Unlearning (Two).

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A few years ago, I read that at the end of our lives everyone wants to be remembered for the person they were, not the titles they had. We want to build a life where our eulogy virtues are expansive and true, and yet we spend our days concerned with boosting our resumes.

We climb the ladder we’ve been told leads to happiness, while kicking the tires of the thing that sets our soul on fire.

For me, it didn’t happen all at once. It was slow — listening to the people around me with Senior or Director in their title, conflating the time they spent on the job with wisdom.

I listened while they instructed me that my softness was something to strip away, and I believed the stories they spun of success and growth. Because I thought they came with a guidebook, a map of well-worn trails and experience-filled understanding. I assumed that when they spoke, the words were wisdom-dipped — ready for my dissecting, learning, and absorbing. 

I declined M’s call to tell me about his day while I sent one more email to a stranger. I showed up 30-minutes late to my sister’s birthday dinner, and logged-in five minutes early to a Skype meeting with my boss. I convinced myself that I was too busy to respond to my mom’s text, while I woke up early to check one more thing off my to-do list. 

I was told that this is strength and what it takes to get ahead — prioritize the resume over the relationships. 

But in my unlearning I am understanding the opposite.

Those same people are fully-flawed and equally filled with misunderstanding. They’re no more knowledgeable, they’ve simply seen more sunrises. 

For the handful, this means they come with wisdom. For the all-too-many, the sunsets collected were nothing more than checks on one great to-do list. And the thing I have learned from the many is that they’ve all taught me one thing — don’t collect roles and responsibilities. Don’t assume years alone equal wisdom. 

Explore. Dive in. Be wrong. Try again. Breathe. Be fierce and be true. 

So now I FaceTime M without the distraction of another device. I go on walks with Luna and keep my phone in my bag. I am looking for a new job that has a mission I believe in at its core while allowing me the time to build a full life upon its foundation. I don’t show up late for my sister, and I make meals that make me happy regardless of the time they take. 

People ask me about next steps and when I think I’ll be ready to start something new, and for now I just respond with a smile and say I am focusing on the reset and unlearning. 

And now I am off to make apple, parsnip, and Brie soup! 

Talk soon, 

L

Xo

//

Anew (One).

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And again, I’m starting anew. 

I figured that if this was going to be the fresh start of a crisply turned page, the first of the month is the perfect time to begin a new chapter.

But let me take a step back, and begin with an explanation (because everyone loves a story with a qualifier). I am not good at sharing a half-baked story. I’m one of those ‘never count your chickens pre-hatch’ kind of people. I am bizarrely open with my feelings and thoughts with almost every person I share a “hello, my name is..” with, but I hold goals and plans in the innermost pocket of my wool coat — tucked away from everyone but my four Ms (Momma, Mare, Megs, and Mitchell).

My mom, sister, soul sister, and boyfriend are the ones who hear the star-gazing dreams and one-day-I-would-like-to-bes. Other than that, I share as much as people ask. And, honestly, many people don’t really dive into the root of things — questioning enough to present an interest without holding the weight of the aftermath. 

But Megs and I started this blog as a place to not only share the depth of our feelings (the roots) or our aspirations (the reverie), but to also create a space for others to feel seen, heard, and respected — a community of shared learning and listening. And how can the two of us build this space if one of us only shares as much as people ask. 

So, here goes nothing! 

I used to start this story by sharing that I once lived in New York City, and that after the last election I became a statistic — an immigrant being asked to kindly go back to where she came from in less than 60 days. But three years (almost to the day) later, I have learned my story doesn’t start with this end.

I have always been drawn to storytelling, pulled towards words strung together in such a way to make people empathize with one another’s circumstances. For as long as I can remember, I wanted to use words as a way to share thoughts, programs, policies, and collective hope. I know that this next part of my story may cause eye rolls BUT stay with me.

