Birds of a feather flock together.

There’s something about traveling that’s almost magical. You hop on a plane, spend several hours in limbo – neither here nor there – and then you grab your bags, roll your eyes at the super slow people in front of you, and take your first step onto new ground. Well, new for you. Factor in the time change (even if it’s only three hours back), and abra-cadabra, your mind is blown.

I love setting foot in a new place. More than that, I love setting foot in a new place with people (or person) that also love setting their feet in a new place. It makes the experience that much more exciting – it’s heaps more fun (and a hint more cool) sharing the “oh my gosh did you see that?” and the “check those people out”, or the “Behold! Dirty pirate hookers!” exclamation in person with someone you know appreciates it – whatever it” is, as much as you do, rather than via (muchos expensive) text messages. And of course when turbulence hits, it’s also great squeezing the hand of someone you know, rather than squeezing the hand of 26E — the sucker sitting next to you, and then spending the rest of your limbo time, trying not to use that hand on or anywhere near your face/mouth/food. As a consequence your limbo time (aka flight time) becomes slightly more stressful, and immediately ensures that the first place you’ll be setting your feet into in this marvelous new place you’re traveling to, will be the public restroom.

And while we’re on the topic of restrooms:

Great Idea: automatic taps and soap dispensers.

It’s great not having to touch germy faucets and crusty soap dispensers. Crusted-on soap grosses me out a bit. So it’s a bonus when I don’t have to touch it.

Not So Great Idea: disposable seat covers.

In theory, this concept sounds wonderful. In real life – it sucks. First of all, the middle part of the seat cover is attached to the outside rim in way too many places. You have to attempt a tear, ever so gently, so that only the middle pops out and so that the outside remains fully intact so as to cover the entire seat. This isn’t easy. Nor is it a quick feat. And when you’ve just hopped off a plane, and you’ve been holding it for the past four hours, the last thing you want to do is play arts and crafts with the seat cover in the stall. I’m pretty sure scissors aren’t allowed in your carry on luggage, and people typically do not carry around scissors in the first place, so that’s not a viable option here. Not detaching the middle isn’t a viable option either. I mean, you can try, but you’ll just end up peeing on top of the middle part and although you would think (and hope) the liquid would make it disintegrate and detach as a result, it doesn’t. You can figure out what happens next. It’s not pleasant.

Great Idea: automatic paper towel dispensers.

Do I have to elaborate? It’s clean, it’s quick, and you don’t have to touch anything.

Not So Great Idea: hand dryers (automatic or push-button)

Obviously push-button hand dryers are the greater evil of the two (touching a potentially dirty surface after already washing your hands is necessary), but when it comes down to it, I don’t really like either. Maybe if they were positioned much, much lower on the wall – I’m talking like waist level – they would make more sense. At least this would eliminate the dribble of water that slides down your hand, onto your wrist, and into your sleeve, due to holding your hands up, at eye-level. Who thought this one out? Don’t these people brush their teeth and haven’t they experienced the water dribble that gets caught by the sleeve of your long sleeved shirt, leaving you with a damp spot, when you hold your wet hand up at that height? When I see hand dryers I usually opt for the toiler paper hand dry method. Although that too, has its own set of serious cons.

Now I sound like a germaphobe. But I’m actually not. I’m not terribly concerned with defeating bacteria, although I do think it’s important to wash your hands upon entering your house, even if you’ve just been out for five minutes, throwing out the garbage, or grabbing a lottery ticket from the convenience store down the street.
I mean, everyone does that, right?

My trip was fabulous. Although it was a place I had already been to several times, it’s one of those cities that holds so much excitement and promises of adventure in its many nooks and crannies, that subsequent visits are almost obligatory. And it’s always fun exploring a city with a new travel partner – I saw things I had never noticed before; the city took on a whole new feel – one of exuberance and vigor; of hilarity, of early morning calm, and good ol’ fashioned fun. Traveling with someone – or several someones, for the first time, is a great test of compatibility. After all, not everyone vacations in the same manner. Some people get antsy after thirty minutes of lounging by a pool or on a beach, while others (ahem – me) love life when lounging on a pool chair for hours on end. Some people dislike taking the “embarrassing” typical tourist-y photos, while others (me me me!) love love love it.

