Exhausted!

I think I'm doing that thing where I work myself into the ground and get by on 5 hours of sleep a night for a couple weeks and then collapse at the end of it. I'm for sure doing the working myself into the ground thing. We'll see how we go with the collapsing at the end of it. Not literally, of course.

Needless to say, I've started work at the bar and my new boss has taken my "I'd like lots of hours" request with...um...enthusiasm.

It's good. I worry that I am getting away from my original goals, working so hard that I have no time to think, but it's only for a couple weeks, and I really want the money. Plus, I'm enjoying it. Weird as it sounds, I like working in a bar. Plus, the busier I get, it seems like the more I get done. I don't quite know how that it works, but it does.

I admit that I am stalled, a bit, as far as big fat life-plans go, but I promise you after this insane bar stint has come and gone, I'll keep this momentum going (well, maybe after a nap) but turn my focus onto myself and my vision.

I will change the world, dammit. I will make this world a better place. I promise.




The bottom of a martini glass

Coyote Ugly

Well, I start work at the bar/restaurant tomorrow. I'm surprisingly nervous, for someone who's been bartending on and off since I was 19. I can tell you why.

The first reason is simple. My old friend hooked me up with this job. I don't want to say it's his name on the line, because he's the boss. He could send 20 incompetent waitresses their way and he'd still be the boss. Regardless, I want to do him proud.

The second reason is a bit more complicated and comes, unsurprisingly, with a story....

Let me take to 19-year-old me. 19-year-old me really wanted to work at the campus bar. There were roughly 1200 applications for 70 or so spots, most of which were filled by returning students (union rules, everyone had to reapply for their job every year). That's a lot of applications for not very many jobs, and I was up against some stiff competition. The reason so many people wanted those jobs is because they were awesome jobs to have. They paid well above minimum wage, were flexible about working around class schedules/vacations/exams, and, most importantly, it was a cool job to have. Good bands played there, people lined up for hours to get in. And they treated their staff really well. Really, really well.

Needless to say, I didn't get the gig. I was disappointed, but I hadn't really been expecting to get it in the face of so many other qualified applicants. I still showed up every Thursday for 80s night with all my friends.

A few months later, they advertised again. I don't remember my first interview at all, but I remember the second one was a group interview, and a friend of mine was in my group. I remember being asked a question, something about why they should hire me and answering it rather modestly. My friend interrupted my answer to add another reason I should be hired, to brag about an accomplishment on my behalf.

We were both hired.

I loved working there, and really, really wanted to do a good job of it. I started as a coat check girl, and although I was just happy to be employed there, I desperately wanted to bartend. After 2 years, I got my wish.

I was proud to be a bartender there. It was busy and stressful and really hard work, but it was fun, and every time I put on a staff shirt I felt a small thrill of pride. Ah, that bar. We all loved it so much that when the university decided they were going to tear it down, there was a protest. A 9 day sit in that ended in arrests. Not just the staff, either. Our patrons loved the place so much, felt so loyal towards that bar, that they were arrested too.

Bartending is a different beast in Canada than in the UK. In Canada it's a tough job and that brings pride and pays well. In the UK it's just a tough job. But I still feel the pride. And that's the (very long) story about why I'm nervous.

Wish a sister luck tomorrow.


Not the most artistic picture, but it's hard to find one that hits the nail on the head more clearly. Well, without showing people's faces anyway. I don't know if I should, but I feel funny about publishing people's faces without their permission. Anyway. That sign was made by a patron during the protest and taped to the door.

The Hunt Continues

The job hunt, as you know, is slow. The market is slow, and the time of year likely isn't helping.

The good news: My temp contract has been extended until the end of January! A couple staff members are taking extended winter vacations, and, while I'm sure they're happy about that..I'm ecstatic! An extra month of experience in a charity, an extra month of steady income... Thanks, co-workers!

The even better news: Due to a change in legislation that comes into effect on January 1, temps now have to be paid on par with full time staff doing the same job. So. An extra month of work AND getting paid more for it? Bring it!



A ray of light...

Never Alone

On the weekend, a friend came to visit me. I was telling her a story (which I'll come back to in a sec) about an old friend who's very likely going to do something very nice for me. She confirmed something I've thought for a while - my friends are awesome. Above-average awesome.

I wondered if it works like kids, everyone thinks theirs is way better than the rest, so it was nice to hear someone else say it. My friends are awesome.

When I first moved back into London in 2005, I was working as a nanny. I had the kids from 7 - 9 am, and then after I dropped them off at school (and walked the dog) I was free until 4 when I had to pick them up all day. Sounded like time to squeeze in a day shift at a pub to me! So I wandered around with my resume/CV (depends which country you're in) and found a pub willing to work around my silly hours. I made a bit of spare money, had some laughs, and made some amazing friends. A couple of them came to town last week, and it was like nothing had changed. Including the staying out till 3 am, and stumbling home a couple hours before I was due to wake up again thing.

And then there's my old boss. Torence (not his real name, but his real name doesn't sound like a name so I called him Torence instead). Torence's bar was a brilliant place to work. He treated me extremely well, and in return I often found myself working back to back shifts when other people called in sick. When my wallet was stolen, the first place I went was the bar. Torence told me to make all my long distance calls to Canada so I could sort stuff out, and then gave me a 20 pound note out of his pocket to tide me over till I could get some money out of the bank. And when I left to go traveling, I sent the bar weekly postcards. When I went back to visit the following year, some were still hanging in the back room.

