I got laser eye surgery. It is incredible. As a total chicken, I was very nervous but it was actually painless. I had some discomfort for a few days, it felt like dirt in my eyes, but my eyes are fantastic now. I have better than 20/20 vision and my eyes are still "recovering". There are moments late at night when my brain tells me I should take our my contact lenses; if I can see and I am not wearing glasses, I must be wearing lenses. 22+ years of not being able to see is a hard habit to break.
Clear vision is incredible. I am so excited about the snowboarding season, swimming, scuba diving, camping, biking, canoeing and all the other great things I love to do outside without having to worry about losing a contact lens. I can't wait to fall asleep in a tent and being able to see the stars out of the vestibule or sitting on a chair lift watching people below not worrying about getting grit in my eyes. I love watching the snow flakes outside my window and the leaves on ground as I hike the green-belt.
But clear vision is also a metaphor for my life right now. On the day of the surgery I met with a wise woman who asked me what I wanted to see with my new vision. And I know that she wasn't talking about the physical world around me that I can see whenever I want without searching for my glasses, she was talking about me. What do I want to see and what will I focus on? Good questions.
So what am I focusing on? It might sound conceited and selfish, but I am focusing on me. I am taking this opportunity to figure out who I am and what I want to do. I am using my clear vision to try and paint a picture of who I believe I am. Recent experiences have led to others shaping this picture for me, and I started to believe who they thought I was - but I am not that person and I am using my clear vision to remind myself that.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Rebuilding after a storm?
Earlier this week I watched and waited as Sandy took her tool on much of the East. Canada was lucky - New York City and parts of the US coast not so much. As I watched the Twitter feeds, surfed the breaking news and hoped the radio would bring me the latest I was reminded of storm watching when I was a kid.
In Hong Kong, we were frequently hit by typhoons (the Pacific equivalent of a hurricane). Granted, ours never took on the size or power of Sandy, Irene or Rita - but there were still devastating and would cause total shut-downs the most vibrant city in the world. Landslides, beach roads washed away, boats sunk, small children washed out to sea; the power of nature would slowly be revealed, first through massive waves and wind and then by the stillness as you enter the eye of the storm. There is something incredible about sitting in the eye - venturing outside as the world quiets, destruction around you but a stillness as everyone, including the storm, holds their breath. As a small child I was terrified and in awe of these massive storms that would sweep over the tiny little colony.
In Hong Kong in the 80's and 90's there was no internet, there was no way of capturing real-time updates across the city. There was radio. A typhoon was the one time we had the radio on all day, listening to the warning signals, the landslide warnings, the opening of emergency shelters and the exact location of the storm. My family would track it on a laminated map my parents had made, comparing it to the last typhoon and wondering if we would take a direct hit. And then after the hit, we would listen as the world woke up to deal with rebuilding or salvaging. We would drive to the marina and count how many boats had sunk, we would drive past hills that had slipped away or beach roads covered in sand. Despite the wonders of human ingenuity and engineering, nature usually won a few solid points.
When I think about storms these days, I think about the storm metaphors we use. I do think storms are an incredible metaphor for life - these are reminders that we need to be ready, we need to be resilient and that we will be hit, occasionally directly. Storms are an opportunity to rebuild and re-evaluate and I feel that I am in the eye of one right now. I am slowing down, I am looking around me and I am trying to make some life decisions that have been precipitated because of storm-like turmoil. I know things will be messy on the other side as well, but that the opportunity to create something new and better is only possible after a massive storm because we are often given a clean slate. These are hard times, but can be rewarding - reminding you what is important and that we are lucky, so very lucky to come out of the eye.
I miss a good typhoon. I am sure that this is a terrible thing to say as Sandy is still too fresh and there is so much work to be done to rebuild, but it is also a humbling reminder of our place on this planet and how nature can't be controlled. And a kick-in-the-ass reminder to stop taking things for granted and start rebuilding.
In Hong Kong, we were frequently hit by typhoons (the Pacific equivalent of a hurricane). Granted, ours never took on the size or power of Sandy, Irene or Rita - but there were still devastating and would cause total shut-downs the most vibrant city in the world. Landslides, beach roads washed away, boats sunk, small children washed out to sea; the power of nature would slowly be revealed, first through massive waves and wind and then by the stillness as you enter the eye of the storm. There is something incredible about sitting in the eye - venturing outside as the world quiets, destruction around you but a stillness as everyone, including the storm, holds their breath. As a small child I was terrified and in awe of these massive storms that would sweep over the tiny little colony.
In Hong Kong in the 80's and 90's there was no internet, there was no way of capturing real-time updates across the city. There was radio. A typhoon was the one time we had the radio on all day, listening to the warning signals, the landslide warnings, the opening of emergency shelters and the exact location of the storm. My family would track it on a laminated map my parents had made, comparing it to the last typhoon and wondering if we would take a direct hit. And then after the hit, we would listen as the world woke up to deal with rebuilding or salvaging. We would drive to the marina and count how many boats had sunk, we would drive past hills that had slipped away or beach roads covered in sand. Despite the wonders of human ingenuity and engineering, nature usually won a few solid points.
When I think about storms these days, I think about the storm metaphors we use. I do think storms are an incredible metaphor for life - these are reminders that we need to be ready, we need to be resilient and that we will be hit, occasionally directly. Storms are an opportunity to rebuild and re-evaluate and I feel that I am in the eye of one right now. I am slowing down, I am looking around me and I am trying to make some life decisions that have been precipitated because of storm-like turmoil. I know things will be messy on the other side as well, but that the opportunity to create something new and better is only possible after a massive storm because we are often given a clean slate. These are hard times, but can be rewarding - reminding you what is important and that we are lucky, so very lucky to come out of the eye.
I miss a good typhoon. I am sure that this is a terrible thing to say as Sandy is still too fresh and there is so much work to be done to rebuild, but it is also a humbling reminder of our place on this planet and how nature can't be controlled. And a kick-in-the-ass reminder to stop taking things for granted and start rebuilding.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Networks and friends
The best thing that has come from 6-plus years with the Federal Public
Service
has been the people. They are smart and dedicated and really want to
change things. They have great ideas and energy, and they understand why
I am where I am. They are my rock, my guides, they are my reality check
and possibly co-conspirators. Dreaming up ideas is only useful if there
are people who are going to support you, dare you, or point out
why, perhaps, it is actually not a good idea!
No secret - I want to leave. I will leave. I have made up my mind and there is probably very little that will change this in the long-term. The short-term and medium-term are different stories. So what happens in the short-term or the medium-term? I continue to take the space and time for me to figure things out. The process of self-discovery has been hard, it has also been eye-opening. It requires a level of honestly with myself that I am still hesitant to commit to, it requires me to open up and explores my hopes, dreams and failings.
The most important part of this journey so far has been the people. The incredible individuals who have stepped up and provided insight into who they think I am, what I can do and where I can go. They force me see myself as someone other than who I thought I was, and I have been shown the incredible opportunities that are in front of me.
I have mentors out there who have shown me what it means to be a visionary, a leader, and to take an interest and make it into an opportunity. These are people from whom I can learn; people who have experiences from which I can gain, people who have energy and excitement for something be it their day-job, their hobbies, their families, the future, or life itself. These are people in the cubicle next to me, half the world away in a corner office, or riding a bike down a trail somewhere.
I am lucky enough now to have a small support group, a kind of public-servant anonymous; helping each other figure out what to do next. This doesn't necessarily mean leaving for all of us, but we are creating a space where we can each be honest with ourselves and challenge each other with assumptions that we have held about where we can go and the reality of each of our individual situations.
I have an inspiring woman guiding my journey, pointing out when I try and deceive myself with vague notions of who I am. Questioning what I have identified as my personal values; not because they are wrong - but because they are not actually my values. She has helped me see why I react the way I do, what motivates me and who I really am. Did I know these things? Possibly? Was I willing to admit them to myself? No! Would I have shared these things with others? Never.
This network of incredible people can only take me so far. These friends who have stepped up and are willing to be part of this journey cannot carry me, they can challenge me and push my boundaries, but at the end of the day, I am responsible.
Here is the crux - I am afraid of failure. Part of the problem is I have actually never defined what success is and so instead I have tried to live up to others' perceptions of success, which may be appropriate for them but is most definitely not appropriate for me. This incredible group of people around me, my network and my friends are showing me that I need to figure out what being successful means to me and that if I believe in myself, I can probably do anything.
What if I fail? Maybe it doesn't matter - as long as I tired.
No secret - I want to leave. I will leave. I have made up my mind and there is probably very little that will change this in the long-term. The short-term and medium-term are different stories. So what happens in the short-term or the medium-term? I continue to take the space and time for me to figure things out. The process of self-discovery has been hard, it has also been eye-opening. It requires a level of honestly with myself that I am still hesitant to commit to, it requires me to open up and explores my hopes, dreams and failings.
The most important part of this journey so far has been the people. The incredible individuals who have stepped up and provided insight into who they think I am, what I can do and where I can go. They force me see myself as someone other than who I thought I was, and I have been shown the incredible opportunities that are in front of me.
I have mentors out there who have shown me what it means to be a visionary, a leader, and to take an interest and make it into an opportunity. These are people from whom I can learn; people who have experiences from which I can gain, people who have energy and excitement for something be it their day-job, their hobbies, their families, the future, or life itself. These are people in the cubicle next to me, half the world away in a corner office, or riding a bike down a trail somewhere.