So. Discovering that you’ve finally found the perfect travel partner makes the airport feeling, the excitement, and the trip buzz even more amazing. Although once you’re already flying with someone of the same feather, that discovery is not a huge surprise. Someone who reaches out their hand to me automatically, in their sleep, during turbulence, is a someone I’m going to hold onto, for always. 🙂

Singing in the rain

… probably isn’t too high on my life’s To Do list – who wants to get uncomfortably wet AND look crazy at the same time? I’d much rather look crazy in the privacy of my car – whilst singing out loud. It’s probably the best way to blow off steam, up the mood, test the vocal skills slash see if they’ve improved since last week (hey, you never know), and generally have a grand old time while being stuck in traffic – or better yet, flying through it.

While going the speed limit — might I add. Seems like certain people are getting themselves into trouble these days by boasting about their speeding adventures online. Sheesh! That kid’s parents did a good job by teaching him how to self-police. Or conversely, he missed the memo and is traveling in the slow lane. Figuratively, of course… ha-ha.

Anyway, back to singing and feeling great. It’s funny, sometimes I’ll look over and notice the person driving the car next to me, and they’re singing too – only they’re barely moving their mouth and their face conveys no real sign of life… and then to make it worse, they stop this barely-there “singing” as soon as they realize they’ve been spotted. You’ve got to wonder if this is also how they play the game of life, outside of their car – all timid, reserved and afraid of what the world will think if they look too happy or excited, or EGAD! – even slightly crazy. I keep singing even when the person driving the car in front of me keeps shooting their dark gaze at me through their rearview, every few seconds. Maybe they’re laughing, maybe they’re not – but at least I’ve entertained them for their drive in to work.

Now, I won’t do the whole act to just any song… it’s got to be a great singing-out-loud song. Like Wolf Like Me by TV On The Radio. It’s my favourite right now – so much so that I did what I used to do with all of Eminem’s songs (waaaaay back when – like, a year ago) – I downloaded the lyrics, and learned them by listening to the song over and over again. It’s just so gosh darn satisfying singing along with all the correct* lyrics , to a phenom-bomb song, out loud, in the car. Some mornings I even find myself wishing my route was just a tad bit longer, so I could belt out a few more tunes.

But I’ll tell you what I won’t be singing out loud: Google Jesus, off Hawksley Workman’s new album. Are you kidding me? Not only does the album cover look like a spoof of [insert twelveteen year old “gangster” rapper’s name here], but his new album leaves a lot to be desired. Especially that third track. Bleh. It’s just so bad — and not even in that ‘so bad it’s good’ way (IE any song by Chingy). I have lots of musical love for our Canadian artists – and I don’t discount that Ryan Corrigan is a talented musician and producer, but his eleventh album is just… well, sucky. I’m still clinging to the hope that Google Jesus is actually a joke.

Nonetheless, I want to see you – yeah, you! singing out loud tomorrow. Get loud, get all facial-y, and use your expensive Starbucks coffee cup as a microphone. More bang for your buck!* Get it? Ha.

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* As opposed to thinking you’re singing the right lyrics for years upon years, until one day the passenger in your car laughs and tells you you’re way off… that “never meant to make your doggie cry” is actually “never meant to make your daughter cry.”

* That one’s for you, ES. 😉

For crying out loud…

I’m not much of a tear-shedder. And I mean that in the real-life context. Because when I’ve been sucked into someone’s life – whether fictional or real – in a movie, in a show, or through someone’s writing, I can definitely get sensitive and glassy-eyed.

But I have never cried while writing.

Until today — for crying out loud. Not because I thought what I had written was terrible, or even moving for that matter. But just like an actor puts himself into character, and cries and laughs at things that maybe would not affect him in his real life – perhaps a writer, does very much the same thing.

I felt like my character, for the first time. I felt the pain that I’ve been painting, creating, writing for her. All of a sudden the pit that I had just put into her stomach, was now in mine. And I became uncomfortable writing. And I kept going. Because I want people to come to know her as incredibly strong, although a bit delicate and wavering… but always, always persevering.

In actuality, there’s nothing of me, or my life in her, or in this book. But then again, it’s everything.

You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone.