I also fundamentally believe in the importance of government and politics. Whether we like it or not, it is those people in those rooms sitting at those tables who make the decisions for us. So, you can either fight it and complain about it, or you can pull up a chair. (Understanding that my whiteness and middle-classness and English-without-an-accentness and straightness and Christianess affords me the opportunity to have access to that chair to begin with. And also learning how those ‘ness’es give me the responsibility to find more chairs and, at times, give up my own for others.) 

Nearly three years ago, I decided my love of words, coupled with my determination to have a chair at that table, paired with a conversation with a woman who instantly filled me with hope over the soundtrack of a hockey game — was the start of an adventure I could not say no to. 

Somewhere on this blog or our Instagram page I wrote that I worked in communications for a firm that is too big to fail. This is a little true. But really, I worked for our government. And I will forever be grateful for the lessons learned — the affirming highs and the crushing lows. I am proud to have been a member of a team who doesn’t always get it right, but never stops trying to make our country a place where it doesn’t matter who you pray to, the language you speak, the colour of your skin, or whom you love, building the kind of country where young people’s voices are heard, the climate has a fighting chance, and where everyone has a fair shot at happy, safe, and secure.

I am also exhausted. No one tells you going in that you will give more of yourself — more time, more energy, just more — than you can begin to imagine. I would give it all again, and I would choose to leave again. 

Because, M is finally moving to Canada and I want to build a life that allows for an evening together without the blue hue of a work phone lighting the way. I want to build a life where I can read my book-club book within the designated time-frame. A life where I can go for a walk with my pup without choosing a trail that doesn’t lose service part way through. I want to cook (instead of ordering) dinner and eat at a table instead of infront of my computer screen. I want to find my way back to my yoga mat and be able to take myself to a spin class (when it is safe to do so). I want to volunteer my time for causes I care about. I want to take a bath and not bring my phone into the washroom. And I could go on, but I am positive I’ve lost many who have continued to read this long.

I guess my point is: I want to build a life that is full, harmonious, sustainable, and mine. 

The thing is, once I said this — once I quit my job to move to a new city with M after three years of long distance — so many people started sharing their stories of burnout, anxiety, and fatigue. 

These stories didn’t just come from political staffers. They weren’t industry specific or years-on-the-job contingent. The response from nearly every 20 or 30-something I shared even a snippet of my story with was:

“I wish I could do that. I am so tired.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this for.” 

“I wake up feeling stressed and go to bed exhausted.” 

“I haven’t slept through the night in months.” 

“I don’t remember the last time I had vacation without my work phone.” 

“How long have you felt that way? Everyone else always seems fine.” 

So, I’m doing what I never do — I’m sharing my half-baked story, sprinkled with goals, one-days, and maybes.

I am funemployed. I am anxious about finding a job, and content with slow days of reading, eating good food, and writing.

I am still exhausted, but I sleep through the night without waking up to check my work phone.

I am ecstatic to finally call M my roommate, but I can’t think about leaving my sister (my current roommate in Ottawa and always best friend).

I want to find a job that fulfills and thrills me in the same way that my old one did, while also allowing me time to reset.

I cannot wait to once again live in the same city as Megs, and there is no balancing emotion for that one!

So here goes nothing.

I’ll share my journey here, partially because I think and feel through writing and also because I don’t want anyone else to feel like everyone else seems fine.

I’m off to heat up some leftover pizza for lunch and to read my book!

Talk soon, 

L

Xo

//

Embracing Neutrality

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If I had to explain myself in two words, they would be: extreme feeler (this isn’t creepy, I promise.) In fact, it’s one of the things my friends always point out to me. On surface level, when you first meet me, you’d never ever think there is a giant pile of ALL THE FEELINGS inside. I think Laurel once said, “outside you present as so cool, but inside you’re just this little ball of mush” and it’s true. I am an extreme feeler.

I used to not think this about myself, because I am so good at masking my emotions. I used to think I was rather stoic. HA.

I have come to accept and even love my sensitivity. I embrace my emotions as they are every bit of part of me as my sense of humour.

