Status Update

It’s been a couple of weeks since I got put in the Power Glove, and it’s been the biggest change of pace I’ve had in a long time. I’m still at work, and while I’m supposed to be avoiding using the rebellious buggers, my fingers still have to type from 7:30 – 4:00 – so I figured I could make a quick stop back in the blogosphere too. Because I miss you all an absolute TONNE.

My GOODNESS I miss electronic communication. I was told to stop texting (still not having caught up to the touch-screen generation, the keypad wasn’t doing me any favours), and I have subsequently lost all form of socialisation.  It makes you feel a bit rubbish when you have to stop contacting people the way you’re so used to, and then realise you’re the only one who usually initiates anything. 😦 I’ve run into the odd person on the bus, had one lovely dinner date, and a few phone calls from friends across the country, but other than that? I’m feeling a bit of a social castaway. What doesn’t help is not being able to blog or write – two of the things in life that bring me the most joy. Last week, I was over the moon when I saw Vista came with a fully installed speech recognition programme. I spent an hour training it and all seemed to be going well until I started trying to use it. Five mistakes per sentence soon became more trouble than it was worth, and the novelty wore off immediately. Does anyone have any experience with Dragon?

I’ve seen a hand physiotherapist twice in the last couple of weeks, and though the splints are helping me do things like, you know, actually dress myself and brush my own hair, without them there’s still a tonne of pain whenever I try to grip or hold onto anything at all. Why do we train ourselves to ignore our bodies when they’re trying to tell us something’s wrong? Why do we shut out the signals and hope it’ll go away, until it’s too late?

I recently read an interesting article about early 19th-century artist Henri Matisse, and feel somehow inspired:

Old age or illness are never comforting thoughts. For an artist especially, it can be a real horror. It rings up images of arthritis in which merely holding a brush can bring anguished pain. It threatens the artist’s lifeline to the outside work, his or her vision. It often entails frailty and fatigue where once there was strength and vigour. There can be sadness and despair, yet the creative urge never dies. Sometimes it is the one spark that keeps an artist alive and aware. It can be a harsh taskmaster, driving the aging artist, now with excruciating pain, and an uncertain, but nonetheless final, deadline to do that which in youth would have been quite easy. Where others might simply give up, the true artist adjusts. Claude Monet painted massive garden scenes seen through double cataracts with a brush bound to fingers which could no long grip it. Henri Matisse, in the last decade of his life, following repeated, debilitating surgeries, his eyesight also failing, and so weak he could no longer get out of bed, adjusted to his condition by moving to huge sheets of paper he could still see and large blocks of painted paper meticulously arrange by assistants according to the master’s directions. The work was necessarily abstract. No more could he create the intricate, flat, interior designs or two-dimensional painted figures that had long been the hallmark of his flamboyant style. His gouache on paper work entitled The Snail, created in 1953, just a year before he died, is an excellent example of the adjustments an old man made in continuing to do as best he could what best he loved. Much of his work is a testament to a man’s sheer stubbornness to persist in the face of years of daunting debilitation, giving new meaning to the phrase, “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

I hope desperately that this is only temporary. I hope with all my heart I’ll be able to, some day soon, fix this problem and once more be able to write whenever I want to instead of once or twice per month, to read your stories, email, engage in discussion, and to work on my creative stuff… it is my biggest dream and remains the sole thing that brings me most joy. But for now, I have to take this step back. A friend once told me, “if you have the urge to do something, and you feel like you have to do it, it means that’s what you should be doing“. I still feel I should be writing, but the Universe right now has other plans. I don’t know what those plans are, but, as with all the big things in life, I have faith that this is happening for a reason, and that somehow, that reason will become clear.

Okay. Enough whinging. I just wanted to check in to let you all know I miss you, and hopefully, if I can find some decent software, I’ll be able to rejoin the Internet soon. 

Have a wonderful weekend everyone 🙂

Janeway Out

Started 4 months ago. Despite hoping, didn’t go away – spread instead, to the point of being unable to brush my own hair or hold a pencil without crazy amounts of pain. Not arthritis, thank heavens. But not tendonitis either. Have to wear this for the next little while at all times. This pretty much means no typing. Or texting. So, with great sadness, I’ll be offline (and missing you all heaps) for the next bit. ETA TBA. Still, it’ll get me working on #25, right? (Note to world: old-school communication like talking on the phone and friendly neighbourhood visits very much appreciated. *Bats eyelashes*)

Until next time…

Take me to the docks where there’s a ship without a name, and it’s sailing to the middle of the sea

In two days, I am going to be leaving the bitter streets of Winnipeg, and hopping on a plane that will take me to what looks to be one of the most beautiful places on earth. I still can’t believe it’s happening. I’ve had visions of the airline going under, the ticket not being valid, my Permanent Resident Card expiring, the hotel having no record of the competition, or losing my passport – it’s one of those genuine too good to be true moments, and I don’t think the reality will sink in until I actually set my suitcase in the suite, I pinch myself hard, and I am still surrounded by sparkling ocean and sunny skies. If this is actually happening, there are no words to describe how incredibly thankful I am.

I’ve been lucky enough to grow up seeing a fair bit of the world. Living in England, everything was a mere stone’s throw away – you could see Paris, Spain, Cyprus or Turkey in a couple of hours, and it didn’t have to break the bank. My parents introduced me to other countries, other cultures, and history thousands of years old. I’ve seen galleries housing the most famous paintings in the world, temples dating back centuries, amphitheatres and natural hot springs, castles and cathedrals and national monuments. The seed of the travel bug was planted early and has blossomed big – to this day I seem to have an insatiable appetite to see the entire world. I read blogs from people who live on the road, surfing couches and making a new home every day, and I think it’s incredible. I have friends who travel so often their home is a parking spot for a sailboat, forever at the beck and call of a new horizon; a new city to fill with imagination, storytelling and art. I wonder if, in a past life, I was a bit of a nomad.

To the heart, to the heart there’s no time for you to waste
You won’t find your precious answers now by staying in one place
And I’ve driven across deserts driven by the irony
That only being shackled to the the road could ever I be free

I wonder if Frank Turner’s really onto something. I’m so fortunate to have been able to see so much of the world in my twenty-five years. I have colleagues twice my age going on their first international trip this year, and here I sit struggling to think which countries I’m going to be able to cram in before I start “settling down”. Quotes intentional; I refuse to believe I won’t travel anywhere for over a decade after bearing children. Which definitely isn’t on the horizon any time soon! I have more than a few big places left on the wishlist – Australia, New Zealand, more of England and Ireland, and Prague…. I would love to see India, too. 🙂  Last year, I went on four different trips, taking me to five different countries on two different continents. Do we see a pattern here yet? If not, here’s a hint: it begins with “p” and ends in “oorness”! After next week’s trip, I doubt I’ll be able to afford to go far this year – I definitely plan on visiting Ontario, and possibly Chicago once more – but international destinations are temporarily on hold.

Until 2012. I hope. If I can keep up saving the amount I was each month for the damned wedding, I can use it toward saving for the next big holiday – Italy and Greece, perhaps? And probably a stop in the UK, provided it’s non-Olympic season. (Got to visit home, defined on the first Google hit as “a town populated by 14-year olds and their children“, welcoming visitors with testimonials such as “though 90% of the population are chavs, the remaining 10% aren’t such shits” – I don’t know if an extra 908,000 tourists, coinciding with the predictions of dear old Nostradamus, makes for the wisest timing for a visit…) I’ve only ever seen the Greek island of Corfu, and, being about nine, my interests back then probably lay more in the extra flavours of Calippo than in the Achillion Palace, but these days, I would love to see the sunsets of Santorini… explore ancient Olympia, and hop on over to the wonders of Rome and the canals of Venice. My heart definitely belongs in Europe, and I think this is one trip I can justify saving up for! So next time I’m tempted by January sales or a fancy new camera (which may or may not have been purchased recently…), I’m going to make it a habit to ask myself: do you want an extra top you don’t need? A new nail polish? Or do you want to see the world? And I’m hoping what follows next will be easy. Even if it takes a little while. 🙂

I leave you with the song whose lyrics comprised the title of this post – one of the most desperately romantic and beautiful melodies I heard in all of last year. Turn it up, close your eyes, and dream of faraway places… and I’ll see you in just over a week! 🙂

A Basic Tool in the Living of a Good Life

Every day I take the bus home from work, I spend a few minutes waiting at the stop outside the city’s biggest library, outside the entrance of which I see these words immortalised on a stone plaque, subtly reminding me I really should be reading more. One of my goals for 2010 was to read at least a book a month. I know this sounds ridiculous, what with certain dedicated people attempting to hit A HUNDRED in a year (!), but I had to start with something – over the last few years, my reading time has gone from being spent absorbed by books to being spent in front of a computer screen. Though blogs do equal great connections and often provide fantastic food for thought, I seem to have fallen off the literary bandwagon along the way. Which is a Big Deal, because the written word is one of the things I hold dearest to my heart! I don’t know about you, but I have several bookcases in my house, each half full of books that either have broken spines and folded pages through countless loving re-reads, or books that are as pristine as the day they arrived, never having been cracked open once. I seem to fall in love with blurbs and recommendations and hastily stock my shelves, but when it comes to making the time to sit down and actually read, these days, I’m pretty rubbish. I think it comes from the mentality of always having to be doing something “productive” – working, cleaning the house, doing laundry, writing, replying to e-mails, going to appointments… if I have three hours to myself on a Sunday night, I feel like I should be putting them to good use. Working at something. Not relishing in great literature – I almost feel guilty doing it.