Torence and I talked on facebook while I was back in Canada. I told him what'd happened with the ex, and how I didn't know what I'd be doing when I got back. He told me not to worry, that if it came down to it he'd set me up in one of his bars. He's a regional manager, so I guess he's got some sort of magic powers.

In any case, I told him last week I wanted to work in a bar for the holidays. The temp job finishes on Dec 23, and it's unlikely I'll find something else until 2012. I could do with the cash, and, just as importantly, it'll be interesting.

The story I told my friend: Torence and I met up on Friday, first time I'd seen him since 2006. Cool as anything, he was all "oh, I called a manager in one of my bars, and you can go work there if you want. Just call him and tell him when you want to work," like it was no big thing to be saving my financial life. And then, this lovely man I haven't seen in 4 years is all "come up and visit my family on Christmas." Again, like it was no big deal.

The warm fuzzy feeling I've got goes so much deeper than the promise of extra work.

When it comes down to it, I have met some amazing people, and they have my back. People I know well, people I don't know well, people I used to know. This past 6 months (it's been 6 months!) has been trying, and along with rediscovering bits of myself that I'd forgotten, I'm remembering how truly lucky I am to have all these other people in my life.

I'm never alone. Not truly. I have bad days and bad things happen, but when it comes down to it, I'm never alone.


If she falls, he helps her up.

Old Friends Bring New Attitudes

It's been a hectic week. In a good way, this time.

On Monday, a pair of old friends showed up from far, far away. We were really close when I lived here in 2005/2006, and it was the first time I'd seen either of them since. The breakup was glossed over in a sentence, and the discussion of my marathon went on for ages. Mostly because one of the people I was out with was also a runner. It felt like progress after the weekend I'd had, though. Less progress was when I missed the tube home, couldn't find the night bus, fell asleep on the night bus I finally DID find, and wound up getting in at 3 am. Oops. Well worth it.

Then, on Friday, another old friend arrived. This one from my time in Paris. Over beers, the following discussion took place:

Me: Yeah, so I might need a place to stay when I come for the marathon in April
Friend: Of course! I have a new pull-out couch.
Me: And I'll be choosing a charity to run for in the next couple weeks...
Friend: Ooh! let me know and I'll make a donation.

I'm always surprised by how willing people are to help. It shouldn't surprise me, since I'm always willing to help others, but it still does.

And all these old friends made me laugh, made me remember pieces of myself.

I had a good chat with my friend/sister Carrie last weekend, when I was down in the dumps about the move. She reminded me of Mudfest 2007 in Korea. The weekend was so amazing that, even though I'm pretty sure I broke my foot (crowd surfing + muddy body = bad idea) I still look back on it as one of the best weekends of my life. Mud, good friends, good music, and an insane bus ride home that ended with my buddies literally dangling half naked from the rafters while we sprayed beer everywhere. My abs hurt from laughing by the end of it all.

Carrie asked me "was the ex there?" I said no, the ex wasn't even on the scene yet. She reminded me that I had the best weekend and the best memories and I was so happy and surrounded by great friends, and the ex was nowhere to be seen.

I had to swap some pictures in picture frames, and there is now a Mudfest picture sitting proudly where my ex's picture once sat. Fitting. I'll make my own happy memories.

So, I'm on my way back up. I really, really want a permanent job, though. I'm getting itchy, I want to focus on all sorts of interesting things (running, writing, making a plan for my life, photography...the usual!), rather than spending half my life on charityjob.com. Yes, that's a real website. I've come so far, but this next step is, in my impatient mind, taking far too long.



My friends at Mudfest 2007

Vanishig Act!

I knew I wasn't going to write every day, but I didn't think I'd go a whole week and a half without writing

I wish it'd been due to something fun like a vacation or a new job keeping me busy, but in reality (and I'll cop to this because I'm committed to recording what's actually going on in my life - the good and the bad) it was just the stupid move out from the flat I shared with my ex. First we were fighting over stupid things like who got to hold onto my key (me) and then we were reminiscing about when we moved in and acting like we were still dating.

When we were packing, I kept remembering all the stuff we'd bought together, all the high hopes I'd had when I'd bought those things. I loved building a life together, and even though I knew it was over, there was a finality about it all that just made me very sad. And then, of course, I felt like an idiot because I was feeling sad about moving out of a flat I hadn't lived in for 2 months shared with a dude who stole my key.

So, that's where I'm at. I had a bit of a setback in the whole "getting over him" thing, and am getting myself back on track. It's been a tough week, but I'm trying.

In other, slightly more positive news: The doctor signed off on me, and I am officially fit enough to run the Paris Marathon.

In other OTHER news, still no job and then temp job is creeping towards the end. So, I'm applying for jobs like a lunatic, pestering everyone I know to put me forward for everything they can think of (still in the charity sector, but I've felt my first waver of "maybe I can just take any old admin job..) and hoping for the best. For now, I'm staying strong and sticking to my guns.



Walkin' away

The Key to all of This

Sorry about the vanishing act! I've moved into the new flat now, which is fantastic except that Ali's router seems to hate my lovely Mac. Or maybe it's the other way around. We're working to fix it, but in the mean time I'm sat in a cafe trying to apply for jobs and catch up on my emails and all that stuff. It's a small price to pay for finally having a place to live, but I will be relieved when it's all up and running.

