Cheeriolala

There goes my hero

2011-02-22T23:08:00.000-05:00

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

2011-02-21T18:10:00.000-05:00

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!

2010-11-30T20:02:00.000-05:00

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.

Sleep to dream

2010-11-23T22:57:00.000-05:00

It's been almost two weeks now since I've been living smack in the middle of the big city instead of skyline viewing distance, and my only regret is that I didn't do it sooner. Not only does our little apartment afford us an awesome view of Lake Ontario, down below, there is plenty of stuff to do - whether we're on foot or taking the transit. With this being the first month in the center of it all, I decided to splurge on a transit pass, and I've been amazed at how quickly I can be whisked away to all sorts of places, all in less than 10 minutes. People watching and window shopping are becoming some of my favorite things, and yes, there are many, many, many coffee shops that offer free wi-fi that I can choose from. Sure, we caved and got internet at home, but why stay there when there are so many places to see!

I'm so relieved that I'm feeling this way. Over the last few months, an intensifying feeling of paralysis had been coming over me, one that I wasn't just sure how to escape. I didn't always feel much like going out, and when I did, I didn't have the first clue where to go and what to do when I got there. It's hard to describe, but I basically was just out of "get up and go", which isn't like running out of flour; you can't just run over to your neighbour's house to borrow a cup.

This new energy has made me feel much more optimistic about looking for and going back to a full-time job. Only a few weeks ago, I couldn't imagine how I would find the time in a day to go to work, cook, exercise, write etc, etc, etc... Sure it sounds silly - you probably do it every day and are just fine. And you probably add taking care of your kids to the list too. I felt completely overwhelmed at the idea though. Not to mention the fact that I would get up to do one thing, start something else and get completely sidetracked. It felt like a slo-mo version of attention deficit disorder. Maybe I should see someone about that...

Is this a new page turning in my life? I really hope so. I'm just really, really tired of looking for this "something else". This nameless thing that's gotten me in such a tizzy like a dog chasing its tail. I've had the time to learn all sorts of stuff and discover new things, but I'd like to stop obsessing about finding my one "passion" and dreaming up a big dream for it so that I can make it come to life. The beauty about dreaming is that it's supposed to just happen naturally. Have you ever tried to go to sleep and make yourself dream? Oh and make sure it's a good one too! I've never had any luck doing that sleeping, and doing it while I'm awake hasn't gotten me much further either. All the dreams that are still near and dear to my heart have come about quite naturally. And any others that have been masquerading as such have managed to frustrate me in a very short time.

So dear Universe, I would like to come back to living, doing and being. And whenever the dreams do come, please give me the wisdom to take a moment to savour them, the determination to see them through and the energy to knock 'em out of the park.

Life can stink on the bus or even at Starbuck's

2010-11-11T15:05:00.001-05:00

I'm in Starbucks. Again. And do you know what else is here with me? A really bad smell. The man who brought it in with him is gone, yet the odour lingers on the big chair only two feet away from mine. While he was here though, I kept glancing over at him. If you've ever been on a crowded bus, you know the drill. You're minding your own business, breathing the air contained in your imaginary bubble, when all of a sudden, something smells foul. Is it a fart? A person sleeping with their mouth open wide, exposing everyone to their smelly, smelly morning breath? Maybe someone hasn't washed. In a week. You look around, tyring to spot the offender. AHA! You found him. Or her. You start to wonder how the heck they manage to go out in public like that, dragging with them such a stench. The bus can be boring. You need to find ways to entertain yourself.

This same little game, which has kept me quite entertained for a good part of the 12 years I've been living in the big city, isn't quite the same these days anymore. Up until now, when I would spot the "hasn't washed in a week" variety, I would always figure that the person was down on his or her luck, and wonder what twists and turns life had thrown at them to bring them into a situation like this. Recently though, this has all been replaced with a feeling of panic. What if the person was someone just like me? Or maybe someone who had a big dream. Someone who risked everything for what they believed in. Someone who followed their heart. Who relied on the Google Map that is their gut. And got lost.

I don't know if it was the extra hour sleep from Daylight Saving's time, but when I woke up on Sunday and saw the bright sun outside that 7:30am had brought with it (I'm sure 6am had some lovely sun too, but I missed that), a big, urgent thought pushed itself to the front of my consciousness. "Sylvie", it said, "did you know that it's been almost a year since you've held down a steady job? And amazingly enough, the Acadian hasn't run away yet. Will you stop doing this to him and to you now? Please!"

It was a very true thought. And it got my attention. Surely, if someone were to devise a test to determine a man's devotion to his girlfriend, what I have put the Acadian through since January would rank among the best of them. Although that wasn't the point of any of the experiences we've been through together, the awesomeness of my boyfriend has been a huge ray of light during what have often been murky days, and I thank my lucky stars each day that he has a penchant for a foul-mouthed, short-haired, pig-headed woman who may very well have lost her mind while playing in last winter's snow.

Also very true is that I'm tired of doing this to myself. The plan of doing only things I love? Good. But is that how it's going? Not so much. Although it's been interesting working in the jewellery store, it's not doing much for paying my bills. Yes, part of that is the fact that I make $11 an hour. The other part of the problem is that so far this month, I've worked a grand total of 14 hours. Do the math.

And although a lot of people would love having so much time to themselves, well, I have had many, many, many hours of free time this year, and I think I've pretty much gotten the urge to do whatever it is I wanted, all the time, out of my system and I just think it would be really nice to be useful on a more regular basis.

Up until now, the idea of going back to a marketing job scared the crap out of me. A few months back when I decided to start up the search again at the urging of the Mean Lady, I had these visions of late work-nights, stressful meetings and having to put on a mask to hide the crazy person that I am, because surely, no one would want someone as wacky as me working for them. Well at least not knowingly.

So here is the newest tweak to my "do what you love" plan. I actually do quite love marketing. Some aspects of it bother me, like when I worked in cosmetics marketing for instance and realize how most of the gimmicks out there preyed on women's insecurities about their looks. But there are a lot of great industries, wonderful products and awesome causes out there that I could be working with. And I'm sure that my creative thinking skills could be put to good use for one of them, even if some people think I'm a little out there sometimes. And so, the new goal is to find a marketing job doing something I believe in, with people I respect, with a group that will accept me just the way I am and where I can get to work on all sorts of exciting projects.

It may take a while to find something that fits the bill, but I figure I've already come this far, I might as well make it worthwhile. So the search is on! And um, if you have any leads for anything that matches my wishlist in downtown Toronto, you know what to do.

Well steal my peg-leg and call me crazy!

2010-11-08T12:59:00.000-05:00

ARRRRRRRRR! Arrrrrrrrr... That seems to be the word of the day today. As I was walking on over to this here Starbucks in my brand new neighborhood, I was thinking it. Then I walked past a disheveled man carrying a torn up garbage bag, flailing his hands madly, who was screaming it. And even the little dog waiting impatiently outside the coffee house was barking it. Frustration - or craziness - is in the air my friends, and I've been bitten by this bad, bad bug.

But first, an update, because it's been about two weeks since I've written, and in that amount of time, I've managed to do a number of things that would make a normally sane person crap their pants. (So far though, I'm still good in that department. Phew. Not pew.)

- The Acadian and I are moved in to our new apartment high above the treetops of our new downtown Toronto neighborhood. It's cheaper, it's smaller, and gosh darn it, we love it!
- I got my hair cut and then cut again. I must wait a while now for more to grow in before I get it chopped some more.
- I've been working at my new job in the jewellery store which has so far been a very interesting experience in watching high-end consumer behavior.

Earmuffs: lost. :-(

- I lost my most favorite (and only) pair of earmuffs on the first chilly day that I cracked them out of the winter clothes box. I'm still hoping they find their way back to me. They hung around close to my brain a lot - maybe some of my smarts migrated into the fabric, in which case I desperately need them back.
- I broke one of my favorite bowls. You know, the one you see at the top of this page on the left-hand corner with some of my favorite earrings hanging off the edge (so far, those are still in my possession). This is fresh news to the Acadian. Sorry hun - we're down to 3 now, and watch out for shards of porcelain the vacuum missed in the kitchen. Ha! Who am I kidding - the vacuum misses NOTHING!
- We gave up the internet, and then a week later, caved and signed up for it again.
- I gave up my iPhone data plan too. Tomorrow is the last day for that - let's see if that sticks.
- We also gave up the car. For like a half day. Hey - at least we tried! And then yesterday we thought it was broken. It wasn't. Phew!
- I had a meltdown in a Canadian Tire store. Details are still fuzzy, but it involved waiting in line for ten minutes on what was apparently the wrong side of the counter and being denied the right to return a sink plug bought on the previous day. Thank you to the Acadian for going back yesterday, when the ban on returns had ended and reclaiming our $8 and some odd cents. And am I the only one who thinks it's fundamentally wrong to have a Canadian Tire in the Eaton Center only steps away from H&M? Mom - please ask Dad about this. I'm sure he agrees.

Poltergeist? No... Right?

- It was the Acadian's birthday last week, and Google Maps sent me on a wild goose-chase for a Dairy Queen with a parking lot (You don't want to take an ice-cream cake home on the subway. At least I don't think you do. I didn't.) I found one though, Google Maps be damned! And we ate it. All.
- I tried to take money out from the ATM and it said my available balance was $0. Yeah, that wasn't fun. I fixed that though. Sort of.
- We briefly had poltergeist in the apartment last night until we discovered that it was only a set of drum microphones that had fallen from way high up. Again, phew. I don't know what I fear most - bedbugs or poltergeist. And the mics are fine, thank you. Seems most drum-related equipment is made to take a beating. Ha!

Well, I guess that about sums up the happenings of the last two weeks. Oh, and I also spilled half a bottle of laundry detergent into my shoe. Not here at the Starbucks, but the other day in the laundry room. I did 6 loads all at once you know. Could have done more but would need more clothes. Aside from all of this though, things are fundamentally good, even if I don't really feel that way. Well, now I actually feel quite a bit better, but until I got to this Starbucks just moments ago, you'd have sworn I was speaking pirate. And even before the poltergeist incident last night, I had barely slept a wink. I've been making lists like a mad woman, wondering which item I might tackle first to soothe the anxiety that keeps building up inside of me. And then, finally, I remember that the best thing to do is write. How it always makes me feel better. How it's what I like to do. Phew.

Guilty pleasures or fashion crimes?