I am lucky enough now to have a small support group, a kind of public-servant anonymous; helping each other figure out what to do next. This doesn't necessarily mean leaving for all of us, but we are creating a space where we can each be honest with ourselves and challenge each other with assumptions that we have held about where we can go and the reality of each of our individual situations.
I have an inspiring woman guiding my journey, pointing out when I try and deceive myself with vague notions of who I am. Questioning what I have identified as my personal values; not because they are wrong - but because they are not actually my values. She has helped me see why I react the way I do, what motivates me and who I really am. Did I know these things? Possibly? Was I willing to admit them to myself? No! Would I have shared these things with others? Never.
This network of incredible people can only take me so far. These friends who have stepped up and are willing to be part of this journey cannot carry me, they can challenge me and push my boundaries, but at the end of the day, I am responsible.
Here is the crux - I am afraid of failure. Part of the problem is I have actually never defined what success is and so instead I have tried to live up to others' perceptions of success, which may be appropriate for them but is most definitely not appropriate for me. This incredible group of people around me, my network and my friends are showing me that I need to figure out what being successful means to me and that if I believe in myself, I can probably do anything.
What if I fail? Maybe it doesn't matter - as long as I tired.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Pulling it together
This post has taken over three months to write. I am posting it tonight because sometimes you just need someone to hang with and watch bad TV ... Mao was that someone.
I was trying to get my life together post-fire which was surprisingly hard. And then the cat died. This post is about Mao - the best buddy I could ask for, who was there for me through thick and thin. One of my very first posts was about how great he was - and he was.
The fire was hard on us. He was home when the fire started and was found hiding in a side room, eyes large and scared of the noises, the people and the smells. We were displaced for three weeks and lived in separate places. And when we finally came back the house smelled funny and stuff was all over the place. Instead of windows I had plywood boards, there was still broken glass in the hardwood floors and across my garage, I was missing furniture, my deck was covered over with tarp to protect the electric room underneath and there was absolutely no food in my house - it all had to be thrown out. Neither of us were comfortable in this space which seemed like our old home, but wasn't. Mao and I tried to maintain our routines, he would still run to meet me when I got back from work, rolling over to have his belly scratched; we would spend our evenings on my upper deck; he would beg for treats in the morning and sleep on the sofa during the day.
When things were bad, when I didn't think my house would ever be re-finished, when my neighbours hated me, Mao was there. He never left me and I think he knew I would be OK, that I would figure this out. On those days when I didn't want to get out of bed, he would snuggle a little more, lick my hand and be a calming presence. When things were going well, he was the affectionate, loving cat he always was - purring, playing, eating, begging and sleeping. But then he started eating less and sleeping more, I too started eating less and sleeping more - we were stressed. Living in a shell of a house slowly took its toll.
But Mao wasn't stressed, Mao had cancer. He had a massive tumour rapidly filling his belly and by the time we found out - it was too late. I had 48 hours to say my good-byes. To spoil him with bacon and ice-cream, until he wouldn't eat bacon and ice-cream. And then I had to make a choice for him - because I loved him so much I couldn't see him suffer. Mao died in my arms on June 21st, 2012.
He is missed every day.
I was trying to get my life together post-fire which was surprisingly hard. And then the cat died. This post is about Mao - the best buddy I could ask for, who was there for me through thick and thin. One of my very first posts was about how great he was - and he was. The fire was hard on us. He was home when the fire started and was found hiding in a side room, eyes large and scared of the noises, the people and the smells. We were displaced for three weeks and lived in separate places. And when we finally came back the house smelled funny and stuff was all over the place. Instead of windows I had plywood boards, there was still broken glass in the hardwood floors and across my garage, I was missing furniture, my deck was covered over with tarp to protect the electric room underneath and there was absolutely no food in my house - it all had to be thrown out. Neither of us were comfortable in this space which seemed like our old home, but wasn't. Mao and I tried to maintain our routines, he would still run to meet me when I got back from work, rolling over to have his belly scratched; we would spend our evenings on my upper deck; he would beg for treats in the morning and sleep on the sofa during the day.
When things were bad, when I didn't think my house would ever be re-finished, when my neighbours hated me, Mao was there. He never left me and I think he knew I would be OK, that I would figure this out. On those days when I didn't want to get out of bed, he would snuggle a little more, lick my hand and be a calming presence. When things were going well, he was the affectionate, loving cat he always was - purring, playing, eating, begging and sleeping. But then he started eating less and sleeping more, I too started eating less and sleeping more - we were stressed. Living in a shell of a house slowly took its toll.
But Mao wasn't stressed, Mao had cancer. He had a massive tumour rapidly filling his belly and by the time we found out - it was too late. I had 48 hours to say my good-byes. To spoil him with bacon and ice-cream, until he wouldn't eat bacon and ice-cream. And then I had to make a choice for him - because I loved him so much I couldn't see him suffer. Mao died in my arms on June 21st, 2012.
He is missed every day.
Friday, September 7, 2012
Learning to quit
For the last eight or so years I have defined myself as a public servant. I always believed that working in the government was what I wanted to do and where I could make a difference. I wanted to fight the good fight, but fight from the inside for change. And to this day I believe in the public service and how government (not Government) works to help Canadians. After almost a decade I still believe that - despite everything I am about to write.
I need to quit. I need to leave. I need to do something else. I can no longer be a public servant. I am no longer a public servant. I can no longer do what I do - and yet I am committed to the project I am working on and know that people I work with believe in what they are doing and how it will make Canada better.
Sometimes the hardest part is admitting you have a problem - and I have a serious problem. I am not happy doing what I do, despite the fact that I know it is a fantastic project. It seems paradoxical, and I am not yet sure why this is the case, but I plan on spending several months figuring it out and asking myself "what next". What do I want to do when I grow up? How do I want to define myself? Why?
And don't think this is some sudden mid-life crisis precipitated by the marriage of my younger sister, or a questioning of my mortality and legacy because my cat died. This is not a desire to give it all up and back-pack around the world because my house caught on fire, nor is a rejection of Ottawa per say. This has been peculating for a while, in fact I first told my boss that "I quit" on Friday April 13th; but then the house caught on fire, the cat died and my sister got married - I had a busy summer and quitting takes a lot of thought.
Here it is - my path to quitting. Will I actually quit? I am not sure. Maybe I will take a year of unpaid leave, maybe I will take an interchange, and maybe I will stay. I have threatened to be out of Ottawa within a year before, I have promised major life changes on this very blog, and yet nothing came to them - but now I have a plan. The first step is to know me; to actually think about who I am, what has shaped this person I call Tabatha, and where I want to go. Does this path differ from the one I am on? I don't know - but until I start asking the hard questions I will never know.
I am learning about me so that I can face the choice I will eventually need to make; to stay or leave (full disclosure - I am pretty sure I am quitting). I want to share this learning, these insights about me and I would encourage you to undertake your own voyage and ask who you are and what you want. Don't take what you have for granted, challenge yourself and learn from the experiences around you - embrace them and let them shape you. And if you need guidance, let me know and I can point you to a very talented lady who is always eager to help.
I need to quit. I need to leave. I need to do something else. I can no longer be a public servant. I am no longer a public servant. I can no longer do what I do - and yet I am committed to the project I am working on and know that people I work with believe in what they are doing and how it will make Canada better.
Sometimes the hardest part is admitting you have a problem - and I have a serious problem. I am not happy doing what I do, despite the fact that I know it is a fantastic project. It seems paradoxical, and I am not yet sure why this is the case, but I plan on spending several months figuring it out and asking myself "what next". What do I want to do when I grow up? How do I want to define myself? Why?
And don't think this is some sudden mid-life crisis precipitated by the marriage of my younger sister, or a questioning of my mortality and legacy because my cat died. This is not a desire to give it all up and back-pack around the world because my house caught on fire, nor is a rejection of Ottawa per say. This has been peculating for a while, in fact I first told my boss that "I quit" on Friday April 13th; but then the house caught on fire, the cat died and my sister got married - I had a busy summer and quitting takes a lot of thought.
Here it is - my path to quitting. Will I actually quit? I am not sure. Maybe I will take a year of unpaid leave, maybe I will take an interchange, and maybe I will stay. I have threatened to be out of Ottawa within a year before, I have promised major life changes on this very blog, and yet nothing came to them - but now I have a plan. The first step is to know me; to actually think about who I am, what has shaped this person I call Tabatha, and where I want to go. Does this path differ from the one I am on? I don't know - but until I start asking the hard questions I will never know.
I am learning about me so that I can face the choice I will eventually need to make; to stay or leave (full disclosure - I am pretty sure I am quitting). I want to share this learning, these insights about me and I would encourage you to undertake your own voyage and ask who you are and what you want. Don't take what you have for granted, challenge yourself and learn from the experiences around you - embrace them and let them shape you. And if you need guidance, let me know and I can point you to a very talented lady who is always eager to help.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
"You're next!"
Last weekend my little sister got married. It was beautiful despite the rain, she was radiant and so happy. She was married on my parents dock in a rare break in the clouds, and friends and family partied into the night under a tent to the sounds of a live band and the support of an open bar. My sister, mother and father (and yes; her new husband) did a lot of work getting ready for the big day; the tent, the decorations, the bar, the centre pieces and all the flowers, the bouquet, the catering (steak for 110 people plus a whole pig) and a four layered cake. Now we are all experts in what it takes to host not just a great party but a successful wedding - so that "next time" "we know what to do".
There are several assumptions here - that there will be a next-time and that if there were, it will be at their house!
