Changing Bodies

Bodies are weird.

Fascinating and stuff, too, but ultimately weird. The number of changes – large and small – that each of us goes through over the course of our lives is astronomical, really. And everyone is so different, despite many similarities. I admit to being concerned on occasion about accidentally getting some human on me when I ride public transit. The myriad of skin conditions and odours and levels of filth can be overwhelming sometimes.

It’s easy to become a bit of a germaphobe in the city. People are always touching things and spitting and coughing and greasy and…just yeah. I try not to get too much human on me if I can help it. I’ll pet a dog I’ve never met before on instinct, but I really don’t want strangers touching me or getting them on my stuff.

I wonder if any of us really sees ourselves when we look in the mirror. Or if anyone else sees what we see of ourselves. Or if anyone knows what we see when we look at them, and vice versa. With so many changes happening all the time, and growing older every day, how could anyone ever really keep up with the present? Especially when we’re pretty much mired in the past and focused on the future?

Big Head Tag-along

That was my nickname for a time.

Not sure it would apply quite the same anymore, but what does, really?  There is still truth in it, so it sticks like syrup to my persona and its perception.

Some people, I look forward to seeing.  I get excited every time and imagine how it will be.  It is never how I imagine it, of course, and there is a certain distancing in the resulting disappointment as my mind attempts to realign imagination with reality.

I forget the distance, however, and build them back up in my mind prior to our next encounter, ignoring the sensemble that it will all feel wrong again.  That I will feel wrong again.

Big head tag-along.

Other people, I forget – in the time apart – how they make me feel when we see one another, and am swept up in giddy surprise each time.  My mind struggles to hold onto those feeling during the in between times, but it ultimately fails, and the sensations of emotions I felt in those moments fade away into the moments passing by us afterward.

Most people I just don’t think much about until I’m given cause to remember; to recollect and forget again soon after.

Memory is a funny thing.  It can be so strong as to keep the past alive in us, yet often in flimsy incomplete fragments, as those life has been lived as glimpsed through a veil by someone else; there and not there.  Ours and not ours.

My connection to the present world and its inhabitants is as vague and fragile as the memories between the moments.  It’s easy to sometimes wonder if they ever really there at all, the connections, or if I am just glimpsing yours, and tagging along for a spell.

Only to forget again in the moments in between.

Distractions

So much on my tired frazzled mind. Good grief.

Work today is…interesting. A lot going on, and a lot of, like – it’s chaotic, it’s exciting, it’s frustrating, it’s overwhelming, and it’s sometimes hard to concentrate because there is so much happening outside of here that occasionally vies for my attention, as well.

Then there’s my very male coworkers. I’m the only woman in this area today, and the boys are in rare form, for some reason.

And I just got a most excellent series of texts from one of my closest friends!!! So excited and happy for her!!!

Thus the distractions continue. I can’t even think of anything to write about here, because there is too much on my mind that I can’t/won’t write about.

Which is why this isn’t really working for me today.

I might write up another past relationship segment for the No One Reads category of my writing life. It’ll be my first break-up one, so it should be interesting to see if I keep the current mindset that I’ve had going on since I started writing about that stuff. Thus far it’s been fun to go back and think about the beginnings of my first relationship – the intensity, the excitement, the stress, the happiness, the sense that I wasn’t as alone anymore because I had a friend to whom I could tell everything. It’s changed a bit of how I feel now, remembering some of that stuff.  I think it’s why I was able to develop my first wee crush in quite awhile, too.

I wonder, however, if reliving my first heartbreak will continue to feel as cathartic.  Will let you know how it goes!

More Dreams And Carpe Diem Notions

It’s entirely possible that last night’s dream was a kind of warning, in a way. Though it’s just as likely that it was my brain’s way of expressing guilt and, like, concern.

Either way, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and I saw some people in the dream who I haven’t seen in life for a long time, so that was cool. Same with the dream I had the night before – so much was going on, and it largely revolved around people who haven’t really been in my life for several years…more than a decade, in most cases. It’s interesting (to me) that both dreams involved people and situations from roughly the same period of time in my waking life, and yet they didn’t seem to be connected at all. It was a period of much change in my world, and those two dreams managed to reflect very different facets of some of those changes.

Unless last night’s was really just a guilt dream, after all. But still. It chose an interesting route with which to express itself, that’s for sure.

I think whether it was warning or guilt, too, it probably has some merit to it, as well. It definitely got me thinking this morning, and even though I am just as exhausted as I have been in recent days, anyway, that dream has given me a bit more focus today, and that’s a good thing. Maybe nothing will come of any of it, but for now, it’s really got me intent on at least investigating a few avenues. It lit a small fire under my butt, so at the very least, I am using that as incentive today!