It's been a tough week. Work was weird. I was hoping for a while that they'd take me on full time, but it doesn't look like there'll be any space for me. And to make things more fun, relations with my ex have completely broken down, dashing hopes that we'd be able to get through the end of the lease agreement civilly and with kindness. Nope. Last week, I turned a key into the rental agency because they wanted a copy. Fine. But then for some reason, he went to pick it up and then lent it to a friend who is, apparently, staying with him. And then when I asked him for it back, he refused!

This friend was supposed to be leaving on Friday, and he was happy to meet me to give me back my keys then. So, I met him yesterday, got my key and all was well. Until this morning, when I was woken up by a text telling me to get in touch if I was awake. I asked what he wanted. The friend who was supposed to be leaving on Friday was still in the flat, and hadn't let him in when he called. As a result, he was furious and wanted my key back. I said no, but out of the kindness of my heart, I'd go let him in. After a series of increasingly angry texts in which he insisted that the key should be with him (he has his own key!) and that I'm screwing him over, he told me not to bother coming.

Fine by me, I guess.

I don't know if I wanted to be friends, but I for sure wanted to be friendly, especially while getting all the flat stuff sorted. Now I'm kind of afraid that all my stuff is flying out the window as we speak. Assuming he isn't still sitting on the stoop, that is.


As my former home-life crumbles around me...

Enter: Ali

Ali is one in a long line of people lately who've stepped up to the plate without even realising it. Ali is a girl who's given me a permanent address, a room with a desk, a fully loaded kitchen, and somewhere to live without flipping out about the fact that I'm a temp and have no guaranteed income after the holidays. Hell, technically as a temp, I have no guaranteed income on Monday.

But, back to Ali, my lovely new flatmate. She's English but picked up a Kiwi accent after her 5 years there. She referees rugby (also picked up in NZ), loves to cook, and says she's been spending a lot of time at her boyfriend's house as of late. She seems chill and laid back and owns the flat I'll be moving into, so there's no dealing with agencies and all that drama.

I'm excited about Ali and the flat. Ali because she seems fun, and the flat because, well, it seems pretty awesome. It's in the neighborhood I wanted, with a nice living room, a spare room for guests and kitchen I like (Ali caters part time, so the kitchen is fully loaded), and she's even buying me a small desk so I can be productive in my room. I can use it as a base to apply for jobs, work on writing, edit pictures and maybe even produce the Big Idea.

Step 1 - Temp job. Done.
Step 2 - Place to live. Done.
Step 2.5 - Get stuff from both my flats (the one I stay in now and the one I shared with my ex) into said new flat. Partly done by this weekend, the rest by Nov 11 when the lease runs out on the flat I shared with the ex.
Step 3 - Find a permanent job. Working hard on it. Hopefully I manage it before the job ends so I don't end up back on Step 1 again!
Step 4 - Photograph / write / work on Big Idea. Well, that's next. Soon. I can feel it coming.


A kiwi for Ali

Mantras and Shit to Do

Way back when I worked at a summer camp in The States (the one where I met the girl who invited me to come visit her in England), I was having a rough week. Some petty friend dramas and some petty boy dramas, along with some somewhat less petty issues with my campers had left me feeling a bit shaky. I was talking to the camp shrink (literally. A shrink. At a camp.), Debbie and she, in the manner of shrinks you see on TV, what I was going to do about it all.

Without a moment's hesitation, I said that I'd have to "push through, move on". The words weren't my own. I'd borrowed (stolen?) them from a guy who I worked with at the bar during the school year. Whenever anything bad happened, that was what he'd tell you to do. Hung over? Push through, move on. Get dumped? Push through, move on. Dog run away/fail an exam/have a big old zit? Push through, move on.

The shrink looked at me for a second, and then said that, actually, that's a pretty brilliant philosophy. Sometimes it isn't all sunshine and roses. You push through the bad bits, then you move on to the rest. And sometimes, even years after the fact, I'd find the voice inside my head telling me to push through and move on.

When my most recent drama llama went down, I needed a new motto. Push Through Move On didn't even pop into my head. Maybe it didn't fit. Luckily, a new philosophy arrived in my life just when I needed it most.

A word first about the lovely Jasmine. I've always thought that I've been blessed with amazing friends. Among the amazingest of those is Jasmine. Jas and I met when we were 8 years old. I'd just moved to a new street, and on my first day there I went out for a bike ride. The first girl I biked past took one look at me, ran inside and slammed the door. That was Jasmine. A couple hours later I went past again, and she came up to me and said sorry she'd gone, she was a bit shy...but she had a lot of people I should meet! Meet Nick, she told me. And meet Samantha. But don't meet ____* and _____*, they're mean!" Even back then, she was looking out for me.

During my time back in Canada following the breakup, I visited Jas and her fiance Dave. Jas told me about another friend of hers, a guy named Chris who was recovering from the disintegration of an 8 year long relationship. He was facing divorce, and she said he'd been pretty crushed by it all. I asked how he'd coped. She said that eventually, he'd turned to his soon-to-be ex wife and said "You have to leave now. I have shit to do."

And just like that, a new mantra. "I have shit to do."

I don't want to minimize how much this whole breakup dealie has sucked for me. I know I'm writing a rah rah positive blog, and that's because I am trying very hard to turn this into a positive. In fact, I'm trying to make it so that one day I look back and say that this whole crisis was the best thing that ever happened to me. But that doesn't mean that some days it doesn't still get to me.

