100 Posts :-p

....yes, I just cheated on the 100th post...

*but at least I committed to something*

**btw - there is a guestbook at the bottom of the page - sign it :-p

The Starbucks Commitment

Now that Christmas is over, and stock is fully depleted, Starbucks has reverted back to its “advice cups”. Now keep in mind, Starbuck’s has been in Christmas mode since October. I remember walking into my neighbourhood Starbucks prior to Halloween and being confronted by red holiday cups, and various Christmas desserts. Not that I am complaining about the Christmas goodies – I love sugar and fattening foods. Starbucks takes the cake on fattening foods. As I have mentioned, many UK retailers decided that beginning Christmas in October would combat the negative impacts of the Credit Crunch. Starbuck’s was no exception. When my Pimlico coffeehouse decked the halls in October, I was a little disgusted. Not that I dislike Christmas – I am just not a fan of overkill.

Ok – so the advice cups. Today’s advice is pertinent to my present life… “The irony of commitment is that it’s deeply liberating – in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.”
Well that’s bull. Commitment has never liberated me.

First off, I am not opposed to receiving advice from my venti Café Americano. It’s deeper than a fortune cookie. I spend enough time and money here that I should be able to get something for free. Unfortunately topics of commitment are a bit of sore spot right now.

I think it has been fully established that I have commitment issues. I cringe at even having the word mentioned in my presence. I was ok with London, until I was presented with a contract that forced me to commit for 6 months – that was the straw that ultimately broke the camel’s back. Relationships? Would rather not do them. Long term job commitment? Not happy about it. Committing to a lease? No thanks.

There is still this part of me that refuses to grow up and realize that I can’t live according to my own plan forever. A friend suggested that I might not be cut out for a conventional job; there is a good possibility. The problem is that living according to my own plan doesn’t pay a lot of bills. Unfortunately I don’t know how to overcome this issue.

I committed to university; but it was an inadvertent commitment – I certainly didn’t think that I would spend 10 years pursuing higher education. Had I known, I likely wouldn’t have lasted. I committed to weight loss – but that was more a vanity thing, and again – I didn’t think this whole process would take so long. I am seeing someone – but it’s not a formal relationship – we see each other because we choose to (or at least that’s how I rationalize this non-committed-committed-non-relationship).

Maybe it is true – that “to commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.” My head is getting in the way of a lot of stuff. Yet I still see commitment as settling; it’s the moment that you become so exhausted with pursuing change, that you finally give in to sameness. Humans are inherently lazy. Commitment favours laziness. Laziness also favour monogamy, and if you want my views on monogamy, I urge you to read my Monogamy blog entry from June or July of 2008. Really, if you know me or have read my blog, my views on monogamy shouldn't shock you.

So really…all I am saying is that I hate my coffee cup today.

Moments of Reflection

Since self reflection seems to be a popular theme in blogs, I figured I would join the crowd.

I wish….

…I had left home at 18 …
…I had gone to Western…
…I had gone to Jordan and done my field training…
…I had never opened the email from a recruiter in London; it would have saved me so much stress…
…I had never gone to teacher’s college; that would have also saved me a ton of stress…
…I had gone to do my Master’s degree when I had the chance…
…I hadn’t fallen for a man across the ocean…
…I had not spent so much money on needless pursuits…
…that I had lost the weight 5 years ago instead of now…
…that I hadn’t gotten dogs; too much attachment makes it difficult to leave…
…that I wasn’t sitting across from someone who’s belly is hanging out of her skin tight hoodie…
…that I was better with commitment, and would commit to something…
…that I hadn’t lost my motivation and began to stagnate…
…that I had never started working on a thesis; it will forever bother me that it isn’t finished, and yet I will likely never complete it…
…that I hadn’t grown up in Thunder Bay, Ontario…
…that I had the motivation to go and get a trade, and fully accept that my education is useless…
…that I was more outgoing and less of a home body…
…that I had done an international exchange program in university; I desperately want my international experience…
…that I had done language training; I love to learn and should have embraced it…
…that I wasn’t scared to do what it is that I want to do…
…that I had learned to look at things from the one-day-at-a-time perspective, not on year long scales…
…that I didn’t get attached; once I get attached I can’t handle the finality of becoming unattached; maybe that’s the product of loss…
…there wasn’t a recession; that millions of people weren’t out of work; that there were clear cut directions, and that someone had all of the answers…


What if I hadn’t done of these things that I guess I regret?
- I’d never have met many of the people I now know; maybe I would have met other people, but who knows…
- Had I gone to Western, I would never have gone to half of the places I’ve been; I’d never have backpacked and found out I love it; I’d never have been to Newfoundland, spent drunken Spring Breaks in Cancun, and likely never acquired a taste for tequila…
- I wouldn’t have half of the stories that I have; it’s been a bumpy ride, but it’s been an entertaining ride…
- I’d never of had my New Orleans experience; it was good, it was bad, but it was growth…
- I wouldn’t be sitting here right now, watching a junkie with slush stained pants, search for her next caffeine hit…
- I’d never have learned to put emphasis on internal beauty rather than physical beauty; when you are fat you learn not to judge…

Not everyone can claim they had the option to take two very distinct paths. Almost eleven years ago, I was presented with the two paths – Western or Lakehead.

