Roles (Three).

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She had a good idea — a matchmaking-style initiative that paired women entrepreneurs with other industry leaders, creating a networking web of ideas and inspiration. But it never quite got off the ground. For months, when friends asked how she was (really meaning ‘what are you up to’) she struggled with how to respond — trying on adjectives and job titles like dresses for a last minute work event. She tugged at the zippers, shrugged at her reflection, turned to view the dress from every angle only to find it didn’t ‘fit’ in any view.

Entrepreneur didn’t fit without a business. Wife alone didn’t suit her feminist foundation. “Was this” didn’t hold true anymore. And so she packed up the idea, and sent out her resume until something fit. When friends asked how she was (still meaning ‘what do you do’), she could finally once again respond with the comfort and confidence of a trusty black dress. 

I recently finished Glennon Doyle’s Untamed (I promise to start my book review/book shelf again and would still love to hear your suggestions). Like literally millions of other people around the world, I dog-eared, underlined, and starred my way from a-ha moment to a-ha moment. In my current state of funemployed, one passage really struck me: 

“Ask a woman who she is, and she’ll tell you who she loves, who she serves, and what she does. I am a mother, a wife, a sister, a friend, a career woman. The fact that we define ourselves by our roles is what keeps the world spinning. It’s also what makes us untethered and afraid. If a woman defines herself as a wife, what happens if her partner leaves? If a woman defines herself as a mother, what happens when the kids leave for college? If a woman defines herself as a career woman, what happens when the company folds? Who we are is perpetually being taken from us, so we live in fear instead of peace. We cling too tightly, close our eyes to what we need to look at hard, avoid questions that need to be asked, and in a million ways insist to our friends, partners, and children that the purpose of their existence is to define us. We build sandcastles and then try to live inside them, fearing the inevitable tide. Answering the question “Who do I love?” is not enough. We must live lives of our own. To live a life of her own, each woman must also answer: What do I love? What makes me come alive? What is beauty to me, and when do I take the time to fill up with it? Who is the soul beneath all of these roles? Each woman must answer these questions now, before the tide comes. Sandcastles are beautiful, but we cannot live inside them. Because the tide rises. That’s what the tide does. We must remember: I am the builder, not the castle. I am separate and whole, over here, eyes on the horizon, sun on my shoulders, welcoming the tide. Building, rebuilding. Playfully. Lightly. Never changing. Always changing.”

I went from a competitive undergraduate degree in Ottawa where so many of us defined ourselves based on what happened in our mock newsrooms, to a professional master’s degree in NYC — a city where everyone is constantly working to leave their mark while simultaneously trying to find what their mark is to begin with.

I fought for internship positions that gave me a leg up (whatever ‘up’ meant) and positions that helped me get a visa while also carving a clear path to the next ‘success’. I moved back to Canada and worked for nearly three years in a field that absorbs every part of your time and identity. 

Now, without a title to try on, nothing seems to fit quite right when I try to respond to the ‘how are yous/what are you up tos?’. 

I want to be clear: I would not change a single part of my path.

I am someone who enjoys to work and I find it incredibly difficult to sit still. I love when my days are full and my plate doesn’t have room for another spoonful of activity. I am taking time to find my next position because I want it to be in a place where I feel like I am building bold ideas and moving the needle on issues I care about: sustainable living, mental wellness, women’s economic empowerment, girls’ confidence and access to education.

I do not want to punch in and punch out, or I will check out. That is not to say the traditional 9-5 doesn’t appeal to/work for so many people (hello Megs explaining just how much she loves the stability of her job so she can create and write and love her life outside of the professional hours) — I am just not one of those people. Not better or worse. Not more hard working or less. Not more ambitious or not. Simply different. But after years of no harmony — no time for the things I love and only defining myself by the title I held — I am working to answer Glennon’s questions. 

What do I love? What makes me come alive? What is beauty to me, and when do I take the time to fill up with it? Who is the soul beneath all of these roles?

I love holiday dinners with my family, the first snow of the season, trying to read a book with M (which always just ends in us talking), movie nights with my sister, being on a boat in the middle of a lake. I am alive when my brain is confused — when I read something new or hear someone explain something in a different way. I am alive when dancing around the kitchen making dinner. I am alive when hiking, eating an enormous brunch, or getting tucked in with hot cocoa on Sunday night. All of these things are beautiful to me, and I am working on carving out the time to fill myself and the people around me with this love. 

I love my roles: sister, daughter, friend, partner, teammate, cousin, niece, grandkid. As for the soul, I am still introducing myself to her, learning more about her every day. I know I am someone who cares, someone who believes in kindness and goodness. I am someone who finds it a lot easier to have someone I love explain my soul beneath — often getting uncomfy when asked to list or explain attributes. I get it wrong, I try again, I let people down, and I disappoint myself. I also try really hard.

As I move through this title-less time, I am working to find comfort in simply answering the question: “I am well. I was tired, but I am resetting. I am happy, confused, excited, and scared. I am.” 

We just did groceries yesterday, so I am off to make a breakfast bagel with arugula and turkey (if I call it a breakfast bagel, that makes a turkey sandwich breaky food, right?!)

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

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