6 word Saturday

As instructed on The One Minute Writer, I am describing my life in 6 words:
My life is my own book.

Good Days and Sad Days

It happens to everyone, you get older, you amass a certain amount of time on this revolving door planet, you collect, in all spaces of your head, a catalogue of memories, ones that you hold onto tightly, and ones that you wish didn't take up quite so much room, but they're there, all the same. Part of you, your consciousness, your ghosts.
The good days zoom by. By the time you're in your mid-thirties, as I am, they still stand out. Maybe good days is not the right term--maybe it's the great days, the ones you can't believe you were ever lucky enough to have. For most people, that's the day they had their child, or children, or their wedding day. Graduation can rank high too. All those things that mark achievements, the passing of time. Mine are random and special. The day I moved into my condo, the one I saved for all by myself, and did the closing process on my own. The first day of my first real job, how I didn't know where to eat lunch, but I'd succeeded something all by myself nonetheless, even if I was making it up as I went along. My first day driving a car on my own. The day I picked up my black lab, Shadow and brought her home to my dad for Father's Day. Summer days, birthdays, good Christmases, when you realized you're in love with someone and felt like you couldn't live without them.
The more mediocre good days share head space too. Recognition at work from someone you value, getting that great parking spot, that amazing dinner.
But you can't have the good without the bad, right?
I remember all the sad days, the saddest saddest days. I've had my share. Cherished friends move away. You lose an opportunity you thought you had in the bag. A crime shatters some beliefs about people that were helping you get through life. Your dog comes to the end of her short life, and you berate yourself for not giving enough time.
Or someone you love is hurting. And you have to witness the whole thing.
Yesterday for me was one of those days. One of the people who I count as my favourite, out of a small pool, came to a conclusion of a long-suffering problem yesterday. I couldn't do much--you never really can in these situations. You are there as a comfort, a kind of talisman, touchstone, so that they can place this portion of their life, one of their sad days, in some kind of order, thinking that even though it was a sad day, an important person in their life provided some type of routine, of just sitting there, even if there wasn't much to say.
I thought that as I got older, I would get more into myself and feel other people's pain less, but that hasn't happened. Especially because I'm an older sister. And somewhere inside myself is that older sister, be it 6 years old to her 4, or 15 years old to her 13, that, despite our many differences and choices, I would do anything to spare the pain and take it on myself.
Yesterday reminded me that we are all on our own path, walking it in our own way, and the outcome sometimes doesn't really matter. It's more about the process, getting yourself there, in the way that you need to.
I will have this sad day with me for the rest of my life, especially the very end of the day, contrasting the beautiful happy day a few years ago, where anything seemed possible.
That's life.

24 Songs for a 24 Girl

I keep reading the Celebrity Playlists on iTunes and trying to see if I have similar tastes...so far, the closest ones I can identify with are Chris Kattan and Rachel Zoe. The former, too funny. The latter...scary. I think a playlist, to qualify, needs to be at least 15 songs. Here are a few of my "all time favourites..." in no particular order.

1) Miles Away--Madonna. Ah the Material Girl. I've followed her career since I WAS a girl, several years back. I had a replica of the Papa Don't Preach outfit at age 13, minus the pregnancy--pale denim jeans, and a striped top. My idol. One of the influences on the woman I am today. In this song, Madonna reminds us she doesn't have it all. No one does. Ever.

2) Drowned World (Substitute for Love). I know. Another Madonna pick. But this one is special, too, in it's own way, from the Ray of Light album. The sacrifices she made to get where she is today (the highest selling tour ever with Sticky and Sweet). The price wasn't cheap. Remember that.

3) Mystery Girl--Roy Orbison. Well, he was hell bent and determined to work with U2 in his lifetime, and didn't he have Bono pen him a tune? My dad has always been a big RO fan, and I concur, but this song takes his voice to another level. You can hear Bono's lyrics coming through loud and clear in this song--he takes the doomed love affair to another level.

4) Nowhere Girl--B Movie--this is a song I discovered on a wicked 80s retro station on live365.com, posted by none other than Java Jane, my 80s retro dj hero. It has a classic 80s back beat, with ubiquitous lyrics..."Nowhere girl...you never go outside...nowhere girl..cause you prefer to hide..." It describes my persona in my late teens/early 20's.

5) The Beatles--there are several songs, I Love Her being one, and Something being another. My dad played them on the piano when I was a little girl.

6) So Young--Suede--the soundtrack of me being 21 and learning to snowboard.

7) Is Your Love Strong Enough?--Roxy Music--a favourite of me and my boyfriend. Also reminds me of another good friend and her love of 80s musics, of which she has an encyclopedic knowledge of.

8) Just Like Heaven--The Cure--There is nothing better than the first few lines of this song, in music.