The truth is: I feel deeply, all the time, about a number of things. Like right now, I am worried about the world, worried about the neighbourhood cat that’s missing, excited to curl up and read my book, wishing I lived right next door to a lake, hoping for a storm, yearning for a second season of The Great, ignoring the pain in my wrist..etc. And all these emotions carry the same weight on my mind. I turn them over and over again revisiting the same sentences, the same stories, until something else pops up.

If I am too happy or too sad (or really too anything), I immediately cry. The other night, I teared up at a Charmin commercial (then immediately laughed at my ridiculousness.) I have come to accept and even love my sensitivity. I embrace my emotions as they are every bit of part of me as my sense of humour.

But it takes work. One of the things I have had to learn is to stop taking everything to the extreme. For instance, let’s say I had a bad moment at work (not even a bad day), just a rough patch, my old self would immediately tense up. Does that mean I hate my job? If I hate my job, does that mean I am on the wrong path in life? If I am on the wrong path, does that mean I have failed?

I was so invested in my emotions, what I was feeling and why, that I would find myself drowning in analysis. I’ve learned that sometimes, I just feel sad because I feel sad. There isn’t a reason and there doesn’t need to be. And most importantly, feeling sadness is not failure.

Laurel and I were talking about positivity a few days ago and we both were sharing our thoughts on it. I love positivity and I feel like it can be a very powerful tool. I feel like sometimes, I just need to shift my perspective and think about a thing differently and immediately, I feel better. I do believe that an obstacle can be an opportunity. But I also think that there is a time and place for that kind of thinking. Sometimes, an obstacle is just an obstacle. Sometimes acknowledging the suck and the struggle is what is needed to move on from it.

The sweet spot is the days where you just live and for a second, you forget about your existence and what it means.

I no longer think about my life as being on a path (goodbye 5 year plan), but instead I think of this very moment, this one I am in right now. I ask myself:

Do I feel safe?

Do I love?

Do I feel loved?

Sure, I have goals and I work towards them, but I do so knowing I am enjoying them in that moment. I love to organize and plan and have a set routine, but I do so knowing it gives me stability and focus. If I fail, so what. I’ve given up on over analyzing my life path. I am just on this road to live it. And if I am in a particularly rough moment? I realize the feeling passes, like every feeling before it. I plan trips and look forward to things, obviously, but when it comes to my feelings, I have stopped asking myself why all the time. There are times when a “why” is necessary, but more often than not, it is not a helpful exercise. It’s not perfect, by any means, but it allows me to just accept that there are days that you just drag and sour and to do so is just as human as to smile is. My goal in life is to live neutrally, with more okay days than bad. When the bad days come, they pass, just like the amazing days do. The sweet spot is the days where you just live and for a second, you forget about your existence and what it means.

I’ve learned that life isn’t about always being happy or even striving for happiness, it’s okay to just be okay. It’s okay to not be okay. It’s wonderful to be happy. The most important thing is TO BE.

How do you feel about positivity? We’d love to hear your thoughts! There are no right or wrong answers here.

Hello, Movement, my old friend.

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I struggle with stillness. I’ve been like that for as long as I can remember – wake with the sun and move until the sun bids the sky adieu. Dancing and singing and talking – really just a whole lot of following people around talking.

Maybe that’s why I always preferred workout classes over alone time in the gym. While so many people like to put their headsets on, muting the world for the steady beat of Taylor Swift telling you to Shake it Off or Beyonce reminding you who truly runs the world – I always opted for an instructor at the front of a room telling you how many more seconds you have to hold a plank. (The answer always being a million more seconds.) To me, I liked the feeling of being pushed and the motivation of doing that among other people. (And the chatting after class.)

For years, I was a gym member in whatever city I lived. The local woman-owned gym when in the Toronto area, a yoga studio while in Ottawa, and then a spin studio and Class Pass while in New York. I worked out four to five days a week, and would sometimes throw in an extra day for good luck. I loved it! Until I didn’t. Or maybe it was never that simple?

I had a weird and confusing break up that lasted for months and somewhere in the haze of saying goodbye to someone I loved and welcoming myself back into my own body, I stopped being a member of any gym. I stopped moving regularly. I still found my way to my yoga mat for some calm and peppered in workout classes – really just enough to say I hadn’t quit cold turkey.