2010-10-25T23:57:00.000-04:00

Not a kitty, but apparently
cuddle-worthy nonetheless.

Every now and then, I have the opportunity to watch myself, from the viewpoint of the guardian, while my Inner Child is doing her thing. When I catch myself in a moment like this, I usually get a good giggle out of it, but today, I was a little concerned. During my lunch break, I wandered over to Winner's, a popular Canadian designer discount chain where both the Inner Child and I were taken by a pair of very cute although highly impractical leopard print Betsey Johnson peep toe stilettos with platinum heels. The "guardian me" looked at the price tag that read $129, meanwhile, the inner child made pretty faces at the shoes and proceeded to pet them, with the grain of the fur, of course. That's when I started to wonder if the fashion deprivation I've been going through lately was akin to cutting off the oxygen to my Inner Child's brain.

Since the end of summer rudely ushered in the realization that none of my fall clothes fit me anymore, neither me nor the child have been happy campers. With one skirt, one pair of black pants and a pair of jeans to my name, my wardrobe options have been pretty limited when I'm faced with occasions where my legging clad butt just isn't appropriate. And thanks to all those pull-ups I've been doing at the gym, a slew of my tops, my favorite dress, my fall jacket and even some bras don't fit anymore. I'd rather have the muscle than a tag with a smaller size in my clothes, and have since brought a good portion of my wardrobe to a consignment shop to see if I can at least raise a bit of cash to buy a few new things (the bras aren't for sale though, sorry), but in the meantime, it's slim pickings for me. And it sucks.

Alright, so she's a far cry from Audrey
Hepburn, but if someone's gonna give
Peg Bundy credit for being a fashion icon,
it might as well be me.

The fact that my fashion personality can change from one hour to the next makes it even worse. One day, I'll feel like dressing in a respectable, classy outfit only to throw it off a few hours later for something inspired by Peg Bundy (hence the love of all things leopard). I'm in need of some intense fashion therapy, but unfortunately, if there is a medical benefits program that covers it, I'm not aware of it or else I would have signed up ages ago.

I know that clothing - as in the kind that keeps you warm and on the legal side of that fine line that separates us from indecent exposure - is on the list of basic necessities of life, but what about cute clothes that fit well and make you feel good? When I started exercising and went down a few sizes two years ago, buying a whole new wardrobe didn't seem unreasonable at all, and in fact, it felt quite necessary with pants falling off of me. But this time, I feel guilty about it. Perhaps it's because the difference between then and now is that last time, I had the money to buy such things. But if clothes don't fit, they don't fit - whether they are one size too small or 5 sizes too big. And there is apparently no correlation between the size of my butt and the amount of cash in my bank account either.

While we are on the topic, I'm starting to think that I have guilt issues that need some resolving. Not only am I feeling bad about this impending mini shopping-spree, but I noticed today that I can feel guilt at the drop of a hat when I'm at work. And I would really like to rid myself of this icky emotion. Now that I've had a week back in my old office environment, I've been able to examine what makes my work brain tick from a whole new perspective. I've found that I very much like getting things done. Being busy? Awesome! Keeping the ball rolling? Woohoo! Waiting on email replies? Ok.... I'm starting to get edgy, but I'll be ok. Having to push the pause button on a project until I hear back from a third party? Why, no, I'm not PMSing, that's genuine irritability you're sensing there. What's this, now everything is at a standstill until I hear back from my contacts? So I can't get *anything* done? Although it may look as though I have ants in my pants, it's just me feeling extremely uncomfortable with the fact that I'm not being productive, which leads me to feel - yes - guilty.

I've had it hard-wired into my brain that when I am at the work, I'm supposed to be working. You know, getting stuff done, making things happen. So what happens if nothing is happening? If I've done all I can and all that's left to do is wait? I seem to equate this with doing a bad job, and I really don't like doing a bad job. Nobody else thinks I'm doing a bad job though, but I do, and it makes me feel horrible. Guilty. And very stressed out. And all over nothing! In fact, I'm getting stressed just writing about it now. And while I do, my guardian, the observer hidden deep down inside of me, puts on her spectacles, leans in and lets out a "hmmmmmm..." as she bites down on the nail of her index finger while taking a good, close look a me in all of my freakish, guilty glory.

So if I realize all of this and see it happening, shouldn't I be able to just talk myself out of it and spare myself the expense of a therapist? So far, it's not working. I seem to have this need to please people and not only meet and exceed their expectations, but also my own. In most other areas of my life, I've been able to relax and ditch this guilt, but not at the office. Not at this office anyway. Bespectacled Sylvie wonders if it has more to do with the fear of letting down co-workers who feel like family than it does with being a productive little worker bee. But she has to stop examining me for now - the Inner Child, fascinated by her glasses, has nicely asked to try them on and is busy getting finger prints all over the lenses. Well, at least my wallet is relieved that she's gotten her mind off of those shoes.

I went to work and I liked it

2010-10-21T22:52:00.000-04:00

Today is day 6 of my "working streak". After spending two days at my new job in the jewellery store, I headed back to my previous employer's office for the week to help out while most of my old co-workers are away in sunny Orlando. Despite that, I still like them.

When my alarm went off at 6am on Monday morning, it seemed to set off another little bell in my head that made me suddenly realize that I was going to do the 9-5 thing that day for the first time since February. "Whoa!" I thought, "and I want to go to the gym *before* I go to work?", at which point I promptly jumped back into bed for another hour (hey - I'm low maintenance; less primping = more sleep).

As I made my way in, I noticed the differences between my experience the last time I went in to work and now. Driving instead of taking the subway? Dumb idea. New doorman at the office building who actually opens the door? Nice. A full size fridge and a wide selection of tea in the company kitchen? I do a double take. Really? Had this been there in January, I may have never left.

So this being "work" and all, I get to it. At first, it's a little strange, but after a few hours, I realize how everything about it is so second nature to me. I'm amazed that the drawer in my brain where all this info was kept hadn't been cleared out to make room for Rihanna lyrics (my favorite of which would be "I want you to love me, like I'm a hot pie." I don't know if I should shake my head, throw up a little in my mouth or sing along).

During my breaks, I find it amusing to ride the elevator with other "office" people. One man goes on about how inappropriate it was that both his cell phones were ringing during a meeting in a room where a sign had been posted asking people to shut off their mobile devices. He makes sure to say one of those devices in an iPhone. Twice. His companion offers him a piece of Nicorette gum. On the street, a woman in high heels talking loudly to the man walking with her smacks me with her oversized handbag as she gestures, not really noticing she'd just passed another human being.

Then, I indulge in my most favorite office ritual: the coffee. As I approach the counter, the barista recognizes me and asks how I've been. I notice all the other office people rushing around while I take my time to enjoy something as simple as buying a coffee. I jaywalk across the street, knowing just the right timing between the traffic lights. Emails are coming in. People are responding to me and they remember who I am. At the end of the day, I chat with the night doorman who seems as intrigued and slightly perplexed as most of the world is when I tell them about what I've been up to this year.

Call me Norm, but it feels a little like walking into Cheers. And it's nice. What makes it all the more interesting is seeing the whole day and all of its little moments from the perspective of an outsider. I don't rush frantically like the others I've observed around me this week, but I know all too well what it's like to be in their shoes. Even stranger is realizing that people actually remember me, have noticed my absence, or in some cases, have just assumed I had just always been there, like the basic staples in your kitchen pantry. For much of my life, I was hardly even noticed by others, much less missed.

Actually being useful has been nice too. As much as I've been searching for my greater purpose in life, I haven't really felt that I've had even a minor role to play on a day-to-day basis all this time I've been off. It's helped me feel more confident about going in to the jewellery store for my next shift there on Saturday too. There is something about starting something completely new that often makes me nervous and self-conscious, and this week has been a reminder that I do in fact, still have a functioning brain and that there is no reason to second-guess my abilities.

I'm amazed at how keeping an open mind and simply observing, just being, has taught me so much this week, and I'm even more surprised and proud that I actually managed to do it. Maybe those hamsters in my brain are hibernating for the winter. Oh, let's hope! In the meantime, I'd better take my cue from them and hop into bed. After all, I am going to work tomorrow.

Oprah, I'm not sure what Dr. Phil would have to say about this...

2010-10-20T22:23:00.001-04:00

Back in August, I went to go see my hairstylist and made a strange request; “Can you cut my hair so it looks longer?” I asked. And she did, which is precisely the reason that I love this woman. My hair hasn’t been this “long” in over two years now, and I’ve had mixed feelings about the short bob that I’ve been sporting lately. Yesterday, for no specific reason, I decided I’d had enough and it was time to chop it off again, so off to the newsstand I went to hunt down one of those hairstyle magazines.

When I got there, I was greeted by Oprah. Well not in person, but her smiling face was staring at me from the cover of the latest issue of her magazine, along with the headline “What’s Your True Calling? An Easy-Does-It Guide to Finding (and Fulfilling) Your Life’s Purpose”. “Oh leave me alone Oprah!” I thought. This entire year, I’ve been reading one article, book, blog - you name it - after another, promising to help me discover “my true purpose” and the only conclusion they’ve help me come to is that apparently, I’m supposed to be a confused wanderer who gets really frustrated when she finds yet another article that claims it can solve all her problems.

After ignoring Oprah for a while, and in the process finding a nice hair mag that will hopefully lead me to a great new cut next Friday, I picked up her magazine to skim through the article quickly. My first thought was “Wow – Oprah isn’t full of shit!” There were *several* articles that actually related to the headline on the cover. That's right - no misleading headlines that lure you to useless crap that has nothing to do with what was promised on the cover. I mean seriously, can anyone out there claim that they’ve had the “Best Sex EVER!!!” thanks to something they read in Cosmo? Anyhow, I digress. So off I went on my merry way, with Oprah in tow.

After spending my lunch hour today reading through the magazine, I was actually a little bit excited! It's not so much that any of my problems were solved by what I read, but it was more that I was consoled by the fact that I'm not alone. There are other people out there like me, who know they are supposed to be doing something else but just can't fit it into an existing career box.

One article in particular struck me. The author suggested that we have an animal side to us that instinctively knows where to go. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" I thought when I read that, "that's me!". I don't have a good, sound, logical reason for wanting do to do half the things I want to do, but what I do know is that there's something inside of me that feels it's right. She outlined a step by step exercise that we can all do to try and "track" our animal, like you would an actual beast in the wild. To get started, she says to make a list of what you were doing at times where you felt happy and in your element. You're not supposed to think too much about what it all means, or how they fit together - just list! So here goes...