9) Atomic--Blondie. Another ground breaking female artist. I can't say enough about this song. See number 10.

10) Sunday Girl--Blondie. Playing right alongside me as I go through this life.

11) Some Kind of Stranger--Sisters of Mercy--This song is every mistake I ever made. Someone knocking on the door at the wrong time of night, and answering.

12) Sand in my Shoes--Dido--Ahhh vacation. I remember St. Maarten vividly.

13) Warning Sign--Coldplay--Me in 2003. I didn't even have a date for my sister's wedding.

14) Black Metallic--Catherine Wheel--Driving home from the Keg when I was 19 and I had a huge crush on the guy who introduced me to this song.

15) Candy--Iggy Pop--See number 7. The lyrics really touch me in this song, as does Kate's voice, filled with longing for her lost love. The song needed a third verse, but the talking works well, too.

16) Somebody's Crying--Chris Isaak--Reminds me of how you forget all the bad relationships once you're in a good one.

17) Back to Black--Amy Winehouse--But sometimes you still remember those lying, cheating bastards.

18) The Ghost in You--Psychedelic Furs--All the memories of people in your life, especially the ones who have left you, either in geographical terms, or taken a leave psychologically, they stay with you. Isn't that amazing? You can call up their ghost, their memory, anytime you want.

19) Kite--U2--I've heard this song is about Michael Hutchence, which makes sense, but in my head, it's about me.

20) Message--Coldplay--My song is love. Love, love, and more love.

21) Song for the Lovers--Richard Ashcroft--Dinner at my boyfriend's Port Credit apartment when we were first dating. I play that song, and I'm right there.

22) 4 in the Morning--Gwen Stefani--Her voice is at its best at this song (my opinion only) and like Kate Pearce in Candy, you can hear her longing, for love, for completion, from another person. It's something we all want.

23) Pocketful of Sunshine--Natasha Bedingfield--Another song that makes me think of vacation, and being on a cigarette boat on the Caribbean ocean with no life jacket. You had to be there.

24) In God's Hands--Nelly Furtado--This song got me through a difficult time. I still love her voice and she does a great ballad.

Learning

Working out is therapeutic, although it can sometimes seem to have the opposite effect, ie, causing guilt and panic when one doesn't follow through the schedule one has set for oneself.
But at the gym that is often where my best thinking occurs.
On Sunday ("storm day") I was thinking about my past, my years as a young girl, and what motivated me to do my best, all the time.
At the age of about 8, I was bitten by the track and field bug. I couldn't shake it as I moved through grade school, then on to junior high. It was the perfect sport for me, solitary, completely dependant on my own motivation, competitive to the second, very cutthroat.
By the time I'd reached about 13, somewhere in the neighbourhood of grade 7 or 8, I was very involved in the sport. My strongest events were short sprints, although I could be depended to on to give a very good showing in relay events and running long jump.
Then I discovered hurdles. What a metaphor for the rest of my life.
Hurdling is racing, at top speed, with obstacles placed at a measured distance at certain points apart, the same height throughout the race, designed to test the runner's coordination and pacing. I only knew one thing at the age of 13--I really wanted to compete in this sport on my school team.
I'm 5'-3" now. Then I was probably a couple of inches short of my final height. That's a bit short for the hurdles. Long legs are a real asset when you're flying over thin wooden beams. But I was too young to appreciate this fact. I wanted a new event, a new challenge, and I wanted to succeed at it.
The team was pretty much picked and I was left to last, one of the spares, to compete with the other girl who wanted a spot on the team. She was also 13. Unlike me, she had sprouted up to a height, un-reachable to me, of 5'-9". At 13. Was she faster? You better believe it. Was she better at getting over the jumps? Of course. I was discouraged. But determined.
Every morning at 7 am, leading up to the final team picks, I would be running out of the house through the schoolyard that led to my junior high school (the run there was my warm-up) to make it for practices. I did that every day for three weeks. 5'-9" took it a little easier. I guess she could afford to. She showed up for every second, sometimes every third, practice. It irritated me, beyond belief, but a talk with my dad helped me focus on just worrying about my own performance and attendance at practice, and I put the blinders on.
At one of the near-to-last practices, I suffered a brutal fall, flat on my face, that knocked the wind out of me. Despite this, I got up and finished the practice heat.
The last day of practice, after about 3 weeks, the coach, a wry, yet devestatingly honest female geography teached, announced that I had the last spot on the team, not 5'-9". I couldn't believe it. But then, I could. 5'-9" wasn't even there to hear the announcement.
I competed at the meet, came in third, the smallest, shortest girl there.
I was beaming when I finished that race, one of many I competed in that day.
But more than learning that hard work is its own reward, I also learned that, often, a seemingly insurmountable competitor will do away with themselves. The ones that talk a good game, with nothing to show for it. The ones that buzz around, touting their accomplishments, while seething with their own insecurities. That hare and tortoise thing can't be all wrong.

