a simple daydream, wondering what our life would be like had we made a different choice. Or a series of negative events paving the way of a relationship; warning signs to get out. Unfortunately, if we allow our self-doubts to win, bad circumstances are going to continue until something catastrophic has to happen in order for us to open our eyes and truly listen. What happened to me was a megaphone in my ear telling me to alter course from the road I was taking. And had it not come to that point, who knows where I may be now?

One night last summer, it was a low point. I was upset that inside, I so desperately wanted to be able to break free of this fear that was holding me prisoner, and offer myself to the world, hoping to find friendships and new situations, and growth in my career. I wanted to be happy, to be content and comfortable in my own skin, to be able to stand up in front of people and do something inspirational without being plagued by nerves. I was upset because things weren’t the way I wanted them to be. I wasn’t the person I wanted to be. And on came the light bulb; a literal shining light of hope on my self-induced darkness.

Dreams are never going to become reality unless you become an active participant in calling them into action.

I’d been wishing and waiting for things to be different… without doing anything about it. It’s so easy in life to victimize ourselves, because I think, sadly, people have a tendency to gravitate toward the things that don’t require as much effort. I was upset that things weren’t the way I wanted them to be, yet I hadn’t played a part in making them happen. Silly girl! I decided from that point forward, things were going to be different.

I made a list of all the things I wanted to be able to do without fear. All the things I wanted to be without worry. A great piece of advice I got was remembering to remind myself that I only have a finite amount of mental energy. I will never be able to control what other people think of me, so instead of using that energy worrying about judgment, I should use it to focus on the things I can control. I can control what I put out into the world. I can control whether I allow myself to take risks with the hope of coming out stronger on the other side. I can control how I take the words of others. “This is a big change,” I was told, “and it’s not going to happen overnight. These things take time.”

But why should they? We all have a choice in how we decide to live our lives, in the way we choose to see the world, and in what we put into it. Just because I’d spent the last twenty-something years making the wrong ones doesn’t mean I have to ease myself into making the right ones gradually. Every day is a new opportunity to change everything, if you only have the determination. Since last summer, I’ve made the choice instead of retreating, to dive headfirst into everything that scared me. I can choose whether I allow things to control my life, or if I want to control my own.

It started off incredibly hard. Just because the mentality is shifting doesn’t mean the physiological signs of anxiety shake off so easily. The first workshop I facilitated, I went in trembling and stuttering. The first workshop I came out of, after telling the students why I decided to give it a shot, I left to the sound of applause. It was the best feeling in the world. A tiny victory that fuelled my desire to keep growing, keep trying anything and everything that used to terrify me. It’s definitely been a journey of ups and downs – chairing meetings to a room full of people twice my age is intimidating, facilitating a workshop as the youngest person on staff is daunting, singing to the Internet was nerve-wracking, and sharing my story perhaps the scariest of all. But I’m determined to keep trying. Of course there are things still on my list. Real life karaoke, speaking to a class of 30 instead of 10, and reading my writing in a couple of weeks in a public bookstore to a bunch strangers. I’m still apprehensive. But determined to come out stronger on the other side.

Sometimes, all it takes to change what you don’t like about your life is making a choice and sticking to it. Having the courage (or at least pretending to!) not only to recognise what it is you don’t like about your life, even if it’s admitting past mistakes, but to venture forth and take control. None of us need be a prisoner of fear. We have every right to be able to be the person we want to be. You can’t control what other people are going to think about you. But you can control what you put out into the world. And if it’s positivity, and determination to better yourself and the lives of the people around you? I don’t think anyone could ask for anything more.

Intelligence FTW!

It’s no secret I’m a huge nerd. I’m a devout Trekkie, have Daleks in my kitchen, and a closet full of geeky costumes from conventions gone by. And I may or may not own a copy of the Klingon version of Hamlet. (Keep reading! This isn’t a sci-fi post!) But there’s one thing I can’t stand, and that’s bad sci-fi – or ANY bad movies, or even TV shows. Like Star Wars. Star Wars is full of aliens, robots and spaceships, all the elements that should make a geek’s dream come true. So why can’t I stand it? Because it’s built for the mainstream.

We see it all around us: in music, it’s not intricate melodies, talented musicianship or well-written lyrics that are going to shoot you to international superstardom. Throw in a computer-generated beat, lyrics about promiscuity (or ones stolen from somebody else, originally written 20 years ago), a generic rapper and a pretty girl, and you’ll be guaranteed millions in sales, and played on radio stations and in clubs around the globe, sitting comfortably on wads of cash you made from the people who aren’t going to remember you this time next week.

