Oops…I fell off the face of the earth – or so it would seem. So…Happy New Year…hope you are enjoying yourself!
So what’s up in the world?? Economic devestation…conflicts…the occasional natural disaster…ya that pretty much sums it up. Apparently 2009 is going to resemble 2008 – seriously; if ever there were a moment to say “same sh*t, different pile”, this would be it...
Where am I? Sipping my Americano at Starbuck, listening to the three guys sitting next to me complain about women and divorces. Thinking about life. Same sh*t, different pile. Or maybe I haven’t even gotten to the different pile yet; I might still be working on the same pile. Lululemon and snow came to Thunder Bay over Christmas. I am tired of both; designer yoga pants and icy flakes aren’t really things that peak my interest. Even so, it doesn't matter where you go in Thunder Bay, you see both in ample quantities. And its when you start to ponder Lululemon and snow that you realize you are stagnating.
Over Christmas I reacquainted myself with complacency. I am so content in my little world of familiarity – it permits me to stagnate and maintain a noncommittal life. I enjoy defying expectations – mainly the expectations of others. Defying expectations is sometimes a good thing (like for the student who is expected to earn a C and defies odds to earn an A); for me, defying expectations means doing the exact opposite of what I have the potential to do. Where I have the potential to scale Everest, I decide to shock everyone and opt to climb Mount McKay (and then give up half way) – by the way, this is a metaphor, and I will likely never actually climb Everest - or Mount McKay. I don’t know where or why I developed this quality – it’s like I woke up one day and realized that I was tired of being predictable, or grew tired of having expectations placed on me. In Banbury a friend of mine said, “L*anne…I expect that you are going to stay in England for a long time.” I heard that…and it kept going over and over in my head. Expectation…oops…can't have that. That same friend predicted that I would stay in London indefinitely.....Somewhere along the way I found safety in failing.
I came back to Thunder Bay with the full intention of going back to London. Then something bizarre happened over Christmas – I lost my desire. I would actually rather stay in Thunder Bay than ever go back. It began to occur to me that I wasn’t sure if I could put myself back through England and the upheaval. Stagnating in my complacency.
A couple of nights ago I downloaded the pilot episode of “Being Erica”, a new television
show on the CBC. The main character is 32 years old, educated, and full of potential. She can’t commit to a decent job, future, man, anything…has made a series of bad decisions that have ultimately sealed her fate as a “loser”, defying the expectations of those around her. I could barely watch it – and I’m sure I don’t have to explain why. But in case you aren’t up to speed; I see myself in that character. She is given the opportunity to go back and fix the mistakes she made; I won’t get to that. I did kind of like the idea of listing all of the mistakes she made though…I could do that…where to start….ok that’s a blog entry all unto itself…
So here is where I am (outside of the physical moment). I have been offered a job with a new agency. Yes, the “dream” agency….to go back to London in a little over a week. It comes with the opportunity for housing (less stress!!)…with a more guaranteed work scheme…a six month contract….a six month contract…sh*t…commitment…I don’t do commitment. Oh yes, its inevitable; I have to commit to something; there comes a point in a person’s life that they have to face adulthood and commit to creating a financially secure future. 30 is knocking on my backdoor, and I feel that I might be at the stage where I might actually have to commit to something. I don’t commit though – I’ve been seeing a man for some time now, I don’t know how long exactly, because neither of us commit but neither of us is trying to see someone else. I just don’t commit. To anything. Seeing a contract makes me shudder…having to sign one makes me heave.
There are other issues at play here – I have to go and I hate that. I would love to make this decision free of debt, and already living in a city ripe with jobs. But when there are no other options, and your financial life is suffocating you, it becomes necessary to take the opportunities that are presented to you. And I hate it. Feeling forced to return to London is shattering me. I would love the stress free experience, but it is just not going to be that way. I made my bed, now I must lay in it.
Then you start to go back to all of those decisions that ultimately led you to this moment in your life. And to the moment that you realized you were stagnating in your comfort. And then you suffocate a little more.
I have been told, six months is not that long. And it’s not. Until you face reality and anxiety replaces the old comfort. Each day can become a struggle, and every moment becomes a lifetime. Let’s face it – its not really six months, is it? I’m in debt…there are no jobs here…it’s not just six months. Live one day at a time. That is virtually impossible, when life is looming over you. So what am I saying then? Pretty much that I’m stuck in the same sh*t, different pile. Now if you don’t mind, I must go buy some sheets for my bed; if I have to lay in it, I want 400 thread count percale.