My parents parting words to me after the wedding was that they have had a dress rehearsal and would ready to go next time ... all I need was to find someone to marry, please - soon? All weekend friends and family, people I have never met, and people from whom I would expect better, told me (yes, told me!) "you're next!" Is that a threat? It sure sounded like one. A threat that if I don't get my act together soon, I will continue to be a disappointment to my family and that I will never be really happy. Many commented on my single status, including my 90 year old Grandmother whose only full sentence to me over four days was that it was "such a waste" that I was still single, followed by that tutting sound so significant in Eastern European cultures.
There is a prevailing sentiment that you need to have a significant other to be happy. I am not debating that life is nice (and cheaper) with someone to share it with. There are the constant reminders that everyone else is coupling up, from weddings to notices that friends are buying houses and moving in together; having babies; plotting great get-aways together or just busy on the weekend doing what ever it is couples do (errands is what I have been told). There are hints that they are happier than I am and that until I find someone (my parents would probably say "anyone), I will never be as successful as they are.
I am not denying that life can be wonderful when shared. I have not gone out of my way to be single and I am not adverse to committing to spend my life with one special person or even to making that commitment in public. For the record, I would very much like to find "the one".
Telling me that until I am with someone, I am can not be happy and will not be considered successful is bad enough, but I do not need people to suggest that "I am next"! It is a reminder that I am not - that I am no where near being next. That nowhere on the horizon is there even the hint of a next.
And for the record, even though my sister's wedding was beautiful and Hollywood-eque, should I find the one, I am strongly advocating for eloping! Until then, I am going to live up being single and make all my married friends (and my married sister) jealous because I can do what I want, when I want.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
FIRE!
Friday the 13th: I received a simple e-mail from my neighbour "Your house is on fire". My response by e-mail was "you're shitting me, right?" After a few seconds for the shock to set in, I turned to my friend at the bar and said "My house is on fire! I have to go - NOW".
And so starts one of the most interesting, stressful and illuminating weeks of my life.
The taxi ride home was a blur, I freaked out and then tired to rationalize what happened. No one told me how big (or small) it was, the police called and only confirmed that yes, my house really was on fire. My first priority was Mao. I am sure I made quite the sight, running down my street towards the fire-fighters, in tears screaming "My cat! Have you found my cat?" He was found hiding in a closet.
My house was on fire. There was a small fire that started on the deck and it spread into my house, taking out far less than it could have - but leaving more mess than I ever imagined a small fire could leave behind. And also resulting in no power for my unit or the 13 other units in my suite of townhouses.
Things about fire:
I was very lucky - almost everything is salvageable and the clean-up should be done in a few weeks. But more than that, I am very lucky. I have been surrounded by incredible people who have let me stay in their spare room or offered their whole house. Friends have taken me out to do things and keep my occupied so that I don't go crazy in my hotel room, and whom have hugged me when I break down crying or the stupidest reasons.
There are three people who need to be acknowledged:
The friend who was at the bar with me when I found out about the fire came with me, and is also my Mao sitter; so she left the scene early to take the cat to somewhere safe. She also did laundry for me on Friday night so that I had a few pieces of clothing that didn't stink like toxic fire. Her and her husband have taken on Mao and regularly invite me over for meals and cat-visits. Another friend who has had a similar, if not far worse, experience also showed up unexpectedly and was a great help in helping me figure out what I needed to do. He also reminds me to laugh and find the up-side of things, but knows the empty feeling of not really having anywhere to go. And lastly, towards 8:30pm, yet another friend by to check on me, brought me food and drove me to my Mao-sitters place so that I would have somewhere to stay.
The last week has been illuminating, I have learned a lot about me, about insurance and about getting stuff done without freaking out about the things you cannot change. I am sure the following weeks will be less stressful, but that I will continue to learn.
Thank-you to everyone who has sent me kind words, who has been there for me and who continues to show me such compassion.
And so starts one of the most interesting, stressful and illuminating weeks of my life.
The taxi ride home was a blur, I freaked out and then tired to rationalize what happened. No one told me how big (or small) it was, the police called and only confirmed that yes, my house really was on fire. My first priority was Mao. I am sure I made quite the sight, running down my street towards the fire-fighters, in tears screaming "My cat! Have you found my cat?" He was found hiding in a closet.
My house was on fire. There was a small fire that started on the deck and it spread into my house, taking out far less than it could have - but leaving more mess than I ever imagined a small fire could leave behind. And also resulting in no power for my unit or the 13 other units in my suite of townhouses.
Things about fire:
- No matter how much (or how little) the physical damage is; first seeing the remains of a fire is shocking and numbing. Staring at the mess and trying to figure out what it meant, what I was supposed to feel and knowing how lucky I was, that it could of been so much worse, completely over-whelmed me;
- It takes a few days for the dust to settle, literally. On Friday everything smelled, and there was a fine coating of soot on everything. On Saturday the walls started to look dirty, as the soot settled. On Monday after the house was closed up for two days, everything was filthy. Nothing could be touched;
- The soot is toxic and carcinogenic. While my first thought was to grab my tooth brush and moisturizer, these are actually products that have been, even if only for two hours, seeped in carcinogenic gasses. This goes double to all food products in my house, even in my fridge. Everything is being thrown out;
- There is no point being angry - it was an accident, and there was nothing I could have done to change anything. And yet part of me is very angry;
- That "rush" bag sent to the dry-cleaners for 48 hour service will never have everything that you will need for the next 2-3 weeks, and it will have some random stuff that you will wonder why you have it;
- Flowers delivered to your hotel room from family really does make a difference.
I was very lucky - almost everything is salvageable and the clean-up should be done in a few weeks. But more than that, I am very lucky. I have been surrounded by incredible people who have let me stay in their spare room or offered their whole house. Friends have taken me out to do things and keep my occupied so that I don't go crazy in my hotel room, and whom have hugged me when I break down crying or the stupidest reasons.
There are three people who need to be acknowledged:
The friend who was at the bar with me when I found out about the fire came with me, and is also my Mao sitter; so she left the scene early to take the cat to somewhere safe. She also did laundry for me on Friday night so that I had a few pieces of clothing that didn't stink like toxic fire. Her and her husband have taken on Mao and regularly invite me over for meals and cat-visits. Another friend who has had a similar, if not far worse, experience also showed up unexpectedly and was a great help in helping me figure out what I needed to do. He also reminds me to laugh and find the up-side of things, but knows the empty feeling of not really having anywhere to go. And lastly, towards 8:30pm, yet another friend by to check on me, brought me food and drove me to my Mao-sitters place so that I would have somewhere to stay.
The last week has been illuminating, I have learned a lot about me, about insurance and about getting stuff done without freaking out about the things you cannot change. I am sure the following weeks will be less stressful, but that I will continue to learn.
Thank-you to everyone who has sent me kind words, who has been there for me and who continues to show me such compassion.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Winter 2012
For those of you who might actually read this, you will notice that I have not written often over the last few months. The reason was WINTER. Those magical weeks when the world is frozen and white, when I live on the edge and my weekends are spent waking up early and exploring mountains on my snowboard. I love winter and I am sad to say good-bye to what was a pretty good ten weeks.
Three years ago I tried an alpine snowboard and haven't stop smiling since. Alpine boards very different from the regular snowboards you see on the hill; they are stiffer, narrower, and designed for speed and carving. I love carving. OK, a clarification - I love trying to carve. I am getting better and more consistent, but after a week in Vermont watching really good carvers I remember how much I have to learn.
Apart from evenings at my local hill, my trips this winter included a jaunt down to White Face (Lake Placid), a day trip to Mt. Blanc in Quebec, four days in Vermont for the Eastern Carving Expression Sessions, a day trip to Mt. Tremblant, a few days at a nice little bump close to my parents place and several early mornings at Calabogie.
The hours spent on my board I feel alive. Everything else in the world disappears and I am on the mountain just loving life. It is hard to describe the peace I feel while out there or the magic in turning around and seeing 20+ good carvers coming down a mountain - it is like watching ballet on snow. There is a certain satisfaction that comes over me after 8 hours riding hard and not stopping for anything other than an ice-tea (consumed on a chair lift), in falling in love after two turns on a hill while demoing a board, a board that I tried two years ago and kicked my ass! Or suddenly realizing that your warm-up run is a Black Diamond, under the gondola. I dance at the bottom of runs while still locked into my bindings because I am completely content, and have to check myself halfway down a run because I am laughing from sheer joy.
So today I will leave you with some video of me (I know; narcissistic). This is an opportunity for me to share with you what I actually spend so much time doing. This is the first run of the day at Mt, Blanc, I am really not that great here. This video is of the whole group at Mt. Blanc which shows what really good carvers can do. Eight minutes from my last day out this season -Tremblant (this one is tricky because both Ryan and I are wearing blue pants). And if you are into something really long; here is 18 minutes from a day at Calabogie after a big snow storm, so conditions were really not that great and there is some good video of my friend Chris bailing under the chair lift.
Happy Spring!
Three years ago I tried an alpine snowboard and haven't stop smiling since. Alpine boards very different from the regular snowboards you see on the hill; they are stiffer, narrower, and designed for speed and carving. I love carving. OK, a clarification - I love trying to carve. I am getting better and more consistent, but after a week in Vermont watching really good carvers I remember how much I have to learn.
