As 2009 approaches, I find myself feeling more optimistic about my future than ever before. It's probably just that psychological clean slate thing, but I'm feeling very hopeful for all I'm going to accomplish in this coming year and all that's going to happen.
The fixed time where one year ends and another begins is just something we made up, I understand that. But frankly, the timing couldn't be better. It comes shortly after Xmas, just when everything we've been building up to for the last month or so is over and we're settling down and thinking 'what's next?' It gives meaning to a month that is otherwise grey and dull and a little empty. And yes, while I acknowledge that we could thrust our fists into the air and say, "I'm making some changes for the better!," any time that we wanted too, there's something about that established once-a-year time where everything officially starts fresh that's terrifically motivating. During this time, it's somehow less difficult to put our pasts behind us and focus on the possibility our presents and futures hold.
So what is it I'm feeling so darn hopeful about? Creatively, many things. I've got grand plans for a big new project (or maybe two) I'd like to start soon, as well as many more little ideas for my current work. Seg's got a super fantastic camera coming in the mail, so I'm hoping with his help I can get some great photos taken of my work. And with those photos, a website should be in the works as well.
It's not all fun stuff though. I also intend to keep getting better at treating this creative stuff like a job. Learning to focus on my work when I'm producing at home, to take it as seriously as I did when I was in school is still something I'd like to get better at. It's easy to convince yourself it's not that important when no one else seems to take it very seriously, but why should they? It's up to me to show everyone how important it is, not the other way around.
More than anything, thinking about my youngest brother the other day made me realize how much I've got left to do. It occured to me the other day that by the time he's 18, I'll be 30. Not that old, really, I realize. But if I reach that age and still feel like I'm waiting to grow up, it would be a bit of a blow, I think. I want a home by then, I want a car and a bit of security. I want to have established myself as an artist and a designer. I want to feel less like I'm just standing and limply flailing my arms about.
I've got other goals I'll need to attain in order to make this happen, some financial, some organizational, some spiritual. But mostly, I want to keep developing as a creative person with a creative career, because that's what I want to build most of that other stuff around.
I'm curious to hear if any one else is setting goals or making resolutions or just has plans. Tell me, tell me, if you want to. And check out this website too. It's all about making a list of goals, seeing who else hopes to achieve the same things, getting encouragement and tips from others.
Good luck friends, see you all in 2009!
http://www.43things.com/
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Thoughts on a Walk Home
I've always been intrigued by footpaths. I enjoy exploring town made trails, getting behind things and around things and coming out again in unexpected places. But what really fascinates me are the paths people make themselves.
Walking the trails in Oakville, Seguin always laughed at the way I was so tempted by the little footpaths that would branch off the main route here and there. Seeing where they led was always rewarding; sometimes to a backyard, other times a hidden fort, sometimes to secret party places with discarded furniture, beer bottles and fire pits. Sometimes they were just an even quicker route elsewhere. Other times they led to a pretty, hidden clearing, a spot that would feel secret and special to each person who had discovered it.
What's really neat to me though, is how paths like this are made. It's the same idea as what I learned in school about the silk road. As it was explained to me, it was a trade route that came about naturally over time, as opposed to something that had been planned and built. As traders made their way from point A to point B and back again, they started learning which routes were quickest and easiest. Over time, they became the established 'ways to go' that everyone knew to take.
That, for me, is the coolest thing about foot paths, back trails, and short cuts. They grow out of the necessity of a number of people who all want a quicker, easier or more pleasant way to get to the same place. And as these different people discover the same routes and use them time and time again, the earth hardens under their feet, the brush and undergrowth stop sprouting there, and paths are born.
Here's what got me thinking about this today. I seldom meet another person when I walk these paths. I know they must get use because they don't get overgrown, but I didn't realize until this morning just how often one of my shortcuts is frequented.
Coming home from a walk to the store, I cut through a vacant lot that takes me from the main road onto the end of my street. As it had snowed the night before, I clambered over the bank expecting to see the faint indentation of my trail buried under a covering of white. Instead, I saw it nicely packed down with the footprints of a number of people who had already passed through that morning. It was neat reminder of how these paths are really a community creation, and without all these people who had come before, they wouldn't exist at all.
Pretty neat, huh?
Walking the trails in Oakville, Seguin always laughed at the way I was so tempted by the little footpaths that would branch off the main route here and there. Seeing where they led was always rewarding; sometimes to a backyard, other times a hidden fort, sometimes to secret party places with discarded furniture, beer bottles and fire pits. Sometimes they were just an even quicker route elsewhere. Other times they led to a pretty, hidden clearing, a spot that would feel secret and special to each person who had discovered it.