Weeks became months and then I started this job that consumes more of my time than I’d like to admit (that’s for another post), and now it’s been over three years.

A note – I still follow people around just to talk. I move throughout every day, from dance parties in my kitchen, to walks with my sweet pup, Luna, to hikes with my sister and boyfriend, (known in every text not to him as M, and so shall be called M on this blog) – but nothing regular, nothing that would count as a routine.

And then all routine got thrown out the window and I decided it was time to start welcoming regular movement back into my days. M loves working out. Loves moving. Loves pushing his body simply to see what it can do. And since he lives in New York and I in Ottawa and we’re always finding ways to pretend we’re together when the miles apart are nothing to sneeze at – we decided May would be the perfect month to start a ‘Wellness Challenge’. And I use challenge loosely because I am the least competitive person that has ever taken a breath and the intent was only ever to kindly and slowly reintroduce myself to an old friend.

And so the May Wellness Month was born.

Here it is: drink 2,000 mL of water a day (HOW DOES ANYONE DRINK THIS MUCH WATER?!), no ice cream (cruel), and complete the below circuit three times through, once a day.

  • 5 push-ups
  • 5 sit-ups
  • 5 squats
  • 20 second plank

Then do that circuit four times (4 push-ups, 4 sit-ups, 4 squats, 20 second plank), until you hit the 1s. Repeat three times. It takes 20-25 minutes total. The perfect bridge time from ‘work day’ to evening, or morning to productivity, or a lunch time break.

It was achievable- not a challenge that laughed at me, mocking me every day when I would think about the hill I just couldn’t climb. As if I was going to go from zero to a 5K run five times a week. That’s a no from me. I needed something that was like a handshake. Easy. Welcoming. Quick. No promises. And that’s what this Wellness Month has been.

Now, May isn’t done yet. We still have a week left. And I haven’t done every part of it every day. There is often a full water bottle on my desk in the afternoon forcing me to chug 500 mL most nights.

And I don’t do the circuit everyday. I didn’t workout today, for example (sorry, M, if you’re reading this. I know I said I was going to try, but something came up with work – as it always does – and I am choosing a moment on the balcony over the circuit today).

BUT the point is that I am thinking about it. That I am trying. That I am finding ways to move (like a bike ride to sit with friends in the park last night), and that I am being kind to my body, and for right now – that’s good enough for me. It’s more than good enough.

//

The Monk of Mokha

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I remember the first time I had coffee. I was 16 and in charge of making my father’s morning cup (in exchange for him driving me to school.) My Dad’s coffee is not what one would consider a typical blend. In fact, it took me years to rewire my brain when making coffee as an intern. See my Dad loves strong coffee, but not just average strong, but let’s just say if he could pour the grinds directly into water, I am sure he would. I came to understand later that that is unusual. Not everyone likes their morning cup to blow their head right off. Who knew?

So my first cup of coffee was not great, but man the after effects were amazing. Energy! Focus! It became my fuel well into adulthood. To this day, there is nothing I love more than a good oat milk cappuccino.

I was excited when I saw that Dave Eggers, one of my all time favourite writers, was writing a book that centered on coffee. The Monk of Mokha was an excellent read that transported me into the world of coffee imports.

This was a really great true story of a young Yemeni American and the power of passion. I find myself spouting random coffee facts each morning to an unwilling audience.

Did you know coffee is a fruit?

Do you know where the term Java comes from?

Do you know that there is two ways to process coffee beans? Wet and Dry.

Do you know what a Q Grader is?

and on and on and on.

I will read anything (I mean ANYTHING) that Dave Eggers writes. His ability to take real life stories and present them through powerful narratives that inspire hope is unmatched, in my opinion. His sentence structure, spontaneity, and experimentalism always amaze me.

This is a great character study and a story of unyielding passion. It’s a story about taking charge of the direction of your life and the complexity of sustainable and fair trade coffee. It’s one of those stories that I am glad I read and will impact my choice of coffee going forward even more.