Shampoo.  Soap.  Pillows.  Clean water.  Food that isn’t rice and beans.  Dry clothes.  Paved roads.

I don’t think I’ll ever take any of the above for granted, again.  Seriously.

Rainforests are rainy – no joke.  And everything stays damp pretty much all the time. Even my bones felt damp. Feeling like I was on Survivor, I got through two full days of serious roughing it in the wild, miles upon miles away from civilization.  And I didn’t even think I was “good” at camping prior to this experience!*1. Yet I trekked up into a rainforest literally in the middle of nowhere on the back of an 18th century tractor followed by good ol’ hiking in oversized  rain boots.  My “look,” by the end of the four-hour trek can be best described as Mud Sweat and Tears.  (Almost sounds like a band name, doesn’t it?) Saving my friend’s oversized rain boot (yes, they were all oversized) from being sucked in by a sea of super sticky mud that actually looked and felt more like cement, sharing one quickly dwindling bottle of water amongst ten people, and trying my darndest not to touch the trees for support in fear of bullet ants and poisonous snakes made this “nature hike” quite the h-core experience*2.  Hence the tears.

Just kidding. I didn’t cry… that much.

Was it worth it.

The two-tier waterfall we discovered a mere 100 metres away from our “lodge”*3 was absolutely beautiful. Completely unspoilt, untouched and definitely not populated by tourists – it was completely breathtaking.  Have you seen the movie Cocktail? When young Tom Cruise and Elisabeth Shue go swimming underneath a phenomenal waterfall – albeit in Jamaica – and of course subsequently fall in love, it instantly made me fall in love with waterfalls and put “swim in waterfall” on my “To Do” list. Well, mission completed.  Granted, having my own BF (Brian Flanagan) there would have made it a bit more perfect but it was still a completely surreal experience. Even when it started raining… again.

Also surreal: scaling boulders, slippery rocks and rapids in flip flops whilst attempting to get to the top of the waterfall for some seriously sweet photo opps and then nearly losing said flip flop as a result. As I watched it float away and then dangle on the edge of the massive drop, I couldn’t help but refer to several dangerous water movie scenes… Jack hanging on for dear life in Titanic, Uncas catching Alice just in time before she slips into the waterfall in Last of the Mohicans, Becky pushing Tom off the bridge in Tom and Huck*4. I knew it was about to get serious. Ok, so maybe it wasn’t as dramatic as drowning, plummeting to your death or trying to figure out if you were pushed off a bridge because the perp had a crush on you, but a little dramatic nonetheless.  It was saved in the end – in case you’re wondering.

So, in conclusion:  don’t ever laugh when the contestants on Survivor jump, cheer and cry out in joy when they win shampoo as a result of winning a challenge. I tell you, it was like the Herbal Essence commercial was being filmed in my hotel shower yesterday. Washing my hair has never felt so damn good.

Lastly, can you believe I have yet to see the moon here? It’s been 7 days and I’m still moonless.  I miss it so very much. You really don’t realize how much you love something until it’s out of reach…

1. Yes, there is most definitely such a thing as being good at camping.  I am convinced that some people are just born with the “I love sleeping in moist tents, being dirty for days and peeing in bushes” attitude, whilst others (myself included) have to work on it a bit.  However I think survivng the past two days in a remote rainforest have turned me into a camping all-star, by default.  So to all you seasoned campers out there: BRING IT ON.

2.  Our guide Paco’s stern warning, verbatim: “Don’t touch trees! Poison snakes!” That was enough for me. I’m pretty sure I won’t be  touching any trees while I’m here, period. It’s too bad really, because I’ve secretly always wanted to be a tree hugger. Minus the boring Birks and the whole vegan thing.

3.  Those quotations aren’t for nothing. I use the word “lodge” very loosely here. Upon first sight of our accommodations, my friend very accurately described it as treehouse-like.  I couldn’t have said it better myself.

4. I must admit I only saw Tom and Huck because of Jonathan Taylor Thomas. I was a huge fan – way back then,  of course.  I’m pretty sure I carried around his wallet sized photo cut-out from Bop Magazine in my wallet.

Off the beaten path

I’m not sure I can even sum up my excitement, anticipation and nervousness into one cohesive sentence. I’m a jumble of words, thoughts and feelings. I’m about to venture off the beaten path – sort of, anyway – and it’s terribly exhilarating. 