Countdown

In May of this year, I celebrated my 10 year anniversary. No, not at my job (that was last August, even though I can hardly believe it). It was 10 years since I first began living alone. Not as in, leaving my parents' home, but as in living by myself.

The first "by myself" apartment was a subterranean dwelling (ok, basement) in Scarborough, not far from where I grew up. The owner of the house lived upstairs and she was a friend of my dad's so I got a great deal on the rent. She had 2 small children living up there with her, and my days of sleeping in were over once I moved in. The children were boisterous and energetic, as children are. She did, however, have a vast backyard with a small area that I called 'my own' and over the 2 summers I was living there, I used it extensively, as I also had a subscription to the New Yorker at the time, and, I must admit, a stunning tan. I moved out after she decided she needed the basement for her growing family and headed back downtown. Well, midtown.

I found the apartment on Bathurst, where I lived for almost the next 7 years, after my favourite aunt told me to drive along the street, looking for vacancy / for rent signs, and just go in and ask to speak to the superintendent. I did just that. They took me to a top floor apartment in a low-rise building right on Bathurst Street. The top floor was a huge carrot dangling for me, after living below a loud family. Also, the apartment faced a large Catholic church, directly opposite, visible through the very large windows that looked east onto the street.

I moved in two weeks after I saw it, mid-month, in October, just shy of Hallowe'en. It was the year 2000. Summer 2001 saw one of the hottest Ontario summers in years. It also saw me, without air conditioning, ( I later bought a window unit) reading The Fountainhead near the open dining room window. The New Yorker subscription continued, and I read that between chapters.
It didn't take long for me to aclimatize to living alone. After all, I worked very long hours and didn't spend a huge amount of time awake in the apartment anyway. Most of my waking hours were logged when I was home, after work, eating dinner in front of the tv, or at home after a night at the restaurant where I worked part-time, staying up late by myself, reading, thinking, and wondering if I would ever live with anyone ever again. After a while, I couldn't imagine it.

Year 8. 2007. My horoscope for January 1, New Year's Day, in the National Post said that 2007 was an auspiscious year for me to buy real estate. In a compulsive fashion, I did just that.
After getting a realtor, and a mortgage pre-approval, I started looking for a condo. I found it, very downtown, in the form of a loft that was formerly an optical office, with the connecting factory building also converted to lofts. I was home. Still alone, but more home than I had ever felt living alone. Every evening when I came home from work and duplicated my routine on Bathurst (who doesn't eat in front of the tv living alone, tell me this?) I would marvel at the high, smooth ceilings, the exposed ductwork, and the open concept rooms. Never mind that I would suffer another very hot, un-air-conditioned summer in those open rooms; as soon as the problem was resolved, I forgot it.

Recently, I got back into a relationship with a person whom I had been on-again, off-again for the past few years. We had discussed, in a previous incarnation, living together. I had done it once before with a boyfriend, years ago, and did not consider it to be something I wanted to do again. But things change, people change. They do. That expression "People don't change" is really a myth. They DO change, and you change too. If you're lucky, and you really work at it, they (and you) can change for the better.

So here I am, ending a 10-year plus stint. I could tell I was ready in a few ways. One, I'm really happy in my relationship. When both are working at it, it makes things easier than if only one is. Two--I started, probably about six or eight months ago, to feel very lonely in my living-alone life. That hadn't happened in a long time. Three--when I think about my boyfriend moving in, I have no feeling of dread or fear of 'giving up space'. I'm just excited. For my chance, for my turn. I've had plenty of time (ahem ten years....) to absorb every minutae detail about myself. I'm really ready to open things up.