It’s the same with movies – Star Wars is definitely on the top five list of highest-grossing movies of all time, and this week’s tops at the box office include something by the name of Furry Vengeance, full of bad writing, bad animation and animals defecating on people’s faces; The Backup Plan, a predictable romantic comedy short on, well, romance and comedy; and Nightmare on Elm Street, a recycled story with some updated effects, second hand material and cheap scare tactics that wouldn’t frighten my cat.

I like my entertainment to be clever, yet it seems that the mediocre continues to flourish and triumph. Many sci-fi fans love both Trek and Wars, but I can’t class them in the same category. Star Wars is an easy escapist fantasy that has nothing to do with actual science, and is undeserving of the sci-fi genrefication. It was originally based on comic books, which are ultimately aimed at children, easy to digest, and requiring little in the brain department. It’s full of action, basic storylines, and good guys versus bad guys who swashbuckle their way through the galaxy blowing things up. Scare value is minimal, and is done in a family-friendly manner involving lots of heavy breathing and swishy black cloaks. In short: it’s fluff, just like the Hollywood blockbusters and hot-selling albums currently circulating amongst the masses.

I avoid horror movies, not because I’m a wuss (although that’s debatable), but because it all seems so futile. Costumes and special effects equate to smoke and mirrors, and often combine with poor writing, bad acting and some cheap thrills in the form of things jumping out of the dark, and I can’t really see the point. It’s completely far-fetched, and more than anything else, easy. As with so many things in life, many people gravitate toward things that don’t require as much effort. With music, I’m devoted to talented musicians, masters of lyricism, and appreciators of the form. And, as you no doubt know by now, I appreciate what’s real. They’re not on the Bestseller wall at HMV, nor are they on the weekly top 40. They’re not going to sell platinum records. But they’re going to ignite the senses and fill me with passion. With blogs, I read the people who take the time to construct good pieces, full of interesting stories and a real sense of the person behind the screen, unafraid to wear their hopes and dreams, fears and victories, and hearts on their sleeves.

With movies and television, there’s no denying science fiction holds a very dear place in my heart. But as with any form of entertainment, it can be done sloppily, without thought to writing or storyline or ethics. Or it can be done brilliantly, scaring the audience with everyday situations, engaging them with witty dialogue, or provoking thought through morally ambiguous situations.

In the ‘60s, Doctor Who was the scariest thing on television. Aimed at both young and old, a child who could sit through an episode without retreating to the safety behind the sofa was the coolest kid in school. But with new generations come new expectations; what was scary fifty years ago isn’t going to hack it by today’s standards. Today, I’m loving the shows and movies that provide genuine chills, not through CG monsters and fantasy, but through making the commonplace terrifying. Watching the television when all of a sudden the TV host starts asking you if the life you’re living is even real. Every stone statue around the country actually a species of “Weeping Angels” ready to come after you and turn you to stone when nobody’s watching. Our irrational fear of the dark not irrational at all… The nature of human life, battling death (literally) and how one copes after death… Scientific – real, scientific genetic experiments going wrong, and the evolution of technology into holographic life forms and their “rights”, and government conspiracies, our defences failing and every child just… stopping… and being taken over. A parent’s worst nightmare. (You can’t tell me that last clip isn’t terrifying!)

This stuff’s way closer to home. What’s really scary these days isn’t in the form of something in another galaxy, or another big screen axe murder. It’s not 3D movies that make you jump out of your seats – a reflex to the unexpected, not a sincere sense of fear. The intelligent shows and movies build upon some of our most basic fears – what’s hiding in the dark? What if science doesn’t have all the answers? What if everything we know is a lie? It works because it’s not something that could end as the credits roll up the screen. It leaves us with a fear that’s genuinely real, and verges uncomfortably on the cusp of possibility. The clever shows also provoke thoughts that continue long after the episode has finished, questioning religion, existentialism, morality, the nature of time, corruption, philosophy and redemption.

I’ll take science fiction and intelligent dramas over Hollywood blockbusters and soap operas any day, which leave me thoroughly more inspired, thrilled, scared and entertained. If I’m going to spend a couple of hours on the couch – well, I may as well give my brain a workout, right?

BLOGGING RANT: The Cost of Self-Promotion

My bonnet is usually relatively free of bees. But recently, there’s been a pattern in the blogosphere that’s left a bit of a sour taste in my mouth. It’s something Brittney touched on a few weeks ago here, and it’s all about bringing the fun back to blogging, and the reasons we all started doing it in the first place.