What's really neat to me though, is how paths like this are made. It's the same idea as what I learned in school about the silk road. As it was explained to me, it was a trade route that came about naturally over time, as opposed to something that had been planned and built. As traders made their way from point A to point B and back again, they started learning which routes were quickest and easiest. Over time, they became the established 'ways to go' that everyone knew to take.
That, for me, is the coolest thing about foot paths, back trails, and short cuts. They grow out of the necessity of a number of people who all want a quicker, easier or more pleasant way to get to the same place. And as these different people discover the same routes and use them time and time again, the earth hardens under their feet, the brush and undergrowth stop sprouting there, and paths are born.
Here's what got me thinking about this today. I seldom meet another person when I walk these paths. I know they must get use because they don't get overgrown, but I didn't realize until this morning just how often one of my shortcuts is frequented.
Coming home from a walk to the store, I cut through a vacant lot that takes me from the main road onto the end of my street. As it had snowed the night before, I clambered over the bank expecting to see the faint indentation of my trail buried under a covering of white. Instead, I saw it nicely packed down with the footprints of a number of people who had already passed through that morning. It was neat reminder of how these paths are really a community creation, and without all these people who had come before, they wouldn't exist at all.
Pretty neat, huh?
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Some Christmas Cuteness
Today at work, there was a jolly looking white-bearded man wearing winter boots, jeans and one of those plaid work jackets. He was also wearing a Santa Claus hat, and that was enough to convince one little girl he was Santa.
It was pretty darn cute. He was leaning on his cane over by the movies, waiting for his groceries to be put through. The little girl was at the next checkout lane with her mother, watching him happily from her seat in the cart. One the way out, she waved and said "Bye bye, Santa!", to which he responded, "Be good!", and waved back.
It was great.
It was pretty darn cute. He was leaning on his cane over by the movies, waiting for his groceries to be put through. The little girl was at the next checkout lane with her mother, watching him happily from her seat in the cart. One the way out, she waved and said "Bye bye, Santa!", to which he responded, "Be good!", and waved back.
It was great.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Plans
So as far as travelling goes, I've been pretty much nowhere. As far North as Cochrane, as far South as Buffalo, as far East as Quebec city, as far West as, as what? What's West of here? I don't even know. South Hampton? Anyway, nowheres. My lovely lady Skye has been to Cuba and maybe some other places worth noting as well, but she's never been anywhere else in Canada.
We've had in our head for a while now this lovely trip we would take together somewhere, originally planned for somewhere Southern, somewhere hot. But as the weeks passed by and the time during which we must take this trip approached, it seemed less and less likely. What are we to do, we wondered? Are we going to book something or just let it slide? Then Skye comes up with a wonderful idea, smaller, doeable, and very, very fun. This February, we intend to take a mini road trip! A day in Montreal, a day in Quebec city, a day in Trois-Rivieres, another day in Montreal and finally, a day in Ottawa.
We have a decent idea of where we'll be staying each night and little to no clue of what we'll do in each city other than take lots of pictures and try and find the most fun and interesting ways to spend our time. It will be a bit of a whirlwind obviously, and lots of driving, but that's what a road trip is about, right? Hopefully the weather will be good. Hopefully we will both be granted the time off.
Pretty great, eh? Something to look forward to after Xmas.
In other news, happy December!
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Take Off Your Pants
You know how sometimes you'll remember something long forgotten? Only the thing you remember is something small and silly but so great you can't believe how you ever could have forgotten it to begin with?
Last night, sitting in our room, out of nowhere Seguin sings, "I love rock'n'roll," and I instantly remembered that time a few years ago we were riding the Go train together. Some kid and his brother a few seats up were standing in front of the window, bouncing around, and the kid would sing, "I love rock'n'roll, take off your pants," over and over, and Seg and I were cracking up over it.
From that point onward, "I love rock'n'roll, take of your pants,' became a part of our random repertoire, to be busted out and sung whenever one of us felt like it. So it's funny how something like that could be a 'thing' for so long, then forgotten.
I'm glad it's back.
Last night, sitting in our room, out of nowhere Seguin sings, "I love rock'n'roll," and I instantly remembered that time a few years ago we were riding the Go train together. Some kid and his brother a few seats up were standing in front of the window, bouncing around, and the kid would sing, "I love rock'n'roll, take off your pants," over and over, and Seg and I were cracking up over it.