Tier One

I once read an article in a forgettable magazine, about friendship.
Although the magazine was forgettable, the message in this article (I read it
about 15 years ago), has never left me.
It talked about the "levels" of friendship that women cultivate, and now, as I get
well into my thirties, I'm finally starting to see and experience that.
No, it's not a "people come into your life for a reason/season" type-thing, but more of
a comment on how dynamic, and how, for lack of a better word, malleable friendships
between women are.
I recently had a conversation with a very dear (and long time) friend of mine on the phone.
We were talking about how, at a certain point in your life (usually around 28, 29, 30) you
go one way or the other. One way being the Marriage-and-Children route; the other being the Not-Marriage-and-Children route. It often isn't even a decision you "make" yourself, like choosing what career you want to commit to, or what you're ordering off the wine list. It's
sometimes kind of made for you. You might get lucky, fall in love with a great, committed partner at 22, and that sort of maps out the next few years--you build a life with that person, marry them, and have children with them. Alongside that, you may very well be constructing the early years of your career, and then bam, you're 30. Or the opposite may happen. You may be barrelling along, just as much in search of love and acceptance as the other gal, and guess what? It just doesn't happen. Or it does, it just happens wayyy later than you thought it would.
Your career (which you have plennnttty of time to devote to) benefits hugely. Your personal life...ahh. Not so much. You have wonderful friendships, as do your married counterparts, and for this you're grateful. But you wonder about the great divide. Because whose kidding who? In our socially-structured world, we are expected to reach milestones, especially as women.
The Great Divide ensues.
You're at the point where tiers of friendships begin to emerge.
Tier One is the top point--you talk to them everyday. Or at least every other day. They hear it all, your fears, your successes, your best and worst moments. You can finish each other sentences. You have tonnes in common. You can make spontaneous plans, ie, an hour before, and don't give it a thought. You may have very good highs with these girls, and sometimes severe lows. But you know they are in your life for good.
Tier Two. There are usually, when you have a good friendship base, alot of Tier Twos. They are amazing people, you've usually known them a long time, and no, you're not on a daily phone call; but you may be on a daily email, they connect through other tier twos and can catch up on your news without a conversation, and the internet in all its' email and Facebook glory, can let you get solid glimpses of one another's lives and keep up to date. In short, they are constants.
Tier Three. You may have once been tier one with this friend, and vice versa, but something has changed. Sometimes it's a misunderstanding, or a life changing circumstance, sometimes it is the Marriage and Children thing, and, usually through no ill will or recognizable sudden shift, you're not the person she calls on to have dinner with, and she's the last person you call when you need a serious opinion, because you know she's busy and over-extended. You think of each other fondly, but things have changed.
If you've managed to read this far, you're probably asking yourself, where is this going?
Well, as my friend on the phone proved to me this past week, there are sometimes when the tier system simply does not apply.
There are some people, if you are lucky enough to find them, who just get you. They just do. They always have.
They always will.

Summer Reading Schedule

These are a few favourites and a few i plan to read in the future. Keep in mind i often have strange taste in books...
Manhattan When I Was Young--Mary Cantwell Stunning fictional (?) memoir (?) of a young woman's journey through Old New York as she goes through her life.
What Remains--Carole Radwizill
Suite Francaise--Irene Menirovsky Depressing but poignant
No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency (series)-- Alexander McCall Smith no cell phones, no email, just the human condition. yes, it sounds cliched. Guess what? IT ISN'T
Naked--David Sedaris He is a New Yorker writer so i'm completely biased.
1984--George Orwell We live in a dystopia now. Why not explore that?
Animal Dreams--Barbara Kingsolver Has never left my top ten for life and it's been almost 20 years.
Banana Rose--Natalie Goldberg A gem of a writer, never has received the accolades she richly deserves.
Time Traveller's Wife--Audrey Niffenegger One of the best love stories ever written.
The Fountainhead--Ayn Rand As an interior designer, this might be why this book is so meaningful to me.
She's Come Undone--Wally Lamb Used to laugh on the subway reading this. People probably felt sorry for me. They needn't worry. I was in bliss.
Girls Guide to Hunting and Fishing--Melissa Bank An unfortunate title, an unfortunate cover (the version i have anyway) but this book is amazing. Relationships. With yourself. Imagine!
The Wonder Spot--Melissa Bank Sophomore effort. You would think a person, even with abundant intelligence, could not re create the effect of GGHF. But she did. Fantastic book.
The Corrections--Jonathan Franzen Not an easy read, but worth it. The man took on OPRAH.
The Last King of Scotland--Giles Fogen Puts the movie to shame.
Important Articles and Personal Propery--Leanne Shapton It's an auction catatlogue in the form of a novel. Amazing.
The Pleasure of my Company--Steve Martin. Just read it. It's indescribable.
Memoirs:
What Remains--Carole Radziwill Her husband has cancer, her best friend is famous. A beautiful, quiet book.
The Year of Magical Thinking--Joan Didion She knows what she's doing.
Drinking--A Love Story Caroline Knapp She doesn't shy away from the absolute simplicity of being unable to control her drinking. Dryly, she chronicles her struggle with the observance of a journalist.
Darkness Visible--William Styron Best memoir of depression I have ever read. His depression debilitates him in the evening, not the morning, and he struggles to keep going.
Autobiography of a Face--Lucy Grealy A child in a situation that forces her to grow up and strengthen her mind quickly. Well written and a must for anyone experiencing what they may feel is an insurmountable problem.
The Journals of Sylvia Plath--Edited by Ted Hughes Neurotic? To the bone. Intelligent. Too. Whatever you do, do not read this in the depth of Canadian Winter.

You don't have to like this list, or even see the relevancy. As with all my blog posts, they are for myself....