I'm happiest when...
I'm hanging out with my family and acting like a total goof, while making rude and inappropriate jokes that I don't publish here.
I'm writing to this blog and sharing what I think, no matter how crazy, stupid or insane it may seem to some.
I'm CrossFitting, doing things I never thought I could do and that most others likely wouldn't believe I could do just to look at me, sweating like a pig, swearing like a sailor, and making rude and inappropriate jokes that I don't publish here.
I'm making people laughing and feel at ease when they were stressed out and tense only a moment ago.
I stand out, whether it's through my clothing, my hair, or just being me.
I'm baking chocolate chip cookies.
I'm joking around with friends, throwing around quick-witted banter, most of which is inappropriate and I don't publish here.
I'm doing something really child-like, like making play-doh and playing with it for hours, having a Nintendo marathon and eating candy, making up stupid stuff to confuse other people and then laughing about it, and not worrying about what time it is, how many calories I'm eating or how silly it's making me look.

So basically, what makes me happy is acting like a foul-mouthed 5 year old who has a sweet-tooth and is endlessly amused by pee-pee jokes.

Now the next step in the experiment is to figure out where your "animal" would likely go next. So let's say that in my case, if there is a function on the Merriam-Webster website that will correctly sound out the pronunciation of words through my computer's speakers, it's a smart bet that upon learning about this, my animal will be there in a matter of seconds to look up words like "shit" and "motherfucker". Again, I digress. But you get the point - you look for things that you haven't tried before but that are linked to your circle of activities that make you happy, and you go out and try them! And if you're not crazy for the first thing, you find another and keep going from there.

Sure, it's not foolproof, but I think this is a fun way of going about it. I've kind of been working at this in my own way, although I found that making that list of moments where I was really, truly happy really helped bring a few things about myself to my attention: I love to laugh, push limits, stand out and make people feel at ease. Oh, and I like sweets too. I'm not quite sure what all of this means, and how - and even if - it all fits together, but it sure is interesting, and if anyone out there has any epiphanies about my true life's purpose or would like to offer me a lollipop to entice me to streak at an upcoming sporting event or perhaps tomorrow morning's subway commute, then please feel free to comment below.

There is one thing that I thought I would try though. A little while back, I took some improv classes with The Second City Training Center in Toronto. It was fun, although I must say I did feel a little uncomfortable after one particular class where my teammates and I got some weird looks and comments from the others about getting "carried away" with our skit. I'm sorry, but if there is one thing I won't let the boys one-up me with, it's dirty jokes. Ok, yes, I did have a point here with this paragraph... So I was checking out The Second City's latest course offerings, and there are a few here that I am thinking of taking. I'm not considering any of these as career training by any means, but rather as an experiment to see what I learn about my animal in the process. So I'm considering the next level of Improv class, Stand Up 101 or Comedy Writing. Feel free to weigh in on what I should take and I may or may not take your advice.

So thank you Oprah, for helping me get to the core of my foul-mouthed, giggly, sugary existence. And if anyone has new words that my animal should learn to pronounce with Merriam-Webster (oh come on, I know you must have tried it!), well there just may be a cookie in it for you if you share.

Happy Dance

2010-10-15T22:55:00.000-04:00

I have something rather embarrassing to admit. Well, it's embarrassing to me anyway. Although I can appreciate many different types of music, over the years, I've mostly stuck to the louder, angrier, more rockin' variety of tunes. Every once in a while, I would download a catchy dance tune but was quick to bury it deep down in an obscure list on my iPod so that no one could discover my dirty little dancey secret. But that was the extent of it. So why, at some point last week, I had a sudden urge to listen to dance radio stations, to the point that I programmed four of them into my car stereo, was an utterly puzzling and ~~slightly~~ very shameful mystery to me, even if I bopped my head to Lady Gaga all around town.

From listening to Toronto's dance music stations, I quickly learned that...

1. They all play a rotation of a maximum of 10 songs, over and over, as opposed to the 20 songs played by my favorite alt/rock station.
2. If it's not a Rihanna song playing, then it's a song where it's "Some Artist, featuring Rihanna", and if there is no Rihanna at all in the song, it's a sure sign that someone has hijacked the airwaves.
3. Dance music is a whole lot happier than the usual brand of "fuck you" music that I'm accustomed to listen to.

My new brand of "fuck you" music

I don't know if my recent craving for what I normally refer to as crap music was just foreshadowing things to come, but I'm feeling a whole lot happier these days, and today has ranked as quite exceptional on the scale of goodness.

For the next week, I'll be heading back over to my old employer's office to help them out with a few projects, and gym rat that I am, I thought I would try to get my workout in before I headed downtown to meet with my old boss to hear all about my latest mission. (It all seems so much more exciting when I think of myself as a spy who may come across a self-destructing document at any moment. So far, all destruction witnessed has come at the hands of someone else in close proximity of a shredder.) I had hoped for a quick and "easy" workout, which is stupid, because in CrossFit, there are never any easy workouts, but hey, I was still asleep this morning when I checked the gym's website to find that Fran was there, waiting to ~~greet~~ bitch-slap me.

Fran is not a person, but she is indeed a hell of a bitch. If you are interested to see what the workout that goes by this lady's name is like, you can watch this video and listen to Dolly Parton all at the same time. Before you do though, a short disclaimer: the two athletes in this video are kicking some serious ass and although I did go through the exact same workout as them, there was a lot more time, swearing and stopping to shake my arms out while swearing involved than what you see in this clip. And thankfully, there is no video evidence of this mornings efforts.

If you think this is bad, you should've seen

what Fran looked like when I was done with

her. Ok, that's just trash talk. We all know it

It took me 17 minutes and 17 seconds to do what you see Annie doing in roughly 2 minutes and 40 seconds here. Sure mine isn't a great Fran time, but this marked my very first time doing this workout as prescribed, with the asterisk, no modifications required, real pull-ups and all. It's a milestone that's up there with graduating high-school. Only instead of walking out with a diploma, I left with a torn callus. And a whole lotta happy. I remembered the day times two years ago when I bugged my trainer at the time, incessantly I might add, that I wanted to do pull-ups like the guys. I had wanted to do just one. Today, I did 45.

With the morning off to such an exciting start, I headed off to my meeting next where it was almost eerie to see how easily I was able to sink back into some of my old roles at the company. Knowledge I hadn't given a second thought to in over 7 months was right there in one of those handy little drawers at the back of my brain, right where I'd left it. Although I was a little nervous at the idea of taking the project on since I wasn't sure how it would fit with my "only do stuff you like" motto of late, I left the office feeling excited to be working with some familiar folks for the next week, but also relieved that it was only coming my way in a short burst.

All day though, I kept thinking back to the jewellery store that I interviewed with earlier in the week, hoping that I'd hear back from them soon with some good news. Many people who've asked what type of work I'm looking for have had a slightly perplexed look when I'd get excited telling them about a retail job at this great little store I had interviewed with, but I don't care. I really had my heart set on this regardless of whether it seems like a step backwards, forward or whatever. A step is, after all, a step, an action, and the way every dance begins. And tonight, I'm listening to my cheesey new music, and I'm dancin'; the store called, I'm in, and I start tomorrow.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

2010-10-12T21:54:00.000-04:00

Things are coming along. Phew! I'm glad to say I'm in much better spirits today than I was when I last wrote. In fact, I'm quite excited about the turn that things have been taking in my life. The Acadian and I are waiting on final confirmation that we've been accepted as tenants into a building smack dab in downtown Toronto. Our fingers are crossed, and we're both looking forward to being in a new place at the center of it all. It's quite different from where we live now, pretty much in the suburbs where getting around without a car can be a bit of a frustration. But this is also where I have been for most of the 12 years I have lived in Toronto, and I figure that after so long, it's about time that I give downtown living a try. If the sampling I got while visiting the Acadian in the downtown digs he lived in when we first started dating are any indicator, I think I'm really going to enjoy this! Now if only we could get that call telling us we're in...

Another first for me today (well, the first in a few years anyhow): a job interview. Instead of dragging myself to an office to convince someone to give me a job that I desperately don't want, I strolled through one of the city's historic districts into a lovely jewelery and accessory boutique to chat about a job as a sales associate that I would very much love to have. How refreshing to have a nice chat with the manager and have a peek at all the great pieces in the showcases instead of answering the typical "give me a situation where..." interview questions I'd grown so accustomed to.

The sun was shinning today, both literally and figuratively. After my interview, I wandered into a nearby cafe and sat outside for a while to enjoy not just the beautiful day, but that moment. Things are finally moving forward. For months, it seems as though I have just been floating around, trying desperately to move along in my life but not budging an inch. Now, it seems as things are evolving; nothing is forced, just simply moving along in a way that feels right. Perhaps part of my problem was that I wanted the newness without being willing to give up the old. The old neighborhood. The old routine. The old thought patterns and perceptions about the world and how it perceives me. Some things are easier to leave behind than others, but this I am sure of: things are a-changin'.

My panties aren't in a knot, per se

2010-10-04T16:17:00.000-04:00

For the second time today, I find myself in a coffee shop to take advantage of the free wi-fi. Yes indeed, The Second Cup is truly living up to its name this afternoon. I don't usually mind hanging out with folks drinking their coffee, but today, it just feels uncomfortable, and there is a strange looking man watching me. As a matter of fact, just about everything feels uncomfortable these days. Like when you're wearing cute underwear that is just a little too small, and even though you don't technically have a wedgie, it still doesn't feel quite right.

While battling a cold and getting re-acquainted with sleepless nights, I've also been doing some hard-core apartment hunting over the past week. Right now, I'm not finding it to be a very fun process. I'm sure it's full of lessons for me, but right now, I don't get them and I can't wait for this whole thing to be over with. After dozens (likely close to 100) calls, very few positive responses and a handful of apartments visited, we still haven't found "the one". Part of me wants to walk into a place and just wait for it to be right, to fall in love. But the other part tells me that it's hard to be love-struck when you're on a budget and a deadline, and I need to just get over all this "feeling" crap. I wish that part would shut up. But I can't help but wonder if it might be right.

