the mold

i was on the bus when i read this article
seated next to a stranger
and before i could really contemplate the awkwardness of sobbing in front of a stranger on public transit, it was happening.
i sopped the tears up in swift-kitty-like movements.
i'll be damned if this unsuspecting man feels obligated to ask what might be wrong.

oh, where do i begin, kind sir!

this article was both everything i needed to say and my hesitation to say it.
and in the wake of my twenty-fifth birthday, the timing could not be better.

i panicked, you see.
this year is a game changer.
twenty five means a home and a family and a wedding and a budding career.
i'm twenty five and a student, and a roommate to my mother , a yogi, a budding cardio freak, a wild dream chaser and a recent stray-kitty adopter.
but that is where it ends, my mold.
and it is constantly shifting and changing, there is no doubt about that.
but it will not, i repeat not, change so much as to include those things that normally come with twenty-five.
in that respect, the panic seems like a waste of energy.
and, truthfully, it is.
but i still indulge in those feelings of panic from time to time.
i must.

because it's hard.
and i have time to ponder during my 40 minute walks.
yes, i walk 40 minutes twice per day just to sit in a lecture hall with kids.
yes, kids.
i reserve the full right to call them kids because they say things like

yeah, i like old movies. like movies from the year 2000. 

and i slump down in my chair knowing that i can recall the year 2000 with perfect clarity.

and a twenty six year old chiropractor who says "you're still young! you can totally go to
school"
(farther down i go, burning with shame that she was able to do these things much faster than i can for no apparent reason at all)

and holding a newborn baby for what seems like the fourth time that month
(farther and my ovaries cry out in protest...WHAT ABOUT US?!)

wedding invitations
(farther...)

my crows feet
(i'm on the fucking floor)

and, sometimes, the mold just really makes you think you should come back.
give up on your dreams.
and come back.
and that is where i was.
seated on the bus.
pencilled, starred and highlighted article in my hand and timidly crying next to a stranger
with bits of broken mold at my feet.
there was no place to go but forward.
so on we go.
and we hope like hell we will get there.

cheers

let me be real honest with you right now.
my hair is unwashed, thrown up into a mess on the top of my head and slightly slanted to the right.
i guess, for the sake of transparency, let me correct myself.
it is totally slanted to the right.
like-dollops-of-hair-are-tickling-my-right-ear-kind-of-slanted-to-the-right.

i put on a thin layer of foundation at 11 am.
it has since dissolved.
and all my flaws are apparent.

the band on my recently purchased underwear has snapped
and i haven't worn a bra for close to 18 hours.

i look relatively ridiculous.
mildly insane.
read: totally off my rocker

and all this is fine.
because tonight is reserved for one thing and one thing only:
to toast this life at twenty five.

it's not an easy thing to do, evidently.
to sit back and look at all the things you had plotted for your life and to tally up what you have, what you don't have, what you no longer want and any other minor miscalculations along the way.
in fact, it sucks.

i thought twenty-five was going to the year.
i would be independent and taking over the world in whatever career i chose.
wrong.
so wrong.
and it took so long to come to terms with just how wrong i ended up being.
and, for transparency sake, i'm still learning how to cope.

it's a difficult thing to make peace with the grand ol' expectations vs. reality.
it's a delicate balance of mourning what you yet to have and welcoming what is yet to be.

i could mourn. or i could toast.
there is still some time to carpe this fucking diem.
so i toast.

into the light

Cuddles aka my love bug

i believe in signs.
those telltale moments where the universe is softly nudging you in the right direction.
yes, i believe in those.

and so it really meant something as i stood in front of my closet, wet hair dripping down my back, naked save for an old housecoat and a tuft of her hair came floating down from seemingly out of nowhere.

i digress.
i lost my cat this summer.
i cannot say much about it all because, to be honest, i didn't sleep for days leading up to her passing.
all i have are blurry fragmented details at best.
i recall pulling a bouquet of cat mint from her plant and placing it in front of her
i recall waking every 15 minutes just to see if she was still with us
i remember falling to the floor and crying more than i have for awhile
my cries stifled by my desire to keep her oblivious to my utter fear of being without her
but she knew.
of course she knew.
i remember a voice coming from somewhere inside of me that urged me to eat, to drink, to rest, to not let grief control me.
i had to be well to care for her.
i had to be well to say good bye.
and i held her close to my heart as she faded out of this world and i whispered
it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
for her sake but also for mine.

so what does it look like when a twenty-something fights to put the pieces back together after losing a best friend of nineteen years?
it's messy.
it's oh so messy.
as a dear friend said,
one never knows what will bring a woman in mourning to tears.
and it's so damn true.
and lately it is has been more recurrent than not.
this whole crying thing.
and so what?
so what if i want to cry while eating a hunk of watermelon at 2:37 pm because i was struck by a wave of grief?

alright, even i was a little bit concerned by that one.
but this same friend struck again

so be sad.

be so damn sad.

cry.

howl.

do all of those things because you need to.

you'll come back to you. you'll still be there waiting for yourself.

but damnit, feel these emotions. you are human. that is what we do.

and she's right, that wise friend of mine.
we are human.
this is what we do.
and some of us even look for signs.
and sometimes signs look for us.
like a patch of soft, white, fluffy hair floating delicately through the air.
that hair, that tuft of hair.
damnit, that was a sign.
i'm sure of it.
and for the first time in weeks, i really do trust that i'll come back to myself.
i really do.