But last weekend, I was given those three hours. And instead of making beds or ironing clothes, I put on some beautiful background music, poured a glass of merlot, and cracked open the Deathly Hallows. I’m late enough to the Potter Party as it is – and I love the stories dearly – so by jove, I was going to take some time to read something I truly enjoy, without feeling guilty about it! Life’s too short, sometimes, for doing the dishes.

There are lots of books I want to read this year. One that’s come up in many a conversation of late: Psycho-Cybernetics by Maxwell Maltz; written in the ’60s by an early cosmetic surgeon, it tells of his findings around the topic of self-image, comparing people who undergo surgery with people who simply follow a system of ideas and attitudes instead. He stumbled on several interesting phenomena: he found the plastic surgery patients often went in with expectations of self-image that weren’t met by the surgery, and continued to behave as “ugly” or “inferior” even after significant procedures had been performed. However, a system of behavioural therapy techniques and shifts in mental focus without surgery resulted in increased self-esteem. It’s no secret I’d love to get surgery if I could, but I can’t shake the advice my nearest and dearest are giving – to read this book, and try working on inner attitudes instead.

One of the first books I’m picking up post-Potter is one my eye was drawn to in a bookshop in Chicago last September – a new hardback I hadn’t had room to bring home, and one that wasn’t released in Canada until recently. It’s going to be a delve into unfamiliar territory – thriller crime fiction! Now, I’m one of the biggest scaredy-cats around – I’m the girl who went home and stayed awake for 48 hours following The Ring and to this day refuses to watch anything rated R – but I couldn’t pass up the intriguing premise of Stuart Neville’s The Ghosts of Belfast. It’s been lauded as one of the best Irish novels ever, a superb thriller, and impossible to put down, and on top of being set in one of my favourite places in the world, it’s got more than a hint of the supernatural. Which pretty much equals complete amazeballs. The premise basically follows an ex-IRA killer in northern Ireland who, now that peace has come, is being haunted by the ghosts of twelve of his innocent victims, and in order to appease them – he has to kill the men who gave him orders. Fascinating! I’m slightly nervous, but thoroughly captivated, and I think it’s great to branch out of the familiar every once in a while.

As you know, I’m also a huge lover of the classics. I’d name my first-born after Chaucer if ‘Geoffrey’ wasn’t such an atrocity. 🙂 It’s definitely a goal of mine to add a few more to the archive this year, and I’m starting with Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. I’ve been in love with the song since childhood, and the story sounds utterly haunting, desperately romantic, and fantastically passionate. I can’t wait for this one – and to watch the recent BBC remake, too!

There are a few others on the list for 2011: Rob Sheffield’s Love is a Mixtape, the “unadulterated nostalgia-geekfest” that is Dalek I Loved You, the hot pick around the blogosphere from 2010, The Hunger Games, and a recent recommendation, Primates and Philosophers, a collection of essays exploring the nature and evolution of human ethics and morality. If I can stick to it, I think this year’s going to be a brilliant goody bag of fantasy, thrills, imagination and education. What’s on your list for 2011? Anything else I couldn’t possibly miss on mine?

Spread Your Love Like A Fever

“I have this dream of being best friends with everyone in the world. I’ve also always been a proponent of using the word “love” more in everyday life. People in general are just a little more scared to use it I guess.”

Those words were from one of the first e-mails exchanged with someone who’s now one of the best friends I’ve ever had. We were just getting to know each other at the time, and he surprised me with saying exactly what I try to live by: tell everyone that means something to you just how much they do. It’s not always easy, though. These days, you need to be cool. Develop a thick skin. Hide your emotions, or the world will eat you up. I’ve always been told I’m more sensitive, or feel much deeper than most. I remember exes telling me to stop crying so much, friends telling me not to invest my heart so much, people telling me that if I didn’t get so emotionally attached, I’d save myself a lot of pain. I was talking to my friend about this again recently—I suppose we’d been talking about our resolutions and hopes for the year ahead, and in talking about my goal of filling 2011 with passion, it brought me back to the topic we’d discussed so early on: going all in. Being as open, authentic, and deep as possible; putting hearts not only on sleeves, but on lapels, buttonholes and pockets, too. Sharing absolutely everything you are without reserve, without fear of judgment. I’ve been told more than once I’m a sort of “all or nothing” type person, when it comes to friendships or relationships. I either connect deeply, or not at all. When the other person is on the same page, willing to look beneath the surface and truly see beyond the realm of what the world may consider “normal”, that connection with another human being can be magical. The Irish have a phrase for “soul friend” I enjoy; a mutual bond built on truly knowing each other’s hearts. No wonder we became such fast friends. I wish it weren’t such a rarity.

Less than a year ago, some of the people I now hold dearest hadn’t yet manifested in my life. Now, I couldn’t imagine life without them. I’d like to think I went all in with them, too—and if you’ve been reading for a while, I tend to do the same thing here. Put absolutely everything out there because that way, the ones who stick around know your authentic self. I thrive on true interpersonal connection—not simply having people around all the time, but having a select few with whom you can share the very depths of your soul. I think as we grow up, we tend to believe what we see all around us—that quantity is better than quality: more money, social interactions, more followers, and more Facebook friends equates to a more ‘successful’ life. We skip the quality in favour of accumulating more quantitatively because that’s what’s normal in our formative adult years, and it leads to a perpetual cycle of chasing that which we believe we lack, and never feeling truly fulfilled. We’ll send text messages rather than picking up the phone; choosing lifeless and ambiguous messages of 140 characters over the real emotion of someone’s voice. We’ll spend hours online rather than visiting a relative, learning someone’s story or creating something meaningful, or experiencing the world. We’ll chat with a friend about work, relationships, or the latest episode of The Bachelor, but we won’t talk about how grateful we are simply that they exist in our lives. And we won’t use the technology created to make us feel more connected to actually… connect. As a group of last year’s troubadours so aptly put it, we are the Battery Human.

I feel so passionately about making the most of the time we’re given, knowing it could all be taken away tomorrow. So, at the risk of defying social normalcies and at the risk of having it trampled, I put my heart out openly to anyone who enters my life, and give it freely to those who stay. It’s taken a beating over the years, and it’s probably got a few more battle scars to come, but at least, at the end of it all, I can say I lived without reserve. I used up all the love I had and spread it to everyone who mattered. Because what good is having amazing people in your life if you never let them know how you feel? If your best friend, or a beloved relative were to be gone tomorrow, if they’ve had any sort of impact on your life at all, if they’ve ever been there for you through something tough, or if they’ve ever encouraged to believe in yourself or follow a dream… the best way to say thank you is to just be transparent. Pour your heart out to your loved ones and let them know how much they mean. Someone did this for me, recently, and it left me  speechless; every gratitude I couldn’t voice in words bundling together to launch in streams from my eyes instead. A dear Internet friend I’ve yet to meet in person did it again today. Words truly cannot do justice to the feeling of warmth and appreciation I felt in reading these posts. People don’t do that, these days; they don’t tell each other they’re loved. People keep their hearts in cages locked tightly by the fear of what other people may think. And to see someone offer such displays of friendship and emotion felt incredible, and I was left with a sense of deep gratitude, of worth, of true blessing, and a sense that I want absolutely everyone I care about to feel the very same way. They say that to the world, you may be one person, but to one person, you may be the world. If there’s anyone like that in your life, why not take a moment to tell them?

I hope my friend continues his dream of being best friends with everyone in the world. If you have a friend, why not give them the very best you can? I hope he continues to use the word “love” more in everyday life, too. I’m going to try to do the same. People may be scared to use it, but I don’t think anybody in the world wouldn’t appreciate feeling… appreciated.

Vignettes

I’ve been pretty absent over the last week or two. The last little while has been brimming with laughter, tears, frights, delights, and of so much activity I haven’t had time to write – so I think the best thing to do is sum it all up in snapshot form. Let’s start with Christmas. It was our first as a married couple, and I’d had lots of tips offered from all over the blogosphere as to how to spend it, for which I was really thankful. A good point was raised – that now is the time to start our own traditions as well as continuing some we’d grown up with – which was interesting, since our childhood Christmases couldn’t have been spent more differently! We both agreed, especially since we hadn’t had any time off work since the wedding, that it was important to make time for the two of us, so we began on Christmas Eve starting a tradition I hope will continue. It was an idea of Sweet’s, which I thought was absolutely fantastic: cooking as many Christmas dinners as we could together, packaging them all up with cutlery, insulating the lot and driving around some of the “bad areas” of the city looking for people on the streets going hungry. We drove through downtown, the words of Fairytale of New York filling the car, a stack of dinners piled on my knees. It was -26°C that night, the wind bitter and the streets slick with ice. We ended up at what’s commonly known as one of the scarier street corners in the city, and ended up giving away everything we had. I know it’s a dangerous thing to do, but we took precautions. We stayed together. And the chance to make someone’s Christmas Eve a little more bearable was worth it. I held on to his arm tightly as we approached people queuing outside shelters, people under the influence, people huddled in doorways… it was a heartbreaking, terrifying, eye-opening experience, and I think it’s important to acknowledge that we are all so incredibly lucky just to have a roof over our heads over the holiday season, and even more lucky to be able to have someone to give a gift or a card to. We can get so wrapped up (pardon the pun) in ideas of presents, of family dinners, of decorations and of BBC Christmas specials that it can often go unnoticed that there are people living in the very same city for whom Christmas is just another day without food, warmth, friends or family – and I’m really proud of Sweet for wanting to spend Christmas Eve doing something small to acknowledge that. I hope this is a tradition we can continue over the years.