And that's where shit to do comes in. I do have shit to do. I have novels to write and marathons to run and flats to find and jobs to apply for and friends to see and a Big Idea to work on. I have a lot of shit to do. And when sad or angry or unhappy memories of my ex, our breakup, all the stuff that went along with it sneak up, I can tell him that I have shit to do. And normally, that's enough to bring me back to the present and where I'm at today.

And where am I? I've come so far. 4 months ago, I'd stopped eating, to the point where some of my brokest friends were bringing me tempting foods in hopes I'd take a bite or 2. I was crying at work. I literally had no idea what to do. No idea where to live or where to work or what I wanted my life to be about. I was a mess.

And now, I eat loads. I'm slowly walking down the career path I want, with eyes to branching out into my own ventures once I have a solid income. I run and write and am figuring out exactly what I want from my life. Even better, I'm going after it. My progress might be slow, but it's solid. Everything that happens is something I've chosen, and something that makes me happy.

Shit to do...


Grey skies are gonna cheer up...

*Names left out to protect the mean

Slow and Steady (that's how I roll...and run)

The morning run was a big old success! I left home at 6:40, arrived at work just after 8, and smashed that 5.6 miles in the face! Even better news, as of Friday I can now run about 1/4 of a marathon (just under, but it sounds pretty cool!). If I can keep that up a couple mornings a week, I think I'll be in good shape come April.

Speaking of being in shape, I have an appointment with a doctor this week, in order to request a certificate of health. Paris requires this, apparently, in order to be officially registered in their marathon. After that, I can contact a charity, inform them that I'd like to raise money on their behalf, and then get crackin' on that side of things. Stay tuned to see see my chosen cause! I promise not to be a pest about it all, since it seems like these days everyone and their sister is running for a cause.

In other news, things in my life are progressing nicely. Slowly, but nicely. The running is back on track, the temp job is great because I have some time to find a real job, and hopefully I'll be in a nice, more permanent flat soon. I'm just itching to be settled. My stuff is spread over 2 flats, and I'm dreading moving out of the one I shared with my ex boyfriend. It'll be sad and frustrating in equal measures, not to mention just annoying to get stuff physically moved. Now that a bit of money is coming in, the next step is getting all my stuff under one roof, and feeling like I have a home.

I know Rome wasn't built in a day, and I've actually made some pretty killer progress over the last few weeks. Looking at where I was a month ago, I can see I've made some pretty big steps. I'm just getting impatient. I have all this administrative stuff hanging over me, and it'll be such a big load off once it's done. I want to focus on stuff like my writing, running, photography and, of course, my Big Idea. not moving from flat to flat and contacting the banks to, once again, change my address.

One thing at a time, yo. I'm doing it.



A place to lay my head?

Here goes!

Well, it's 6:30 am, still dark outside and I'm about to head off on my first ever run to work!

I've been bad about running the last couple weeks. A visit by a friend, followed by a job interview, followed by blisters from new shoes from that job interview, followed by working my tail off at that new job... well, it's been almost 2 weeks. Eep!

Work is 6 miles away. It takes a good hour on the bus in the morning (I take the bus because it's pretty much door to door. And way cheaper). So, why not run the 6 miles once a week. I only had to get up an hour earlier. There's a shower at work, and I've stashed some shampoo and clothes there to change into after. I'm sure I've forgotten something, but it's a learning process.

I'm learning to fit more stuff into my life again. Running wasn't happening after work. It's getting dark too early and I always find myself doing things after work. So, I'll squish it in before! If I love it, I'll do it again. If not, well, at least I tried.

Fingers crossed for a sunrise as I run over the bridge... and wish me luck!


Okay, it's a sunset, but you get the point.

Turning Points

Until a few months ago, I could pinpoint the moment in my life where everything changed. There was this hug.

It was at that leadership conference, the first one I ever went to. At the end, I was hugged by a crying guy, which made me cry a bit and want to go back the next year. I did go back, which led me to other conferences. I met new people. I became more outgoing and confident. And ultimately, even though I was rejected for leadership role at the one conference that meant the most to me, that changed me too. It kept me humble, and it gave me something to prove.

That hug changed the course of my life (and I'm not even talking about the monster crush that it inspired). It made me go to activities I never would have considered, like summer camp, which led me to a different summer camp, which led me to visit a friend I met there in England, which inspired a really bad case of the travel bug. That led to me discovering photography, the desire to live overseas, and even blogging.

I can pretty much draw a straightish line from most aspects of my life back to that hug. I have no idea where I'd be today if I'd bent to tie my shoe or wandered off to the other side of the room instead of staying put and being hugged.

I think, recently, I've had another turning point. I've had to let it sink in for a few weeks, but after mulling it over I'm pretty sure. Jack Layton's death, and the events immediately surrounding it. Meeting my old friend a couple days before reminded me who I am. And then Mr. Layton died, and reminded me of my potential, of who I want to be. From there I did a bunch of roaming and even more thinking. Loving, hopeful and optimistic, and we'll change the world. Words to live by.

So I will.

One down (lots to go)....

Yes! I have a temp job! It's a 2 month gig with a nice, small charity and it starts tomorrow.

Next up: Flat and permanent job.

I could sing. Well, actually I can't sing at all. But this is pretty awesome news. Not only is it money, but it's a tiny, tiny step in a very good direction.



I'm on my way!

A Thanksgiving Special

I read somewhere that it is impossible to feel fear and gratefulness at the same time.