So what’s up in the world?? Economic devestation…conflicts…the occasional natural disaster…ya that pretty much sums it up. Apparently 2009 is going to resemble 2008 – seriously; if ever there were a moment to say “same sh*t, different pile”, this would be it...
Where am I? Sipping my Americano at Starbuck, listening to the three guys sitting next to me complain about women and divorces. Thinking about life. Same sh*t, different pile. Or maybe I haven’t even gotten to the different pile yet; I might still be working on the same pile. Lululemon and snow came to Thunder Bay over Christmas. I am tired of both; designer yoga pants and icy flakes aren’t really things that peak my interest. Even so, it doesn't matter where you go in Thunder Bay, you see both in ample quantities. And its when you start to ponder Lululemon and snow that you realize you are stagnating.
Over Christmas I reacquainted myself with complacency. I am so content in my little world of familiarity – it permits me to stagnate and maintain a noncommittal life. I enjoy defying expectations – mainly the expectations of others. Defying expectations is sometimes a good thing (like for the student who is expected to earn a C and defies odds to earn an A); for me, defying expectations means doing the exact opposite of what I have the potential to do. Where I have the potential to scale Everest, I decide to shock everyone and opt to climb Mount McKay (and then give up half way) – by the way, this is a metaphor, and I will likely never actually climb Everest - or Mount McKay. I don’t know where or why I developed this quality – it’s like I woke up one day and realized that I was tired of being predictable, or grew tired of having expectations placed on me. In Banbury a friend of mine said, “L*anne…I expect that you are going to stay in England for a long time.” I heard that…and it kept going over and over in my head. Expectation…oops…can't have that. That same friend predicted that I would stay in London indefinitely.....Somewhere along the way I found safety in failing.
I came back to Thunder Bay with the full intention of going back to London. Then something bizarre happened over Christmas – I lost my desire. I would actually rather stay in Thunder Bay than ever go back. It began to occur to me that I wasn’t sure if I could put myself back through England and the upheaval. Stagnating in my complacency.
A couple of nights ago I downloaded the pilot episode of “Being Erica”, a new television
show on the CBC. The main character is 32 years old, educated, and full of potential. She can’t commit to a decent job, future, man, anything…has made a series of bad decisions that have ultimately sealed her fate as a “loser”, defying the expectations of those around her. I could barely watch it – and I’m sure I don’t have to explain why. But in case you aren’t up to speed; I see myself in that character. She is given the opportunity to go back and fix the mistakes she made; I won’t get to that. I did kind of like the idea of listing all of the mistakes she made though…I could do that…where to start….ok that’s a blog entry all unto itself…So here is where I am (outside of the physical moment). I have been offered a job with a new agency. Yes, the “dream” agency….to go back to London in a little over a week. It comes with the opportunity for housing (less stress!!)…with a more guaranteed work scheme…a six month contract….a six month contract…sh*t…commitment…I don’t do commitment. Oh yes, its inevitable; I have to commit to something; there comes a point in a person’s life that they have to face adulthood and commit to creating a financially secure future. 30 is knocking on my backdoor, and I feel that I might be at the stage where I might actually have to commit to something. I don’t commit though – I’ve been seeing a man for some time now, I don’t know how long exactly, because neither of us commit but neither of us is trying to see someone else. I just don’t commit. To anything. Seeing a contract makes me shudder…having to sign one makes me heave.
There are other issues at play here – I have to go and I hate that. I would love to make this decision free of debt, and already living in a city ripe with jobs. But when there are no other options, and your financial life is suffocating you, it becomes necessary to take the opportunities that are presented to you. And I hate it. Feeling forced to return to London is shattering me. I would love the stress free experience, but it is just not going to be that way. I made my bed, now I must lay in it.
Then you start to go back to all of those decisions that ultimately led you to this moment in your life. And to the moment that you realized you were stagnating in your comfort. And then you suffocate a little more.
I have been told, six months is not that long. And it’s not. Until you face reality and anxiety replaces the old comfort. Each day can become a struggle, and every moment becomes a lifetime. Let’s face it – its not really six months, is it? I’m in debt…there are no jobs here…it’s not just six months. Live one day at a time. That is virtually impossible, when life is looming over you. So what am I saying then? Pretty much that I’m stuck in the same sh*t, different pile. Now if you don’t mind, I must go buy some sheets for my bed; if I have to lay in it, I want 400 thread count percale.
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