Adding to the problem is that what "feels" right changes on an hourly basis. Since I've been in Toronto, I've always been a West end girl. So far, none of the places I've been coming across in that part of town have been fitting the budget aspect of our list of must-haves. Sometimes, moving to the East end of town, where we've seen one apartment that fits our budget that is literally next door to a subway station, seems like a big adventure! Together, the Acadian and I would move to new territory and explore the neighborhood together. I'd try my hand at being a city girl in the middle of it all, and it would be so much fun! Giving up my car will be cool and I'll enjoy zipping around town with my transit pass. But then, only a few hours later, I start to wonder how I'll like living in a high-rise again and how we'll get our cases of almond milk and other hippie-dippie things home. I really wish my sense of adventure would come back to stay.

Back and forth. To and fro. It honestly feels more like two steps forward and ten steps back today. And it's all because of me. And my choices. Choices I've made in the past, but choices I could make today to give whole process a whole new direction. If the me of 10 years ago could come to the future to share a few words, the first ones out of her mouth would likely be "quit this crazy live-with-a-purpose business, get a job and buy a house!". But I suppose she hadn't had the chance to spend those 10 years working yet, discovering that promotions, money and houses didn't make her happy. Sigh. The thought that's been coming to mind the last few days is that by doing what I'm doing, I'm throwing away everything I've worked towards over these last 10 years. However as I write this, I realize the opposite is true: if I go back to the same old routine, I'm turning my back on all I've learned and experienced in this time. Caution people, this is a pep-talk in progress.

Although I know that my perception on this situation is key to making it a happy one, I'm finding it hard to flip the switch. I keep looking back to the me of two years ago. Somehow, she managed to be hopeful about her life even if the whole thing had been turned upside-down. Why can't I do the same today? Why is the Cheerio-box-shaking a little nauseating lately? Things have been changing by the hour though. Maybe the part I'm getting wrong is that when the sense of adventure comes around, you're supposed to hang on, tight.

Penny for your thoughts

2010-09-28T23:08:00.001-04:00

Over the past few days, my brain has been working over-time trying to come to terms with the big decisions I have made in my life during the last week. Those would be:

1. Not going back to a corporate job.
2. Moving to a smaller, less expensive apartment.

I tried to do quite a few things to keep my brain quiet so that I could have some peace, like visiting a reptile zoo (those who know the Acadian are not surprised by this one), eating apples (for some reason, they are like crack to me these days), obsessing over Craigslist apartment postings for a ~~short~~ long time (highly ineffective, by the way), drinking a glass of wine (bingo!) and then spewing out every gibberish thought that came into my head and eventually convincing the Acadian to play a game of scrabble with me. I may be good at some things, but not stressing is not one of them; in fact, I've often said that if I could just stress out about things and get paid for it, I would be fabulously rich. Even if I really don't enjoy stressing myself out about things.

One way to try to get your mind off of things: going to the reptile zoo.
Warning: if a big snake (aka the Green Mamba) eating a rat
freaks you out, well, prepare to be freaked out.

That last bit has gotten me thinking even deeper lately. My whole life, I have been trying to find a way to do things I love and get paid for it. This very topic has been the subject of many conversations that I've had with a variety of people this week, and it seems most of us are on this same path. We're not lazy, we want to work, but we just wish that it was doing things we love and feel passionate about. Yet in my case, most of my efforts usually end up with me stressing, which we all know by now that I'm wonderful at. Now, these are just my musings, and I'm still in the process of working all of this out (obviously!), but here is my take on the "do what you love and still earn a living conundrum" that is currently plaguing me:

- What does it mean to "earn a living"? For the longest time, that idea has had a price tag on it for me, and I'm thinking that this only limits me. Really, it means that I earn enough money to live on. And I suppose if I just take a look at all of my bills and add them up, that is the amount of money I need to "live". But what if I play around with those? What if I eliminate some bills. Lower a few others. What if I pare things down so that I am only spending money on those things that truly contribute to my happiness and well-being. Well then, the price tag I associate with "earning a living" just got a whole lot more affordable.

- What does it mean to me to do things I love? Sure, I'm particularly passionate about writing, but that oomph is only there when I can do it on my own terms, and share the words, thoughts and feelings in a way that feels true to me. And if I try to change it in order to sell it and earn a living at it, well it's not long before the warm and fuzzies pack up and leave. So it's settled - writing is for me, and if it doesn't earn a living, that's ok.

- Do I only love doing one thing? Well no, there are a lot of things out there that I love to do. And again, no particular ideas come to mind on how to do them and get rich. But why this focus on getting rich? Why this need to make more money to afford the lifestyle with the bigger price tag on it?

- Now, this is where it gets really crazy, but if I have now cut down on the amount of money I need to lead a lifestyle I enjoy, and there are several things out there that I like doing, even if they don't offer a huge paycheck, I could potentially live nicely while meeting all of my financial needs doing things I love, could I not?

And this is precisely the experiment that I am putting myself through, starting, well, just about right now. As soon as we know where our future home will be, I plan on working very hard to find a job in a retail store that I like. Some place where I could look people in the eye when I sell something to them and feel good about it. Although it may sound silly, I've dreamed of working in a clothing store since I was a teenager, and I'm really excited that I may now very well have my chance to do it. In my off time, I want to do other things I love, whether I get paid for them or not. The point of all of this is to spend my time doing things I enjoy and that my gut feels good about instead of stuffing down my feelings and taking on responsibilities I don't want just to earn a bigger paycheque to buy stuff that I really don't need to contribute to my happiness.

I'm also very curious to try my hand at spending less money too. Now up until two years ago, I could save with the best of 'em, but I have to say that I didn't really enjoy myself while I did it. I scrimped and saved but I'd sock it all away to sit in a bank account so that I could eventually buy a house. What if this time I live a thrifty life, but instead of not buying or doing anything, I buy what I need to make me happy and shell out for experiences I'll truly enjoy. No more sitting on my pennies, but no more buying on impulse just because the urge strikes me. Can I do it?

I wonder what will happen with all of this. Will I be happier? Will I enjoy life more? Will I miss the money? The luxuries and extra stuff that I give up? Will I be less stressed? More stressed? Maybe I'll feel deprived. Empowered? I don't know. But you can be sure I'm going to find out.

Hittin' the sauce

2010-09-28T16:18:00.001-04:00

I have said it many times - I am not much of a cook. Sure, I can manage to make something decent for a potluck or for (very rare) dinner guests, but on a day-to-day basis, I'm not blowing anyone's socks off. Unless I mistakenly throw in too much cayenne. But in that case it's usually not the socks that I'm worried about.

Fancy or not, I do cook, and several times daily. I'm not big on pre-packaged stuff, so each day, I'm chopping up veggies and making up weird soups, stir-fries, omelets. Some days I'm so lazy that I don't invent anything - I just eat my veggies and meat plain. Sure, it's lazy, but at least it's healthy.

A few weeks back, the nice people at Hall's Kitchen, who earlier this year sent me some yummy soups to test out, asked if I wanted to try out their new line of sauces. Armed with a new list of dietary restrictions in a bid to improve my sleepy thyroid situation, I clicked over to their site to see if I could find two flavours that didn't contain any gluten or soy. I try to save those cheats for days when someone will get hurt if I don't get a cookie and a latte. I was excited when I saw that there were in fact two that were all cool with my list of no-no foods.

It wasn't long before a bottle of the Rockin' Moroccan and Red Thai Curry Coconut Mango sauce found their way to me. I looked at them. I picked them up. I photographed them. I pondered what I would use them for. And then I went to make some sort of a strange omelet. I took a bite of the omelet. I looked over at the Rockin' Moroccan sauce. I looked at the omelet again. Surely, it wasn't the end of the world if I used some of the sauce on my omelet, and I could think of something fancy to make with the rest of it later. Yes, later.

A few omelet and stir-fry concoctions later, I was feeling a little guilty. Both bottles were almost empty, and I hadn't made anything "fancy" with the sauces, or even photographed the strange-looking meals I had scarfed down over the course of the week. But then again, I'm sure there are many people out there who will think of wonderful, pretty-looking dishes to make with the Hall's Kitchen sauces. As for me, I can personally vouch for the fact that without having to go out of my way, I used the sauces in my everyday meals to make them taste even better, all the while knowing that everything in them was good for me. And you know what? It was nice! I really don't buy any pre-packaged sauces, or even salad dressings, because so many of them contain strange preservatives or foods I don't want to eat. Actually being able to just pour something out of a bottle and not make it myself, while knowing that the quality is just as good and the flavours even better than those of my own inventions, is a wonderful little luxury.

So, guilt is gone, belly is happy, but now I'm a little sad because the sauce is long, long gone.

Tell me what you want, what you really, really want

2010-09-24T21:50:00.001-04:00

I've never been a big fan of the Spice Girls. I mean, it was fun to mock my sister back in the day for the simple fact that she was a fan, and I may have secretly hidden a song or two of theirs on my MP3 player ('cause I didn't have an iPod then either), but that was the extent of it for me. Now perhaps it's because I didn't idolize them, or maybe I just needed a little time (like 10 or so years), but this week, I finally decided what "spice" I would have been. Now I can't sing, and whether I can dance is up for a heated debate, but I don't know how many people would object if I started to call myself Flaky Spice.

Flake has been my self-descriptor of choice lately. Well, rather, it's been the Mean Lady's description of me. She thinks I am a flake. I suspect she's not alone. She constantly whispers this into my ear, and then sometimes she yells it out, you know, like when I finally get two calls to be interviewed for perfectly good, responsible, grown up jobs, and I decide that's not what I want anymore. I tell ya, if you ever want to make the Mean Lady mad, do that.

Since I keep hearing over and over how flaky I am, from a voice in my own head nonetheless, I thought I should do some damage control and see if it really was all bad. Being a flake has never been anything to aspire to as far as I was aware, but I thought I would check, just in case. According to Princeton University's WordNet, flake can be defined as follows:

S: (n) eccentric, eccentric person, flake, oddball, geek (a person with an unusual or odd personality)

I was pleased when I read this. Each of those descriptors fits me very well, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. In fact, I particularly like oddball; if one thing is becoming clearer and clearer to me, it's that I'm not like most people. None of us are. But one thing I've realized that is especially different about me is that I don't care. I don't want to be like other people.

Figuring out what I actually, truly want has been on my to-do list from the Universe this week, and it wasn't very subtle about assigning the task either. Everywhere I went, there was something urging me to take inventory of what I truly want in life - from articles shared on Facebook, my horoscope to my angel cards. So I did what any flaky unemployed girl with time on her hands would do: I got to work.