I'm a bit scared today. The money situation is dwindling, and I think I'm gonna struggle to find a flat until I'm in full time (non temp) employment. At the moment, I'm not even getting the temp gigs.

Last week, I made myself a plan.

In order of priority / occurrence -
1. Get a job, any old temp job, so that I have money coming in.
2. Get a place to live / get a permanent job. These are tied. Whichever comes first, really.
3. Maybe take a second job, just for the holidays to bring in a bit of extra bring
4. After the holidays, start to focus on The Project (yes, it gets capitals) and photography as side gigs.

It sounds all nice and easy on paper, but I feel like my wheels are spinning a bit. I just wanna get cracking, and instead I'm going to see flat after flat and emailing agency after agency. I'll get there. I know I will. I'm just a bit scared today.

So. To combat the fear. What am I grateful for?
1. A roof over my head. A friend of a friend took me in, is charging me "mates rates" rent, and I can stay till I've found a more permanent flat.
2. My friends and family. They've housed me, listened to me, advised me, and done their best to help me in any way they can. I'm a lucky person to have such special people in my life.
3. My freedom. I was in pretty rough shape a few months ago. My living situation / relationship / life was causing me so much stress that I was waking up some mornings unable to open my mouth. Apparently I'd been clenching my teeth so hard all night that I'd actually manged to lock my jaw. It wasn't healthy. I wasn't eating, sleeping or enjoying my life. Now, for all the money stress and lack of employment, I am still happier than I was back then.
4. London. I'm glad this place exists, and that I get to live here.
5. Me. When the going got tough I...well, I guess I crumbled a bit. But then I picked myself back up, dusted myself off, and am in the process of building something I love here. I'm grateful that when the going got tough I coped. Not perfectly, maybe not even well, but I had the presence of mind to seek out that which would help me cope. And now that I've coped, I'm grateful that I have the will to flourish. It hasn't happened yet, but it will. I'll make it happen.

There are more, obviously. I could ramble on all day about being grateful for my favourite hoodie or Korean food or this or that, but I'll spare you.

Instead, I'll leave you with just one more thing I'm grateful for -

A million adventures in my life, and the ability to feel awe at each and every one. I never want to become jaded.

Happy (Canadian) Thanksgiving!

Support

One of my frosh (freshers, orientees, whatever. To me, they're my frosh. Take that!) facebooked me today. I hadn't spoken to her in years, but she needed help with an essay she was writing. I get the vibe it was due about 20 minutes after the message went out.

I helped her as best I could, and was rewarded with a "Thanks! I knew you'd come through for me!"

Nothing could have made me feel better. That's exactly what I wanted, still want, to be. All that time, at camp, at leadership conferences, at frosh week, I wanted to be someone who, years after the fact, can be counted on to come through.

In high school, I always thought it was a bit cheesy and hypocritical when we'd do a leadership conference, form a bond, and a couple weeks later it was all forgotten. One year, my group's leader was a popular, yet slightly icy girl a few years older than me. All weekend she was really sweet and open. I really came to admire and respect her. The Monday after the conference, she pretty much blanked me in the hallway. I felt betrayed. And I never, ever wanted to do that to anyone else. When applying to lead at the same conference a couple years later, I even made a big point of saying that in my essay. I believed that these leadership conferences were more about an attitude than playing nice for a weekend. I didn't get the gig, but as I said a couple days ago, I think that kept me humble. I didn't want to be a popular girl who'd blank people in the halls. I wanted to be present, available, someone who could always be counted on no matter what.

I'm glad I'm that person to someone. And I'm glad I have people who, years after the fact, are still looking out for me too.




Pulling together..

An Idea Strikes! (and no, it didn't hurt!)

Whoa. I don't want to say much just yet, but I think I have my idea.

Okay, let me say what you're all thinking. - Good work, hotshot. Start a blog about wanting to make a change, come up with a potentially cool idea and then... refuse to discuss it? That makes no sense.

Thing is, all I have is an idea. Not a plan, and no idea how I'm going to do it. Or, for that matter, if it's even doable. There's no point blah blah blahing all over the place before I even know what I'm talking about.

Here is what I know. I was walking down the street a couple days ago and there were little girls selling lemonade and candy on the side of the road. They said it was for charity. I gave them what I had in my wallet (not much, sadly) and wished them good luck.

And then my brain started to churn.

I want to have a direct impact on lives. I want to do good things for the world at large. I feel passionate about charities and giving back. So, what I want to do is start a program that helps get young people into the idea of volunteering. Makes them feel good and important. Makes the world a better place. Etc.

Ticks a scary number of boxes, eh? This could work. This could be my thing.

Well, first I have to get my life in order. Get a flat to live in. Get a job. And then, when I feel settled I can get to work on my side projects - photography, writing, marathon and this. I don't know exactly what that'll look like yet, and what kind of balance I'll strike (it might be a struggle!), but I do know I'm finally looking forward to stuff again.



Help them? Be helped by them?

Denied Has Never Tasted so Sweet (or more like a baguette)

The bad news - I wasn't accepted into the London Marathon. Not many people are. It's a lottery system, and I've heard 1 person out of 7 given as the odds for getting accepted on a first attempt, so I wasn't really expecting to. That's why I made myself a backup plan.

The good news - I'll be running in Paris! Better, I have an excuse to get back to Paris after 3.5 years away. As far as backup plans go, this one is none too shabby! I'd have rather run in London, because I want people to there to cheer me on (and carry me home after!). But Paris, I have friends there. And it's close enough that maybe I can lure a couple Londoners into coming too.