Had I gone to Western, things would be very different now. I would not have had half of the experiences I’ve had. I would have had other experiences…

Had I gone to Western, money would have been far too tight to travel, and I would never have learned life experiences – everything would have been confined to a book. I don’t believe that book knowledge is essential – life knowledge is far more important. That is also why I do not put much emphasis on academic education.

Had I gone to Western, I likely would never have majored in Anthropology, and never realized how much I love culture – maybe I would have, but it is doubtful.

Had I gone to Western, I would have realized how much is actually out there, in terms of career options and life opportunities; I may have learned how to pursue those options; the problem with Lakehead is being mainstreamed into very narrow topics

Had I gone to Western I would have learned to live on my own; that’s the big one; I wouldn’t be struggling at 28 to leave this city; it has become me. I will never reach my potential in this city, but it is now home. I am becoming far too ‘alright’ with never reaching my potential. I am becoming what I used to loath; or maybe I’m becoming an adult.

Can I regret never having gone to Western? Yes, on the surface I do because I would have learned how to be Leanne.

What about teacher’s college? What if I had never gone? That would have solved so many issues right now – I would never have tried to get a visa to go the UK, I would never have allowed myself to feel for someone, never have allowed myself to form some sort of attachment – oh and debt – I wouldn’t be nearly in the debt that I am now…

My thesis – I am coming to terms with the fact that I will likely never finish it. I hate my thesis but simply because of the sheer boredom that it produces, and the lack of direction that I have. Yet, I know that it will always drive me crazy that I am not finished it so eventually I will likely drive myself to complete it.

England is like my thesis. I could easily not go back to England, and give up teaching altogether. But in the back of my mind it will drive me crazy that I never finished the experience. My mind tells me to give it up; my heart isn’t ready.

England doesn’t have to be indefinite; neither does teaching…

Then there is that moment that loneliness creeps in, and the world ends….and that moment seems to take forever…

And then I wish I could see life one day at a time…

Don’t regret what you did do, only what you didn’t do…
Unfortunately what you didn’t do is so closely intertwined with what you did do. Somewhere along the way, you have to regret both…

Every day is spent in regret, contemplating what I should do – so much time goes to this that nothing is done…

I have read on numerous occasions that you do not truly understand yourself until you are about 26 (that’s also why people shouldn’t get married before 26). Apparently I’m behind…

I wish that life was somehow easier; but don’t we all?

London Sooner or Later

Ok. So first off – I have been answering the same questions on a regular basis. Not surprisingly they all correspond to London. So let me settle the score. I will be returning to London – likely soon.
Two weeks ago I was supposed to fly back overseas. The night before my departure, feeling an overwhelming amount of anxiety, I decided to miss my flight. One more donation to Air Canada. Lovely. Unfortunately, I keep recalling the anxiety I felt during the last go, and am now psyching myself out for my return. It’s like that horrible memory that just keeps rearing it’s ugly head – I’m sure this time will be completely different, but what if it isn’t? After a long conversation with my new recruiter, it was mutually decided that I should take more time to figure this whole situation out. It was a good decision – returning to London under those circumstances, with the amount of doubt that I was feeling, would have ultimately broken me.
So two weeks later, I am starting to dread the return (again). I don’t want to go back – to teaching. London, yes. Teaching in London – no. Unfortunately there is a recession, which means a lack of jobs. So that puts me back at square one. A recession sort of seals my fate – I have to go back and teach. Lovely.
That doesn’t mean that it is the end of the road though. I’ve applied to two separate university programs – one in international relations & development and one in international human resources. Ultimately I can’t go to school without the income that teaching provides. It is an evil reality. My other new found reality is that I need to learn – I might be addicted to education. After visiting the Athabasca University website nearly daily for the past month, I have decided to avoid registering for a needless course and actually apply my interest (and money) towards attaining a new credential (that will likely not put my any closer to a job, but like I said, I need to learn). Maybe having something to exercise my mind will also help me to stay in London. Or maybe I’m delusional. That’s more likely the real answer.
Most people would *smartly* give up by this point. There is something that keeps drawing me back to London. I am not finished with the experience, and I haven’t ended it on my own terms yet. I see the benefits of having an international experience, in terms of both professional and personal growth. Plus I want to go to Morocco, Malta, Tunisia, etc, etc, etc, and the best way to do that is to work in London. Travelling Leanne always wins.