From that point onward, "I love rock'n'roll, take of your pants,' became a part of our random repertoire, to be busted out and sung whenever one of us felt like it. So it's funny how something like that could be a 'thing' for so long, then forgotten.
I'm glad it's back.
Monday, November 24, 2008
A Little Sunshine
Here's something fun and cute for the end of a gloomy November day.
Penelope had just woken up from a nap, and being the proud parent I am, I decided to take some pics while she was sleepy and still. Sleepy kitties yawn a lot apparently, so I got all these.
Pretty great, huh? I also saw this, which made me smile.
Cheers!
Mir
Mir
I just arrived home last night from my whirlwind trip to the city. I had a lot of preconceived notions about this trip; I lived there for over three years of my life, experienced my first real independence there, formed friendships, built routines, made a home. And I was desperate for it, as I hadn't been there in so, so long. This desperation and my tendancy for nostalgia led me to assume I'd be all fuzzy wuzzy the whole time I was there, and that I wouldn't want to leave when the trip was over.
It's funny how differently things can turn out.
Part of the reason for my unexpected response is because you really can't ever go home again. Things shift and change, sometimes drastically, sometimes subtley, but it never feels quite the same. The other part of the reason is that some things never change.
The whole Toronto part of our trip was like that, exactly the same. I'd expected to have some sort of 'Wow, it's great to be back,' feeling the instant we stepped off the subway downtown. But oddly, it was as if I'd never left. We hit the streets and there I was, nothing unusual about it, every part of me felt as if I did it every day. The only sense of longing or relief I had was that I was able to find every item I needed for work in about two seconds, and a wish that Toronto was closer so I could hop a bus and do that every time I needed something.
The Go train was like that too. I stepped aboard expecting to be gazing out the window the entire time, watching all the old scenery go by, my heart warmed by the familiarity of it all. (Seriously, I'm a cheese ball for 'the way things used to be.') But I may as well have done it every day that week, because I found myself uninterested, and spent the whole time beading, barely glancing at the window.
Oakville was where things were different. I was looking forward to riding a bus around again, but we were picked up in a car by a friend and her new (to me) boyfriend. We went back to her apartment in a building we had never been in and hung out for a while with a cat we'd never met. We then went to visit our other friends in their new house in a part of town I'd never really spent any time in. The stores we visited were new, we went out to a new place, even the taxi cab we rode in was different, with some new-fangled, computerized fare meter instead of the old red, digital clock-looking one.
Throughout this whole trip, I kept catching glimpses of my old Oakville world; a restaurant here, a bank there, the very top of the building we used to live in peeking over the wall as we passed it on the highway. But everything I saw was from a slightly different angle, a new perspective; it was as if I was viewing everything from a dream or like it was an exhibit at a museum. I could see it, but at a distance, I couldn't touch it or experience it the way it used to be.
Back in Toronto the following day, it was much as it had been the day before. I felt like a natural and completely ordinary part of my surroundings once again. And one thing that may seem contradictory to that statement had also not changed; I still can't stand the crowds. The mall, the streets, every place we wandered in an attempt to pass time while waiting for our bus was absolutely packed and busy. Sometimes I'm oblivious to it, sometimes I'm not. And when I'm feeling particulary tired, as I was, and a little ill, like I had since Friday, it's hard to deal with. That was one thing I hadn't expected, to be so glad to finally take a seat on the Northlander home.
Now I don't want to make my trip seem like a disappointment, because it certainly wasn't. The only thing I regret was not being able to meet up with a few good friends of mine there. But everything else was nice. It was cool being able to see Jen in her new apartment, which is an absolute dream, let me say. The view was wonderful, the cat was great, her boyfriend seems like a real sweetheart. I liked hanging out with Simon and Shane as well. That new house is great too and I had a genuinely good time. It was nice to see the city and buy everything I needed and remind myself of all the awesome supplies available to me there. And it was really nice to have a quiet morning walk with Seguin around our old town, even if it was completely different, something about it did feel the same.
What made it so strange, I suppose, was not the absence of emotions I'd expected to have, but instead the presence of ones I didn't expect to have. I was surprised by how instantly at home I felt in Simon's new house, by how nice I felt about Jen's new man. I was warmed by the feelings of home and contentment I got from and with Seguin, walking around and having an unexpected talk about Christmas. I was taken aback by how much I missed little Penelope.