Maybe it's silly to want people there. I know, I'm supposed to be doing this for me. And I am, but I also remember when I ran cross country races in high school and I'd be struggling up a hill and from the top I'd hear my name being shouted and see the "gold, maroon and navy" (yellow, maroon and blue) shirts, and I just found I could dig that little bit deeper.

I think my old coaches would just about fall over from shock if he heard that I intend to run a marathon. I was never any good. In fact, I was downright awful. Like "I'm not sure she'll get through the warmup run without needing a rest" awful. And yet, of that entire team, I'm the only one who stayed on all 5 years. I was never good. When our team qualified for the Ontario championships, I was on the sidelines cheering the team on. I wasn't good enough to run. But a few years ago, my mom ran into the head coach, and she introduced herself as my mom. According to her, he remembered my "spirit and enthusiasm". That's a compliment, and I'll take it.

I think there are a couple lessons in there somewhere.

1 - Keep plugging. I know I've said it before, but it's true. "The race is not always to the swift, but to those who keep on running."

2 - The less obvious lesson, I think, is also one I've heard before. There is more than one way to be a _____ (fill in whatever you want to be here). I remember in high school I wanted more than anything else in the world to be selected as a leader for our school's leadership conference. The application progress was rigorous and the odds of getting accepted were significantly lower than the London Marathon's. I didn't get chosen and my heart just about broke. I wanted to be a leader at school! I wanted to help younger students! A guy I knew said to me that I didn't need that position to do those things.

He was right. I made myself available to younger students at my school anyway. I started a women's hockey team. I was accepted to lead at other leadership conferences. And that rejection, as it turns out, I think it kept me humble. Since I had no title to back me up, all I had every day was the sum of my actions.

And here, now. There is no right way to be a runner. I won't be the swiftest or the strongest runner. I won't be the person who was born to run a marathon. I'll be the one sweating and gritting my teeth and doing it anyway.



A third lesson, if I'd been forced to choose one, would have been not to use my best Paris Marathon picture earlier. So, um, have an Eiffel Tower

Another London Treat

Oh, London.

The other day, I went to a cheese shop / cafe (I have a bit of a cheese-love thing) with my laptop for a couple hours to do some work. The manager was super nice, kept checking up on me to make sure I had what I needed, and just made the whole stay there extra pleasant.

Yesterday was gorgeous, warm and sunny. Imagine stereotypical English weather, and then imagine 180 degrees off that. That was yesterday. So, I went to Borough Market, one of my all time favourite London places. http://www.boroughmarket.org.uk/ for the curious. It's all food, mostly locally produced, all delicious.

Wouldn't you know it, the cheese shop manager happens to have a stall there! He walked past me, said hi, introduced himself, and the proceeded to feed me cheese! Even better than the cheese was running into yet another person. London, I love you.

After that, I started talking to the Mushroom Pate guy, who was equally friendly and offered to be my running buddy. I warned him that I am, in fact, the slowest runner on earth, so we'll see how that goes. Or if it goes. Regardless, he was friendly and the friendly thing makes me happy.

I just had such a geeky "I heart London" day, it really made me feel like I'm in the right place and doing the right thing. When I left Canada last, I wasn't 100% sure what I was doing coming back here. No flat, no job, minimal support system. But, London. I've always been drawn to this city. It's massive, but each chunk of it has it's own vibe. It's like living in a village, which is VERY close to roughly 1000 other villages.

And, as of today, I'm here and I'm happy for it. I am committing to getting settled now. I've resisted it a bit, but I'm a bit sick of having one foot out the door. With the ex, towards the end, I kind of felt like I shouldn't get too attached in case the worst happened (it did). And then I went to Canada, and now I'm here, and I want to feel at "home". I want to buy a 10 pound bag of rice and be around to use it all up, you know?


This would be an AWESOME place to come home to!

Welcome home

I love surprises. And of all the surprises out there, my all time top favourite type of surprise is running into someone unexpected. And, if it's possible to make my favourite thing just the tiniest bit better, it's running into someone unexpected in a place where you aren't sure you belong.

This morning, I went for a run. Some guy grabbed my arm as I whizzed (okay, stumbled) past. "But, you're sexy!" he shouted after me. Thanks, toothless man! So, when I was walking down Northcote Road (I used to work there) a few hours later, another guy grabbed my arm. I turned to have strong words with him...and I knew him! Not just knew him, but used to be really, really close buddies with him. We worked at the same bar, had the same group of friends, all that fun. And there he was, strolling down Northcote (with a baby! Time? Stop flying please!).

I'm grinning like a fool now. We caught up for 2 minutes and then he left to go meet his wife, but that isn't the point. The point is something someone said to me while I was first starting to struggle with this "what do I do with myself now?" lark. The point is, I have people. And homes.

Because that's how I judge where home is. I still do in Ottawa. And apparently, I do in London too.

Okay, great. You know you're at home. That's kind of soppy and kind of sweet, but what now? Now I find a place to live. I've been putting it off, because really I'm annoyed that the place I so lovingly picked out and moved into with the ex is, through no fault of my own, no longer home. And I have a temporary place to stay, but I want a place, even if it's just a bedroom, all of my own. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. From my sweet 2 bedroom flat to hoping for a bedroom that doesn't cost the moon.

And from a room, I can imagine and then build this life.