I’ve also started planning the next radio play reading, and have begun to reach out to possible cast members to see who might be available. I want to get the announcement of Reelie award winners out of the way before we do this next play, as the script is short and we should have time to do both. All of that should also bring me closer to being able to launch the Mind Reels Patreon page – which would be kind of cool to do for my birthday, but at the same time, I won’t be able to promote it much around then because I’ll be at Fan Expo meeting my boy Luke Skywalker!

So I’ll probably be distracted.

But we’ll see how it goes.

Back to the dream – like, it took place in the school where I did my practicum during my year of teacher’s college. After graduation, I went back several times to visit everyone, and just spend some time in a classroom when I could. I miss being able to do that, I realized. I miss that school in particular, and it’s funny how any time I think about trying to go back to a teaching environment, my mind always imagines it to be done there; at that school, and with those people. Many if not most of the teachers don’t even work there anymore, and even the Principal is someone I don’t know now. The students have, of course, moved on long ago. My little grade 6 kids would be in their 20’s by now! What the hell?! How old am I?! I can’t even imagine it, who they are now; the adults they have grown up to be.

I have no idea what the future holds for me and my non-existent teaching career. What’s more is that I have no idea what I’d even want where education is concerned, if anything. I used to have this whole plan laid out, and then everything came together and fell apart – then came together even more and thus fell apart again more completely – so now I’m just…I don’t know. I go back and forth on it all the time, really. Sometimes to extremes where my feelings about it are concerned. I’m a pretty terrible teacher in the traditional sense, I know. But there are so many non-traditional opportunities out there now; so many different ways of doing things, and more room for forging ones own path a little bit. Not to mention the fact that I am really not the same person I was then. I’ve upgraded. Haha

A large part of the realistic issue, of course, is salary. Like always, I have responsibilities that go beyond taking care of my own needs, and I’m not willing to risk failing in fulfilling those just so I can try something out. I would have to find some sort of balance between risk and security in that, too, if ever I were to take the leap again. Or any leap, really, especially where employment is concerned. These days, I’m mostly just very grateful to have a job which pays the bills and allows me to keep everybody fed with a roof over our heads. Even on my worst days, I am highly reluctant to mess with that again, because I’ve been there when it falls through and I’ve lost it all. I’m not eager to take that chance again.

Just because I’m being cautious, though, doesn’t mean my eyes aren’t open. If there is something more out there for me, I still intend to seize it when I can.

Writing Prompts – Day 2 of 12

Day 2:  The One That Got Away

You bump into an ex-lover on Valentine’s Day—the one whom you often call “The One

That Got Away.” What happens?

 

I realize that I’m not quite doing these things right, but at the same time, they are writing prompts, and I am writing about them. So suck it. I’m doing it how I wanna. Haha

Anyway…I’m going to delve into the vault of my actual past relationships for this one, just out of curiosity alone.

I was trying to figure out who I would consider to be “The One That Got Away”. I mean, every one of them dumped me, not the other way around, so in that sense, they all got away. Most of them, I was eventually glad they got away for various reasons, but there are three in particular that I miss, and still sometimes wonder what life would have been like had we not broken up. Of those three, one was unlike any relationship I’ve ever had, and was only ever meant to be temporary. It was more of a glimpse into what I would like to have for myself in the future, rather than any kind of permanent long-term thing. It was always going to end, and it was never meant to be 100%, but I feel like she’d be proud of the person I’ve become, and into whom I am continuing to grow.

She wouldn’t be proud relationship-wise, obviously, because a) I haven’t been in one for a good 7 years or so, and b) I never did find the kind of pairing she’d shown me I’d want for myself. Almost, but not quite.

So that leaves me with the other two, and they are actually more alike than different, as far as our relationships went, so for the purpose of this exercise, I can pretty much use both, instead of one or the other. In this case, they are sort of interchangeable. They are both also the closest I’ve been to realizing the kind of relationship I want someday.

They are not interchangeable as people – at all – but as far as what would happen if I bumped into either one of them on Valentine’s Day. Or any day, for that matter. It would all go about the same.

For some reason, when I first pictured this encounter, it took place in a restaurant. Why I would be in a restaurant alone on Valentine’s Day is beyond me, though. Unless it was McDonald’s.