When I first started blogging “seriously” back in October-November last year, I was blown away by how awesome it was. By how many people there were out there who were willing to read my stuff, take the time out of their day to comment, and who also wrote great stories about their lives. I loved getting to know people, starting to build friendships, going from a couple of comments a week to emails, text messaging, phone calls and the odd face-to-face Skype date. In the last six months, I’ve met people who may be miles away, but I consider some of my closest friends. As with my friends back in England, I find distance doesn’t have to stand in the way of a good friendship. But there are a few things I’ve seen lately that really turn me off.

1: Bloggers who started with no traffic, just like all of us, who get to a certain level of blog-stardom, and use it as an excuse to all of a sudden become “authorities” on how to be a great blogger. They start posting how-to guides on forums and networking and profile pictures, so you can be as awesome as they are. It’s highly self-indulgent, and I find, borderline arrogant. If I want more followers, I’ll invest the time in finding them myself. Or I’ll ask! I realise everyone’s reasons for blogging are different, but I read your blog because I’m interested in who you are, not because I want to be told I’m not “successful enough.”

2: Bloggers who fuel and listen to gossip behind the safety net of a computer screen. It’s all so petty teenage angst fest. I talked a little while ago about staying to true myself, even if that was at the expense of losing readership. But at the end of the day, I know the person behind the blog is the same person that’s presented to the world. A person with real thoughts, ups and downs, questions and opinions and a good heart. And that’s all that matters. Apparently, honesty is sometimes controversial. Sometimes not what people want to hear. So they’ll whisper amongst themselves and latch on to rumours without even bothering to question the truth. Why? Because it’s so much easier to go with the popular crowd.

I like to form friendships. I like to text and send snail mail to bloggers if they’re going through something bad OR good. I like to surprise people and I remain a loyal reader, commenter and friend. If they need help with a design project or a résumé, I will help them out. I like to build the foundations of friendship the same way I do in life – by showing I care. And it irks me to no end that some people lately have decided to completely drop me off their radars because they’ve “heard” something from someone, and haven’t even bothered to question the truth in it. It’s disappointing when you thought some of them were half-decent.

As much as it’s thrown in my face that these days blogging is a competition and the ONLY way you can be good at it is to have a million followers and a USB port in your ankle where you can stay connected to the online world 24/7, I write when I want to, about things that are important to me, and about things I think will really benefit other people. Things I care about, things I love, things I’m striving for and lessons I’m learning. Don’t get me wrong – everybody likes comments. And I’m so thankful for each and every one of you that takes the time to read, and voice your thoughts every time I write. But I’m not going to compromise who I am because the Internet says I have to. And I’m going to continue making friendships with the people that really are awesome, and stop wasting time on the superficial.

3. Bloggers who sell out. If I wanted to bombard my eyes with advertising I’d go and empty our recycling box all over my kitchen counter. I’m coming across many blogs who used to write for the fun of it, and now seem more concerned with making a quick buck by slapping dozens of ads all the way down their sidebar. It’s not fun, it’s not pretty, and it kind of tells me you’re more concerned about the $2.75 you’ll make in clicks that week than you are about the writing itself. I don’t read your blog because I want to be inadvertently sold something.

4. Bloggers who capitalise on something you did as a favour to them. I try and offer kindness to the world because let’s face it, the world could use a little more of it. I don’t do it for a reward. But there’s something nice about saying thank-you, isn’t there? It’s disheartening when kindness is met with egotism, and behind the blogging scenes things are a very different story indeed. Disheartening, yes… but not discouraging. The world needs more kindness, and none of us can control with what our actions are going to be met. We just have to keep breathing… and reminding ourselves we do things for the right reasons. Right?

4. Bloggers who pretend to be somebody completely different from the person they are in real life. Life isn’t perfect. Everybody has bad hair days and breakouts and stomach aches and snot flying into their face. If your posts are all rose tinted and I leave wondering if you live in some sort of magical secret cottage where woodland creatures must come in through the night to sew your clothes and clean your house spotless, then I’m sorry. NOBODY is that perfect. I get it that we all want to present our best sides to, ultimately, strangers. But how do you think people who DON’T live in said magic cottages feel reading stories (for that’s what they are) about how perfect your life is? Go write a book, or a soap opera, or get your own TV show, instead of trying to be a character. And pick a better one than Martha Stewart.