Christmas itself was just about perfect. We slept in a little, exchanged gifts (any girl whose husband buys her a levitating TARDIS is a lucky lady indeed!), ate a wonderful lunch with my Dad and stepmum, Skyped with my Nan (and watched her open pictures and videos from the wedding – magical), watched Dumbledore in Doctor Who, visited my new in-laws (who were incredibly kind and generous!), and spent the evening together, as husband and wife, just curled up with a warm drink, a cuddly cat, ’80s sci-fi Schwarzenegger movies and The Nightmare Before Christmas. It was fantastic.

This was also the first year in many that I’d had to work between Christmas and the new year. Which was pretty rubbish. The rest of my department were all on holiday, leaving me responsible for all 30 participants in our program, which on a regular day would be out in the field, either job searching or providing housekeeping/snow shovelling services to seniors. However, it was decided that instead, during the days I’d be the sole member of staff, I would keep all of them in and teach them computer skills and resume/interview techniques. Now, I recognised what was happening immediately as a case of “be careful what you wish for” – number fifteen on my list for this year was to “teach a full class of people without shaking with nervousness and actually be excited about doing it.” I was being handed the opportunity to do exactly that. I spent the two days prior carefully collecting information, building activities and curriculum, and arrived the morning of to a full class. I was in a noisy computer lab, so I, soft-spoken by nature, had to learn to project. I’d grabbed the wrong PowerPoint file, so I also had to learn how to wing it. I had to answer difficult questions, so I had to learn how to think on my feet. But you know what? I got exactly what I wished for. I can now say I had the experience of a real teacher – and I came out the other side. I stepped out of the building after two days of instruction and literally SKIPPED, clapping as I got into the car. I took people from not knowing what a mouse was to being able to type, e-mail, attach resumes, answer real-world questions, and hopefully, be that much better equipped for success. I definitely don’t want to be  in front of people full-time. But I’m happy I tried. 🙂

One of my closest and best friends in the whole world was in town for the holidays, and I was so beyond thrilled to see him after being able to communicate only by text and Skype for months that I made sure I was at the airport the second he arrived in Winnipeg! We spent numerous nights over the last couple of weeks catching up, each time cramming everything we’d missed over the last few months into four or five hour conversations. I even got to play matchmaker for the first time, which didn’t work out too badly at all! 🙂 I hate that some of the people who mean the most to me have to live so far away, but I’ve come to learn that distance doesn’t have to mean the end of a friendship – it can be the fuel to keep it growing even stronger. I’ve also learned that absence truly does make the heart grow fonder, and to cherish the time you can actually spend together in person.

It’s 2011! New Year’s Eve was spent celebrating birthdays, watching Harry Potter, eating gourmet burgers, and ringing in the new year dancing with a wonderful group of friends in a living room to Stevie Wonder’s Superstition. It was brilliant. I didn’t make resolutions, since I’ve still got a few things left on the 26 Before 26 – hopefully in 5 months time, I’ll be able to say I stuck to them all – or at least attempted them. 🙂

Happy New Year everybody! I can’t wait to catch up with you all soon, and I sincerely hope this year is your best one yet. 🙂

2010: Brilliance

It’s that time of year again, when December’s warm embrace starts to loosen, and the frosty, fresh face of January peers its head around the corner, reminding us all that this year is coming to a close. Along with gifts of all shapes and sizes, the highs, lows, challenges, victories, and experiences of the year get packaged up too, to be stored in the vault of memory, ready to be reminisced at a future date with  nostalgia. 2010 has been nothing short of brilliant, as too have years past – and though the colour may fade a little with every passing sunset, as the present moves further into the past, the edges becoming that little bit blurrier – my collection of memories is growing ever bigger, and ever more full of fondness.

2010 has, hands down, been the most amazing year of my life. I want to gather up every part of it and chronicle it forever – I’ve never seen so much of the world, felt so passionate, so determined, so comfortable with myself, and so on the right path. I’ve never felt such enormous change, met such wonderful people, or felt such friendship and love. I’ve never been so blessed. This year had its ups and downs. Some people’s chapters in my life ended this year, and some just began. Some changed dynamic, some grew, some withered, but it all happened for a reason, and I’m a firm believer that it’s a good one. The Universe played an enormous part in 2010 and I can’t wait to see what it brings in the days that lay ahead. 2010 was a year of growth, and has fuelled me to keep trying desperately to keep going, keep slapping fear in the face, keep trying to learn more and be more and leave more of a positive impact in my little corner of the globe. 2010 was a year of determination and brilliance.

Highlights of this year include:

  • January: Travelling to the Dominican Republic with Sweet, escaping the Arctic conditions that are Winnipeg at this time of year, sunbathing under palm trees and swimming with dolphins
  • February: A whirlwind trip to Toronto for just over 24 hours, where we explored the city entirely on foot, ate beer-coated chips, reminisced with old friends and queued up with a hundred other devoted Mumford and Sons fans outside an intimate venue, buzzing on the electric passion and energy that coarsed the veins of everyone there while we witnessed one of the most magical concerts I’ve ever seen
  • March: Learning to let go, have faith, and have amazing things delivered in return
  • April: Getting published for the first time in a glossy print magazine! Singing for the Internet. Quite possibly experiencing the most unlikely of unfortunate events, leading to potentially the grossest story ever? Taking a Creative Writing class which led me to reading my work in a public bookshop!
  • May: The next chapter in the Tattoo Saga. Sucking it up and trying to go ahead with the cover up, having my back go into uncontrollable spasms, and being insulted and yelled out of the shop. But… led somewhere else, somewhere that will eventually make this something beautiful, and for now, something that’s unfinished, but more importantly not what it was initially. I also took a leap of faith and posted something controversial about blogging, explaining why I refuse to subscribe to what’s commonly seen as the “right” way to be a blogger.
  • June: I hosted two radio shows and shared my favourite music across actual airwaves. I watched England lose at the World Cup, but spend weeks in flags and facepaint at British pubs with all the other expats and loved every second. I celebrated 2 glorious years with Sweet, met some amazing people, and made the list that’s fuelled the momentum of last six months.
  • July: A big, giant theatre and arts festival came to town, and along with it distant friends from all over who I only get to see once per year. I made it to the final 7 of a national wedding competition, and had the support of the entire blogosphere. This month, I felt truly, truly blessed.
  • August: ENGLAND! Home, glorious home. I spent 9 days trekking across the country with Sweet, visiting family and friends, showing off my home, seeing places old and new, and making some of the best memories of my life. I also found out we’d won the competition, and with it, a trip of a lifetime. 🙂
  • September: The Great Chicago Blogger Meetup. I spent a whirlwind three days with some incredible people in a breathtaking city, and loved every second.
  • October: We hosted a massive Friends Thanksgiving, everyone cooked, shared, laughed, played games, and it was fantastic. I decided to shelf the past, that I’m a proudly nicheless blogger, and learned why being an introvert is perfectly okay.
  • November: I learned about the dangers of perfectionism, and took a massive, scary leap into something terrifying yet thrilling – musical theatre.
  • December: I got married to the man that’s stood by my side through ups, downs, and everything in between. The man that’s helped me see the world in a new light and inspired me to be a better person. The man that I’ll still be holding hands, watching Star Trek and kitchen dancing with forty years from now. The man I am proud to call my husband.

I think it’s been a pretty epic year! No, it wasn’t without its challenges – I almost had no job, got attacked by cyber trolls, fell out with my best friend, went into debt, got a messed up tattoo, became the subject of gossip, worried about the health of dear family members, stressed myself silly with worry, and fell down a flight of stairs almost breaking my arm a week before the wedding… but the tough things that are the biggest proponents of introspection, reflection, and action plans. Everything worked out… because I think maybe the Universe listens when you choose determination over self-pity. I leave 2010 with excitement for the next year, and incredible gratitude for this one – and with the hope that 2011 will be even better. 🙂

Merry Christmas, to every single one of you – so many of you have brought so much joy to this year, and for that I am truly thankful. May your holiday weekend be full of happiness, friendship and love.  What themes ran throughout your 2010, and what were your highlights?