And neither woman lives in this city, so bumping into either of them would be a surprise, to say the least. However, in my first instinctive scenario, both would be with their families. The families they built on after dumping me. Both had a child or children when I met them, and one has more now. Both are married (to men, because neither was actually gay to begin with – I’m just that spectacular for short periods of time), and both love their families; families of which I’d wanted so badly to be a part. So naturally, if I’m going to run into The One That Got Away, she’s going to be happily living her life with someone else, and – more importantly – without me.

That is going to simultaneously hurt me to my core, and make me happy to see her smile.

Maybe she introduces me as an old friend. Maybe some of the people at the table already know me. Maybe she’ll tell me a little about the job she loves, and about where she’s living now. She’ll definitely share something about the kiddo(s) I know and how they’re doing now, all grown up.

She’ll ask how I am.

I’ll lie.

Even though she’s obviously happy and enjoying her life without me, I won’t want her to know how I’m actually doing. It doesn’t even necessarily have anything to do with her – or not as much as it might seem – but not having a job I love and not seeing anyone right now…just all the “nots” that she has now and I don’t. I’m jealous and sad and blaming myself for not being good enough to give her the happy life she deserves, and is now enjoying right in front of me.

I’ll tell her I’m at least okay, that things are going pretty well, I’ll brush off the relationship question and deflect everything with humour.

Then I’ll leave, because even though I’m in McDonald’s on Valentine’s Day, I suddenly don’t have an appetite anymore, and I just want to go home. I’ll flip through some old photos and memories, imagine what might have been, and allow myself to feel for a brief moment as though she’d just gotten away all over again.

After that, I’ll pour myself a drink, break open a bag of chips, and watch some TV, because no one needs to feel that much misery over someone else’s happiness.

Especially not when it’s someone you love.

Search For Equality

Had a chat recently with  a friend about the experience of being a woman in a man’s world.  About being anything other than a straight white guy, really.  Although there are a billion differences between people, there does seem to be at least one similarity that both unites and divides us – the inability to express this experience in a way that will be understood:  without emotion.

I’ve tried writing about this before, and likely will again.  I feel like it’s something that most people either try to discuss, or pay lip service to, but it’s been so entrenched in our global culture that I’m not even sure how aware any of us are of our own responsibility in perpetuating it.

The thing is, I’m not sure there’s really a way to change it.  Not really.  Even if it were possible to do, it would take unfathomable effort on everyone’s part, and continuous effort at that.  And who wants to do that?  We’re comfortable.  We’re mostly comfortable.  It’s much easier to accept the status quo than it is to demand change – especially with no plan or idea of what it would look like – and then have to live up to that change.  Take responsibility for it.  Own it, the change we brought about in the world.  Do we want equality – true equality – enough to battle that hard for it?  For the rest of our lives, and expect the generations that follow to fight for it, as well?

What if we take a step forward, and fail?  Would that prove that whoever put straight white guys in charge of running the world right in having done so?  Isn’t it easier to just let them make all the mistakes, instead?  Besides the fact that we can’t even talk about any of it without getting upset and sounding like fanatics.  I can almost feel the eyes rolling as I write this.

Here’s the thing:  I’m not a feminist.  At all.  Nor am I a…humanist, or whatever it’s called when someone feels all people should be treated equally.  I don’t even really like people. If we lump all other species into it…all life…then that is closer to what I am.  Whatever -ist or -ism that ends up being.  Maybe there isn’t a word for what I am.  Maybe there isn’t language for what I want to express.  Maybe there is just the sense – the unshakeable certainty – that something is very wrong.  That our balance is way, way off.

From the treatment of and language surrounding women in politics, to the awards show fiascos of late, to…why is breast-feeding a thing?  Haven’t people been breast-feeding since, like, there were people in existence?  How is it even remotely an issue?  There are far more behaviours that people should be ashamed to perform in public beyond feeding a kid.  Like urinating and spitting.  If guys in particular could control their need to spew their bodily fluids all over the place, we’d all be much healthier.  But that’s another conversation.

When I was practice teaching, I did a unit on discrimination and the like, and there was one class – a group of amazing Grade 7’s I adored – that I had the most powerful experience with.  Or ‘with whom I shared the most powerful experience’.  Whatever.

Anyway, I started a class discussion about the topic, without telling them that I would actually be discriminating against some of them based on some completely superficial element of their physical appearance.  I think in that particular case I chose children with blond/light-coloured hair.  Most of the class and I had a lively conversation, while I ignored the kids I was “biased” against.  I watched their eager little faces change to various expressions of frustration, sadness, confusion, hurt and anger.

It sucked.  But it made a pretty powerful example for our topic.  I let them (and myself) off the hook after a few minutes, because scarring the poor kiddos was not my intent.  Together, we sorted out where I’d chosen to place my bias, and even then, some kids railed against it.  “My hair is BROWN, it just looks blonder in this light!”