From the nausea and dread I experienced while listening to a voicemail from a nice woman calling me for a job interview, it was pretty clear that going back to a full-time office job in a capacity similar to what I used to do was not on the list of things I wanted. It was so, so far down, that not even the Mean Lady could beat the idea into me. I was lucky enough to be chatting with a like-minded friend when I retrieved that voicemail, and we both agreed that these types of gut feelings shouldn't be ignored. Not only does going against my gut feel like I have a brick in my stomach, it also brings me down in a very big way. After admitting to myself that I didn't want to go to any of those interviews and much less take any of those jobs, I felt as though a huge weight had been lifted. And for the first time in weeks, I was happy. I had almost forgotten what that felt like.

Over the last week, I have taken a look at many aspects of my life and come up with a short list of things I truly want for the next little bit.
1. I want to be happy. I figure my best shot at this is actually following my gut, which is what this whole adventure was supposed to be about in the first place.
2. I want to write. And I want to write here. Often. I don't want to shy away from the bad and the scary. I just want to write it all down, put it out there for the world to see, just because my gut tells me to do it.
3. I want to feel secure. Part of that means knowing that I will be able to have enough money to live. So I've decided I apply for work in stores that I like. All I've ever done in my adult life is work behind a computer, and although I know many people will tell me I'm insane, the idea of working in a clothing store right now sounds fun and exciting.
4. I also want to get rid of unnecessary things in my life. I'm counting down the days until my cell-phone contract allows me to downgrade to a bear bones package. I don't need to check my emails and Facebook when I'm in line at the grocery store. And this big apartment that the Acadian and I live in - well let's just say my current salary doesn't allow for it anymore. So we're going to be moving to something smaller. And I'm actually really excited about it. Notice was handed in to the superintendent this morning.
5. I want to stop beating myself over the head to convince myself I should do what everyone else does. I want to stop questioning why I can't just be happy doing the same job I've done for years and just embrace the change coming my way. I want to be the person I am and not worry about what other people think. These are all the hardest to do, but when I'm true to myself, no matter how crazy it appears to the outside world, I really do feel truly happy.
6. I want to stop worrying. No, I don't know where all of this is going to lead. But what I am sure about is that I want to try living this way and see where it takes me. I don't want to predict. I don't want to stress about the future. I don't want the pressure of coming up with a master plan. I just want to live now. And I want to enjoy living.

And now, I want to finish this post and hang out with the Acadian. As long as I am by his side, a better man, partner and friend is one thing I'll never want for.

Ever feel like an ass?

2010-09-21T12:24:00.001-04:00

Or a butt to be a little more precise? Today, I feel as though I am the butt of a great joke that has all the higher-ups in the Universe laughing. Laughing their own little butts off.

So earlier this year, after much urging from this same, silly Universe and my very own gut - both of which had been co-conspiring to whisper fun little messages to me - I decided to actually quit my perfectly good job. And so I left my conventional life to go discover all sorts of things about myself on what would surely be a wonderful time of adventure.

Sure, he makes it look easy,
but has anyone checked his underwear?

Perhaps this is naive of me, but I always envision adventures with a happy thing. Alright, there is no "perhaps". It *is* naive of me to envision adventure this way. After all, I have seen a bunch of Indiana Jones type movies, and although the hero always wins in the end, there is a lot of outrunning of gigantic boulders and dodging of strange arrows that happens. But dammit it's so much fun to watch! Yet no one thinks of checking Indiana's underwear at any point to see if he really does stay cool throughout the whole thing. Really, is it that hard to imagine that he might be shitting bricks while he desperately tries to figure out a plan that will help him escape some weird ritual where his heart is going to be ripped out?

Well my adventure is scaring the crap out of me. It was all fine and dandy until August when the reality of my financial situation, or rather the echo in the empty cavern that is my bank account, began to set in. So, my friends, what do we do in this day in age when we need some money? All together now: we get a job. Yes, we get a job. We find something we are good at, we type up a nice looking resume, get our friends to check it for spelling mistakes and then we send it out to nice companies that are looking for people like us to get some sort of a job done in exchange for money.

And this is what I did. 49 times. Over the course of the last month and a bit, I have sent out 49 resumes in the hopes of finding some sort of a job so that I could pay my bills, and during the times that I am not working, I could pursue the other things that I have discovered to be passions of mine over the last few months. Is that not what normal people do? They get a job, and then, on their off time, they do stuff they like. And maybe some dishes and laundry here and there.

Now this is where is gets funny. Normally, after sending out a few resumes, the lovely people at those nice companies will sometimes call you so that they can make arrangements to meet you face to face to make sure they might enjoy your company in the confined spaces of their office. Not each time, but sometimes they call, right? Surely after 49 times, someone calls asking to meet you?

No one wants to meet me. Well, not to talk about jobs anyways.

I told myself this was ok. That it would take time. That when the right opportunity came up, it would all fall into place. That I just had to keep putting in hours and hours to send out more resumes to these companies and hope that one day soon, I would get a call, or maybe an email from something other than an auto-responder and that it would lead to a job. And in the meantime, I should dust off my "professional" clothes that had been sitting in the spare room closet for months and months and months.

Ah. Now it gets even funnier, although I can assure you that it was anything but at the time. In a strange way, I had missed those dressy clothes a little bit. I wondered what I would look like today in one of my old suits? After a few moments of getting into the skirt and jacket, and another thinking that something wasn't right, I turned to my mirror to be greeted by my reflection, which resembled some sort of a sausage masquerading as a business-woman. Yes indeed, none of my suits, dress pants, jackets - any sort of professional, interview-appropriate attire whatsoever - fit me. To my great relief, I have since concluded that the culprit is more likely to be muscle than fat since flubb does not tend to migrate to my shoulders, but the discovery of a wardrobe full of too-tight clothes was nonetheless quite disconcerting. Well to me it was. I'm pretty sure the Universe is still giggling about it.

Apparently, this is not me.

Discouraged about the state of my life, I made the trek out to the suburbs to visit a coach that I consult with every now and then. Fondly known as "my angel guy", the best way I can describe what Chris does is to call him an intuitive life coach, which doesn't really do him and what he does justice. After our chat, it was quite clear that the Universe doesn't think I'm done with this current adventure. It is patiently waiting for me to take my head out of the sand and get back to it. Apparently, there are enough ostriches in the world, and being a gigantic bird is not my calling. Who knew?

Today, there are a bazillion signs that seem to have all been sent to support this theory. And as I wipe my eyes and pick the sand out of my nose, the panic, the sense of being victimized, and maybe a bit of fear, are all beginning to lift as I realize that all of this really is kind of funny. Although it's hard to do, and I'm not sure that I'll be able to keep it up all day, much less all week, month, or more, laughing at yourself when you're the butt of a joke tends to make it more fun for everyone, including you. I hope. Well at least my heart and mascara hope so.

Two broads in a boat

2010-09-20T17:42:00.001-04:00

I'm just steps away from the house I used to live in with my ex-husband out in the suburbs. Actually, I'm at the Starbucks that was so conveniently located at the time, and I'm eating, or rather, have already scarfed down a double chocolate chip cookie and I'm making progress on my vanilla latte - two things that are on my "Sylvie don't eat" list. But today, I don't care. And you know what? They are both damn, damn good. So good, that I may buy another cookie. Maybe.

What's weird about today is that being here doesn't feel weird. I normally get this strange déjà vu feeling whenever I come back to these parts, but I was pleasantly surprised that today, they are just regular streets in a pretty town.

Another thing that is unusual today is me. And perhaps I am misusing the word "today". For the purpose of this sentence and the last two, the exact length of "today" is about six weeks, give or take a few days, hours, whatever. Over the course of this time, the Mean Lady has been steering the boat. I'm not sure how she's been managing with the oars constantly out of the water, whacking me in the head, trying to beat me into submission; she may be mean, but that lady is one heck of a multitasking mama. With a strong arm.

At first, she started off slowly.
Mean Lady hits Sylvie over the head with a oar. TONK!
Sylvie: OWWW!
Mean Lady: Go get a job!
Sylvie: NO.
Mean Lady is violently pushed out of boat.

This happens a few times. I consider buying a single person kayak but money is tight, and I may need to save up for a new oar - seems one of them has dent in it in the shape of my head.

That Mean Lady - she is also a creature of persistence. And a heck of a swimmer. She keeps climbing back in, hitting me over the head. Each time, the process is swifter and stronger. I start to suspect maybe she's been CrossFitting too. Sigh.

A few weeks later...
TONK!
Sylvie: I know, I know - "get a job" Could you quit it with the oar?
Mean Lady: Are you gonna get a job yet you crazy flake?
Sylvie: Sigh No, but I'll find myself a project.
Mean Lady: Get a job you crazy flake!
Mean Lady go splash.

And then more weeks, days or some measure of time later...
TONK!
Sylvie: WHAT?!!
Mean Lady: Seriously? You have to ask?
Sylvie: Fine, I'll look for a part-time job.

After another few weeks and several resumes sent out...
TONK!
Sylvie: I'm going to drown you, I swear.
Mean Lady: Get a real job. You have experience. You can earn a decent salary. None of this part-time bullshit. Besides, I want some pretty things and a nice dinner. Get to it!
Sylvie: I know, I know, but I have to believe in what I do. And they have to accept me for the quirky crazy person I am.

More time. Dozens of resumes. No phone calls. TONK!
Sylvie: You are *this* close to becoming a statistic!
Mean Lady: For what? Imaginary Mean Ladies killed by crazy, flaky girls armed with oars?
Sylvie: Oh you shut up! And give me my sarcastic wit back you nasty...
Mean Lady: No, I'm keeping that. But you know what you can have? TONK!

Another week. More resumes. One call that ends with a "yeah, we'll call you back if we want to pursue this". Editing of stuff online in a desperate attempt to hide the true nature of my quirky, "flaky" self. Countless tears interspersed with sobs and hugs from the Acadian.

TONK!
TONK!
TONK!
Mean Lady: HEY! I'm hitting you over the head here - can I get a little attention?
Sylvie: Oh, who? Me? You want attention from tear-stained, sad, soggy, watered-down Sylvie? Well you know what? She's got nothing for you. NOTHING! Not for you, or anyone else. She's just tired and teary. And she needs to get her ass to Costco to go buy more Kleenex. And no. She doesn't have a job.
TONK!
TONK!
TONK!