eat what you love

"Awareness, not deprivation, informs what you eat"
- Geneen Roth, Women Food and God 

i see my experiences as little constellations.
each a separate entity connected by bizarre lines and squiggles
which is ironic because i have never been one to see the big dipper
nor any of the constellations that are supposedly blatantly obvious.
but i see my experiences.
and i see the makeshift designs between them
and i see their connection.
this, i see.
perfectly well.

it looks like standing in the grocery store holding a petit jar of organic fair trade tahini
the health nut in me is pleased that it is organic
the food politic nut is content that it is fair trade
and the broke student is discouraged that it costs 8 dollars.

it looks like holding my prutruding belly after over-eating
and wondering why the hell i just did that.

it looks like being gifted a book
placing it on my book shelf
and refusing to open it because it just seems to know too much about me already.

it looks like hitting the gym out of guilt, not out of love.

it looks like stepping around every weight scale i see because
who really cares what it has to say, any way?

my own constellation.
my own web of food and love and body and self.
it all comes down to this:

i want to succeed in feeding myself well.

does that sound odd?  i suppose it is.
but i really mean it.
the word "well" in that sentence is subjective.
and that's really the beauty of it all, isn't it?

eat what you love. eat what makes you well. whatever that might be.

and if my mission tells you only one thing about me, it should tell you this:
i do not believe in God, soul mates or coffee.
but i do very much so believe in one sole thing:
what you put on your fork is a reflection of what you think of your body.

i can say this with confidence only because i have put many different things on my fork for many different reasons.
i was raised on meat and potatoes, transitioned into a restrictive protein-only diet, moved to vegetarianism, flirted with veganism, danced around raw food, and came back to seasonal whole foods.

i will not tell you i am a vegeterian.
not because i am not but because i refuse to label myself.
labels are for packages.

eat what you love.

my journey with food has been hectic, nourishing, heart breaking and it will never end.
but let me give praise where it is due:
my culnary adventures have taught me how to be grateful.
i am oh so grateful.
i know my body in ways i haven't before.
i know the sensation of full just as well as i know the tingling sensation of hungry.
i know when i must eat more vegetables.
i know the shape of my hips in winter when i focus on grains and roots and the dwindling of said shape in spring when i shift to greens.
i know what it really means to have a piece of chicken on my plate.
a soul has died so i could eat it.
it used to walk on this earth and see colours and hear sounds
and it gave that up so i could eat it.
and isn't that just something to be oh so grateful for?

you're free to call it hippie-dippie, new age bullshit.
i call it whole foods. cooking with love and awareness and loving myself through loving what i eat.

eat what you love.

new(ness)

cheryl strayed is a woman after my own heart.

her words on the becoming cross my mind every single day.

especially those days where some jackass of a man is standing in front of me

trying to trivialize me at one of my two part time gigs and he says

"okay, darling?  you understand, darling?"

in a way that makes me think he has said this all before to some other darling.

and right before this darling blows her cap off, i remember that it will not always be like this.

i will not always work two unfulfilling jobs running on nothing but a green tea high.

these days are the becoming.

these days need to be documented.

and so they will be.

here.

the how

once upon two months ago, a friend and i sat with strong coffee in our hands and oh-so-much in our hearts.

we are seekers, you see.

we want success as we define it.

ultimately, it has little to do with money.

in this housing market and the fact that we both have liberal arts degrees and, let's just be honest with each other, ain't nobody interested in yet another prairie girl with a liberal arts degree...

aye, yes.

it has very little to do with money because we have come to accept that money likely will not come easily.

and that's okay.

we want small spaces.

creaky wooden floors that have been walked upon by many before us.

small stoves and the scent of banana bread wafting through the air.

lights that flicker for seconds before they decide to greet us with their bright bulbs.

windows that open just enough to get some fresh air.

love. 

we want a small piece of land.

for a small garden.

we want small cupboards filled with just enough dishes

and fridges filled with just enough food.

we want just enough.

nothing more and nothing less.

and yet this still comes as a challenge.

we stared at each other.

gutted.

not quite sure what to do next.

alright, what do you want?

deep sigh.

i want...i want...damnit, i want one.good.beet. 

and, voila.

the why

being a twenty-something gal is both a wonder and a fright.

between the construct of beauty (you know, the botox at twenty five)

the bizarre sexual encounters ripe with lack of experience

mean tweets

career goals

lack of career goals (aka holy-fuck-what-am-i-doing-with-my-life goals)

babies

dating

eating right

bullies that long out last high school (what's it to 'em, any way?)

babies

oh, finding that perfect job

and may as well throw in the man too

did i have a baby yet?

bridezillas (we all know one)

fashion (but what do I really know about this? my favourite jacket is something I bought in grade 5)

new age spirituality shit

i guess, ultimately, if you can both cry hysterically and laugh whole-heartily in one day, there is a real story to be shared there. so, the why really becomes...why not share it?

the who

i guess, me?

but hopefully also you because i surely am not the only twenty-something gal with something to say.

disclaimer

i know nothing about most things

(web design included)

i cannot take a "polished" picture and i rarely use proper grammar (i know how to, i just choose not to...i sort of have an attitude problem).

so, i guess, have low expectations?

yes.

that is what i was trying to go for.

talk soon,

twenty-something and one helluva mess.

p.s. i have a dozen good beets in my garden right now.