Unintentionally Brief

Twelve hours until I begin retracing my steps back south of the border...a bit nervous, a bit excited, a bit apprehentious about what will come.

The ultimate test of patience and compassion lies not in the outside world but often within one's own family, sometimes under one's own roof.

Hoping against hope that things will go smoothly and we'll all be able to keep our proverbial cool (although, "keep" would imply that it was there to begin with, right?). Wondering what seeing certain people again will mean later on, wondering if it's possible to keep family and social life from colliding, wondering why "I" and "I'm" has been virtually stricken from my speech patterns as of late. I hate haikus and fragmented sentences.

I am no longer a Christian so I no longer pray.
That being said, Buddha give me strength in the days to come. "god" knows I need it.

Feminist vs. Feminazi

Growing up, being raised by feminists, I was brought up with some interesting theories on men. While strong and intelligent women in so many ways, my mother and grandmother are, unfortunately, of the "men are scum" variety of feminists. My grandmother's unhappy marriage and my mother's chronic bad choice in partners didn't exactly leave a good taste in my mouth when it came to the opposite sex. Despite having mostly male friends (Canadian male friends...American males are a whole other breed), the notion of a happy, healthy relationship free of drama and ulterior motives was as foreign to me as women are to Richard Simmons. Men were great as friends (like women, but less drama and more debate!) and "historically," my male friendships have been some of the strongest over the course of my life. However, like the women that raised me, I ultimately regarded them with suspicion and sometimes contempt, and had little faith in their overall humanity. I was always the first to crack the men-bashing jokes amongst girl friends and when something went afoul in a male relationship, the source of the dispute could ultimately be traced back to their masculinity (I felt). While I never considered myself a man-hating woman, I wasn't exactly their biggest supporter.

However, as with all things personal recently, the tides are turning. As I spend more time with my male friends and less with certain company, I find my own previously held prejudices crumbling (and rather quickly, too). It's as if having had the proverbial blindfold lifted. Today I came to a realization: in the words of Henry Mancini (and preferably in the voice of Judy Garland), "we're after the same rainbow's end."

One man in particular has opened my eyes to a completely different side of masculinity. He is truly a man, in every sense of the word, and I continue to be amazed at his strength, his softness, and his lovingkindness. A feminist and a hopeless romantic, he is the sort of man every woman wishes for, but rarely sees, and I've been fortunate enough to have our paths cross in more ways and places than one. Exemplifying the feminist ideal, he has managed to warm even the coldest woman scorned, and through him, I'm beginning to see the whole other gender in an entirely new, more complimentary light. Words cannot even begin to describe the sense of wonder experienced with him and because of him...I am eternally indebted.

According to a certain class of mine, one of the major components of arguing successfully (and, ultimately, enjoying a happy life) is accepting one's own fallibility. Right now, I'm enjoying being proved wrong, by a feminist and a man, over and over again, my old ideas, every day.
Thank you.

When One Door Closes...

There are few things I am ashamed about. As a general rule, I tend to shy away from the concept of making a “mistake.” There are good choices, and the choices you learn from. With every one thing connected in some way to another, it’s hard to judge actions or thoughts by their immediate results without dismissing the idea of interconnectedness altogether, something that, the more I learn about, the more fully I come to understand myself and the world around me.

However, to err is only human, and shame can be, at times, a product of human error mixed with a deadly blow to our ego. A fairly recent and potent source of shame for my Catholic-raised self was the defeated return to my hometown upon graduating. This Port City, while the backdrop of many fond childhood memories and home to many loved ones, represented for me several things, but most importantly failure. To come back dejected, in a sense, “starting from square one” was an unbelievable blow to my teenage ego. The thought of moving on, far and above the muddy roots from which I came, never seemed further, and for the longest time, I tried to keep my own failure secret from some of the people that were closest to me. For a while it worked, and I even managed to convince myself that it was only a temporary setback, that as soon as this, as soon as that, I would be on the next plane West and to a new life.

But now, as I grow older and learn as the days go by, I’ve come to accept this so-called defeat. It is a new life and there is so much in store. I’m not quite ready to throw in the towel just yet, especially just as I’m finding my own place within the fold. This past year has brought so much in the way of experience, love, and friendships, and I find myself constantly surprised at my own good fortune. There is family here. There are deep, lasting friendships here. There may even be a love here. To go running off in search of something better when there is so much already in front of me does not make any sense now. I have hung my proverbial hat in four different places in the past year and a half, and I’m tired. Yes, I may be my mother’s daughter, but where she has spent her whole life running from herself, I will rest and face what it is she’s fleeing from. She may have a past here, but so do I. The difference is, I also have a future here and I’m no longer going to let one control the other, especially when there are so many more doors yet to be opened.

Yes, there are good choices, there are choices you learn from, and there are also choices that bring you to where you need to be. When one door closes, so many others open, and I’m enjoying too much finding out what’s behind each one right now to abandon them in search of another. If someone had asked me two years ago where I would be, who I would know, what I would be doing, I would never have been able to come up with this answer…and I wouldn’t have it any other way. There are many wonderful things unfolding here in this cold, curious little city and for now, Montreal can wait. Call it, a simple twist of fate.