I couldn't take a whole lot more. Was there a point to being in a boat when it offered no shelter or comfort. Where none of my efforts could ever please the captain. And why wasn't I the captain? And how the heck was I supposed to answer all these questions with such a splitting headache? And even if I tried, who would be answering - crazy quirky Sylvie, or the watered-down version drowning in her own tears?

I might have been wise or utterly stupid, but I did the only thing I could: I jumped ship.

Mom, thank you for those swimming lessons when I was a kid. Treading water was always one of my faves. Now let's see how I do with a cookie in one hand...

Meet the mean lady

2010-09-13T16:01:00.000-04:00

It seems that the Mean Lady is a pretty famous broad. When I first started writing about her at the beginning of this year, I wasn't sure how much sense this whole idea of an awful woman living in my head would make to others out there. But that's what was most surprising. I'm not the only one that knows her and her pack of bitchy friends.

And when I first started writing at the beginning of the year, it was also with a feeling that I really wanted to share this journey that I was going to be taking. I somehow felt that it was important - whether it would be to help others or mostly myself I'm really not sure.

Over the last few months though, there hasn't been a whole lot of writing happening. Documenting your life, your deepest thoughts and your biggest dreams can be a nice way to spend an hour or so when you're feeling happy and things are going well. But when you're confused, angry, sad, bitter and just at a loss when it comes to deciphering the strange, surreal and immensely boring existence that has become of your life - one that you willfully created for yourself in search of "something else" - spewing out this awfulness onto a computer screen doesn't really seem like a fun or even nice thing to do. Surely, there is enough bad news out there, the world doesn't need me to throw in some more.

But that's when I hear it - the little voice that always wants to see the world in a rosy hue and offer up advice and cheerful words. It's also the very same voice that I've been wishing I could clobber or just flush down the toilet for over a month now so that it could just let me be miserable in peace, guilt-free. This time though, I stopped to listen. Perhaps it was because she'd ditched her chirpy tone, but I'm pretty sure it was just because what she'd said was actually true. "It's not bad news" she said, "it's honesty". And you know what? It is honesty! Absolute truth. My life, as I'm sure is the case for most people out there, isn't all roses and bubblegum all the time. But yet, there seems to be all this pressure to make it look as if it's so. And do you know what? It's irritating. In fact, it's become my new pet-peeve.

Being doom and gloom all the time isn't good for anyone (trust me on this), but I think we should all give ourselves permission to be ok with our suckiness when it happens. I found that choice of words - we should all give ourselves permission - to be quite a revealing message to myself. The pressure that I feel to be so happy and perfect really comes from within. I can blame a million sources - which I have been wonderful at doing over the last few weeks - but I'm the only one who's accepting the challenge to be Ms. Cheeriness. And in doing so, it seems I've slowly morphed and become the notorious Mean Lady in the flesh.

I realize that this may not sound like a great marketing pitch for the girl who's been working at making a name for herself as the Intuitive Cheerleader. But I don't care. Last week? Yes, then I cared. The thought of posting something that actually reflected my true feelings was horribly and deeply embarrassing. But now, well, I'm just a few lines away from hitting Publish Post, and it's not as bad as I thought.

I even think if I'd perhaps allowed myself this freedom to be openly disappointed and upset much earlier, this whole thing would have blown over much faster. Maybe without so much shame and guilt, my skin wouldn't be such a cozy home for that horrible Mean Lady.

I don't believe any of us were put on this earth to fit some definition of perfect. As a matter of fact, I wish we could erase the word "perfect", just delete it from our language altogether. It may sound wonderful and ideal, but it creates standards that we can't and shouldn't live up to. We weren't put here to be perfect. We were put here to be us.

I was put here to be me.
I'd rather brave the tears and can the fake smiles.
And when you hear me laugh, you can bet it's real.

One asterisk* for me!

2010-08-24T17:53:00.001-04:00

When I was a kid, getting a stamp on my hand was a most awesome, however temporary, reward for some job well done. To this day, I have a secret envy for my teacher friends who have daily access to those cool stamps, and I know that part of the reason I never had a calling to become a school teacher is because the Universe knows that giving me a push in that direction would without a doubt lead to a moment where I would be found, alone in a classroom, laughing hysterically while stamping madly at any surface I could find.

Although I would still love to get my hands on one of those fun stamper doohickeys (preferably a heart or smiley face), these days, I happily settle for an asterisk. Actually, I will work my ass off to earn an asterisk, and I got my very first, completely legit little star on Friday. And of course, my chance to reap this simple yet super exciting reward happens at the gym. (Yes, this is another Crossfit themed post. You've been warned).

I suppose my preoccupation with the asterisk started a little over two years ago. As I was working through a set of modified push-ups (aka girl push-ups from the knees), I asked my trainer why I had to do them that way. Why couldn't I do regular push-ups instead? He told me they were much harder, but if I wanted to, I could try. So I did. I got to five standard push-ups, and then agreed with him - they were much harder! But we were both surprised - five push-ups is nothing to turn your nose at when you couldn't do any just a few months before.

Fast-forward a few years, and I have since learned to do a lot of other exercises. Most started out with a modified version, scaled down so I could get comfortable with the movement, and as I got better, the difficulty was increased. This is one thing that I think is awesome about Crossfit - as much as I can be amazed watching athletes at the top of their game killing a workout on YouTube, at the same time, somebody's grandma can be doing a scaled-down version of the same thing in her local gym and getting so much fitter in the process. And there is also no shame if you are a non-grandma like I was, doing those same modified exercises.

Everybody can learn to do a push-up!

But as much as I get excited when I finally get to the point where I can do something unmodified, the game changes when a few of those movements get thrown together into a workout, where they suddenly find new and magical ways to kick my ass, at which point I'd often have to resort back to an easier variation. And that was all find and dandy, but lately, I couldn't help but think that I could probably make it through the original version of the workouts, without changing a thing. Sure, it might take me a lot longer and I would likely finish dead last, but still, it was worth a shot. And worth an asterisk too - a little star scribbled in dry-erase ink on the board to indicate those who do the workout as prescribed.

Although there were some legitimate reasons keeping me from doing certain things - like not having acquired that particular skill or having the strength to work with a particular weight - there were others that were complete and utter bullshit. Worries that I might not get through an entire workout, that no other girls were trying it unmodified or that my scores would be low and times would be slow were all holding me back. I decided it was time to put on my big girl panties, suck it up, ditch the bogus excuses and work at getting an asterisk next to my name dammit!

It took a few workouts before one where there were no exercises that I needed to modify (damn you pull-ups!) came along. Armed with my new mentality though, none of that bothered me too much, and I was surprised at how much more fun I had been having, trying to set new records for myself instead of worrying about what I could and couldn't do or how my time would stack up. When Friday finally rolled around, it brought with it a workout that called for "double-unders". To do a double under, you need to jump rope, but instead of having the rope rotate once when you jump, it needs to make two full turns before you come back down. Take it from a girl who consistently had a trainer shaking his head at hear when she'd jump rope while singing cute rhymes to herself and adding in extra hops to keep the beat: this ain't your typical school-yard skipping! But I'd been getting the hang of them lately, and after a bit of encouragement from the rest of the gang, I decided to suck it up and give it a try in a timed workout.

As the clock counted down, me and a few other guys waited with our skipping ropes ready to tackle as many rounds as possible of the following circuit for 15 minutes:
50 double-unders
14 20-inch box jumps
7 dead lifts (150 lbs for the ladies)

Although it's a far, far cry from breaking any records, I managed to squeeze in 2 rounds (+16 extra double unders!). And as tired as I was after it was all done (um, there is a lot of jumping involved even for the missed double-unders, and I missed a lot more than I got), I had more than enough energy left to respond with a resounding "FUCK YEAH!!!" when the trainer asked if I had done it as prescribed. And then, he put an asterisk next to my name. At that moment, I was a very happy and proud, sweaty, sweaty mess.

So it may just be a star on a dry-erase board, but I take it - and what it means - to heart. When I think that some might find this story utterly boring, a little voice inside reminds me that it's not how others perceive it that makes it a victory or a loss, but rather, it's being brave enough to step up to the challenge, choosing to believe in myself and giving it my all that determines the real score. Asterisks or not, my life is filled with opportunities I can attack with passion while ignoring the passing minutes, days and weeks and shrugging off those who try to keep score while I give what I know is my absolute best. If I put aside the worries, the competition and the restrictions, if I focus on my game, draw upon my strengths and strive to work through my weaknesses, will the result not be a life of which I'm proud of? A life that I enjoy? One I know I've made the most of? Stars, stamps, asterisks or not, I want to live this way and find out.

Hey Next - hold on a sec!

2010-08-15T22:10:00.002-04:00

Right now, I'm trying to type but it's a slow go because I'm shoveling blueberries into my mouth. A quasi-unlimited supply of wild blueberries picked by my Dad and hand-delivered to me yesterday by my little sister. They are yummy. Perhaps even more enjoyable (I know - tough call - those Northern Ontario blueberries are pretty damn tasty) is that I have the pleasure of overhearing the Acadian playing songs that he's written on his guitar while he and the singer of his newly-forming band belt out the vocals together. It's a very sweet moment indeed, and to top it all off, I just remembered that I had a last-minute load of dirty clothes to wash for tomorrow, and when I ran up to the laundry room to throw it in, all of the machines were free. If life is about savoring the little victories, I'm having quite a nice Sunday night snack. Both figuratively and literally in this case.

As lovely as all of that sounds though, and please, don't get me wrong - it's all incredibly wonderful and beautiful - I haven't been in much of a savoring and enjoying mood these days. My time has been consumed with locating coffee shops with free wi-fi where I can take refuge from my big scary apartment, sending cries for help and occasional threats to the Universe and shitting large bricks of worry and panic about the current state of my life.

Another pastime of late has been contemplating posting to my blog and then busying myself with something that involves not posting to my blog. My main reason for avoiding writing is that things seem so mixed up, and my mind is constantly considering, rejecting, re-evaluating and rebuilding ideas, that it feels quite silly to even try to write them down. Deep down, I know that this is total bullshit, and that it would do me good, as it always does, to tap away at my keyboard, put the sentences together and make sense of it all as I go, but the department that is in charge of procrastination inside of my brain has been working on this "You Are Too Confused to Write Anything" campaign that I really hate to disappoint it by proving it wrong. But I suppose all those busy little workers must be out at a BBQ tonight, because it does appear that I am in fact, writing a blog post.