There’s a difference between being cautious, maybe for work reasons, and pretending to be an entirely different person. Maybe it’s because of some need for personal validation, and if you just pretend for long enough, then maybe people will actually believe it’s real. I don’t know. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I’ll write about the bad stuff as well as the good. I’ll write about my struggles and my efforts to overcome them and what’s worked and hasn’t worked for me – not because I believe I’m some authority on personal growth, but because if I put it out there to the world, not only am I held accountable, but the world can see it. The emails from people appreciating the honesty and even finding inspiration just mean the world to me. I may not write about cupcakes, kittens and headbands, but at least I’m honest. I’ll take empowerment over self-importance any day. If you don’t write from the heart, and stay true to yourself in doing so – then what is it all for? A fleeting sense of popularity at the expense of your innermost self?

Brittney said it perfectly when she said:

Forgive me, and I may be a complete rarity, but I miss the personal/intimate side of blogging. It just seems that if we all follow these rules on what to blog, what not to blog, how to write, what to say, what not to say, what topic to avoid, what tone to use, what length to adhere to… then there will be very little point in my reading multiple blogs because we will all be the same exact person and I can just go to a single blog for everything. I like reading REAL blogs, with REAL bloggers writing them. I won’t stop reading your blog if your life doesn’t seem perfect, if your home didn’t just step out of Martha Stuart Living, if you have a zit, if you regularly consume obscene amounts of fast food, if you own exactly one pair of jeans that still fit and wear them for weeks on end (coughMEcough). In fact, I will probably like it MORE because you’re willing to be honest, vulnerable and human. I really wasn’t sure where I was going here, except to say that I want us to be ourselves and be okay with that. Blogging is growing into this awesome outlet, which rocks, but it’s also becoming home to 45243 writers who are creating fake personas for the sake of popularity or marketing and in turn, it’s losing it’s unique-ness.

Ask yourself the question today. Do you really know who you’re reading? Are you okay with being told what to do on your own personal outlet in order to be “successful”? Are you willing to give up your own passion and personality to conform for the sake of a comment count? Is blogging really just turning into another popularity competition?

In life, I think the most important thing you can do is stay true to yourself, and stay focused on being a positive force in the world. It’s easy to get sidetracked by temptations, societal pressures, and worrying about what other people think of you. It’s important to be authentic – and to be able to tell the difference between self-promotion and a fake persona. Unfortunately, I’m realising, it’s becoming increasingly more difficult. Yes, parts of the blogging world have disappointed me lately. But thank you to everybody who I know is willing to be real, who’s willing to stick around through the good and the bad, and who makes blogging such a joy most of the time. You’re all rockstars. And I really wish there were more words to hyperlink in this sentence, because if you’re commenting on this, you’re probably one of them. 🙂

And, now that that’s dealt with, we’ll be back to regularly scheduled programming tomorrow 🙂

Tattoo Update: Wherein it all becomes VERY REAL and VERY SCARY

This past weekend, I did it.
I made the appointment.
To transform something tainted by history into something beautiful, meaningful and new.

A couple of weeks ago, I shared the story of one of my tattoos. It’s been several years since I closed the door on that chapter of my life, and though I’ve since got other tattoos, this one remains firmly stamped on my back, huge, a continual reminder of pain, of mistakes, and of my darkest hours.

In life, I try to learn from mistakes and bad experiences – with people, it can be through the choice to forgive, or to opt out of negative forces. With work, it can be to focus on how I can better contribute to the future, rather than on errors I may have made in the past. With anxiety, it can be to remain fiercely determined, taking little steps along the path to finally being free of the fears that have held me back for so long. But with a tattoo? It’s not so easy.

Finances definitely play a part in why I haven’t yet done anything about it. This thing is six inches high and solid black, and expanding it into something that’s going to really mean something is a big undertaking. But the biggest reason so far is the pain. My back is an ongoing puzzle I’ve spent the last few years desperately trying to solve. Chronic pain along the right hand side of my back, from the top of my shoulder down to the top of my hip. I’ve lost count of how much money I’ve funnelled into health care providers; chiropractors, physiotherapists, acupuncturists, massage, and even cortisone injections (that was a fun one.) I don’t have coverage for this sort of thing, but I’ll do whatever it takes to figure it out. It stops me being able to do things I want to. Dance, exercise, go bowling – even going to the movies I carry two tennis balls in with me, placing them in the back of my chair, trying to alleviate some of the pain. These days, I’m going for incredible amounts of pain deep-tissue massage once a week and diligently doing my exercises every other night. They’re agonizing, and I feel like a total wuss. But I keep my eyes on the prize.

