There goes my hero

Three years ago I met my hero.  She was awesome.  She did things she, and probably everyone who knew her, thought she could never do.  When from the outside, it looked like everything was falling apart, she was keeping it together, drawing on magical super-powers that helped her bounce back up from every little trip and stumble.

Ever since that time, I've been trying to be just like her.  I reflect back on her every move and see if I can replicate what she had achieved.  Yes, I know that it doesn't do us any good to compare ourselves to others or even idolize them, but it gets a little tricky when that idol is you.

One of the joys of my new job is the commute.  Although I live less than 5km away from the office, it takes me an average of 40 minutes each way to get there via transit. Don't get me started on how ridiculous Toronto's transit situation is because the amount of expletives I'd have to use would be sure to get some sort of censor's attention.  But I digress.  It seemed that my co-workers who live in the same area got around the annoyance by simply walking to work, so a few weeks ago, I decided to brave the Canadian cold and make the trek by foot.  50 minutes.  Again, don't get me started.

But this whole walking business has been a bit of a blessing in disguise.  I actually really like it.  It's a good time to do some "mental sorting", as my sister likes to call it, and to walk through Toronto streets while signing out loud to whatever is playing on my iPod.  My apologies to those who are suffering from premature cringe lines along my route. But it's also a time when I'm blessed with little epiphanies.  Today's epiphany (ok, there are not epiphanies *every* day), was this: stop idolizing who you were.

Indeed, the person I was three years ago has been my hero for as many years.  Her 13 year relationship disintegrated and pretty much everything about the life she'd known up until then crumbled with it, and instead of hiding from the world, she carefully stepped out of the rubble in kitten heels and a checkered mini, dusted herself off and went about the business of being as fabulous a girl as she could be.  And not just because she thought she should, but because she knew she was.  She exercised, she ate well, she tried new things, she made new friends and she dared to be different.  All was good.

As we all know though, time doesn't stand still.  I continued to evolve, and sometimes, I'd find myself in tough situations. Scary, crap-your-pants kind of stuff where you're forced to ask big questions and do your best to answer them.  And in typical Sylvie style, I'd always try finding my answer by asking another question: What would Sylvie do?

Oh yes, "what would Sylvie do?"  Such a wonderful yet completely irritating question that I unfortunately answer from the perspective of a three year old, rattling off every activity that would fill my schedule and habit that would shape my actions.  And for the past three years, I've been trying to mimic those things, trying desperately to tap into those Sylvie super powers.  Maybe I need to work out more to blow off steam.  Maybe I should try to fit into my size 3 pants (dear God - I can't get started on that ridiculousness).  Maybe I need to go back to eating yogurt every afternoon with grapes and sliced almonds in it.  Maybe I need to have the same haircut as I did then.  Maybe I need to find another pair of those apple earrings I lost that summer.  Maybe, maybe, maybe.  Oh barf.  Please.

Now that I realize it, I see how ridiculous it is.  I have put the me that I was on some sort of pedestal, but if I try hard to put myself back into the head-space I was in back then, I hardly felt that I had it all figured out.  And I didn't.

I don't quite know how to stop doing it, but I'll give it my best shot.  The best I can come up with is that the Sylvie from then did what she had to do, and it's led her to where I am now.  I'm not the same person, and I'm not in the same circumstances.  But yes, I can certainly do my best to do what needs doing.

But there is one Sylvie super-power that I've admired the most, and lately, I have needed it so badly but found it to be missing whenever I called upon it.  The heroic me went through some tough times and she shed more than a few tears, but somehow, she'd always manage to set it aside after a few minutes.  She'd say "Crying isn't going to fix anything, and it's not much fun anyway.  Go do something else and stop being so sad." She was so smart.  And it always seemed to work.  I've been finding myself on tough times again lately, and what's made it even tougher is that telling myself the same thing never helped.  I couldn't convince myself to stop crying.  Or to stop being so sad.  I know that it's important to live through our feelings, but sometimes, you just know you're not doing yourself any favors by wallowing in them, and it's scary when you can't stop.  Especially when you used to have that ability.

But today, something happened.  I was at the store and I was in tears.  It wasn't much different than it's been so many times over these last few months, that is until I stopped.  My super power was back.  My magical lens zoomed out and gave me the perspective I needed.  Sure, something was upsetting me, but I had plenty of other things to do and I carried on with them.  I don't know how and I don't know why, but I did it.  Thank you Super Sylvie.

An update, but not upbeat

It's been a really long time since I last wrote. I've thought about my blog often, but in the end would always stay away. I've said before how it's hardest to write when you don't have anything good to write about. When you're sad and angry and what you want most is to hide from the world until it all goes away. And I've often said how it's precisely during those times that writing is what helps me most. What helps me get through things and see them in a different light. At this moment, I'm doubtful that it will help, but it's all that comes to mind. So here goes.