Since I last wrote, which was a whole 10 days ago, much else has happened in my life, and in my brain too. I have resolved that I need to take on some sort of work to not only earn an income, but also to save my sanity because I am so, so, so sick of being at home and of working on things that relate to me. I enjoy marketing, and I think it's a lot of fun, but when the product is you, it's hard to leave it behind at 5pm. I've also never been one to yell "look at me!" in the middle of a crowded room, so that is another hurdle that I'm constantly smacking myself into. So although I still want to push forward, a new project to work on is very welcome indeed.

The Universe must have either seen the crazed, cabin-feverish look in my eyes or just gotten sick of my random threats because not long after I admitted all of this to myself, I ended up at lunch with a good friend (who also happened to be my boss) discussing the opportunity for me to take on a contract for a project that had always been my personal favorite at my previous job. It all revolves around food and travel, two things I can comfortably and fully endorse (and on that note, my blueberry bowl is empty - hold on a sec and I'll finish the sentence when I come back from the kitchen) so you would think I would have been thrilled.

You can understand why I felt like brat for not being initially excited about such a cool and fun opportunity. But wasn't this part of the very job I left earlier this year in search of "something else"? I mean really, how did this fit in with my plan of exploring new things for myself? I accepted the project, but came away with some big questions that could be answered by none other than yours truly.

The next day, I felt as though I had taken a step back and watched my brain re-organize a whole bunch of information. If you have a techie friend to whom you complain in an annoyingly whinny fashion about how slow your computer is, you have surely been told to try de-fragmenting it . And if you took that advice, and were bored enough at the time, perhaps you even watched your computer de-fragment itself for a few minutes. I watched my brain de-fragment itself the entire freakin' day. It felt weird and strange, and I just wanted to hide at home while it was happening, but I knew that it was good, and that things would make more sense at the end of the day. And they did.

The next step was to determine whether or not my brain and my heart agreed on these things that "made sense". I was surprised to see that in several instances, they did. Taking on this project would, from my brain's perspective, help pay the bills, but it would also offer my heart something to get behind, throw some of its passion into and get excited about. It would be fun, and even though it would be familiar, I would be approaching it from a whole new perspective. And in turn, all of this newness and excitement would surely help inject some new energy into my personal projects. Yay - win-win!

But, my brain being the incurable keener that it is wasn't happy with just this. One project is nice, but then what? What happens once that one is done? What is the point of projects anyways? Would I not be better off finding a full-time job, where project upon project would keep coming my way just as paycheques would quietly be deposited into my bank account on a steady and reliable bi-weekly basis? Although a job wouldn't be a very different "something else" from where I was earlier this year, it wouldn't be wrong to take one. I've learned and grown a lot during these months, and if I were to go back to full-time, 9-5 employment, all wouldn't be lost and I would still be grateful for this experience for my entire life.

This argument though, my heart had trouble with. It's not that it questioned the logic of it. It all made sense. And perhaps I will end up going back to a traditional job. "So what's you'r problem then?" my brain asked. "Why haven't you dusted off your resume and started a search?". My heart thought about this. It even searched through a few job sites. It went to go see if I even still have a resume to dust off somewhere, which it turns out that I do. But still, something wasn't right. "Well what is it? Why won't you do it?" my brain prodded. "You need to have a good excuse - you can't just brush me off like this, I need facts!".

It took my heart a full week to put its finger on it (yes, my heart has fingers) and finally, this is what it has revealed to both me and my brain:
"There's nothing wrong with getting a job. That rightness or wrongness of that action isn't what's up for debate. What is up for debate is what we've asked the Universe for. We weren't specific. All we said was that we wanted help. Help is here, and it's not up to us to question whether it's right or not. We left it up to the Universe's discretion, and I for one, would like to follow its plan to see what it has in store. So there is no job search now. Not today. And there will be no worry about "the next thing". The current thing isn't even upon us yet and you've already started panicking about what comes next. I would like to enjoy the current thing please. The perfection its scope and timing and the lessons that it will hold. And all the while, I will ask and trust the Universe to have the next thing ready in good time, when we need it and when we're ready for it."
My heart then pulled out its middle finger and respectfully pointed it towards my brain. And after that, there was no further debate.

As I sit here now, with a belly very, very full of blueberries, beautiful music pouring out of my living room and clothes tumbling gently in the dryer, I recall a time in my life two years ago when I had resolved to push forward, outside of my comfort zone to explore new things that life had to offer. Had I then been shown a glimpse of this life I have today, and all the wonderful chaos that it holds, I would have surely been awestruck at the transformation that awaited me, an evolution that was already in its infancy. Today I want to reclaim those wide eyes as my own, be grateful for the courage that comes my way and rekindle my sense of adventure for discovering this wild new terrain that will soon be a familiar home.

Smart Smoothies

2010-08-10T15:27:00.007-04:00

Back in February, I blogged about my new-found love for my recently acquired VitaMix blender. I've been putting it to almost daily use making all sorts of smoothies, so much so that I've pretty much got it down to a science. Good news is that you can use any blender, and I've got all of my tips and tricks right here for you!

Whipping up a smoothie is a quick and easy way of getting a lot of fruits, and even veggies, into your diet, but to get the most of this quickie snack or meal, it’s important to give some thought to what you’re throwing into your blender. Why? Because while your smoothie may be packing a nutritional punch, it can easily pack on the pounds too, which I’m guessing you’re likely trying to avoid. Here you’ll find some hard-earned tips that I’ve learned during my smoothie drinking adventures that will have you mixing up a nutritious, appropriately size and tasty drink in no time.

Start at the Base

Although smoothies are a mix of all sorts of different ingredients, you need a base – some form of liquid to get everything whirling around your blender. Trust me on this – cramming your Magic Bullet with frozen blueberries and a banana will leave you with the smell of burning plastic and some sort of a concoction that will never make it through a straw.. Milk is often used, and works just perfectly, but if you’re looking to keep it dairy-free, there are other good alternatives too. I’m personally a big fan of almond milk, which will get you the same creamy consistency as cow’s milk. I’ve also used water and even tea too, both of which are great to make a lighter, refreshing drink. If you’re using juice, keep in mind that one cup will add upwards of 100 calories to your drink, and since so many of them contain a lot of sugar, they often don’t give you a good nutritional bang for your caloric buck. If you really love juice in your smoothie, try to find a brand that is 100% fruit, like Ceres.

Once you’ve decided on a base, pour about a half cup into your blender for a snack-size serving. As the word implies – base goes at the bottom. If you have a Magic Bullet type of blender, put the base in last.

Bulk it up

Now the fun part! The fruit! Yes, please put some fruit in your smoothie. Ice-cream and chocolate syrup will turn it into a milkshake, and while that’s fun too, it’s not a smoothie. Be creative here! You would be surprised at the fun flavour combos you can create and just how tasty they can be. Feel free to use fresh fruit or frozen. My personal preference is to use about one cup of fresh fruit and half a cup of frozen fruit; it gives the smoothie a nice chill but not enough to turn it to a thick slush. If you want to use only fresh fruit, just throw in two ice-cubes to get a frosty drink.

But let’s not forget the veggies! Adding in a bit of cucumber or celery really gives a smoothie a refreshing taste and cut down on the sweetness of the drink. Spinach is one of my personal favourites for the simple fact that its flavour is almost undetectable and it adds in great nutrients. I dare you – throw a handful into your next smoothie and see how you like it.

Substance for sustinance

The point of everything we eat (well most of the time anyway), should be to feed our body and provide nutrition. But if we stick with just fruit, we’re going to drink up that smoothie and be hungry again in a half hour. Why? Because our bodies need more than just fruit to be satisfied for a few hours.

First thing is that your smoothie really should include some protein. Although you could throw in a chicken breast, I wouldn’t advise it, and if you do decide to try it please let me know how that goes. If you’ve used milk for your base, you’ve got a bit of protein there, but you might consider adding a bit more. For any dairy-free variation, you’ll want to add in a scoop of protein powder (check your health-food store for non-dairy protein powder). Look for something simple – try to avoid anything with flavouring or artificial sweeteners; you’re working hard to make a healthy, nutritious drink here, so the more natural, the better.

The scariest sounding element that also needs to be added in is fat. And yes, it’s important. Without a bit of fat in there, you won’t feel full, and although you would think it’s our sworn enemy, our bodies need fat to keep them running. The fats you put into your smoothie can add a lot of great flavours too! My personal favourites are almond butter and coconut oil. The almond butter will make your smoothie even creamier, and the coconut oil tastes like it sounds – tropical! I like to add a half tablespoon of fat for a meal-size smoothie, and half of that for a snack. You can also try throwing in a few slices of avocado too – they’ll make your smoothie just that – smooth and creamy.

Spice it up!

Think of herbs and spices as the finishing touches that can really make the flavours of your smoothie pop. Use your imagination and try a few things that might go well with a desert made using the same fruit as you’ve put into your smoothie. My personal favourite are ginger, mint, cinnamon and even cayenne pepper – guaranteed to wake you up!

On the go

It’s great that we can make delicious smoothies at home, but what about when we’re looking for something quick when we’re on the go? We’ve all seen places that blend smoothies for you while you wait, but before you place your order, make sure to ask about what they put inside. When I did, I found that many used frozen yogurt, sorbet and sometimes even ice-cream – all which contain a whole lot of sugar that I would personally rather avoid. In the best cases, they used 100% fruit juice as the base. The sizes are nothing short of humongous either, so before you ask for regular, have them show you the size of the cup first.

Has all this smoothie talk fuelled some cravings? Here is an easy recipe you can try to be sipping and slurping in no time!

Tropical Smoothie

1 cup of unsweetened almond milk

1 scoop brown rice protein powder (or other protein powder)

½ Tbsp almond butter

1 banana

½ cup frozen mango

1 pear

½ inch of grated ginger

3-4 mint leaves

Place ingredients into a blender in the order listed above (or reverse if you’re using a Magic Bullet). Blend until smooth. Makes 2 snack-size servings at 217 calories a piece.

Monsters

2010-08-05T15:12:00.000-04:00

As a kid, I used to wake up at night, all alone in my bed, really, really scared. Each time, I woke to a loud snarling sound that resonated throughout the house. I would just lay in my bed, paralyzed, wanting to call out to my Mom but too afraid to do so. Even then, I had voices in my head trying to counsel me. The reasonable voice assured me that there was no monster; it was just Dad snoring like he did every night and there was nothing to be afraid of. But the kid in me didn't care - she was scared and wanted Mom. After a few minutes of complete stillness in my bed, too afraid the rustling noise I'd make by hiding under the covers would alert the monster I knew didn't exist of my presence, I finally worked up the courage to call out to my Mom to come and comfort me.