But most of all, when the trip was over, I was caught off guard by how relieved I was to be back in Huntsville again. The instant I stepped off the bus, I was so completely grateful for the cold, clean air, the empty road, the space, the dark, the snow, the quiet. That's not to say that I no longer like the city; I'm still eager for the next time I visit. But having felt so torn between two places for the last year or so, I fully expected this trip to trigger a desire to move back. So I was completely surprised by its having the opposite effect, providing me instead with a sense of closure and contentment. Another era of my life has ended and the parts that remain have taken their places in my life. And another era has begun.
It's funny how differently things can turn out.
Part of the reason for my unexpected response is because you really can't ever go home again. Things shift and change, sometimes drastically, sometimes subtley, but it never feels quite the same. The other part of the reason is that some things never change.
The whole Toronto part of our trip was like that, exactly the same. I'd expected to have some sort of 'Wow, it's great to be back,' feeling the instant we stepped off the subway downtown. But oddly, it was as if I'd never left. We hit the streets and there I was, nothing unusual about it, every part of me felt as if I did it every day. The only sense of longing or relief I had was that I was able to find every item I needed for work in about two seconds, and a wish that Toronto was closer so I could hop a bus and do that every time I needed something.
The Go train was like that too. I stepped aboard expecting to be gazing out the window the entire time, watching all the old scenery go by, my heart warmed by the familiarity of it all. (Seriously, I'm a cheese ball for 'the way things used to be.') But I may as well have done it every day that week, because I found myself uninterested, and spent the whole time beading, barely glancing at the window.
Oakville was where things were different. I was looking forward to riding a bus around again, but we were picked up in a car by a friend and her new (to me) boyfriend. We went back to her apartment in a building we had never been in and hung out for a while with a cat we'd never met. We then went to visit our other friends in their new house in a part of town I'd never really spent any time in. The stores we visited were new, we went out to a new place, even the taxi cab we rode in was different, with some new-fangled, computerized fare meter instead of the old red, digital clock-looking one.
Throughout this whole trip, I kept catching glimpses of my old Oakville world; a restaurant here, a bank there, the very top of the building we used to live in peeking over the wall as we passed it on the highway. But everything I saw was from a slightly different angle, a new perspective; it was as if I was viewing everything from a dream or like it was an exhibit at a museum. I could see it, but at a distance, I couldn't touch it or experience it the way it used to be.
Back in Toronto the following day, it was much as it had been the day before. I felt like a natural and completely ordinary part of my surroundings once again. And one thing that may seem contradictory to that statement had also not changed; I still can't stand the crowds. The mall, the streets, every place we wandered in an attempt to pass time while waiting for our bus was absolutely packed and busy. Sometimes I'm oblivious to it, sometimes I'm not. And when I'm feeling particulary tired, as I was, and a little ill, like I had since Friday, it's hard to deal with. That was one thing I hadn't expected, to be so glad to finally take a seat on the Northlander home.
Now I don't want to make my trip seem like a disappointment, because it certainly wasn't. The only thing I regret was not being able to meet up with a few good friends of mine there. But everything else was nice. It was cool being able to see Jen in her new apartment, which is an absolute dream, let me say. The view was wonderful, the cat was great, her boyfriend seems like a real sweetheart. I liked hanging out with Simon and Shane as well. That new house is great too and I had a genuinely good time. It was nice to see the city and buy everything I needed and remind myself of all the awesome supplies available to me there. And it was really nice to have a quiet morning walk with Seguin around our old town, even if it was completely different, something about it did feel the same.
What made it so strange, I suppose, was not the absence of emotions I'd expected to have, but instead the presence of ones I didn't expect to have. I was surprised by how instantly at home I felt in Simon's new house, by how nice I felt about Jen's new man. I was warmed by the feelings of home and contentment I got from and with Seguin, walking around and having an unexpected talk about Christmas. I was taken aback by how much I missed little Penelope.
But most of all, when the trip was over, I was caught off guard by how relieved I was to be back in Huntsville again. The instant I stepped off the bus, I was so completely grateful for the cold, clean air, the empty road, the space, the dark, the snow, the quiet. That's not to say that I no longer like the city; I'm still eager for the next time I visit. But having felt so torn between two places for the last year or so, I fully expected this trip to trigger a desire to move back. So I was completely surprised by its having the opposite effect, providing me instead with a sense of closure and contentment. Another era of my life has ended and the parts that remain have taken their places in my life. And another era has begun.
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