Gift Giving

It’s the holiday season, and I’m sure most of us have spent the last few weeks scouring shops and websites in hopes of finding the perfect present that will undoubtedly light up the face of a loved one come Christmas Day. Gifts of all sizes are wrapped in pretty paper and adorned with ribbons and bows, and tucked under a warmly glowing tree for safe keeping, until the day arrives when they get to do their job: make someone’s day. Gift-giving has undoubtedly been on many minds these last few weeks, and I’ve seen no shortage of wishlists floating around the blogosphere – but today, I want to address something else related to gifts: those which were given to us at birth.

In some way or another, we are all gifted. Some of us are fantastic listeners, great writers, artists, or musicians. Some of us understand chemicals and equations, or the inner workings of technology, and some of us are born to sing or spread a message throughout the world. Some of us are born to be on the stage, and some of us allow our imaginations to soar onto the pages of books published by the million, working their way into the hearts of a generation. Let’s think about that for a second – because there are so many of us out there who’ve written about hopes and dreams and secret passions, yet used fear and excuses to not explore and develop them. “But what if I’m not good enough?” has become something of a mantra throughout the collective consciousness, resulting in thousands of potential gifts being locked up and hidden away, quashing any potential in the slightest they could have to make this world or someone’s life that little bit better.

I received an e-mail recently from a man whose story I was lucky enough to hear last summer, Patrick Combs. He had an interesting point about worldwide phenomenon Stephenie Meyer*, the biggest selling author of the last two years: she almost didn’t submit Twilight to publishers because she thought her writing wasn’t good enough. [Pause.] Potential irony aside, clearly by taking a leap of faith in offering her gift to the world, she found her calling, made millions, and won over the teenage masses with tales of angst fantasy, romance and adventure. What if dear old J.K. had never allowed Harry Potter to see the light of day? What if she continued to write on trains and in coffee shops, and kept the stories bound in paper journals, only ever given to her children and perhaps a few friends? By choosing to give her gift to the world, she helped a generation move away from their Playstations and fall in love with reading all over again. Patrick had further interesting points:

Five years ago I had a strong sense that I wanted to be a speaker and I became one. But now I’m back to wondering what I should TRULY be doing with my life, and now the ‘What to do with my life?’ question seems more important than ever. First off, the panic I’ve felt this week stems from a deep seated fear: Fear of missing my calling.

Wouldn’t it be awful to miss your calling? What could be worse? Also, I’m certain that “success” isn’t what I’m after. Simply reaching the top is not what I’m out to do. I’m out to give the gift I was meant to give – whether doing so ultimately makes me rich, middle class, or poor. Famous, notable, or unknown. Getting to the top of your field can’t be as important as becoming what you were put on the planet to become. Fulfilling your calling has to be the peak of the pyramid. Giving your gift – the one gift you can and were born to give – must be the ticket.

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I’ve seen countless people going through their lives – myself very much included – being held back by feelings of inadequacy. I believe we were all given gifts the day we were born, and we are all drawn toward certain interests, hobbies and passions so we can tap into them, open them up, and give them to the world. Yet so often, they are held hostage, hidden away untouched and unused, and never given the opportunity to shine.

As I’d mentioned, I’ve seen a lot of wishlists floating around in the last few weeks leading up to Christmas. TV boxsets, makeup, gadgets, and mp3 players may result in a smile for a few days, but they are all temporal. Why not choose ones that could last a lifetime? We’ve all had great Christmas presents, and we’ve all had one or two pretty rubbish ones. Why is it that when it comes to a naff Christmas gift, we don’t hesitate in going straight back to Best Buy on Boxing Day to exchange it for something better, yet when it comes to the gifts we’re given in our very souls, we’re perfectly content to accept the useless (fear, anxiety, and self-doubt), and refuse to enjoy the brilliant?  On my wishlist this year, I want to open the great gifts. The ones I want to someday offer to the world through compassion, song, speech and written word. I want to make the choice to accept and recognize them instead of settling for a cheap, half-hearted knock-off tainted by what I’ve settled for for so long.

This Christmas, in the spirit of gift-giving, ask yourself if you’re ready to give yours. Follow those passions and release those fears, do what feels comes naturally, and go after what makes you bubble with enthusiasm. Cultivate your talents, listen to your dreams, and follow your heart. You never know whose Christmas you might end up making the best yet.

* While we’re on the subject of Twilight… (I’m sorry :))

I Got Chills (They’re Multiplying)

Just a quick post to acknowledge the beautiful Matt Cardle, the adorable ex-painter/decorator in plaid shirts and worn-out newsboy caps, my pick from the very first auditions, who just won The X Factor! This boy has the most beautiful, haunting voice I’ve ever heard in my life – I seriously got chills all over every time he opened his mouth. A-mazing. Congrats to the best contestant ever – here’s hoping we don’t get another festive civil war and he manages Christmas Number One this Sunday!



That’s Entertainment

At the end of every year, I like to make a visit to a little site called Blurb.com. If you’re not familiar with it, it’s basically a place where you can upload, print and publish professional-looking books. They can be a variety of styles, sizes, hardcover or soft – and at the end of each year, I like to print a copy of my year in blogging. I’ve only been seriously blogging since the latter part of 2009, so the books I have to date may not be the most substantial, but I think 2010 is going to be one I’m excited to add to the shelf. It’ll be a record of an absolute rollercoaster of a year, of new experiences, of firsts, of hopes, dreams, goals, challenges, reflections and observations – but I also want to make note not just of thoughts, but of the day-to-day. Things that filled my days, music I was passionate about, TV that rocked my world, books that changed my life, things that made me laugh so hard my face hurt, words that touched my heart, and moments I want to hold onto forever. Moments that made me feel lucky to be alive. That which inspires passion is important to chronicle. So, some of the things that blew me away this year include:

Creative genius

I’m not a big movie-goer. The thought of going to the cinema fills me more with panic than excitement, and sitting through two hours of having my chair kicked, being distracted by the glare from other people’s phones, and leaving with my wallet $25 lighter isn’t generally my idea of a good time. When it comes to visual entertainment, I’m more a stay-at-home kind of girl. This year has been full of incredibly imaginative movies and TV that have just made me feel proud to be a human being, including the epically intelligent Ashes to Ashes, a series following a gun shot, present-day police officer waking up in the mid-eighties, trying to figure out if she’s gone mad, dead or alive, in a coma, or literally back in time, the finale to which was probably the most intelligent piece of screenwriting I’ve ever witnessed and kept me mesmerised, and firmly on the edge of my seat. Movie-wise, it was the year of special effects and 3D glasses, and the detail in films like Toy Story 3 and Legend of the Guardians was simply breathtaking.

Literary brilliance

Almost a year ago, I made New Year’s Resolutions, and one of them was to get back into reading. I seem to have gone from reading books every day to reading blogs every day, and though I still make time for brain food (I have an entire shelf dedicated to back issues of Psychology Today and Discover magazine), I want to get back into the habit of Real Books. At the beginning of the year, I read Audrey Niffenegger’s follow-up to The Time Traveller’s Wife, Her Fearful Symmetry, and though wildly different, I loved every part of it. Ghost stories amongst a backdrop of my favourite city, Doctor Who references, two parts imagination, one part wonderfully creepy, this novel had me thoroughly captivated from the start. Nick Hornby’s Juliet, Naked was an enjoyable, lighter read following dysfunctional relationships and a lifelong quest fuelled by musical passion, I finally got on the Lovely Bones bandwagon, Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth completely changed my life, and currently, I’m savouring the final Harry Potter book so I can finally see it on the big screen!

Spine-tinglingly talented musicians

I loved Mumford and Sons the moment I first heard them, and seeing them perform an intimate venue halfway across the country, playing songs that stirred my soul, while proclaiming how humbled and honoured they were to have sold out in a country they hadn’t released any music to yet. Knowing that every person in that space had discovered this incredible music through word of mouth, and became so passionate about it they queued out in the cold and bought so many tickets they had to move venues was just refreshing, and the atmosphere of being a part of something so amazing was just electric.

2010 was also the year of the ‘nu-folk’ movement in the UK, with bands like this taking centre stage, coupled with banjos, mandolins and accordions. Suddenly, countryfolk were as popular as the Black Eyed Peas, and the masses were exposed to real musicianship and literary lyricism. A girl of 20 by the name of Laura Marling exploded onto the world stage with the album I Speak Because I Can – a stunning collection of heart-wrenching, poetic songs tales that delve into haunting stories filled with beautiful words and melody; sounds ranging from the frenzied, supernatural, old-world gypsy-esque “Devil’s Spoke” (with the fabulously determined “all of this can be broken, take your devil by his spoke and spin him to the ground“) to the beautiful “Rambling Man” (“beaten, battered and cold, my children will live just to grow old, but if I sit here and weep, I’ll be blown over by the slightest of breeze”) reminiscent of Joni Mitchell. The epic “Hope in the Air” is pure, chilling, sumptuous storytelling at its absolute finest, and continues to give me goosebumps with every listen (“our hearts are small and ever thinning, there is no hope ever of winning, so why fear death? Be scared of living“). Not all is high drama – if you’re looking for something to play your sweetheart one cold winter’s night, try “Rest in the Bed“, and allow beautiful words to express a sentiment of love (“there lies a man of my heart, a fine and complete work of art, here, I his woman, his home, and his heart, and proud to be playing that part“).  If you’re hooked by haunting melodies, exquisite lyrics and truly intelligent musicianship, don’t hesitate another second before adding this to your collection.