Apart from evenings at my local hill, my trips this winter included a jaunt down to White Face (Lake Placid), a day trip to Mt. Blanc in Quebec, four days in Vermont for the Eastern Carving Expression Sessions, a day trip to Mt. Tremblant, a few days at a nice little bump close to my parents place and several early mornings at Calabogie.
The hours spent on my board I feel alive. Everything else in the world disappears and I am on the mountain just loving life. It is hard to describe the peace I feel while out there or the magic in turning around and seeing 20+ good carvers coming down a mountain - it is like watching ballet on snow. There is a certain satisfaction that comes over me after 8 hours riding hard and not stopping for anything other than an ice-tea (consumed on a chair lift), in falling in love after two turns on a hill while demoing a board, a board that I tried two years ago and kicked my ass! Or suddenly realizing that your warm-up run is a Black Diamond, under the gondola. I dance at the bottom of runs while still locked into my bindings because I am completely content, and have to check myself halfway down a run because I am laughing from sheer joy.
So today I will leave you with some video of me (I know; narcissistic). This is an opportunity for me to share with you what I actually spend so much time doing. This is the first run of the day at Mt, Blanc, I am really not that great here. This video is of the whole group at Mt. Blanc which shows what really good carvers can do. Eight minutes from my last day out this season -Tremblant (this one is tricky because both Ryan and I are wearing blue pants). And if you are into something really long; here is 18 minutes from a day at Calabogie after a big snow storm, so conditions were really not that great and there is some good video of my friend Chris bailing under the chair lift.
Happy Spring!
Sunday, March 4, 2012
My toaster and other miscellaneous appliances
So while 2012 has rocked (so far)
and I am loving every minute of it, I have had no luck with my appliances! I
suppose you can’t have it all … and if a plague of dead appliances is the price
I have to pay for a stellar year, I am willing to sacrifice the fridge as well.
I would also up the dishwasher, but it is more of a glorified drying rack for
pots, so really it isn’t much of an offering.
It all started on January 2nd when
my toaster caught on fire. It wasn't a big fire, just a small one with lots of
smoke and a ruined breakfast. The toaster is now in a snow bank on my deck
where I threw it to stop it smoking. I followed its progress for a few days as
it was covered by snow, uncovered by rain and then ransacked by some hungry
critters. It is now under about a foot of snow and its exact location is marked
by my Christmas Tree.
I have since also lost the
functionality of my dryer and oven, and I am pretty sure the washing machine is
going to die soon. The dryer heats, but does not tumble, which in my humble
opinion is a fire hazard, the oven doesn’t heat which makes it even less useful
than the dryer. The washing machine has not died yet, but I can hear the
agitator straining against every load I put in and I had to wash my snowboarding
socks three times … last month there was an incident with laundry detergent as
well. The less said the better!
As appliances go, I am not a heavy
user. The fridge is useful when I actually buy groceries or binge at the
farmers market, but is usually masquerading as a frat-fridge with condiments,
alcohol and bacon. The dryer is rarely used as I prefer the smell of air dried
clothes. The dish washer is used to store pots and the cutting board. The only
things I use regularly are the washing machine and the stove/oven. I really
like clean clothes and to bake.
I do not plan on replacing the
toaster but I have had plenty of offers from friends for their spare toasters
(who has more than one toaster?). I don't need a toaster - I am doing very well
without one and I figured the oven is just as effective at doing what most of
what I need, well, until that died. I also do not plan on replacing the dryer. I
am not sure the point of purchasing expensive appliances I do not plan on using
often when I could spend the money on snowboards!
I spent a lazy Saturday afternoon
appliance shopping. I have never really been big-ticket shopping like this
before and at first the thought horrified me, but it wasn’t bad and I learned a
lot. It was also an interesting experience because sales men all come with
assumptions on what you need and why. First; all my appliances are condo size
(24inches wide) so my options are very limited. Second; you can find small
sizes on manufactures websites, but not distributors websites so you actually
have to go in and talk to sales people to see what they carry. Third;
everything is listed on the manufactures websites, so when sales people figure
out what they carry, they just go back to the manufactures websites to get the
specifications and actual model number, and then look up the price in their
system. Lastly; Sales people can not understand why I do not want a larger
sized appliance! Um - it will not fit into my house. I feel like I am at
McDonalds - everyone wants to super-size my appliance needs.
This time next month I should have
a new oven - the washing machine will not ship until mid-April, and will be
baking again. And by mid-summer, I will have a new snowboard as well! OK, so
maybe I can have it all, a fabulous year, new appliances and a pretty Donek 163
Free-Carve snowboard!
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Living on the edge
In snowboarding, there is a saying: If you are not on the edge, you are taking up too much room. It is true. The edge is the sweet-spot where everything just clicks. It fits, it is easy, looks effortless and everything flows. But it can be hard work finding the edge - and even harder staying there. If you are not on the edge, you are just coasting.
I started a new job two weeks ago and to many the move made no sense. I still grapple with why I moved. I had the best job in government. I worked in an innovative organization that experimented, I loved my boss, I knew what I was doing and I was good at it - but I was coasting. I was no longer on the edge. I was no longer pushing me or challenging my assumptions, I was not forcing myself to be better and to grow. I needed to find the edge, that rush of adrenaline that comes with trying something you didn't think you can do.
Snowboarding keeps me sane and gets me through winter. If I couldn't be out there, pushing the limits - my limits - I would not have the opportunity to learn about me. It is because of snowboarding that I know I have to take risks and push, I have to find my edge and ride it through. It isn't always easy - but that is what keeps life interesting and keeps me coming back.
Kind of like starting a new job. I am pushing my comfort zone and living on the edge again. I am learning and there is a good chance that I might fall. The first time I ever locked into a carving board I was terrible and couldn't even stand up, but I also couldn't stop smiling. And like that experience, I know that this is right. I might not have the edge, yet, but I know this is where I am supposed to be.
I started a new job two weeks ago and to many the move made no sense. I still grapple with why I moved. I had the best job in government. I worked in an innovative organization that experimented, I loved my boss, I knew what I was doing and I was good at it - but I was coasting. I was no longer on the edge. I was no longer pushing me or challenging my assumptions, I was not forcing myself to be better and to grow. I needed to find the edge, that rush of adrenaline that comes with trying something you didn't think you can do.
Snowboarding keeps me sane and gets me through winter. If I couldn't be out there, pushing the limits - my limits - I would not have the opportunity to learn about me. It is because of snowboarding that I know I have to take risks and push, I have to find my edge and ride it through. It isn't always easy - but that is what keeps life interesting and keeps me coming back.
Kind of like starting a new job. I am pushing my comfort zone and living on the edge again. I am learning and there is a good chance that I might fall. The first time I ever locked into a carving board I was terrible and couldn't even stand up, but I also couldn't stop smiling. And like that experience, I know that this is right. I might not have the edge, yet, but I know this is where I am supposed to be.
Friday, January 20, 2012
First Impressions
Spending a lot of time on chairlifts alone gives me time to think ... possibly not a good thing!
First impressions are so important and we base so much on them, and yet they tell us nothing about the actual person on whom we are projecting these impressions. I know for one that I am guilty of letting my prejudices cloud my opinions on people before they even say hello and yet some of the most interesting people I have ever met are those who have proven they are very much not the person who I thought they would be.
I wrote earlier about using stereotypes to make life simpler and this is really what first impressions are, they really build on these and are self fulfilling. I think about how quickly (and possibly unfairly) I have been in the past with my initial impressions of people, I start to wonder how bad a first (second or third) impression I make on others.
Building off what I said in some of my previous posts I think I have created for myself a strong stereotype; the curmudgeonly bachelorette. This is what I have hoped to portray in my worklife, and to some extent my, personal life. By being honest with myself, I have to acknowledge that a lot of that has been a shell. I used to joke that my sister was the Ice-Princess and that she has a cold and impenetrable exterior, but the Ice-Princess is actually pure mush once you break that down, she has a heart of gold (when you find it). I would like to believe that I have learned a lot from my little sister. She has always protected herself from the world, believing that I was naive and way too trusting - and this is the case. I have been hurt and started to create this shell, I built layers and created a new persona, the curmudgeonly bachelorette, so that people couldn't get in and hurt me. The bottom line was to my thinking was "you can think what you want of me, but if I pretend I really don't care, then I really won't care!" But I think I have taken it too far and it is time to create a balance.
I am going to try and challenge the first impression that I project on others and be open to their second and third impressions, given them the opportunity to build a complex (and complete) pictures of themselves. As for me - who knows, maybe I am an Ice-Princess or a curmudgeon, or something else ... and maybe I am not. Who knows! Let me challenge your impressions of me.
I want to thank CBD for giving me the inspiration for this post - something he said about first impressions (and "the hot one") at Lac Carling really spoke to me. He is right, as usual!
First impressions are so important and we base so much on them, and yet they tell us nothing about the actual person on whom we are projecting these impressions. I know for one that I am guilty of letting my prejudices cloud my opinions on people before they even say hello and yet some of the most interesting people I have ever met are those who have proven they are very much not the person who I thought they would be.
I wrote earlier about using stereotypes to make life simpler and this is really what first impressions are, they really build on these and are self fulfilling. I think about how quickly (and possibly unfairly) I have been in the past with my initial impressions of people, I start to wonder how bad a first (second or third) impression I make on others.