This has, by far, been the biggest reason I haven’t done anything about my tattoo. Yet. But this weekend, I made an appointment for 18^th May (that’s two weeks, people!) to get the outline done. A friend of mine is dating an incredible artist, who worked with what I had and designed something that’s not only amazingly gorgeous, but exactly what I want on my body for life. It’s an elaborate phoenix, the body of which will cover what I have and extend into artistic and intricate wings that span across the entirety of my upper back. I love the idea of rebirth and constantly growing into something stronger, better, and more beautiful. I can’t wait for it to be finished and to show the world. And it’s a perfect fit.

But I can’t deny I’m afraid. The artist said we have to get the outline done all in one session – which he imagines will take at least two hours. After that, he told me, I can come back as many times as I like to get the shading done – if I can only stand 45 minutes, I can do 45 minutes. But two hours? Intimidating, to say the least. Since I’ve started the massage sessions, it’s doing better in that the muscles no longer go into spasm at the slightest touch. But the pain is still there, and the skin very sensitive. I can’t take pain killers beforehand, as they “thin the blood”. I’m debating going for the cortisone shots again the morning of. But then I remind myself I went into convulsing shock and had to be escorted home in a blanket.

When I’m faced with difficult situations, I try to weigh things out. When I first started facilitating workshops, I was terrified. But I weighed out my fear of public speaking and of judgment with my desire to pass along information that will ultimately help my audience live better lives. The latter desire was stronger, and that’s what I used to get through it. I also kept in mind that I can’t control what other people are going to think of me – so there is no sense in worry consuming my mind over something of which I have no power. All I can do is the best I can.

In this instance, I’m trying to use the same balancing act to get through it. The first hurdle will be the hardest, but if I can do it, it’ll be the first step on fully closing the chapter on something I have no desire to revisit ever again. I’ve made the mistakes, and I’ve learned from them. They have done their part in shaping me, and shaping the way I look at life. They have played their part, and it’s fair to be able to close the book and shelve it away for good. Yes, my desire to do that is stronger than my fear. I know it’s going to be hard. But, as with so many things, the things that mean the most are sometimes the hardest to do.

Wish me luck!

PUBLISHED!

I don’t think I’ve EVER posted twice in one day… but I just picked up a copy of this magazine. Which I wrote TWO articles for. And am now apparently a published writer!! 🙂 🙂

Happy weekend everyone!!

Get Your Freak On Friday (quite possibly the best music video EVER)

For today’s Get Your Freak On Friday, I’m bringing you a song from back in 2006 which continues to rock very hard 4 years later. It’s by a brilliant band from the UK called Kasabian, who’ve released all sorts “family-friendly” hits such as ‘Vlad the Impaler’, ‘Club Foot’, ‘(I’m on) Fire’, and most recently the album West Ryder Pauper Lunatic Asylum. Their videos are always stunning, and Shoot The Runner is one of the best music videos I’ve ever seen. Anyone even remotely interested in graphics or animation will just love it.

If you want to play along with GYFOF:

1. Grab the button
2. Paste the button. Somewhere on your blog or even just in your post.
3. Write about a memorable song. Any one you like.
4. Post the link to your post on Tristan’s post’s Mr. Linky.

Enjoy a feast for the eyes and ears… even if you don’t have sound, it’s worth watching for the sheer artistic brilliance. Happy weekend!

Prose and Constellations

Brit, photographer, writer, stargazer, musician, sci-fi geek, tattooed antiquarian, timeless romantic, psychology fanatic, music fiend, cat lady, and your new best friend.

Personal

The Broken Mirror

The Scholarly Years

Pandemic

Oh, Canada…

Wibbly Wobbly, Time-y Wimey

Germany Killed The Radio Star (and why that’s A-OK)

The Road to Pro – well, a step, anyway

The Physiology of Fear. And How to Pwn It.

In which I accept sweets from and get into cars with strangers

Twenty-Five

In which I celebrate 25 with Internet strangers and…

Masked! AKA “The One Wherein I Lose Any Street Cred I Ever Had”

Tattoo: The Results (AKA: Epic Fail)

Dad

What are you waiting for?

Intelligence FTW!

BLOGGING RANT: The Cost of Self-Promotion

Tattoo Update: Wherein it all becomes VERY REAL and VERY SCARY

PUBLISHED!

Get Your Freak On Friday (quite possibly the best music video EVER)

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