Wakeboarding in Korea, which truly made it feel like it was home. And I actually did run into people I knew in Korea. In CheongJu (my city) it happened all the time. It once happened in Seoul, but it was a girl I knew from back in Canada.

Who Am I?

That question gave me a minor panic attack a few years ago. Actually, it still does.

I was attending this leadership camp, and one of our projects was to write a mission statement. They broke it down to "why do you wake up in the morning?". I had no idea. I had no larger-than-me reason for waking up in the morning. I was aghast that, at 18 (I think), I had no discernible purpose in the world. Upon discovering that, I burst into tears.

That was almost half my life ago. After that, I went to university, found friends, student life and a job. I got involved in (pretty much all) campus activities. I knew who I was (bubbly, outgoing, a bit flirty, dressed like a raver even though I had no desire to actually go to a rave). I knew why I woke up in the morning (meddle in campus politics, be a bit of a know it all, get very involved in our school's orientation week, terrorize anyone I disagreed with, be a student leader, look out for younger students, try to make campus life fun, or at least interesting for all involved). I loved my life. I felt like I was doing good things, and I was surrounded by other people who were doing good things. I respected those people and looked up to them and wanted to fight side by side with them. In return, they seemed to like me back, and I felt comfortable (but never complacent), happy and safe.

After that, I went traveling. I lived in England for almost a year, where my purpose was to enjoy myself. Then came backpacking, where I wanted to eat as much food and see as many sites and take as many pictures as humanly possible. My 7 months of absolute self-indulgence.

After that, I moved back to Canada, where I worked in a pub, and applied to photography schools. I'd decided that was my path. I loved photography! I could be a photojournalist and make art and expose great injustices! This discovery was quickly followed by the discovery that photography schools didn't start for another 6 months... and a close friend had offered me a 6 month stint teaching English in Korea if I wanted. Of course I wanted.

Before the idea of Korea had even been discussed, I had applied for photography schools in Ontario, Canada. I'd done my traveling and was home for good now. On a whim, I applied to one more photography school. In Paris. Mostly, I just wanted to see what they'd say. They said yes. Shocked, I tried to justify turning them down and couldn't. And so, after Korea, it was off to Paris. My mission was to wake up in the morning, eat a croissant, practice my French, drink a lot of coffee, create art, and plan an amazing future for myself.

This is where it gets sticky. I met an English guy, moved to Canada for a few months, and then to the UK. I wanted to live in London, but he was up north. He was looking for jobs in London, and I was living with him until we could both move London together. Just like that, I was thrown into a world of Monday - Friday 9 - 5ers. I wanted a job, to contribute. So I got a temp gig, working in an office. Another one followed, and soon, I was living in domestic bliss, cooking dinner and going out for drinks on Friday nights. fun, of course, but I'd completely forgotten that years ago, I had big dreams.

We moved to London. We broke up. I was crushed, and somehow, from that, came this blog. I'm back to where I was when I was 18 years old. I want to find my reason to wake up in the morning, and I'm struggling as much now as I was then. but now I have the added bonus of needing small creature comforts like food and a roof over my head. How can I live a life of passion and giving, while still being responsible and earning an honest living? And, more irritatingly, how does one find a passion? This isn't a math problem. There's no formula to plug numbers in and find a definite answer. I walk around and try to think "what injustices really get my goat?" (answer: a fair few of them), what do I have to contribute (answer: ???). What can I do? What do I want to do the most? And... I come up blank. It isn't because I feel nothing. It's because I feel pulled in a bunch of different directions. Photography. Writing. Charity work. Working with young people. Some combination of the above?

Who am I? What am I about? Why is the world a better place because I woke up today?


A student gets arrested during a protest. The university admin wanted to turn our bar into a bookshop. We wanted to keep our bar as a bar. So, we camped out in there for over a week until the police showed up. When was the last time you believed in something so strongly you were willing to get arrested for it? When was the last time I did?

Back in the USSR

I'm actually back in the UK (duh) but other than "London Calling" which I'm pretty sure I'v done to death, I didn't have a title. Et voila. Your title, ladies and gentlemen.

The stopover in Iceland was amazing. Gorgeous. The first few times I went somewhere "exotic" (I'm thinking of Spain), I remember being 5% disappointed that the landscape didn't look more different. I always remember that when I touch down somewhere. Thailand, Korea, Sweden, they all have trees and highways and look a bit similar. After a while I just accepted that I'd have to actually get into a country to see how it's different.

And then I touched down in Iceland. Right out of the airport, I was craning my neck and trying to restrain myself from making stupid noises. The bus ride into town looked like nothing I'd ever seen before. It looked like I imagine the moon looks.

Two steps forward, one step back. Touching down in London was, for the first time ever, a bit sad. Normally I love it here. Normally I get a goofy smile and wriggle around in my seat. This time, I just kind of wondered what the doodle I'm doing. I was happy in Canada. I was fired up in Canada. Now I'm here and it's wet and rainy and suddenly it's time. I need to find a place to live, a job, a calling, a life. Talking about doing something is a lot easier than doing it.

It's a bit sad too, because it's a lot easier to "deal with" (read: ignore) sad breakup feelings when you're not on the same continent.

So, what have I done?

I went for my first run today. 1.7 miles, in case you care. Not quite a marathon, and I kept checking my shiny new pedometer thinking I'd gone a lot farther than I had. "Surely I've gone another mile now. What? 350 meters? Oh."