Entertainment this year was pretty fantastic, I must say, and 2010 was filled with great, clever imagination from all sides. Here’s hoping next year’s just as stimulating, inspiring, and impressive – full of things that make you proud to be a member the human race.

What were some highlights of the entertainment world for you in 2010?



Indie Kids Get Early Christmas Presents… again

About this time last year, I wrapped up a selection of indie Christmas tunes for all you lovely people (somehow the link’s still active!), and since music is very dear to my heart, I thought I’d grab a load of new ones and share another festive package to put on in the background while you’re decking the halls and putting up the tree. 🙂 This one starts off with the new Coldplay Christmas record, Christmas Lights, which is just lovely (and another total anthem), with a few fun alternative holiday records thrown in – and it all fits on a standard blank CD. Just click the image to download. Enjoy! 🙂

1.  Coldplay – Christmas Lights
2. The Wombats – Is This Christmas?
3. Slow Club – Christmas TV
4. Manic Street Preachers -Ghost of Christmas
5. Travis – Colder
6. No Use for a Name – Fairytale of New York
7. Kill It Kid – Just Like Christmas
8. Goldfrapp – Winter Wonderland
9. Smashing Pumpkins – Christmastime
10. The Raveonettes – The Christmas Song
11. Tom Jones and Catatonia – Baby, It’s Cold Outside
12. Gustavo Santaolalla – De Ushuaia A La Quiaca
13. The Darkness – Christmas Time (Don’t Let The Bells Ring)
14. A Change of Pace – Christmas on the Coast
15. Hunks and Friends – The Magic of Christmas
16. Fleet Foxes – White Winter Hymnal
17. Esterlyn – Christmas Time
18. Lindstrom – Little Drummer Boy
19. Rufus Wainwright – Spotlight on Christmas
20. The Fire Apes – Last Christmas
21. Joshua Radin – Winter
22. The Hooves – A Hooves Christmas
23. Danny Elfman – Christmas Eve Montage

NB: If you enjoy the tunes, please support the artists by purchasing their music 🙂

The Hazards of Cyberlife: On the Loss of Social Conscience, and Living in the Age of Trolls

A couple of weeks ago, some of you will know that I experienced what I consider to be a massive violation of privacy. This involved someone creating a false name and e-mail address in an effort to solicit a password to a protected post, and then proceeding to share said post publicly with influential people, and make empty threats of invented consequence solely to scare and intimidate. My argument was always that it was never public. Said post wasn’t even that bad – it was my simply my own opinion, in my own space, shared with people of my choosing – in the same manner in which one may share thoughts verbally with a coworker, in a quiet corner of the office lunch room. It’s not the same thing as standing on a podium with a loudspeaker at the next staff meeting, advertising how you really feel about your benefits package, paycheque, or supervisor’s wardrobe. Password-protecting a post, intending never to offend, but to share an opinion, seemed like a pretty safe way to express myself. But in the age of the Internet, it seemed I was couldn’t have been more wrong.

This situation really got me thinking. Over the last few years, as the power of Facebook, blogging, and other social media has increased its stranglehold on society, I’ve experienced my fair share of cyber-attacks, ranging from online stalking to identity theft to explosions of slander and hate mail. And lately, a new specimen of online pest seems to be breeding: the troll. I’ve seen incidents all across the blogosphere – kind, sincere people becoming victims of the most cowardly form of bullying there is. Genuine hearts on sleeves being attacked by the Anonymous Commenter who has nothing better to do than prey on people, either when they’re experiencing something awesome (in an endeavour to bring them down), or when they’re going through something tough (in a spiteful attempt to break them). Our generation has one enormous factor affecting it that was nonexistent twenty years ago: The Internet.  And the psychological and societal effects of being so interconnected – whether good or bad – are nothing short of fascinating.

I remember, years ago, going through a breakup. I was pretty down, and I quickly learned that heartache was one of the most effective forms of troll bait. In this case, it was the circle of friends of The Ex, who swarmed on my newly single Facebook page, and proceeded to send a barrage of spiteful e-mails telling me I was the worst thing that ever happened to their friend, and that I should go back to England, “because nobody wants me in this country anyway”.  Looking back, it’s interesting – would these boys carry out this behaviour if we were to have run into each other on the street, face to face? There’s no way of fully proving an alternate scenario of the past, but I’d place a pretty strong bet on no. Another incident happened in the spring. A friend of said Ex was in one of the same social circles as a friend of mine, who told me that (four years after the breakup), this friend was still spouting off to anyone who’d listen what a “psycho” I was. And had created a fake Facebook account with stolen pictures from my old MySpace page, stuck my name on it, and proceeded to write bitchy comments on her own page, AS ME, to prove her point.  Why is it that when personal interaction and consequence is removed, so are people’s social boundaries? Without accountability for their actions, people will say and do all sorts of appalling things – simply because they can be anonymous. What does this say about people?

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This leads me to a news story that was big on UK radio last week, and hit local newspapers yesterday: Cyberbullying. 15-year-old kids committing suicide after being threatened on Facebook. Children being terrified to go to school. 13-year-olds photos being stolen from Facebook, photoshopped onto naked bodies and put on porn sites. There is no law that recognizes cyberbullying as a crime, and nothing police can do. And people are realising that something needs to be done. I remember going to school almost fifteen years ago and hearing the news that a fellow student had been stabbed by another. I remember how terrifiying it was, thinking that someone in our midst was capable of murder. But when these people can get to you outside the real world, online, where you can be targeted in your own home – there’s no escape. They’re not just in your face, they’re in your own personal free time, in your own personal space. And, thanks to the new generation of mass interconnectivity, it can overtake someone’s life to the point where the preferred alternative is death.

What about the trolls that exist on the plethora of forums and public spaces across the web? The ones who spend their evenings scouring YouTube for music videos, of contestants on X Factor or people in their homes, singing some song for the pure joy of it, and take immense satisfaction from leaving the most spiteful comments they can. YouTube comment channels are some of the most negative places I’ve visited online, and it blows my mind how anyone can take pleasure from creating hurt and pain to another. Let’s examine the life and thought pattern of such a person for a second. For someone to gain satisfaction and pleasure from inflicting pain and upset on another, it means they either a) have no source of joy in their life, so in order to feel better about themselves, they try and make others more miserable than they are, b) are mentally twisted, disturbed people who have no grip on reality, or c) searching for something over which they can have control; perhaps lacking control of their own life, they hit the jackpot of being able to control something, without consequence, by creating a reaction.  When you frame it like this – are they really worth bothering with the energy of getting upset?

No – think for a second what life must be like, for someone who goes to the lengths of preying on innocent people, taking the time to read their story, creating false or anonymous identities and leaving childish, hate-filled comments. Life must be pretty sad if that’s how you’re choosing to spend your time. And so next time you fall victim to someone’s attempt at causing hurt, remember that. Remember that in real life, they wouldn’t have two balls to knock together to do something similar. Remember how sad their lives must be, and remember how incredibly cowardly this form of childish bullying actually is. And perhaps choose pity instead.

The other thing that fascinates me is that we all know there are people like this out there. We all know the risks of identity theft, personal attack, slander and anonymous hate mail. Yet, even as simple Facebook users, but especially as bloggers, we continue to give the world access to every detail of our lives. What is it about the Internet that demands such open access to every facet of our thoughts, emotions, and life events? Why do we feel the need to broadcast our innermost desires across the entire globe? It has to be a generational thing. There’s a growing form of stigma attached to social networking and online presence, and it’s commonly equated with being modern, forward-thinking, and successful. The more online you are, the more respect you’ll have from the rest of the world. The cooler you’ll seem. I think, in a way, it’s a form of international, mass-scale peer pressure. And that’s a bit of a scary thought. But at the same time, spending such a large chunk of my life online has led to incredible things. It’s led to personal growth, meeting some of the best friends I’ve ever had, free theatre tickets, international trips, and rekindled romance. It’s allowed me to find my own voice, share it with the world, and subsequently tell the genuine from the fake. It’s made me feel close to friends and family in faraway places, and it’s made me feel connected to the rest of the world, in a sense of ongoing community. The Internet has brought about some of the most wonderful events, things, and people of my life, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.

But it’s a relatively new force in human evolution. It’s changed the face of communication, made information available instantly, yet made us more impatient as a result. It’s brought people closer together, but it’s put people at risk of privacy invasion, bullying, and identity theft. It’s a simultaneously strange, awful and wonderful force on humanity, and I think the effects on upcoming generations are going to be very interesting indeed. For now, though, the benefits far outweigh the risks, and I’m going to continue riding this wave of technology. Cybercrime isn’t going to go away – in fact I’m sure this post itself may be pretty effective at drawing some trolls out of the woodwork (how’s it going, 66.90.73.223?) – but I just think it’s important that we recognise it for what it really is: incredibly cowardly endeavours by people with the emotional intelligence of a five year old trying to get a reaction, hidden away behind their computer screens. People who have no say or influence over your life, whose own lives are probably pretty void of happiness, integrity, and purpose. And that’s not really worth paying too much attention to at all.