Today there are no monsters, and thankfully the Acadian doesn't snore either, but I have to admit that I'm feeling just about the same way I did when I was 5 or 6, laying wide-eyed and terrified in my bed in the middle of the night. Over the past few weeks, the feeling has just been getting worse and worse, and I've finally worked up the nerve to call out in the hopes something will swoop in and take this awful nervousness, fear and worry away from me.

Early in July, I had been looking forward to a few weeks in Canada's East Coast having fun and unwinding with the Acadian while we visited his family and friends, which is exactly what I got. We had such a great time that I honestly didn't want to come back. It was nice to be among friends, away from the harsh city and all of my responsibilities. I also had a secret wish: I was hoping that these weeks away would help alleviate my fears, bring along new inspiration and give me a fresh outlook on things. I'm sad and disappointed that so far, this isn't the case.

This week, I feel more paralyzed than ever. And when I try to describe my fear, that image of me as a small child frightened of the monster that doesn't exist is what pops into my head. I find it difficult to visualize what I fear. It seems that I'm afraid that I won't be able to have my dream. That I will run out of money and have to pursue other things. I keep the vision I hold for the future close to my heart and love it and the people it holds dearly. But most importantly, I love the person that I am in this vision, and worry that my fears will lead me down a path that will have everything I find so wonderful about her recede into the background.

I desperately want to keep taking one step at a time in the direction of my beautiful dream. I can see and feel it so clearly, so perfectly. But what eludes me is the path leading up to it, the road to take, the way to follow. I feel the pressure of time and the worry of expenses beating down on me. Endless ideas that masquerade as inspiration exhaust me. And when it all gets to be too much and I want to give up, there is always one lone little voice from deep within my core that simply just won't let me.

The sickness that sets me straight

2010-06-25T23:08:00.000-04:00

"We're sick people, you know that, don't you?". It seems that those are the words I most often tell the trainers at the gym when I'm done a workout. You know, when I catch my breath and can actually talk again. Honestly, there are some times when I'm just plain amazed I got through it, and today was one of those days. I know the word of choice this week seems to have been puke, and I was a little worried that it might literally come up today when I saw the workout scrawled onto the whiteboard:

5 rounds, for time of

80 skips (like when you skipped in grade school, but without the little hop between rotations to keep the beat of skipping song. Bummer.)
30 box jumps (jumping up and back down off a box - today's was 15 inches high)
20 kettlebell swings (a kettlebell is essentially a ball-shaped weight with a handle, and today's was 8 kilos)

Each time I walk into that gym and look at that whiteboard, I'm always fascinated. Not just with the creativity and often, the sheer brutalness of the workouts, but with human spirit. That of those in the gym with me, but also my very own spirit. It seems it wasn't long ago that I would have never, ever dreamed I'd be able to do anything like today's workout or anything even close to it. A time where I couldn't even picture myself walking into a gym, much less doing any kind of a workout. But I do it now. And each time, I get better, I get faster and I get stronger. Not long ago, I didn't even have the willpower to get off the couch and exercise, yet now, I manage to find the drive, the energy and the complete and utter pigheadedness it takes to get me through a particularly grueling session. I always go hard, and I don't ever give up.

My favorite part of the workout is where I get to stretch, or as I like to call it, making a puddle on the mat. I lie down, stare at the rafters and silently wonder to myself, "how the heck did I just do that?" And then it dawns on me that regardless of how, I really have done it. Done, done, done! And then I remember how hard it was, and how I thought I might puke, and how sweaty and tired I am. And how I can't wait to come back and do it all over again. At which point I turn to the trainer and say "You know, we Crossfitters are sick, sick people, you know that?".

Some days it goes deeper than that though. As lay there today, making my puddle and marveling at how a girl can sweat and stink more than than most men (I have a sock for sale to the highest bidder if anyone is interested), I heard a little voice in my head say "Now do this with your life." And I needed to hear it. Too often, I let obstacles intimidate me longer than they should, I underestimate my abilities and I just plain sell myself short. I sometimes feel there are dues to pay, levels to attain and experiences to acquire before I can launch myself down a certain path. I'm learning that all of this is bullshit. It's by arming myself with a bit of knowledge and then being brave enough to throw myself into the ring that I learn, I grow and I evolve. It's not by watching endless exercise demos that I become a better Crossfiter - it's by stepping up, asking to learn and putting the new skills into practice. And so it is in life. I can make enormous progress in a short time and gain new skills whenever I'm ready for them. I can decide to be anything I want and then make it so. All I need is that human spirit. That passion. The exact stuff that's right inside of me.

A funny that's just like me!

2010-06-23T21:42:00.001-04:00

Today has shaped up to be quite an awesome day. My cup of coffee was waiting for me first thing, prepared just the way I like it (courtesy of the Acadian and his mad coffee-brewing skills). I indulged in a spur of the moment bike ride in the sunshine to visit Mr. Swan (not to be confused with Ms.Swan) at High Park.

And the highlight - an afternoon spent lunching, chatting and relaxing at the salt baths with two lovely ladies that I hadn't seen in far too long. Yes - didn't you know? This is how all ranting aspiring writers live their lives. Well this one anyway. For today. I think it was well deserved considering that during much of my day yesterday, I was consumed by thoughts of puke.

And an extra little surprise - I found a most awesome blog - with cartoons! Super-cool cartoons. And one that validates my very existence:

That made me smile. :-) There are lots more awesome illustrations and witty captions on Alex Noriega's blog Stuff No One Told Me. You can check it out for yourself, and you should, since I'm only posting two more of them because those are the rules, and if I break them, Alex will kick my ass. Fair enough. I happily honor the sacred code of kicking butt.

Ranting Writer. Warning - contains multiple references to puke.

2010-06-22T22:49:00.000-04:00

I often wonder what will become of this whole "experiment" that I'm in the middle of. You know, the one where I quit my perfectly good, well-paying job and live off of my savings for as long as they will carry me without the slightest clue as to where I might be going. At this precise moment in time, the "experiment" can go on for about another 3 months, at which point I can pursue options such as...

1. Getting a "normal" job.

2. Locating and living out of a nice cardboard box and perhaps doing some panhandling on the side, which I have been informed I could do rather well at during the summer months if I wear revealing clothes.

3. Take the experiment to a new level and turn into something good.

You guessed it, I'm hoping for number 3, and not just because option number 1 makes me want to puke a little bit inside my mouth like I do when I hear Coldplay and Nickelback on the radio. I was kinda sorta really completely hoping that the whole purpose of this experiment would be to get me to number 3, but I tell ya, I'm scared shitless now that I have this big deadline looming, ticking even louder than my biological clock, both of which are impossible to drown out by playing Dave Matthew's "So Much to Say" on repeat for hours on end. Trust me. I have tried.

So in my last post, I gave myself a lovely 6-month review. I got a lot of stuff done. I really did. Perhaps some people could have done more with it, but this is how I've invested that time, and I'm happy with what I've gotten in return. I've learned about a lot of things I want to do and a bunch of others I'd rather not pursue.

Let's focus on what I want to do. Lets? Ha! Who am I kidding. Sylvie: focus on what *you* want to do. Ok then.

I want to write. Specifically, I want to write about things I like. I want to write about these things because incorporating them into my life has totally transformed it. I want to write about those things and the transformations that took place so that I can share them with other people. If I have to sit on all these great ideas and thoughts that are in my head, that could help other people have more happiness in their lives, it will just drive me mad, and just thinking about it makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little bit again, and really, if I get to the point where I can accept this, well then I might as well just go out and buy a Coldplay t-shirt and blast Nickelback from my sub-par car stereo. (the stereo bit is not meant as a jab to Nickelback fans. My car stereo really is sub-par.)

So to summarize, the goal I have set for myself is to write about ways that my life has been transformed for the better and share that with other people in the hopes that it might help them too. And I would like to talk about all that stuff too. In front of a bunch of people. 100's. Maybe even 1000's. Why? Because nobody else likes public speaking, and I do. Yes, I actually do.

I've made some progress on getting all of this to come to life. I've started the writing bit - I don't know how many pages it will be but I know what message I want to get across. And in August, I'm going to be hosting an online radio show in conjunction with Lightworker Magazine. It's my own show actually, all to myself, and I've been nervous about it for weeks. And the theme for both of them? It's oh-so-mature. It's about growing up. And how I think so many of us have been doing it all wrong. The best part is that I could go on and on about it for hours and I'm filled with passion for it! Passion - yay!

But knowing what I want to do and having zoned in on a theme are only half the battle - I need to get it out there. Correction - I need to get it out there in a way that will pay my bills. I've developed a horrible case of analysis paralysis while poring over insane amounts of research online, learning about ways to get my message out there and keep a roof (preferably not cardboard) over my head. And you know what? All I want to do is write. I don't want to research. I don't want to tweak my message. I just want to let it out. But is that wise? Again, I don't have the brainpower to answer that one because when I do think about it, my attention is diverted back to my stomach, and yes, that pukey feeling. Shall I literally just go with my gut, throw all logic aside and write my book or document or whatever thing it becomes once it's done and forget any past ideas I've had about marketing since my present doesn't seem to include the ability to entertain them for longer than it takes for a monkey to eat a banana? Really? I would suck it up, but it seems I've used up all the battery life for the marketing motor that hummed so steadily all those years, and when I try, all I get is that awful "yeeeeeeeeAAAAnk" sound that signals to car owners that whatever they did when they just turned the key was really not right.

So shall I write then? Regardless of the target market that my future readers fall into? With the simple wish that they find my writings enjoyable to read and maybe even useful to making positive changes in their life? Trust that anything that needs to happen so that those who will benefit from my work will find it? Trust that it will all be ok? That I will be ok? That it's ok to trust the Universe?

Trust. It seems it's all I have left. That and three months' worth of living expenses saved up.

When I started this experiment, I trusted. I didn't know what I wanted to do, but I trusted I soon would. And now I do. It seems the Universe has met me halfway in this trust-building exercise, let me know that it's game for my big plans, that it's got my back. It's earned my trust. I'd be foolish to have come this far and turn back now. So I will write. Just write. Until my gut feels good at the thought of doing something else. Until the Universe lets me know what's next. I just wish it wasn't so damn scary.