I'm not very happy. At all. I have all the material things one needs to survive and to thrive, really, but none of it makes me happy. I think back to times in my life when I had so much more and I get angry that it's all gone. I'm angry that I don't have a house anymore, even though I never liked the one I had and was never happy there in the first place. And I'm even angrier that I don't have my nice little apartment in the West end. I'm angry that my savings are all gone. I'm angry that my hair is so short and it makes me feel like a boy. I'm angry that I feel fat even though I haven't gained weight since the last time I felt happy about how I looked. I'm angry that I took a year off to find myself and never did. What makes me angriest of all though, is that even if you reversed any or even all of those things, I probably still wouldn't be happy. Which begs the question: What the fuck is my problem?

I try to tell myself that being happy is state of mind, and if I just get into the right zone, everything will be fine. But I've been looking all over the place for that stupid switch and I just cannot find the god damned thing. Then I tell myself that if there is something I don't like, I should change it. But how should I go about that when I can't even imagine what I would trade it for. It's a bit like walking into a public bathroom stall, throwing your outfit over the wall without anything else to wear. Although I must admit that being arrested for public nudity would shake things up a little.

I don't know whether to love or hate the optimism that lives deep down inside of me and just won't die. It's responsible for getting me out of bed in the morning and not completely losing it. It also tries to feed me appreciation for what I have, but some days all I can do is gag. When I pass a homeless person when I'm walking to work, it tells me to be grateful to have a home, a job, and the legs to carry me there. The homeless people particularly scare me; I always feel that with a few small changes of circumstance, it could be me begging on a street corner. But then I get angry again. I don't mind the idea of going to work, but I don't particularly like my job. As much as I tried to be optimistic at first and these days to simply make the most of it while I'm there, I don't like it. But the job is what keeps the roof over my head.

Am I insane to believe that we could all do something we're passionate about? That it would be work and pay our bills, but wouldn't feel like it? That we'd devote hours to something each day and feel energized instead of drained? That we'd be bursting with great ideas and inspiration instead of stifling groans and resentment? I know that some people agree, but many others think it's crazy. Sometimes I wish I could just convince myself it was crazy and put the idea to rest, but I just can't. Instead, I'm the one that feels crazy.

I guess it's because at times, I have been passionate about my work. I have gotten up in the morning excited about what I might achieve that day. But that hasn't happened in a long, long time. I've tried to find new passions, but they quickly fizzle out. I don't know if I just give up too easily or if I haven't just hit the nail on the head yet. I've always told myself that when I found the right thing, the doors would open, but none have. I also figured that if I was passionate about something, I'd have the will and energy to fight for it. That hasn't happened either.

I'm tired of sitting here waiting for things to happen. But I'm even more tired of trying to make things happen when they won't. I'm just plain tired. A nap sounds good, but a bit of passion and excitement for life would just be so much better.

Hey Dad! Look who's a model!

Back when I first moved to Toronto, I had a hell of a time explaining to my Dad what it was that I was studying in college.  I was enrolled in a program called Fashion Arts, which interestingly enough, didn't have much to do with art at all, but instead, was all about marketing and promotion for the fashion and cosmetic industries.  Whether it was the name that threw him off or just his disbelief that someone could actually go to school for this kind of stuff, I don't know, but whenever conversation turned to school, my Dad would always ask me "So what is this course about again?  You're going to be a model or something?"  Sigh.

Recently though, I did have the chance to play the model.  The hair model!  And in this particular case, I didn't have to look like the girls you see on the fashion runways - I just had to be brave enough to let someone dye my hair a bright shade of red for the L'Oréal Professionel INOA Revolutionary Reds contest.  Being the adventurous gal that I am, when I saw that Tianna Gerrior, a participating hair stylist, needed a volunteer, I signed up!

When I walked into Hair Château, the salon where Tianna works, I wasn't sure what to expect, but after a quick chat, it was clear that she had some dramatic inspiration - she was going to transform my hair into a head full of fire!  Now I could describe the process, but in this case, I think photos will be a lot more amusing.

First things first: the lighter the hair, the brighter the colour.  Blonde, here I come!

Eeek!  Good thing I didn't stay here too long!

And we have fire! And me making the facial expression
I imagine I would have were I actually on fire.  Funny, I haven't
gotten any calls from any modelling agencies yet.

Well there you have it - my very brief stint as a hair model.  If you'd like to have a look at the other hair transformations that were entered into the contest and vote (you also get a chance to win a year's worth of free INOA salon hair colour services), just follow the steps outlined here.