Bodies

No, this isn’t a post about the giant exhibition that’s currently in town. I was seriously intrigued by Bodies when I saw the posters all over everything, and after reading about how incredible it was, I really wanted to check it out – and then I read somewhere that the bodies were actually Chinese torture victims, my moral compass started spinning wildly, and my brain reigned out over my wallet faster than I could make it to the closest Ticketmaster outlet. So no, this is not a post about Bodies. It’s about mine, and all the different stuff that seems to be going on with it lately.

Firstly – let’s talk fitness. I’ve never been a Gym Girl – I think my longest relationship with a gym was when I first started my current job, which happens to be about 5 blocks away from one. I signed up, and probably went a grand total of three times before cancelling the membership (5 months later). The girls there were more made up than I am on New Year’s Eve, everyone seemed to be an expert on every piece of machinery, and, not one to wear my glasses in public at the best of times, I felt like a prize n00b hovering in and squinting over people’s shoulders trying to read the instructions. But on my birthday, I added a whole bunch of “get fit” resolutions to my list, and I must say I think I’m doing okay! In the last few weeks, in full last-minute-wedding-crunch attempts to fit into my (very tightly fitted) dress, I’ve been on the treadmill pretty much every other day. It’s been a great way to spend the evening post-work and pre-dinner – Sweet gets home at about 7:30, which leaves me a couple of hours to get very sweaty, very ugly, and very exhausted, all the while watching shameless guilty-indulgence wedding porn. (Current addiction: Don’t Tell The Bride) Now, in my running endeavours, I have noticed a few things:

1. I don’t think I’ll ever be A Runner. In much the same way in which I get frightfully bored within the first two minutes of sitting in a bubble bath, I get equally as bored stuck on a treadmill. I think I’ve figured out that the more often you glance at the display, the slower time seems to go, but I still can’t keep my eyes off it. I know it’s only been thirty seconds since I last looked, and I’ve probably burned less than half a calorie, but for some reason I keep checking. Which makes it even more long and even more boring.

2. My motivation may have increased tremendously in recent weeks, but it doesn’t mean the same turnaround has affected my endurance. I have the same pattern now as I did six weeks ago: power walk half a lap, run half a lap, power walk half a lap, run half a lap, jump off the belt for a few seconds to gulp down some water, power walk some more, and then sprint really hard to try and shave a few more seconds off the last time it took me to run a mile. ONE MILE. I think I did 1.25 once, and my knees hurt for days afterwards, and I promptly went back to my senior citizen ways and continued running my single mile.  I want to be able to at least do two, or at least RUN the whole mile instead of taking breaks to power walk, but my endurance hasn’t improved at all. I still get exhausted within minutes and the thought of doing it all over again once I hit 4 laps just smacks my hopes and dreams in the face, off the treadmill and onto the floor where I proceed to collapse for a couple of minutes, and then do a few crunches.

3. I’ve decided to sod the back pain, suck it up and just DO abdominal exercises lately. It’s an absolute killer, but I refuse to let it be the reason I gain weight around my middle. Because I’m so small-framed naturally, any weight goes directly to my stomach area and looks horribly bulgey, so I really need to get on this. I’ve been doing 30-40 side crunch things (can you tell I’m not an exercise person?) where you twist into your leg when you sit up after each mile ran. And this is pretty much my exercise routine.

Now, I’m proud I’ve been able to actually stick to this, however beginner, for the first time in my life. But I’ve also noticed absolutely zero change in terms of weight. I fluctuate between 102 and 106 pounds on a daily basis and this has not been affected in the slightest by my exercising. I think maybe that means this is the weight I’m supposed to be at – going any lower would be unhealthy. But I have twelve days (!!) in which I need to stay this exact size to fit into my wedding dress. I’m thrilled it’s finally finished, and hanging from the rafters – but it is very tight on. So much so I couldn’t bend down to put my shoes on at the fitting. I’m still wondering how I’m going to sit for dinner.

Now, I just realised I’d said “First, let’s talk fitness”. I also realise I’ve just taken up a good chunk of your time talking about what a running n00b I am. So, very briefly, I’ve noticed several other things regarding my body lately. Secondly: my skin. It’s so bad that when Sweet asked me for “peanut oil” for a recipe last week, I asked him if he wanted me to blot a sponge all over my face and squeeze it into the pan. I am SHINY AND GROSS, and nothing seems to work at curbing it short of covering my face in clay and drying out every pore (along with the ability to create facial expressions).  I can’t have a decent hairstyle, because any part of hair that falls on my face gets covered in grease which makes me look like Kevin the Teenager. I cleanse, tone and moisturise daily (because apparently NOT moisturising results in even MORE oil being produced), but I’d love to hear from anyone else having this problem well into their twenties what actually works!

Thirdly, I should probably mention my back. Yes, it still hurts. Yes, I still plan on getting a 30-hour cover up tattoo on it. And yes, I am now the proud owner of my very own TENS machine, which has resulted in me being hooked up to a series of electrodes having my muscles zapped into spasm while watching EastEnders after tea. I’d had something similar when I had coverage for was seeing a physiotherapist last year, and I hated every second of it, being left sitting under a chunk of hot clay while my muscles jerked around involuntarily all down my back, but apparently it was therapeutic. And, as much of a wuss as I am, I’m going to keep trying this one. Even if I can only manage it once every other week.

So, in summary, my body seems to be somewhat of a hodge-podge of progress and defiancy these days. But I’m working on it. Any tips on any of the above would be hugely appreciated! 🙂

BIG NEWS: Someone has stolen the real Emily. Apparently, I’m in GLEE…

Firstly, I need to extend an enormous thank you to the absolute army of support you all offered over the insanity that stemmed from my last post. Thank you for standing up for me, sticking by me, and offering proverbial shoulders to cry on – words cannot express my gratitude for the friendship and support you showered upon me following the downright vicious behaviour of some anonymous coward who had nothing better to do than try and destroy my wedding, and reputation. Seriously, it amazes me how people will not simply cross the line of acceptable behaviour, but run in leaps and bounds over it simply because they can be anonymous. I think there’s actually an equation for this sort of thing. It baffles me, but also says volumes about their life and character. The good news is that the attempt failed miserably, and everything is 100% okay (although credit should be given for exceptional cowardice, supreme saboteurial spirit, and general trollishness). Your kind words and support throughout the whole debacle were appreciated enormously, the wedding is most definitely still on, and I think we’re actually in a better, stronger place now than we were even a week ago.

Now, it’s a new week, and I’d like nothing more than to slam the door shut on the last one, and enter this one with brighter spirits – and some fun news. Last week, I did something crazy. I was checking something or other on Facebook, when I was accosted by a little sidebar advertisement that stole my attention, a beat of my heart, and soon enough, $300. I know Facebook advertising is targeted in all sorts of clever ways to your interests, your habits, topics you mention (although why I keep getting weight loss ads I’ll never know), but this little ad seemed to have read my blog five months ago when I declared I wanted to learn to sing, dance and perform – and made me sign up for Glee club.

We have a handful of theatres in the city, and Prairie Theatre Exchange always offers great shows. It’s a fabulous venue, home to countless wonderful performances I’ve seen over the years, and also offers acting classes to teens and adults. Now, this is me we’re talking about here – the girl who runs kicking and screaming out the nearest window at the mere mention of public speaking, let alone performing. But over the last few months, I’ve been a little more accomodating to my inner desire of being able to perform.  Taken a couple of singing classes. Shamelessly attempted to learn the Bad Romance choreography off  YouTube in my living room. Read my writing out loud in a public bookshop.  But this is a whole new level. I had just signed up for the next fifteen weeks for real musical theatre classes. I was going to be thrust into a group of adults, many of whom have musical training and acting experience, where I would be learning to sing showtunes and taught actual choreography. Oh, the the cherry on top? There’ll be a public performance at the end of the course. In the actual theatre. Cabaret-style. For EVERYONE to see.

This isn’t me. This is my inner dreamer, who seems to have jumped on board and stolen the reigns while the inner critic was on coffee break, and signed me up for something I’ve always wanted but been too afraid of. This isn’t just public speaking. This is high risk of total embarrassment territory. But this is also exactly what I do when I have the house to myself for a couple of hours on a Friday night. I crank up the music. I belt it out regardless of whether or not I can hit the notes. I dance down my stairs as if I were making a big entrance on a Broadway stage and I imagine it going brilliantly. And in my dreams, it does. Not in real life!!

In the five months or so that I’ve been tackling this list, I’ve been lucky enough to have received a lot of encouragement. I’ve also been recipient of a certain amount of questioning. Why are you doing this? If you’re not naturally good at something, why would you put yourself through the discomfort of doing things that scare you?  Bravery will only get you so far, but there are more important things in life. Why don’t you stick to what you’re good at?