I have no idea where I’m off to, in a sense. I have no idea what I’m going to see, what I’m going to feel, where I’m going to eat, sleep and play. I have a series of postcard photos and guidebook advice floating around in my mind’s eye – and that’s what I’ve got to go on. I’m jumping in, head first. And I’ve got my water shoes ready, too. Waterfalls here I come.

This adventure is how I want to live my life. I want to dive into adventure everyday – exploring the beaten and unbeaten paths (because both can be exciting) with people I share happiness with. I want to road trip to nowhere and stop underneath a starry sky. I want to lay on the hood of my car, listen to my favourite song and sing along while waiting for a shooting star. I want to learn a new language, play the guitar, and maybe the saxophone too. I want to play my guitar in India underneath a mango tree. A concert for two: the sun and the moon. I want to surf on a remote beach and live there, for 8 days (7 is too typical) eating only coconuts. And banana pancakes. I want to plant trees somewhere, and visit them every once in a while. I want to write a book about a mystical creature named Ulysses and his friend Jilly Bean the angry jackalope. I want to travel far to hear a band that everyone has forgotten about. I want to take photos of alchemy, happiness and energy, visit little German markets and listen to people’s stories. I want to always try new recipes, learn useless facts, and believe in magic card tricks. I want to share it all with my moon.

Right now twenty days seems like such a long time. But time has a funny way of passing ever so quickly whether you’re paying attention or not. I’ll be back before I know it – continuing my unbeaten path… embarking on the next sunny adventure. I’m so excited for it all. To Team UN: – I hope you’re packed and ready to go adventuring!

The journey commences … now.

PS. My notebook and my pen will be adventuring with me & Team UN. Posts from abroad to come. Hold tight, underneath the concrete sky.

chapter three: lucy meets ben.

“My name is Lucy. What’s yours?” 

“Ben.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ben.”

“You smell pretty. I turned my head when you walked by.”

I smiled. Ben smiled back at me. And then his sideways smile made me laugh. He joined in, without hesitation. Our laughter echoed through the empty church. It sounded nicer than the choir singing Hallelujah. Even though I really like that song. 

I had stayed in my pew until everyone was gone. Oddly, Ben had been the last person out of the church. I don’t know how we started talking, but it happened. And even though he was a stranger, it didn’t seem that way anymore.

Here’s something to jog your memory.

Jogging your memory has nothing to do with running. In fact it’s the exact opposite. It’s like standing completely still. Still enough to go back to a place, a feeling, or a moment you left a long time ago. 

Sometimes I hear a song that instantly takes me back to a single, very distinct memory. In fact, sometimes it’s so strong that I feel like I’ve been transported to that moment, and am standing face to face with it. I can feel what I felt; I can sense what I sensed. It’s the most bizarre[i] feeling.

Anytime I hear Thunderstruck, I’m instantly 6 years old, laughing at my dad imitating Angus Young doing the duck walk. I can see it, and it still never fails to make me smile. I wonder if my dad even remembers duck walking. I don’t think I’ve seen him do it since.

With certain people, I always recall something they once told me, way back when. Sometimes this ‘something’ isn’t even significant – seemingly, anyway. It wasn’t significant when they said it, and it’s not significant now, as a memory. Yet it stands out, crystal clear – in my mind. So I can’t help but think that it’ll be significant one day. Otherwise why would it still be taking up space on my internal hard drive? 

Facial expressions are another big hit in my memory. I always remember the look on my brother’s face when his eyes finally found me waiting for him at the airport, on his return from an entire summer away from home. It had been the first time we had been away from each other for more than a few days. I also remember thinking it would be nice to have some peace and quiet away from my pesky little brother. That was before he left.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile so wide – and hug so tight. I hope he remembers my smile from that moment, too.

Some moments are so incredibly vivid and colourful that it’s hard to believe that they’ve been coded in the same manner as all other memories. Most of them weren’t even moments that I was conscious of storing uniquely, as they happened – I didn’t say to myself “must store under the ‘this is special’ folder.” They happened just like any other moment, but they’re recalled so differently.

Is this ringing a bell? 