Building off what I said in some of my previous posts I think I have created for myself a strong stereotype; the curmudgeonly bachelorette. This is what I have hoped to portray in my worklife, and to some extent my, personal life. By being honest with myself, I have to acknowledge that a lot of that has been a shell. I used to joke that my sister was the Ice-Princess and that she has a cold and impenetrable exterior, but the Ice-Princess is actually pure mush once you break that down, she has a heart of gold (when you find it). I would like to believe that I have learned a lot from my little sister. She has always protected herself from the world, believing that I was naive and way too trusting - and this is the case. I have been hurt and started to create this shell, I built layers and created a new persona, the curmudgeonly bachelorette, so that people couldn't get in and hurt me. The bottom line was to my thinking was "you can think what you want of me, but if I pretend I really don't care, then I really won't care!" But I think I have taken it too far and it is time to create a balance.
I am going to try and challenge the first impression that I project on others and be open to their second and third impressions, given them the opportunity to build a complex (and complete) pictures of themselves. As for me - who knows, maybe I am an Ice-Princess or a curmudgeon, or something else ... and maybe I am not. Who knows! Let me challenge your impressions of me.
I want to thank CBD for giving me the inspiration for this post - something he said about first impressions (and "the hot one") at Lac Carling really spoke to me. He is right, as usual!
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Fighting for what I deserve
I have made it clear ... I do not do new years resolutions. I believe that if something bothers you, you should be proactive and change it - not waiting for some artificial day on a calendar to start working on a "better" you. However this year, my epiphany happens to coincide with the change from 2011 to 2012, so it might be a little like a resolution, but I think it goes deeper than that.
I walk home a lot. And today, despite the -17C (-21C with the windchill) I walked home. I needed the time and quiet to think. To contemplate everything that has gone right and wrong this year and evaluate where I am, or where I am not. I thought I would be somewhere else by this time ... I am not sure where that was, but I am pretty sure it wasn't here. And yet I am here. I have been lulled into the easiness of this life and I have been complacent.
Emotions are a positive thing. They allow you to feel alive, even if they are emotions like sadness, anger or fear. I have been afraid of feeling, emotions are a sign of weakness, they show you care - and therefore that you are vulnerable and can be hurt. So I don't show emotions, I prefer to work it out in private and conquer them. By hiding my emotions, I have been going through the motions instead of feeling life, letting life happen to me.
By hiding, it easy to pretend that you have everything you want. But there are things I want and I don't fight for them. If I believe I deserve them then I need to make it known. I need to let people know I care and that not getting them hurts, that I do feel. That doesn't mean whining and holding a grudge when you don't get what you want. I does mean fighting for what is mine.
When I joined the public service, I heard a lot of long-term employees complaining that they had hit a wall because they didn't speak French. They were not doing anything about, they were whining. And recently I have found myself whining as well. I have become "one of them". Part of the reason is because I feel like I have been dealt the short end of the stick, but I suppose the truth is part of me is scared. Scared of trying and not succeeding, of making an effort, of having people put their faith in me and me being a failure! Not speaking French for me is the ultimate indicator that I am stupid. I need to make this a priority and I need to embrace the fear. I need to fight for French. But I am not sure I know how to fight.
In high school, university, grad-school, things came easily. I never had to fight for anything. And to a certain extent, I have been very lucky with a lot in life and it has come easily; a great job, fantastic friends, a nice house, the perfect cat. The few time when things got out of hand, there were people to show me an easier way. I have made a career of figuring out how to do things, quicker, cleaner, better - easier! Life is good ...
... but there is more. I deserve more. I deserve to be able to share all of this with someone. I have never chosen to be alone, it has been where my apathetic life has taken me. I have not fought. I have not stood up and told that special someone that they are what I want, what I deserve, and that they would be dam lucky to have me. It is time for me to fight for me. For me to stand up and say that this is what I want. It is time to stop being afraid of being rejected and the emotions that come with it (because the emotions are better than nothing) and it is time to take control for my sake.
I am going to learn to fight. I am going to start fighting. I am going to start feeling again.
I walk home a lot. And today, despite the -17C (-21C with the windchill) I walked home. I needed the time and quiet to think. To contemplate everything that has gone right and wrong this year and evaluate where I am, or where I am not. I thought I would be somewhere else by this time ... I am not sure where that was, but I am pretty sure it wasn't here. And yet I am here. I have been lulled into the easiness of this life and I have been complacent.
Emotions are a positive thing. They allow you to feel alive, even if they are emotions like sadness, anger or fear. I have been afraid of feeling, emotions are a sign of weakness, they show you care - and therefore that you are vulnerable and can be hurt. So I don't show emotions, I prefer to work it out in private and conquer them. By hiding my emotions, I have been going through the motions instead of feeling life, letting life happen to me.
By hiding, it easy to pretend that you have everything you want. But there are things I want and I don't fight for them. If I believe I deserve them then I need to make it known. I need to let people know I care and that not getting them hurts, that I do feel. That doesn't mean whining and holding a grudge when you don't get what you want. I does mean fighting for what is mine.
When I joined the public service, I heard a lot of long-term employees complaining that they had hit a wall because they didn't speak French. They were not doing anything about, they were whining. And recently I have found myself whining as well. I have become "one of them". Part of the reason is because I feel like I have been dealt the short end of the stick, but I suppose the truth is part of me is scared. Scared of trying and not succeeding, of making an effort, of having people put their faith in me and me being a failure! Not speaking French for me is the ultimate indicator that I am stupid. I need to make this a priority and I need to embrace the fear. I need to fight for French. But I am not sure I know how to fight.
In high school, university, grad-school, things came easily. I never had to fight for anything. And to a certain extent, I have been very lucky with a lot in life and it has come easily; a great job, fantastic friends, a nice house, the perfect cat. The few time when things got out of hand, there were people to show me an easier way. I have made a career of figuring out how to do things, quicker, cleaner, better - easier! Life is good ...
... but there is more. I deserve more. I deserve to be able to share all of this with someone. I have never chosen to be alone, it has been where my apathetic life has taken me. I have not fought. I have not stood up and told that special someone that they are what I want, what I deserve, and that they would be dam lucky to have me. It is time for me to fight for me. For me to stand up and say that this is what I want. It is time to stop being afraid of being rejected and the emotions that come with it (because the emotions are better than nothing) and it is time to take control for my sake.
I am going to learn to fight. I am going to start fighting. I am going to start feeling again.
Friday, December 9, 2011
On the road again ... and home again
For the last decade, whenever I started a trip, I would sing "one the road again ... I can't wait to get on the road again". It was something Donkey sang to Shrek and have not been able to get it out of my mind since. The song speaks to adventure, the unknown and the journey as much as the destination. So where have my destinations been over the last four-plus weeks and what have I learned along the way?
I was in Lac Carling (Quebec) for a week, helping to teach a course; I was in Toronto for a friend's wedding; I was in Paris and the Alps for some much needed R&R; and then I was back in Toronto for work. I have been in six different airports (some numerous times) and have rushed to make connections. I have dropped the cat off and have packed hurriedly late at night. I have left work early to get to the airport in time and stayed late at work to not have too much time to kill at the airport. I have removed my boots, belt, earrings, necklace and bracelet to clear security more times that I wish to remember (I am wondering why I wear so much metal ... by now I should know better) and I experimented with e-Boarding cards. I have driven 20 minutes to get cell phone reception and swum in a Canadian lake in November. I have wandered mountain paths at midnight in the snow and taken the subway at 10am on my way to the party, all dressed up.
In Lac Carling I learned that no matter how tired you are, the energy from the people you are supporting in their learning journey can keep you going and inspire you to push yourself to learn more too. In Toronto I learned that love can really triumph and that beautiful weddings can be planned in a few short months. In Paris I learned how much you can see and do in two and half days (all with the support of good transit and an even better bike-share program). In the Alps I was reminded how much hiking at altitude hurts and that sometime sitting still and watching the snow fall is just as important as running to the next museum. I have learned I like whiskey, brandy and steak tar-tar, and that if you want to go to Europe as a tourist, early December is a fantastic time to visit because no one else is there. I have also learned that you can not count on GoogleMaps for directions, or the boys in the car to help you find your way into the Quebec mountains, but that a decent map in Paris means I can even give locals directions. I learned that I make a decent guide and still know my way around Toronto and how to scout a decent dumpling shop. I learned that the line up for the Mona Lisa isn't as worth the time as the line up for the summit of the Eiffel Tower, and that old train stations make stunning spaces for art. I now know that duty free alcohol isn't always a good deal and that having someone drive you back from the airport beats a taxi any day of the week. I now know that clean up well when given the right dress and accessories, that even when traveling light extra layers are still important, and that I can do the over-night business trip with everything stuffed into a handbag.
I have also met and spent time with some fantastic people along the way. Some of them I have known for a while, but was able to slow down and spend time getting to know them, others I met for the first time and was inspired or challenged. The new guy at work and the not so new guy at work,my sister and her boyfriend, the bride's best friend, the groom's cousins, my friend's husband, the expats living life in the Alps, my parents. There were also the people that I thought about one quiet afternoon in a Montmartre coffee shop while writing postcards.
But the real destination was home. I am home. Home sweet home. It has been a hectic four week. I have an unknown stretch of the future here - and I am sure the cat is as happy about it as I am. The real journey is a reminder that as much as I have wonder-lust for new adventures around the world and the opportunities out there, the learning, the friends and the experiences, I like my place; my space; my life here.