Sadly, however, it’s my perception that matters.  It doesn’t have to make sense, and it’s not something I need to explain.  If some quality about you fits my undefined biases, then I shall discriminate against you.  I don’t even need to know why.

That’s how discrimination works.

Now, it wasn’t a perfect example, to be sure.  I was acting differently with them than I ever had before – interacting differently with them.  Some who had been used to receiving my attention suddenly found they weren’t, whereas if I was truly discriminating, I would have been ignoring them the whole time.

As well, I hated doing it.  Of course I have ridiculous biases of my own – some I am aware of and some I’m sure I haven’t even noticed yet.  But since this was a careful decision I made on my own – a choice – knowing I was potentially hurting feelings and causing all of those other emotions – WATCHING the effect my behaviour was having on people I actually liked – was truly one of those “this hurts me more than it hurts you” things.  At least, I hope it was.  I guess I’ll never really know for sure, but things did seem better once all the cards were on the table.  The playing field had been levelled, at least as much as it ever was, and we moved forward together with new insight.

There’s an impossible amount of history to sift through, and no simple bandaid solution will suffice.  Yet, maybe there isn’t a way to fix it at all.  We can say children are the future, and that things will improve bit by bit with each generation, but I think that’s problematic and lacks a certain…taking of responsibility.  We all carry with us the effects of our upbringing, of our understanding of the world based on the experiences gained throughout our lives.  Each generation is, in many ways, a product of the generations that came before.  None of us exists in a vacuum.  In that sense, children are also the past.

And we can’t change the past.  We have very limited effect on the future.  So all we really have to impact is the present.

I have no real idea how to do that.

But I’m trying.  I’m trying to find words to express myself, my truth, my outrage, my hurt, my joy, my love – my heart, my mind, my soul.  There will be many times when it’s so clouded with emotion and a myriad of conflicting thoughts that it won’t make a lick of sense, even to me.  This post itself is all over the place.  It’s not the first such post, and it won’t be the last.

And that’s okay.  That’s what struggle looks like.  And so long as I continue to fight to find my voice, there is hope of finally gaining that sense of equality I’ve been looking for.

Because in the end, the beginning has to come from me.

When I Grow Up

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I wanted to be a cowboy when I grew up. Not a pretty frilly cowgirl. A cowboy.

For, like, a year or so, anyway. I wanted the jeans and plaid shirts and boots and hat, but most of all, I wanted the horse. I really had no idea what cowboys did other than ride horses, so I figured that would be an excellent occupation for my adult self. I don’t really dig any part of it but for the horses, anymore, anyway.

I had a book when I was little – like a memory/keepsake book for each year of elementary and high school. There were pouches to put things in, and I had to fill out who my friends were and favourite subjects and stuff, for each year. There was also a spot to put what I wanted to be when I grew up.

The first year, in Kindergarten, I remember choosing “nurse” because I thought that was the only one of the options presented in the group of choices that seemed like something a girl would do. I was five. It didn’t occur to me until later to that I could not only pick anything I wanted, but if what I wanted wasn’t already listed, I could just write it in.

So there was nurse, cowboy, writer, actor…I think that’s about it. Writer and actor took up most of the years, back and forth. I can’t even remember if I ever wrote anything else in there, or if I just stopped trying to choose and/or write it down. I definitely don’t recall ever writing “English major” or “Work In Retail”, but hey – life doesn’t always go as planned. Or ever. Haha

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There was also a spot for school photos, and of course the class photos all went into the pouch, too. Has anyone ever noticed that every class photo looks pretty much the same? I’m not even entirely sure that it matters which decade the thing was taken in. There’s always a kid looking the wrong way, there’s always at least one girl who is too tall to do anything but stand in the back with the guys, and no matter how good our parents wanted us to look, by the time the pics were taken, we had ruined the illusion of propriety.  

Man, little kids have huge heads.

As I write, I am thinking maybe all class photos don’t look the same, after all. I mean, they DO, but I think maybe the decade or at least within a certain range of each decade does make a difference. Each decade’s photos look alike. I see pictures on Facebook all the time of class photos from schools I’ve never heard of, and still…there we all are. The same, but different. Pretty sure my parents had class photos similar to one another’s, but different from my brother and I. And the ones my niece and nephews have are likely different from ours.

I feel like things were easier then, in a lot of ways. But if that’s the case, then things are harder for kids now. And if THAT’S the case, then what’s the world going to be like when THEY grow up?

I am totally getting my butt kicked at work again today. I’ll write better another day. Gooder, even! 😉

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