I think back now, to certain events and experiences that I would have assumed would be recalled for the rest of my life. Things like prom, or my first kiss. Here’s the funny thing. I remember them, sure. But I’m never brought back to those moments. Unless I consciously decide to reflect and remember those events and moments, nothing has ever jogged my memory to bring me back to them. Times that had seemed so significant, aren’t. But the moments that seemed routine, average, or so ‘every-day’ – are ringing my bell… at the sight of an airplane, at the sound of a song, at the most random of reminders. 

Maybe the difference is this. In the moments where we’re truly present, when we don’t think of our past and forget about planning our next move, when we’re lost to the world around us, when we’re completely drenched in, surrounded by, and full of the feeling of the moment – is when our mind photographs, paints and transcribes the moment into a vivid snapshot. It’s when we’re truly present to the smells, sounds and sensations of that moment that we’ll remember them forever.

It’s not about committing something to memory because it’s an “important” event. It’s not about squeezing your eyes shut, trying your hardest to remember everything about something that once happened. In looking through my own vivid snapshots, I’ve realized that those were the moments of importance. The moment when my dad danced along to Thunderstruck to make me laugh was a moment of importance, not when he brought me flowers to my graduation. That memory of that moment with my dad is nineteen years old now and it still pulls at my heart strings every time I hear that song. Ask me what colour the flowers were. Pfft. Yeah right.

An exercise in standing still:

When something jogs my memory, I stand still, and pay attention. Something about that memory is significant. And if it’s not clear just yet, I’m patient with it. It will be clear, soon. And when I find myself smack dab in the middle of an incredible moment, I stand still. I don’t attempt to cram everything into my memory – I don’t waste time frantically searching for the ‘this is special folder.’ Instead I stand still and soak it in.

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[i] And no, I’m not talking about déjà vu. Déjà vu is just eerie when it happens – it comes out of nowhere and disappears just as quickly as it came. If you’re ever bored, look it up – the research is quite fascinating. That and you’ll have something interesting to contribute next time you hear someone say “I just had déjà vu!” You’re welcome.

Don’t let the bad bugs bite.

Yes, I know it’s actually bed bugs. Bear with me.

I’m talking about the bad bugs we all know buzz around, somewhere out there… disappointments, soul-sucking vibes, bad people, negative energies, mistakes, spills, falls and aches.

For those who know me well, know that I’m very rarely in a ‘bad’ mood. I don’t throw myself victim pity parties[i], I don’t dwell, I don’t suck others into a negative slump – that’d just be unfair. I make that a conscious, aware choice. And I stick to it.

If I can backtrack a little bit, I debated calling this post “Misery loves company” since it’s synonymous with my idea of a ‘bad bug’: miserable people who try to suck others into their misery. But I opted for my own twist, and some awesome alliteration. Either way, miserable is a sucky way to live. That’s the message.

Now, I don’t discount the fact that sometimes things are rough ‘n tough. Sometimes things don’t work out the way you planned; sometimes you fail. Things can seem shitty and crappy but really, it’s all a frame of mind. Not to mention the self-fulfilling prophecy. It works like this: you constantly think things are bound to eventually go downhill for you, because you believe that ‘things are too good to be true.’ Well, you can bet your sweet bum that they’ll start going downhill. That’s how people bring ‘bad’ things onto themselves. And then they verbalize them as ‘bad’ things – which PRESTO: makes them bad things. Congratulations! You are now the proud owner of your very own bad situation. Lucky you. 

Not.[ii]

I’m just not biting. Or getting bitten. And what’s even better is that I’m surrounded by people who don’t bite either. Maybe that’s what has brought us together – our resistance to the bugs and our aim to be full of laughs and full of soul, all the time. I feed off people who are committed to now-happiness; to riding the wave; to being low-intensity and high-energy. Sure, anyone can paint a gloomy picture of our world – but I much prefer the glossy, rainbow-coloured cartoon version of it.