I was in Lac Carling (Quebec) for a week, helping to teach a course; I was in Toronto for a friend's wedding; I was in Paris and the Alps for some much needed R&R; and then I was back in Toronto for work. I have been in six different airports (some numerous times) and have rushed to make connections. I have dropped the cat off and have packed hurriedly late at night. I have left work early to get to the airport in time and stayed late at work to not have too much time to kill at the airport. I have removed my boots, belt, earrings, necklace and bracelet to clear security more times that I wish to remember (I am wondering why I wear so much metal ... by now I should know better) and I experimented with e-Boarding cards. I have driven 20 minutes to get cell phone reception and swum in a Canadian lake in November. I have wandered mountain paths at midnight in the snow and taken the subway at 10am on my way to the party, all dressed up.
In Lac Carling I learned that no matter how tired you are, the energy from the people you are supporting in their learning journey can keep you going and inspire you to push yourself to learn more too. In Toronto I learned that love can really triumph and that beautiful weddings can be planned in a few short months. In Paris I learned how much you can see and do in two and half days (all with the support of good transit and an even better bike-share program). In the Alps I was reminded how much hiking at altitude hurts and that sometime sitting still and watching the snow fall is just as important as running to the next museum. I have learned I like whiskey, brandy and steak tar-tar, and that if you want to go to Europe as a tourist, early December is a fantastic time to visit because no one else is there. I have also learned that you can not count on GoogleMaps for directions, or the boys in the car to help you find your way into the Quebec mountains, but that a decent map in Paris means I can even give locals directions. I learned that I make a decent guide and still know my way around Toronto and how to scout a decent dumpling shop. I learned that the line up for the Mona Lisa isn't as worth the time as the line up for the summit of the Eiffel Tower, and that old train stations make stunning spaces for art. I now know that duty free alcohol isn't always a good deal and that having someone drive you back from the airport beats a taxi any day of the week. I now know that clean up well when given the right dress and accessories, that even when traveling light extra layers are still important, and that I can do the over-night business trip with everything stuffed into a handbag.
I have also met and spent time with some fantastic people along the way. Some of them I have known for a while, but was able to slow down and spend time getting to know them, others I met for the first time and was inspired or challenged. The new guy at work and the not so new guy at work,my sister and her boyfriend, the bride's best friend, the groom's cousins, my friend's husband, the expats living life in the Alps, my parents. There were also the people that I thought about one quiet afternoon in a Montmartre coffee shop while writing postcards.
But the real destination was home. I am home. Home sweet home. It has been a hectic four week. I have an unknown stretch of the future here - and I am sure the cat is as happy about it as I am. The real journey is a reminder that as much as I have wonder-lust for new adventures around the world and the opportunities out there, the learning, the friends and the experiences, I like my place; my space; my life here.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Relearning difficult lessons
I often tell people that 31 was my worst year. Something was off ... nothing was working. In retrospect, it is probably because I lost my groove. And because I was forced to learn some lessons. Lessons that I have recently had to relearn.
I have developed a reputation for being pretty stubborn and independent. But until recently I have relied on other people to help me not only find the motivation to do stuff, but to be happy and feel good about me. The biggest part about this was the conflict between my love of being outside and doing stuff (especially snowboarding) and the fact that there were few people who were able to join me on a regular basis.
Last winter, I found myself on the hill alone. The first few times were very hard. Just getting the motivation to get out there after work and be alone on the hill took a lot. It became easier and over time I realised that I actually really enjoyed being alone on the hill and just doing my own thing. I have since been hiking by myself (and saw a bear ... not sure who was more startled by the run-in) and have discovered that I really like traveling by myself.
I learned to be happy - alone. To be comfortable with just me (and occasionally the cat). Long drives, airplane flights, hours on the hill. I enjoy my company and sometimes (just sometimes) resent when people infringe on this time.
Being alone and doing things alone also meant that I had to take responsibility for not only my happiness, but my gear. I had to be able to fix my bike, figure out my bindings, change a tire. I also had to have the tools to do all this. Being alone meant being prepared for the worst, because when it is bad, you only have yourself.
Recently I might as well have been 31 again! I recently, due to several incidents, forgot about these lessons that were so hard (and painful) to learn last winter. An encounter made me forget that I am responsible for my happiness and that I need to keep doing things my way. That I need to find what grounds me and stick with it - no matter how other people make me feel. Along with that, I found myself in the middle of nowhere two weeks ago, with a flat tire, alone and without gear.
I was on a long group ride, and for most of the ride I held my own. But I was over-tired and under-prepared. I admit, I brought nothing with me other than water. Why should I? I was with a large group of people and rode solid in the pack. At least three of the ten of us had full gear kits. And then I felt like I was crashing. I had no energy, couldn't move my bike forward. I let the group know I was taking a quick stop and would catch-up with them. Stretching, I realised that, apart from being out of water, I felt great, so I got back on the bike and kept peddling ... but again, I couldn't move the bike. It was HARD. After about 500m, I realised my front tire was rapidly flattening! Where was I? How far till my friends house? Would they wait? I was about 6km from my friends house in the middle of nowhere - and no one waited for me. It took me an hour to walk back. Emotionally it was as hard as it was physically. Bike shoes are not the most comfortable to walk in, but having an hour alone, along unknown paths of having to think about why I was in this position reminded me that I need to remember that I can not rely on other people. That I am responsible for the situations that I find myself in and that the reason I was walking with my bike was because I had forgotten some of the simple truths I had learned last winter.
So, as I head into another winter and I try and figure out how to keep myself happy, I will seek to remember that I, and I alone, am responsible for where I am in my life and that when I forget this, I will probably find myself walking home with my bike in bike shoes.
I have developed a reputation for being pretty stubborn and independent. But until recently I have relied on other people to help me not only find the motivation to do stuff, but to be happy and feel good about me. The biggest part about this was the conflict between my love of being outside and doing stuff (especially snowboarding) and the fact that there were few people who were able to join me on a regular basis.
Last winter, I found myself on the hill alone. The first few times were very hard. Just getting the motivation to get out there after work and be alone on the hill took a lot. It became easier and over time I realised that I actually really enjoyed being alone on the hill and just doing my own thing. I have since been hiking by myself (and saw a bear ... not sure who was more startled by the run-in) and have discovered that I really like traveling by myself.
I learned to be happy - alone. To be comfortable with just me (and occasionally the cat). Long drives, airplane flights, hours on the hill. I enjoy my company and sometimes (just sometimes) resent when people infringe on this time.
Being alone and doing things alone also meant that I had to take responsibility for not only my happiness, but my gear. I had to be able to fix my bike, figure out my bindings, change a tire. I also had to have the tools to do all this. Being alone meant being prepared for the worst, because when it is bad, you only have yourself.
Recently I might as well have been 31 again! I recently, due to several incidents, forgot about these lessons that were so hard (and painful) to learn last winter. An encounter made me forget that I am responsible for my happiness and that I need to keep doing things my way. That I need to find what grounds me and stick with it - no matter how other people make me feel. Along with that, I found myself in the middle of nowhere two weeks ago, with a flat tire, alone and without gear.
I was on a long group ride, and for most of the ride I held my own. But I was over-tired and under-prepared. I admit, I brought nothing with me other than water. Why should I? I was with a large group of people and rode solid in the pack. At least three of the ten of us had full gear kits. And then I felt like I was crashing. I had no energy, couldn't move my bike forward. I let the group know I was taking a quick stop and would catch-up with them. Stretching, I realised that, apart from being out of water, I felt great, so I got back on the bike and kept peddling ... but again, I couldn't move the bike. It was HARD. After about 500m, I realised my front tire was rapidly flattening! Where was I? How far till my friends house? Would they wait? I was about 6km from my friends house in the middle of nowhere - and no one waited for me. It took me an hour to walk back. Emotionally it was as hard as it was physically. Bike shoes are not the most comfortable to walk in, but having an hour alone, along unknown paths of having to think about why I was in this position reminded me that I need to remember that I can not rely on other people. That I am responsible for the situations that I find myself in and that the reason I was walking with my bike was because I had forgotten some of the simple truths I had learned last winter.
So, as I head into another winter and I try and figure out how to keep myself happy, I will seek to remember that I, and I alone, am responsible for where I am in my life and that when I forget this, I will probably find myself walking home with my bike in bike shoes.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Awesome Ottawa
Everyone who lives here makes snide comments about the "city". And to a certain extent, it is true. Ottawa is a small town, a National Capital that lacks the charisma of many of the larger more dynamic, more established capitals around the world. People here are either policy wonks or in high-tech (yes, a huge over simplification of a diverse fabric, but that is how my circle spins). And yet, there is something here that holds people, that draws you in and holds you tight. The quality of life is fantastic, the ability to be outside in nature, hang out in trendy cafes and hang out with people.
Every so often, there is something that makes Ottawa even more Awesome - and the good people at Awesome Ottawa really help with this. They give out monthly grants to a good idea that will make make Ottawa fun and exciting. Recently a friend of mine won this and hosted a murder mystery.
I have never been to a murder mystery and part of being a curmudgeonly bachelorette is being skeptical about events that require costumes and acting as someone to be part of a larger mystery. I was skeptical, but my friend has written several of these and the more be talked about it, the cooler it sounded. He wrote each part for the guests and their character. None of this open box story line or hired actors, 100% commitment from everyone at the party ... because one of us was the murder (and she didn't find out until after the murder that she did it). The theme was famous dead people and everyone chose their character. There were prizes for best costume, best character and for figuring the whole thing out (you also had to disprove all the other suspects). The wine flowed freely, we mingled and met new people.The costumes were fun and eye-opening and I had a whole night of friendships with people I have never met people - and wouldn't recognize again - because we were characters.