To which my (internal) response has always been: Why the bloody hell not? I’m at a point in my life where I’m no longer embarrassed to admit that I spent most of my adult life ruled by fear. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s no longer something I’ll try to hide. I had an interesting talk with someone after X Factor last week after they saved one contestant who’d been in the bottom two almost half a dozen times. “But she’s a fame whore!” she said, “they should have got rid of her!” I told her firstly not to believe everything you read in the papers. So what if she slept with a couple of famous people to try and get famous? That’s in the past – now she’s at the point where she’s making an honest, dedicated effort every single week, facing the nation that’s slapping stories about her being a “whore” all over the place, and chasing after her dream. Just because she may have made mistakes in the past doesn’t mean that’s who she is today. What if I went on X Factor, I asked her, and one of my ex-boyfriends went to the press and said I was some crazy psycho who needs psychological help. What if that was the image the nation had of me? Would it make it true today? No. Everyone makes mistakes. It’s choosing not to keep making them that makes us better. I think the best we can be is when we decide to let go of the past and focus on creating the best possible present as the best possible person we can be in this very moment. Just make a choice to live the right life, and start doing it.

That’s what this year has been all about for me. That’s what this list is all about. Hopefully in seven months time I will be able to look back, and maybe I won’t have achieved everything on it. But I want to be able to say I tried. To be able to say I made the choice, when it came down to fight or flight, to not choose fear. To be able to have courage and guts, and not take myself so seriously, not spend so much time trying to perfect things that I miss out on growth and adventure. So on Saturday, I had my first musical theatre class. What I loved most of all was that in every song I ever thought was too high for me to sing, there was a part for me. We got to choose which range we felt most comfortable in, and even if it wasn’t the direct melody, it was still just as valuable and helped in creating something beautiful when everyone sang together. I even learned a DANCE!! Every Saturday from now until March (save perhaps Christmas, and one in early December) I will be in musical theatre. And even if I fall flat on my face, it’ll be a challenge. It’ll be fun. It’ll be the scariest thing I could imagine and it’ll push me to my absolute limit. And I think, for right now anyway, that’s exactly what life should be made of. 🙂

The Disease of Perfectionism

Recently, I had one of those “Message from the Universe” moments. You know, when you encounter the same message repeatedly in a plethora of different situations all within a relatively short time frame? I love it when this happens. This time around, I was at singing class, having just finished what must have been my 8th or 9th attempt at getting this one bar of music down. I don’t read music, and I don’t know what the different notes mean with regards to tempo, so I was struggling a little with this one bar. I’d got it right first time, but in every subsequent attempt, I found myself getting stuck at the same point. Overthinking it, overprocessing, frantically trying to figure it out, panicking as the melody caught up and overtook my internal efforts, resulting in messing it up each and every time. After a few goes, I think I got it, but my coach said something at the end that began the theme of the next few days:

“Perfection is never the goal. When you think about it too much, you stop learning – you should trust your instincts more, because they’re right!”

I went off into the night, that sentiment floating around my mind, and thought no more of it until the very next day, when an article forwarded to me by a friend sat in my inbox, entitled The Disease of Perfectionism.  How aptly timed (and, if I may say, how very Borg!). I immediately opened it, and was intrigued by the first few lines: “It’s amazing that people admit to being perfectionists. To me, it’s a disorder, not unlike obsessive-compulsive disorder. And like obsessive-compulsive disorder, perfectionism messes you up.”

I’ve seen a lot of “Protesting Perfect” blog posts floating about lately, which I think originated at this wonderful one,  and it’s made me really happy to see so many people recognising that we don’t NEED to be perfect, and taking a stand against it. Not only acknowledging, but embracing our imperfections for what they are – part of who we are. One man’s flaw, after all, is another man’s perfection.  Take a look around. If a friend of yours said something silly, tripped over their shoelaces, or stated an incorrect fact, would you think less of them? Probably not. You’d both laugh about it in a few minutes, and it’d be something that’s evaporated into the past, barely even remembered by the same time tomorrow. So why are we so afraid to make mistakes?

“The huge problem with perfectionism is that people stop learning when they’re constantly afraid of being wrong. We learn by making mistakes. The only way we understand ourselves is to test our limits. If we don’t want anyone to know we make mistakes, which is how perfectionists tend to behave, we are actually hiding our true selves.”

When I read those words, I’m pretty sure my heart skipped a beat. How many posts have I written in the last few months about staying true to yourself? About being genuine, regardless of it costing readership, comment counts, or social acquaintances? I think the Universe tried to send me this message once more this week, when I was attending a Journal Therapy workshop put on by one of my best friends. The first exercise was the “5-Minute Sprint”, where we were given a question (a big one, like “Who Am I?”, “Why Am I Here?” etc. – something that would usually demand an awful lot of thought), and had five minutes to write the first thing that came to mind. At first, I panicked – in true introvert fashion, I like to take my time to construct my thoughts and write them well, paying strict attention to flow, grammar and language – but when it came to sharing, I realised I was having another Universe moment, and thought of the above excerpt, and my voice lesson experience. When I think about it too much and focus on being or creating something perfect, I lose the raw, natural essence of it all. By being forced to write instinctively, without giving the inner critic time to catch up, I was allowed to be my true self. So why do I devote so much energy to perfectionism?

The realisation that we only have a finite amount of mental energy has been somewhat of a theme as of late. I am guilty of having spent far too long allowing futile, unproductive, negative thoughts consume my mind. Setting goals is one thing, but beating yourself up every day for not having achieved them on the journey to accomplishment is entirely another. In my job, I make a point of encouraging others to learn at their own pace, offering support and telling them it’s okay if it takes a little while, it’s okay if they make mistakes, that they’ll learn from them, and that they’ll get there in the end. Yet I tell myself the opposite story. There’s no such thing as a learning curve. You need to be good at it now. If you screw up, you’ll look like a failure. You’ll wear your mistakes like a giant badge for all to see and judge.

The act of writing this out forces me to see this ridiculous mantra of hypocrisy and self-created falsehood. Nobody thinks this way, and by choosing to spend time giving power to thoughts like this, I’m robbing myself of authenticity as well as of time that could be spent infinitely more constructively.  I’m spinning my wheels in a frenzy and remaining absolutely stationary. And what’s the point of that?

As I believe everyone has the choice with how they spend their time externally, I always advocate for the fact that everyone also has the choice regarding how they spend their internal thoughts. Inner critics may have worked their way into our minds, entangled and entwined themselves around our every thought, masquerading as reality, but through the simple act of recognition and choice, we can cut the strings. Realise nobody cares if we’re perfect, and all anybody cares about is if we’re real. By focusing and ruminating on being perfect, we lose our true selves. So let’s put an end to it now. If we have imperfections, it’s okay. It makes us human. If we have ones we really dislike, we have the power to work at changing them. We can choose to work hard at being a good person instead of working hard at beating ourselves up for not being perfect. We can choose to spend our time and energy productively, or self destructively. We can learn to see ourselves through the eyes of others, and give ourselves a bit of a break.

Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone has the choice to learn from them. And at the end of the day, simply ask yourself the question: Does anybody really care if you’re not perfect, or if you make a mistake? Imperfections are the source of growth, of learning, of adventure. And most of all, I think, of sincerity.

Kiss me once or twice, maybe I could die happy as a bird

So I know music posts aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, but every once in a while, there’s a track that comes along, stops you in your tracks, and burrows its way into your ears, then your heart, then every fibre of your skin, making every hair stand up straight on the end of a thoroughly haunted and mesmerised goosebump.  This is raw, and beautiful, and I cannot wait to get my hands on this when it comes out. Enjoy. 🙂

A Cinematic Paradigm Shift?

Last week, I did something I rarely do: I went to the cinema. It’s been months and months – I think the last thing I saw on the big screen was Inception, and before that, Avatar (yep, I get out TONNES). Now, anyone who knows me personally knows that patience is not my forte – and the combination of overspending, restraint, ignorant texters, whisperers and chair kickers usually make it an experience I’d gladly avoid. But getting together with friends at 6:30 on a Wednesday night to see a children’s movie turned out to be just the ticket to avoid all of the above.

With a title like Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga’Hoole, it does leave a bit of an impression that this movie could be, as a certain someone delicately put it, “totally lame.” But when I saw the trailer a few months ago, I made a mental note that I was going to see it because I thought it looked fantastic! After an atrocious dinner out (waiting 1.5 hours to get two salads and some chicken fingers, then having to leave without eating so you can MAKE your movie does not give you the right to still charge us, Moxies), we made it with seconds to spare, donned our 3D glasses and set about eating in the dark (way more challenging than it sounds), settling into the opening sequence of the movie.

I’m going to cut to the chase here: this movie was INTENSE!! At the risk of sounding old, I remember the days (oh God) when a PG rating was given to a Disney movie because Aladdin made a sexual innuendo. Today, movies seem to be getting all the more terrifying, being injected with themes way more mature than 9 year olds should be able to understand, and being rated the same thing! Now, I should probably mention the fact that I’m actually all for this. I’m just wondering if it’s a sort of paradigm shift in the cinema – are movies getting scarier and more adult, or are children getting more and more desensitised?