Here’s my real life example for the day. In chatting with an awesome friend yesterday, she pointed out that people who say butterfly feelings disappear after the honeymoon phase is over, just haven’t met their fits-like-a-glove person yet. She said real butterflies are not fleeting – they stick around. That’s how you know things are right. I couldn’t have phrased it better myself. And it made me smile – thinking about my own butterflies.[iii]

butterfly mornings

Why are people convinced butterfly feelings disappear eventually? They’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop; they’re convinced good things don’t last, and that nothing is perfect. Sucks to be them. Why would you ever, ever waste your time waiting for something bad to happen? Why would you send that distress signal out into the universe, and embrace it when it arrives? These are the same people that might try to tell you that it’s not worth it; that this is the way the world is; that it’s a waste of your time; that the butterflies will fly away; that your dreams are unrealistic; that work will always suck the life out of you; that nice guys always finish last; and that you can’t possibly really be ‘that happy’. I don’t pay any attention to any of that silly “advice.” Because it’s not advice. It’s a soul-sucking invitation into their world of misery. RSVP: heck no! You can be that happy – here’s how:

Don’t let that pesky bad bug bite. It’s worse than a mosquito bite on your bum.

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[i] No one wants to come to those lame parties, FYI.

[ii] Haha. I miss using that in conversation. It’s almost as good as the “no offence, but [insert offensive comment here]” line.

[iii] My butterflies aren’t just flying. They’re doing my favourite salsa dance move. : )

Labour of love

 

Valentine's Day, circa 1985

 

February seems like a good month to talk Valentine’s Day.

I’ve loved on it, hated on it, and teeter-tottered on it. Here’s the undercover, secret/not-so-secret truth.

The skeptical/cynical/hater side of the fence: “Valentine’s Day is nothing but a Hallmark holiday.”

Valentine’s Day and Strawberry Shortcake cards were a big fricken deal back in grade 4. The only downside back then, was having to pretend I actually liked cinnamon hearts. However, here’s the thing. We went from getting 32 Valentine’s Day cards, every year, to perhaps one –  if you’re “involved.” No wonder there are so many VDAY haters out there! – We were pretty much trained to expect cute cards with cute messages. And when they stopped coming, of course we were disappointed with the whole thing.

I remember getting so excited to write out my 32 cards – the night before the big day. (Some things don’t change – still a last minute kind of girl.) Even though they were all from one box, and there were only 4 or 5 variations of the same general message – I’d still debate which one was least lovey-dovey for the boys I thought were gross, and of course which one was the “best” – for the boy I thought was cute. As if it all mattered. Ha.

Heck, I’m still a fan of cards. And it still takes me forever and a day to pick one out. Birthday, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Thinking of You, Just Because… I’m a sucker for all of them[i]. So when people call it a Hallmark holiday, I put that into the “good things about Valentine’s Day” category. Because “Hallmark” is pretty much a cinnamon for “card.”

In short, I can’t think of many negatives of Valentine’s Day. I don’t think it’s terrible – whether single or plus one. The only thing under the “bad things about Valentine’s Day” category is the following story:

Valentine’s Day 2007: I went out with my best friend and her BF to a little Italian restaurant in Woodbridge. (I’ve never had a problem third-wheeling – unless there’s baby talk involved. Then I’m out.) There was a huge snowstorm that night. It was freezing, the roads were terrible, and it took me forever and a day to drive out to Italian suburbia. And that’s not even the bad part. My best friend’s BF was super sweet, brought us both a flower, and took both of us on his arms as we walked into the restaurant – which was completely empty. For serious – empty. We were the only three people in the restaurant. Food was great and the service was friendly, but a bit on the overbearing side. The owner himself was catering to our table and kept coming over to converse with us. Overall, I had a great time with the couple. After all, Valentine’s Day is really all about celebrating the love… and I have muchos love for my friends.

The next day, my friend’s BF gets a phone call from the restaurant. Expecting to be told that one of us left something behind, he picked up the call. Lo and behold, it was the friendly/over-bearing owner! Here’s where it gets good. He was calling to ask where he could direct his future clients to score beautiful escorts like he did.

: |  –> That’s the only way I can express my feelings on that. We were having DINNER, not a bloody threesome! This – my friends, is why third-wheeling has such a bad rep in our social scene! Jeez Louise. What has the world come to.

But alas. Let’s move on to the sunnier side of the spectrum. Whoosh.

The believers/doodlers/lovers – “Be Mine, Valentine!”