I have to say - that when you look hard, there are some awesome things that happen in Ottawa. Around every corner there are interesting people and interesting projects. Yes, I still have the itch to leave, and yet every month someone does something awesome and I am reminded how great this place really is and how lucky I am.
A big thank you to Greg and Kelly for all the work they put into organizing the event and making it ... well making it AWESOME.
Every so often, there is something that makes Ottawa even more Awesome - and the good people at Awesome Ottawa really help with this. They give out monthly grants to a good idea that will make make Ottawa fun and exciting. Recently a friend of mine won this and hosted a murder mystery.
I have never been to a murder mystery and part of being a curmudgeonly bachelorette is being skeptical about events that require costumes and acting as someone to be part of a larger mystery. I was skeptical, but my friend has written several of these and the more be talked about it, the cooler it sounded. He wrote each part for the guests and their character. None of this open box story line or hired actors, 100% commitment from everyone at the party ... because one of us was the murder (and she didn't find out until after the murder that she did it). The theme was famous dead people and everyone chose their character. There were prizes for best costume, best character and for figuring the whole thing out (you also had to disprove all the other suspects). The wine flowed freely, we mingled and met new people.The costumes were fun and eye-opening and I had a whole night of friendships with people I have never met people - and wouldn't recognize again - because we were characters.
I have to say - that when you look hard, there are some awesome things that happen in Ottawa. Around every corner there are interesting people and interesting projects. Yes, I still have the itch to leave, and yet every month someone does something awesome and I am reminded how great this place really is and how lucky I am.
A big thank you to Greg and Kelly for all the work they put into organizing the event and making it ... well making it AWESOME.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Weddings
Last weekend I was at a wedding on the shore of a little lake, and in the distance the trees were starting to turn vibrant colours adding contrast to the black dresses and suits. The colder weather made the venue intimate and with the specter of winter approaching, the conversations just seemed so much more real. Rich colours, candles and the warmth of people coming together just speaks to me and reinforces what weddings are about. It was beautiful and moving as these two people came together to commit to each other. There was laughter, there was dancing, there was kissing and there were tears (the good kind).
But, deep down - I really don't like weddings.
I love that my friends are finding people that they want to share the rest of their lives with. I am honoured that my friends want me to be part of their public commitment to each other and to celebrate their happiness. But there is so much about weddings that just stink of Hallmark and the expectations for everything to be "perfect". Society seems to have dictated what the wedding should be and many little girls dream about what their day will be like. But no one talks about the stress that I see overcome my friends as they gear up to the "big day" or the crippling cost of feeding and watering 150 of your closest friends and family. The gray hairs that emerge while negotiating the 150 people, and the politics of the "plus one". Wedding service providers seem geared to ripping couples off (did you know if you order flowers for an event is cheaper than the same flowers for a wedding?) and the "best" venues are booked years in advance, but can make or brake your social status.
For me weddings are about watching the groom as he catches his first glance of the bride in her dress and sharing the moment with the couple. Weddings are about catching up with other friends who I haven't seen in a while, about getting out of the routine, putting on a cute dress and celebrating, they are about the toasts and the funny stories, they are about cake and flowers. But it is also a moment to be reminded who I am and where I am ... the last wedding I was at, apart from the kiddies table, I was probably the only person who did not bring a date. I have actually never had a date to a wedding and have been to a fair number now. Dances are the hardest part, no matter how happy you are for someone, watching them glow with happiness in what they have, just hammers home what you do not.
Yeah; weddings are not about me ... they are about the bride, family and friends. And my friends who have recently been married were radiant - it really was their day. Congratulations to everyone who was married this year - and to those of you whose nuptials are pending. Promise to hide my curmudgeonly bachelorette when next I raise a toast to the happy couple.
But, deep down - I really don't like weddings.
I love that my friends are finding people that they want to share the rest of their lives with. I am honoured that my friends want me to be part of their public commitment to each other and to celebrate their happiness. But there is so much about weddings that just stink of Hallmark and the expectations for everything to be "perfect". Society seems to have dictated what the wedding should be and many little girls dream about what their day will be like. But no one talks about the stress that I see overcome my friends as they gear up to the "big day" or the crippling cost of feeding and watering 150 of your closest friends and family. The gray hairs that emerge while negotiating the 150 people, and the politics of the "plus one". Wedding service providers seem geared to ripping couples off (did you know if you order flowers for an event is cheaper than the same flowers for a wedding?) and the "best" venues are booked years in advance, but can make or brake your social status.
For me weddings are about watching the groom as he catches his first glance of the bride in her dress and sharing the moment with the couple. Weddings are about catching up with other friends who I haven't seen in a while, about getting out of the routine, putting on a cute dress and celebrating, they are about the toasts and the funny stories, they are about cake and flowers. But it is also a moment to be reminded who I am and where I am ... the last wedding I was at, apart from the kiddies table, I was probably the only person who did not bring a date. I have actually never had a date to a wedding and have been to a fair number now. Dances are the hardest part, no matter how happy you are for someone, watching them glow with happiness in what they have, just hammers home what you do not.
Yeah; weddings are not about me ... they are about the bride, family and friends. And my friends who have recently been married were radiant - it really was their day. Congratulations to everyone who was married this year - and to those of you whose nuptials are pending. Promise to hide my curmudgeonly bachelorette when next I raise a toast to the happy couple.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Parables
I am sitting in the sunshine on my deck, wondering what I have learned this week. And what a week it was! Among other things, I helped organize and facilitate a day and a half all staff retreat using which went really well, and while this was happening my new windows came and I lost my voice. These last two should have happened a little earlier so that I could have brought them with me to the retreat.
Losing my voice sucks! I have never really lost it before. I can not talk, I can barely croak. I am not really in any pain and have no other "symptoms" that might suggest other issues, like the flu or something more nefarious. So I have to choose if and when I will comment on something and pick my words more judiciously. I am more deliberate with my methods of communication, something that we should all do more. Admittedly, I am sending more e-mails when I quick conversation might suffice, but I am aware of why I choose one mode over another - something we rarely do in a world that revolves around quick answers that are not necessarily thought out completely. I am also listening! That is right - Listening. Well, when you can't interrupt someone or add anything to the conversation because no one will hear you, you listen. And you learn from this.
The other big thing were the windows. All 21 of them - and how beautiful they are. The old ones were compromised and no longer clear, but the wood around them was rotting, so they were going. Windows are a way to see into / or out of something, but be slightly removed from the situation - to observe something. The new ones remind me to look carefully and appreciate when things are clear, and to know that something a surface "wound" can be symptomatic of something far deeper. And I am wondering if the windows had not come this week I would realise (or have taken the time to think about) what I have learned from a lack of voice. I also wonder if I would have lost my voice if the windows had not come this week.
If I had have learned these lessons before the retreat, I am sure I would have been a better participant and facilitator. I do plan on bringing them to future events. But until then I am putting out an award for the safe return of my voice. It was last seen heading South on vacation, possibly to the Bahamas. I miss it - although I have heard that people at work don't! Yeah; I heard you.
Losing my voice sucks! I have never really lost it before. I can not talk, I can barely croak. I am not really in any pain and have no other "symptoms" that might suggest other issues, like the flu or something more nefarious. So I have to choose if and when I will comment on something and pick my words more judiciously. I am more deliberate with my methods of communication, something that we should all do more. Admittedly, I am sending more e-mails when I quick conversation might suffice, but I am aware of why I choose one mode over another - something we rarely do in a world that revolves around quick answers that are not necessarily thought out completely. I am also listening! That is right - Listening. Well, when you can't interrupt someone or add anything to the conversation because no one will hear you, you listen. And you learn from this.
The other big thing were the windows. All 21 of them - and how beautiful they are. The old ones were compromised and no longer clear, but the wood around them was rotting, so they were going. Windows are a way to see into / or out of something, but be slightly removed from the situation - to observe something. The new ones remind me to look carefully and appreciate when things are clear, and to know that something a surface "wound" can be symptomatic of something far deeper. And I am wondering if the windows had not come this week I would realise (or have taken the time to think about) what I have learned from a lack of voice. I also wonder if I would have lost my voice if the windows had not come this week.
If I had have learned these lessons before the retreat, I am sure I would have been a better participant and facilitator. I do plan on bringing them to future events. But until then I am putting out an award for the safe return of my voice. It was last seen heading South on vacation, possibly to the Bahamas. I miss it - although I have heard that people at work don't! Yeah; I heard you.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Curmudgeonly Bachelorette - As much as we like to deny it, everyone thinks in stereotypes. These help us gather information about people quickly and paint a picture which we can expand over time as we get to know the "real" person. An important part of the stereotype is how we choose to portray ourselves. We accentuate certain traits to either conform to, or challenge, people's assumptions about who we are versus who we appear to be. Even if we think we are completely original, we use stereotype to help define us and we let them ... we embrace it.
In my "youth" my stereotype was the fun-loving, easy-going, serial monogamist who was always in a relationship. I did lots of fun things without my insignificant other, but when push came to shove, I always had a boy friend ... and now without this crutch, I have had to find a new stereotype. Something that helps people understand who I am. I live alone with a cat, love working, am out all hours of the day doing interesting things or sipping cocktails, and like my space and alone time.
I am settled in my ways as the Curmudgeonly Bachelorette. And now that I know my stereotype, I feel like I have a bit of a reputation to live up to!
Or do I?