Within minutes of LotG, the audience witnesses two highly adorable baby owls falling out of their tree, landing on the forest floor, and, unable to fly yet, getting kidnapped and taken off to join masses of other young abductees who are given the choice: join their “new family” of “Pure Ones”, or become blinded and enslaved. Pretty upsetting, no? Let’s not get started on the Holocaust allusions – this movie could basically be set in Nazi Germany, following a young hostage trying to escape an evil “King” hell-bent on worldwide racial purification – in the short 90 minutes, we observe brainwashing, torture, and epic, though incredibly gory battle scenes.  It was more than enough to make me upset – which leaves me with the question, am I just behind the times?

What was scary when I was a kid is laughable by today’s standards. The primitive TNG Borg in all their hooded glory, and Daleks with egg whisks and plungers for hands that were clearly being pushed along from behind. Today, kids’ movies are full of uncomfortable, upsetting, and downright scary themes and images, which make you wonder if the world’s senses to scariness have just been numbed. I remember thinking the same thing last summer at Coraline, a movie adapatation of a book by one of my favourite authors.  It was a treat for the fantasy lover in me, and, visually Burtonesque, was something I came away loving. But again with the PG rating: when I was a kid, a movie filled with grotesque images of a child’s father going crazy and melting in the garden, an insectlike creature, pincers literally pointing out of the screen, and a furiously controlling mother who turns into a monster, stealing away children’s souls by replacing their eyes with buttons… well, let’s just say I wouldn’t have been allowed to watch it. Yes, I was the kid who had to wait until she was 12 before watching The Nightmare Before Christmas.

I say I’m all for these scare tactics in family movies and TV shows. And I am. A couple of months ago I wrote about what can successfully deliver a fright, and what’s pretty much the equivalent of horror porn. I can’t stomach traditional scary movies, but I am genuinely affected by themes, hints, and possibilities of the frightening. These days, I’m seeing more and more of it in what are supposed to be “family friendly” – LotG, at times, was downright disturbing. Racial purification and slavery aren’t the most lighthearted of topics, and though watching a bunch of birds in helmets duelling it out is never going to be quite the same as watching Gerard Butler beating up a bunch of Spartans, Zack Snyder has still instilled fear, shock, and visual effects that are nothing short of epic.  You have to wonder though, what kids 15 years younger than me came away with – were they as simultaneously disturbed and thrilled as I was? Are children these days more immune to scare tactics, and what does that say about the future of cinema? I think giving people food for thought by genuinely creating a reaction is a good thing, but I can’t help but wonder where this trend is leading. Am I going to be more scared to go to a movie, fifteen years down the line, than my child?

Back to the Guardians. It was epic, it was visually stunning. The tiniest of details were captured beautifully, and dazzled through the elements leaving you absolutely exhilarated. It was emotional, and it was jam-packed with action, heroism, and an extensive list of Hollywood voices: Jim Sturgess, Helen Mirren, Geoffrey Rush, Hugo Weaving, and – be still my heart – Sam Neill? Count me in. If you’re in the mood for a Tolkien-esque tale of fantasy, adventure, and triumph over evil, I can’t recommend this movie enough.

Revenge of the Introverts

Last month, I went on a great big blogger meetup, in a city far, far away. On top of some amazing experiences with some awesome people, this allowed for one big thing: lots of alone time waiting in airports. I’m usually the sort of person to get bored rather easily – usually demonstrated in any attempt at physical exercise – so my first stop was to the newsagent’s, to stock up on magazines. Secretly, I kind of enjoyed being dressed up in ruffles, rosettes and accessories for once (first impressions, people!) and purchasing a pile of science, technology and psychology magazines, and I spent the remainder of my solitude reading them cover to cover. That’s the great thing about these sorts of magazines – the popular ones are half filled with ads for products you don’t care about, gossip about celebrities you don’t care about, and recycled articles on the same old beauty techniques, weight loss, and sex tips used in every issue of archives past, tweaked for wording and wrapped in a different package to give the impression of fresh material.  Okay for flicking through for ten minutes in a waiting room, perhaps, but not for four hours sans company or entertainment.

These magazines are great for really reading fully, cover to cover, full of interesting facts and insights. I learned about holograms, peak moments in life, technological advances, and even forgiveness after death, but the most interesting thing to catch my attention was an article entitled Revenge of the Introverts. It was the cover story: a picture of a brunette girl, hiding behind her hair, with my eternal inner monologue pasted over her face. How to Thrive in an Extraverted World. Doesn’t this just encapsulate everything I’ve tried to do this year?? This seemed to be a story written for me to read, so of course I had to pick it up.

It was a long article, but it was absolutely fascinating. Written by a therapist, it opened with a confession: the author loved the study of psychology, but hated dealing with people all day long.  “I was perpetually overstimulated, busy decoding everything I took in. Plus, I wondered why I couldn’t tolerate the large caseloads my colleagues took on willingly.”  This is so true for me – I love education, as well as the idea of helping to educate others – but being continually around or in front of people is exhausting and anxiety-inducing, rather than stimulating. At the end of the day I love nothing more than shutting my office door and putting my favourite radio station on – retreating into my own little world.  I’m normal! my brain rejoiced, as it continued to digest the story.

There are plenty of introverts around. It’s just that perceptual biases lead us all to overestimate the number of extraverts among us (they are noisier and hog the spotlight). Often confused with shyness, introversion does not imply social reticence or discomfort. Rather than being averse to social engagement, introverts become overwhelmed by too much of it, which explains why the introvert is ready to leave a party after an hour and the extravert gains steam as the night goes on.

This doesn’t mean us introverts are shy. This means that unlike extraverts, we get our energy from alone time, and too much exposure to people is actually draining. Introverts are collectors of thought. Extraverts are collectors of socialisation. What surprised me, was that according to a national US study, introverts make up 50% of the population. So why does it seem we’re vastly outnumbered by extraverts? The answer could be cultural. “Like individuals,” the article stated, “cultures have different styles. America is a noisy culture, unlike, say, Finland, which values silence. Individualism, dominant in the U.S., promotes the direct, fast-paced style of communication associated with extraversion. Collectivistic societies, such as those in East Asia, value privacy and restraint, qualities more characteristic of introverts.”  But if every other person is an introvert, why doesn’t our cultural tone seem to reflect that?

It’s not just that we overestimate the numbers of extraverts in our midst because they’re more salient. The bias of individuals is reinforced in the media, which emphasize the visual, the talkative, and the sound bite— immediacy over reflection.  “In verbal cultures, remaining silent presents a problem,” reports a study of communication styles in the U.S. and Finland. Perceptions of competence tend to be based on verbal behaviour. An introvert who is silent in a group may actually be quite engaged—taking in what is said, thinking about it, waiting for a turn to speak—but will be seen in the U.S. as a poor communicator.

Is this why I’ve struggled to much with public speaking? Is this why it remains one of the highest ranked fears across the nation – because we’re conditioned to believe that extraversion equals competence and, subsequently, success? Is this why, for years, I believed I wasn’t really worthy of deep relationships and meaningful friendships, because I wasn’t a big speaker, not really good at improvisation or making jokes, or even thinking on the spot to answer simple questions like “how are you?”

Conversation between an introvert and an extravert can involve a series of misunderstandings. As the introvert struggles to follow multiple conversational threads and sort out his own thoughts, he remains quiet and appears to be just listening. The extravert reads that as engagement, a cue to keep talking. The introvert struggles with the continuing flow of input and soon starts to shut out the extravert, while nodding or smiling, or even trying to stop the exchange. Rather than simply answering the  question, an internal dialogue begins, in which the introvert “hears” themself talking internally as the other person speaks.

Even if the introvert responds, “I’m good,” they’re probably still internally reflecting on how they really are. They may evaluate their thoughts and judgment about the day, and even the question itself, wondering why we revert to “good” just because that’s the question, or if the other person even really wants to know. The cognitive load becomes increasingly difficult to manage, as the internal talk competes with the external conversation.  Moreover, while trying to keep the conversation going, introverts may miss social cues, which can  make them appear socially inept. The conversation is also anxiety-provoking, because the introvert feels they have too little time to share a complete thought. They hunger to pull away and give time to the thoughts their brain has generated.

How fascinating is this? A scientifically researched argument for all my years of self-questioning actually being normal enough to constitute half the population. One thing I love about the blogging world is that, contrary perhaps to day-to-day existence, there seem to be a copious amount of introverts. According to the Myers-Briggs personality test (of which I’m a massive fan), my type is supposed to be the rarest of them all. Yet in discussions with other bloggers, I’ve found a good number of people whose type is just like my own. Perhaps, as collectors of thought and lovers of solitude, it provides a safe sense of community where we’re free to take all the time we need to construct our ideas and responses, from the safety of our own isolation. In the blogosphere, we can be successful social communicators and contributors, unaffected by the interruptions, fast pace and expectations of external society.  And perhaps this realisation is just what we need in order to give ourselves a bit of a break once in a while, and embrace who we are in our own skin. It seems we’re not such aliens in our own world after all.