Well, for starters, chocolate is amazing. So how can I hate on a holiday that celebrates chocolate giving, receiving and eating? Also, pink is a pretty fantastic colour (although not my all-time fave), so I kind of enjoy seeing it everywhere for about a month. Hearts – also great! Especially the kind drawn by boys… they’re always a bit wonky, jagged-y and misshapen. But those are all minor details. Mostly I like the theme of extending your love… and energy, to someone else – and making it a point to do so, on this day.

If the 14^th of February inspires you to do/say/bake something sweet for someone – sista, mama, friend or lover, then that’s pretty neat. It’s a lovely sentiment. So what if it’s a marketable holiday. So is everything else, these days. You don’t have to celebrate a medieval tale about some chivalrous hero[ii]. Just share your love. And the chocolate.

 

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[i] Although I enjoy Hallmark cards… I miss those grade 4 Valentine cards. There was something so loveable and happy about those tiny cards in their tiny white envelopes. There was no price on the back, there was a simple, sweet message… they were silly and completely unpretentious.

[ii] Unless of course you’ve signed yourself up for the Valentine’s package at Medieval Times Dinner & Tournament.

Fits like a glove.

 

swaying with ease...

“And I couldn’t believe it! It just fit like a glove. Like a GLOVE!” My friend exclaimed. She had just scored a sweet little black dress (LBD) – for free, and completely by chance. Like an unexpected small gift from heaven. Or rather, from her brother’s girlfriend’s friend – who had left it somewhere or other, and no longer wanted it. Or wait, was it that she no longer fit in it? Anyway. Minor details. My friend, had not been looking for a new LBD, nor did she really need one. When it arrived on her doorstep (or rather when she found it laying haphazardly on the side of her couch), she didn’t particularly care to make it fit, or have it become her favourite. She tried it on because her personal mantra was ‘things happen for a reason.’ And it fit perfectly.

The next day she was invited to a wedding. It had arrived at just the right moment. Synergy.

If I may digress for a moment… Synergy is one of my favourite words. Possibly because it sounds like energy and I’ve already expressed my fondness of sharing energy. But mostly because of its meaning. I like the idea of two forces coming together to make something bigger, better, beautiful-er than their separate selves. I could even go as far to say that it’s sort of my word replacement for ‘romance.’

My friend’s story made me smile. It was so fitting – if you will. It led me to think about the things in my life that have suddenly become seamless, graceful and do-a-little-dance worthy – much like a LBD. (It also led me to think of G. Love and that he hasn’t been getting any play time on my iPod lately, but that’s beside the point.)

I realized that sometimes no matter how hard you try to make something fit, or work – it just doesn’t. Kind of like Cinderella’s mean stepsisters forcing on that silly glass stiletto. A job that doesn’t fulfill you, a recipe that just never seems to pan out, the jeans that don’t zip up no matter how much you squat, lunge and squirm, those dinner plans that are always up in the air AKA “let’s do dinner sometime!,” a relationship without exciting electricity.

We’re so busy making things fit that we forget to try new things on.

Now, I’m not a quitter, but I’ve come to believe that if something leaves an unsettling feeling in your gut – and doesn’t let your soul smile, it’s time to pack up your toys and head home. No one wants to wear loose gloves[i]. That’s just foolish.

Lately the universe seems to be fitting in my pocket. Everything seems to be aligned. Thoughts are connected, energy is buzzing, and there’s even some synchronized moon gazing going on. In letting go of things that don’t work – and will never work, and in forgetting stifling expectations of how things “should be,” it seems I’ve unexpectedly stumbled upon my own little black dress… And it feels just right. And more than that, it me the Airport Feeling[ii]. It’s like the music has been turned up and is now reverberating through me. Which of course, makes me want to snap my fingers, tap my feet, and do a little dance.

The message is this: try something on, lovely friends… and if it fits perfectly, let it swoon you.

Come and see, how the wind in your hair will feel differently…[iii]

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[i] As far as I’m concerned, the only thing worse than loose gloves are loose socks. I will never understand how kids don’t get fazed by the sock overhang in the toe area. Just looking at it makes me uncomfortable.

[ii] Airport Feeling – anticipation mixed with excitement and pure joy.

[iii] Catch & Release. Lyrical amazingness.