I am finding that my stereotype is starting to define me. I try not to let it - but when push comes to shove, I am happy to just head home with a good book and some Ben and Jerry's ice-cream. I am slowly learning that I am not as much as a people person as I used to be and that, in reality, not only do a lot of people actually piss me off, I am willing to tell them!
When you start to live the stereotype, it can be hard to see beyond the finale that Disney has already written for you. Try as I might, most of the stereotypes about women who live alone are not good ones; the crazy cat-lady, the bitter slighted woman, the bitchy executive who will trample everyone getting ahead. Perhaps I need to work on that stereotype.
In my "youth" my stereotype was the fun-loving, easy-going, serial monogamist who was always in a relationship. I did lots of fun things without my insignificant other, but when push came to shove, I always had a boy friend ... and now without this crutch, I have had to find a new stereotype. Something that helps people understand who I am. I live alone with a cat, love working, am out all hours of the day doing interesting things or sipping cocktails, and like my space and alone time.
I am settled in my ways as the Curmudgeonly Bachelorette. And now that I know my stereotype, I feel like I have a bit of a reputation to live up to!
Or do I?
I am finding that my stereotype is starting to define me. I try not to let it - but when push comes to shove, I am happy to just head home with a good book and some Ben and Jerry's ice-cream. I am slowly learning that I am not as much as a people person as I used to be and that, in reality, not only do a lot of people actually piss me off, I am willing to tell them!
When you start to live the stereotype, it can be hard to see beyond the finale that Disney has already written for you. Try as I might, most of the stereotypes about women who live alone are not good ones; the crazy cat-lady, the bitter slighted woman, the bitchy executive who will trample everyone getting ahead. Perhaps I need to work on that stereotype.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
My cleaning lady - that's right. I have one! And I love it! Exclamation points alone do not do the fact that I have a cleaning lady thing justice.
When I first started working, a friend recommended a book for me "Smart Women Finish Rich", the only financial advice book I have ever read. It was a good read and for someone who is terrible with her money an enlightening insight into how so many people are even worse with theirs. Many of the tricks on how to save I already did - I brought a lunch to work and limited the number of coffees I buy a day / week, I had a quasi budget for my regular expenses and while I was spending too much, I knew how and why I was spending it. But one tip really stuck out for me; if as a woman you make more that $60,000 (US / 2004) a year, you should have a cleaning lady.
The logic stuck me as sound, but the reality screamed decadence. As an able bodied individual, why can't I spend a few hours a week scrubbing and cleaning? Vacuuming, sweeping, dusting and mopping? Washing windows, toilets and showers? How much is my time really worth? And what am I doing on weekends anyway ... besides, it is a great workout? Hauling the vacuum up and down the stairs, reaching around the toilet, it is a mini cardio and yoga workout rolled into the comfort of your own home.
At first I refused to hire a cleaning lady because I lived with other people who were messy and I wasn't sure why my good money should pay to clean up after them. I also lived in fear of the weekends designated for a "good cleaning". I did learn that a messy house leads to stress and over-all grumpiness. Now I live alone. For people who do not know me, I am a bit of a neat freak. Everything has a place and is put away, I hate clutter and love walking barefoot on clean floors. It seemed a waste to spend money on what I thought should be a quick job.
And then one day, I popped over to pay my neighbors cleaning lady for him and my life changed. It was a whim, I admit. My parents were in town and the first thing my mother did was clean. I thought I had done a OK job - but it wasn't up to her standards. She complained about how the blinds were dusty (who has time to dust blinds?) and that my stove could do with a really good wipe-down (OK, it was a little greasy, but how do you really scrub the grim off?). Tired of her comments about my inability to clean a floor so that a five course meal could be eaten right off it, I asked the cleaning lady if she would do my house as well - and she said yes!
There is something about ever second Friday knowing that when I get home, my place will be clean. What is even better is sleeping in on Saturday morning and not having to make anytime for cleaning my house. Yes, it is totally decadent - but I am worth it. So this evening while I am admiring my wonderfully clean house, I will raise a glass to my cleaning lady.
When I first started working, a friend recommended a book for me "Smart Women Finish Rich", the only financial advice book I have ever read. It was a good read and for someone who is terrible with her money an enlightening insight into how so many people are even worse with theirs. Many of the tricks on how to save I already did - I brought a lunch to work and limited the number of coffees I buy a day / week, I had a quasi budget for my regular expenses and while I was spending too much, I knew how and why I was spending it. But one tip really stuck out for me; if as a woman you make more that $60,000 (US / 2004) a year, you should have a cleaning lady.
The logic stuck me as sound, but the reality screamed decadence. As an able bodied individual, why can't I spend a few hours a week scrubbing and cleaning? Vacuuming, sweeping, dusting and mopping? Washing windows, toilets and showers? How much is my time really worth? And what am I doing on weekends anyway ... besides, it is a great workout? Hauling the vacuum up and down the stairs, reaching around the toilet, it is a mini cardio and yoga workout rolled into the comfort of your own home.
At first I refused to hire a cleaning lady because I lived with other people who were messy and I wasn't sure why my good money should pay to clean up after them. I also lived in fear of the weekends designated for a "good cleaning". I did learn that a messy house leads to stress and over-all grumpiness. Now I live alone. For people who do not know me, I am a bit of a neat freak. Everything has a place and is put away, I hate clutter and love walking barefoot on clean floors. It seemed a waste to spend money on what I thought should be a quick job.
And then one day, I popped over to pay my neighbors cleaning lady for him and my life changed. It was a whim, I admit. My parents were in town and the first thing my mother did was clean. I thought I had done a OK job - but it wasn't up to her standards. She complained about how the blinds were dusty (who has time to dust blinds?) and that my stove could do with a really good wipe-down (OK, it was a little greasy, but how do you really scrub the grim off?). Tired of her comments about my inability to clean a floor so that a five course meal could be eaten right off it, I asked the cleaning lady if she would do my house as well - and she said yes!
There is something about ever second Friday knowing that when I get home, my place will be clean. What is even better is sleeping in on Saturday morning and not having to make anytime for cleaning my house. Yes, it is totally decadent - but I am worth it. So this evening while I am admiring my wonderfully clean house, I will raise a glass to my cleaning lady.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
When did gas-mileage become a pick-up line? When I started this blog, I thought I would share stories of dating in Ottawa. Needless to say I have yet to post a blog on this topic because - well - I don't think there is such a thing! I have been single for a few years and am so far removed from dating, I doubt I would know a date if it was at my door with flowers! I am not even sure what people do on dates these days or if there is anyone in Ottawa to date! When I was younger bars, clubs and class where were you met people, and the lines they would rattle off are stuff from bad jokes. Some pretense to inform me about a car, an income, or a life-style that was hardly possible at the tender age of 22.
A few years ago I tried my hand at internet dating, and the only good thing about it were the ridiculous stories that came from the experience. One was such a disaster that I didn't even get his name, or the guy who referred to himself in the third person. Not to be out done, there was the guy who believed that panty-hose was the best thing that ever came from publicly funded science (and no - he was being ironic!) Here the rhetoric was about "healthy life-styles", how often do you work out? And you play how many sports? Weekly? Wow ... and a full time job! It was intimidating enough to make even an olympic athlete think twice!
They say love finds you when you are not looking - but more important, you have to be open to it. And as much as I thought I was ready ... I was not. For the last few years something was holding me back and a text-message from a friend this week made me realise that I was finally ready. What was shocking about the text was that I felt nothing ... nothing. And that made me know, that after all this time I am can move on. And now I see them. There are some great guys in this city, and they have nice smiles, do fun things, smell nice, and some of them are even single!
When someone started boasting about gas-mileage, and someone else extolled the virtues of a car-less life-style last week, it made me stop and think. If you listen with an open heart you can often hear the hint of a pick-up line. Now I am not going to say that every friendly smile is someone trying to get with me, I am old and wise enough to know that is not the case. It has actually been happening all around me all the time, but instead of being open I scowled, avoided eye contact or turned the other. Next time someone tells me about their organic meat obsession, I will smile back! Perhaps that and my vermicompost will be enough to create opportunities that I would not have dreamed about, even from the kookiest on-line profile.
A few years ago I tried my hand at internet dating, and the only good thing about it were the ridiculous stories that came from the experience. One was such a disaster that I didn't even get his name, or the guy who referred to himself in the third person. Not to be out done, there was the guy who believed that panty-hose was the best thing that ever came from publicly funded science (and no - he was being ironic!) Here the rhetoric was about "healthy life-styles", how often do you work out? And you play how many sports? Weekly? Wow ... and a full time job! It was intimidating enough to make even an olympic athlete think twice!
They say love finds you when you are not looking - but more important, you have to be open to it. And as much as I thought I was ready ... I was not. For the last few years something was holding me back and a text-message from a friend this week made me realise that I was finally ready. What was shocking about the text was that I felt nothing ... nothing. And that made me know, that after all this time I am can move on. And now I see them. There are some great guys in this city, and they have nice smiles, do fun things, smell nice, and some of them are even single!
When someone started boasting about gas-mileage, and someone else extolled the virtues of a car-less life-style last week, it made me stop and think. If you listen with an open heart you can often hear the hint of a pick-up line. Now I am not going to say that every friendly smile is someone trying to get with me, I am old and wise enough to know that is not the case. It has actually been happening all around me all the time, but instead of being open I scowled, avoided eye contact or turned the other. Next time someone tells me about their organic meat obsession, I will smile back! Perhaps that and my vermicompost will be enough to create opportunities that I would not have dreamed about, even from the kookiest on-line profile.
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