Talking Fat #6: A Tale of Two Scales

As I’ve mentioned, I spent nearly eight months in complete ignorance of my weight. In retrospect that was probably a good thing. Had I known my starting weight, I likely would have driven myself crazy. I guess I am still shocked by what I likely weighed when I started. I never felt that overwhelmingly obese. Actually, about a week ago I found out the BMI of a 5’5 female weighing 300 pounds – I was politely told by a website that I was “extremely obese”. Thanks. Ok, so it hurts to hear, but it’s true – I was.

Having been active, and unimpeded by my weight, I just never felt like an ‘extremely obese’ person. Except on a plane – in a plane seat, I felt like a beached whale. In order to avoid embarrassment, I sucked it in so I never had to ask for a seat belt extension. I was riding dangerously close to extension territory though. Other than those ill fated plane trips, I was a thin person stuck in the body of an ‘extremely obese’ person.
During the initial weight loss, I actually took guidance from my clothes to the degree of my success. Starting at a size 24-26, it seemed to take no time at all to get down to a size 18. When I hit 18, it was like a mini party – I swore (and still do) that I would never cross that 20 threshold again.

Ignorant bliss can only last for so long. In July 2008, I finally had to let the walls come *shattering* down. After a heated discussion with the guy I am presently seeing, I knew I had to find out the real number (don’t worry, he’s supportive – I was being the difficult one!). But here is the problem – weight loss, especially extreme weight loss, is a highly emotional battle. There are times that you feel as though you are going nowhere. There are the moments that the fight is just too much to deal with, and the body and mind enter into a state of emotional exhaustion. In July I really thought I was well below 200 pounds. I had to be. I figured I was close to my initial goal of 180 pounds (which was actually supposed to have been crossed in April 2008).

I hated our bathroom scale – a relic that is actually ten years away from being classified as an archaeological artefact. So the following day I stumbled into Walmart (good old Walmart). Apparently scales have changed in the forty years – I was confronted by a number of models, each with fancy gadgets and various programmable features. Since my goal was strictly to weigh myself, and not to program it to play movies, make margaritas, or reach lunar orbit, I finally settled on a basic digital model. Hell, I thought digital was pretty high-tech.

So that night was the grand unveiling – finally finding out the result of 8 months of hard work and emotional upheaval….
And then there was the shock that followed…
Ya. So as it turned out I didn’t weigh 180 pounds. I didn’t weight 200 pounds. Noooo…I was still over 210 pounds (and I’m not saying by how much). Now by July, I had already gone down a bunch of sizes….huh…surely it had to be wrong.
So I tried our old, archaeological specimen scale. And it had the exact same weight. huh. Not good.
I’m not going to claim that the fallout from this discovery was pretty. I’m also not going to claim that I handled it like a trooper. Oh no. I certainly did not handle it well. But that is when I knew that my starting weight had been well over what I had expected. WELL OVER (with emphasis). There were tears. There was stress and anxiety, and that nagging voice in the back of my mind that kept saying “You aren’t finished yet, not by a long shot!”
I am the first one to tell people not to live by the scale while they are dieting. You can’t. It’s too much of a mind game. For instance, I know that my weight naturally fluctuates by at least 10 pounds on a monthly basis. One day you step on the scale, and it reads 5 pounds heavier than it did the previous day. That little shock is then followed by an emotional breakdown. The longer you are on this path, the harder it is to accept those moments.

As a result of that initial weigh-in shock, I did live by the scale for quite awhile. Every day, multiple times a day, I would check the number. There was method to my madness though – the whole reason my weight got out of control was because I had quit weighing myself in 1999. Now I must never let my nerves get the better of me. Even if the reality is too difficult to deal with, it is better to know than to return to blissful ignorance. While in London, my one splurge purchase was a scale – I had to know that my weight wasn’t going back up (especially since I was living off sandwiches, and Tesco sandwiches are like the holy Mecca of unhealthy – thanks mayo)

A couple of nights ago, I was again confronted by the stress of a weight fluctuation. I cross referenced the two scales and realized there was a five pound discrepancy. Granted, five pounds isn’t a lot. But when you are working towards moving down, watching it go up is really disconcerting. So basically it is the battle of the scales- the old relic versus the newer digital one. The newer digital one is reading a lower weight, and it is the one that I will favour. And you know what? I’m ok not knowing which one is right – just as long as the number starts moving downwards again.

I have been praised for my conviction to this process, and the changes that I’ve made. Unfortunately you also reach a point that it doesn’t matter what you’ve done – all that matters is how far you have to go. Right now I am in one of those lulls. It is so close, and I could care less that I have gotten here – all I care about is the moment that I finally arrive. I know that I stand in a relatively tumultuous place. I fear the day that I return to London, and am too tired to work out on a routine basis. I won’t have a grill, so I won’t be able to cook as healthy as I have been. The fear of returning to the Old Leanne, is overwhelming, and yet I haven’t fully arrived at the New Leanne. Oh if only this was somehow simple!

The day after I weighed myself for the first time in nearly 10 years...I wasn't a happy camper :-p