And, honestly, that's about it. I met a couple friends, bought some cheap noodle soup, made a doctors appointment, but nothing life-altering. I want life-altering. I am searching for life-altering. It's a hard search, I have to admit. It's easy to talk a big game and say I'm gonna go kick some butt but the bit I'm finding the hardest so far is finding a butt to kick. I feel like if I was pointed in the right direction, I'd be able to go full-tilt. But the point of this all is figuring myself out and not letting anyone but me point me in the right direction.

As of now, I'm going in circles, and circles are for sure not the right direction. They aren't even a direction at all, actually.


Iceland. Seriously.

PS - I accidentally posted a link to this blog on facebook. I was really trying to post something else, and I have no idea how it happened. I wasn't quite ready for everyone I know to see this yet, and I doubt many people even noticed (especially as Facebook's changed their format today. Again). In any case, I have nothing to hide. Hi, Facebook people!

Wherefore art thou, sister?

My friendship with Carrie is based, at least in part, on a twist of alphabetical fate. My last name starts with a G, hers starts with an H, and so she sat behind me in grade 9 French class. From there, we became friends, close friends, and now I call her my sister. Her mom and dad call me their other daughter, and my parents refer to her in the same way.

Carrie has always been a big cheerleader of mine. In high school, I was the super-involved type, running for student government (and losing), applying to lead at the school's leadership conference (and failing), writing for the school newspaper, playing sports, attending all the "big games". You know the type. Carrie was never overly interested in any of that, but she was my friend and she was always keen to come along for the ride.

When I decided I was going to start a woman's hockey team at my high school, Carrie had my back. I set about rounding up players, coaches, sweaters and ice time. Lunch hour after lunch hour, Carrie trudged around with me, meeting with teachers and principals, digging through old boxes of discarded sporting equipment. And when we had our first game, Carrie was there cheering us on.

I went for a hike with Carrie the other day. We've known each other for more than half our lives at this point, and we've been walking parallel paths for the vast majority of that time. When I told Carrie that stuff needed to change, that this was my (maybe last) chance, she said she was relieved to hear me say that. She said she'd been worried about me for a while, wondering where my spark had gone. She said she wondered if I was happy.

That was a big old wake-up call for me. My sister, who's cheered me on and supported me and believed in every absurd idea I've ever had...she thought I wasn't doing my best. I want to be someone who does her best.

The good news is that I'm lucky. I have friends and family who believe in me, and are willing to put themselves out there and give me honest (yet gentle) wakeup calls when I need them. I know I'll have their support... as soon as I figure out what the doodle it is that I'll be doing.

I wish I could figure that out faster. I wish it was like a math problem, plug numbers in, get result. Know that result is solid. This, I'm just kind of waiting and meditating and struggling to find a new path. I really don't even know how to find a path.





I cal this one "Sister on a Swing". Taken while camping in Korea in 2007. Happy birthday tomorrow, sis!

The Race is not Always to the Swift...

...but to those who keep on running.

I've either just made a monumentally stupid decision or a really awesome one. I signed up to run a marathon. In April.

And yes, I realize the silliness of rambling on and on about how I want to do something bigger than myself and then a few seconds later posting about how I want to do something super self indulgent. Challenging and difficult to be sure, but still. I'll raise some money for a good cause, but at the end of the day, I want to do this for me.

Here's how it came about. In April I went to watch the London Marathon. I've always wanted to run a marathon. I've always said I'd do it one day. And as much as I hate it when people say "you aren't getting any younger", well, I'm not. Besides, who knows where I'll be next year at this time. I signed up. The sneaky thing is, signing up for the London Marathon is like signing up to win the lottery. Most of the spots are reserved for "charity runners", a rant I'll save for another paragraph (see below*). Apparently the odds are roughly one in seven that you'll get chosen. So, I felt pretty safe in saying I'd signed up. If I didn't get chosen, well, not my fault! I tried, right?

Turns out, the Paris Marathon takes place within a week of the London one. As backup plan, I decided to sign up for that one too. The Paris one is first come first serve, so signing up for that one actually means I'll be running it.

If I get chosen to run in London, I'd rather do that. I'd be throwing away the entry fee to the Paris one, but that's the way I've chosen to roll. And if not, well, Paris is cool. I like Paris. More importantly, I have friends in Paris who can come out and cheer me on.

I remember when I used to run cross country races in high school. I kind of sucked. Upon graduating, my coach told me he didn't think I'd last the first week. I barely lasted through the first warm up run. As it turns out, I was the only one of the runners in attendance that day who would last all five years on the team. It isn't a success story in the Underdog Wins it All script-bank. By the end of high school I sucked a bit less, but I still sucked.

I have no illusions of suddenly becoming a super fantastic marathon runner. I'll run. I'll (hopefully) finish. I'll be proud of myself. That's what I'm going for.



* The charity thing - A lot of the bigger charities in the UK are given a few places in the marathon for charity runners. These runners pledge to raise a certain amount of money for their chosen cause. Sweet, right? Good all around? Not so much. The minimum amount a runner can pledge to raise is well above a thousand pounds. Even worse, if you don't reach your goal, you're personally on the hook to make up the difference. I read a blog about a poor woman who had the debt collectors after her. She'd fallen a couple hundred pounds short of her goal, but she was tapped out. Her friends, family, co-workers and neighbors were tapped out. In London, there are lots of people who run the marathon, and they're all trying to raise money at the same time.

Don't get me wrong, I'll be raising money for something. It's just that I won't be taken to debtor's prison (does that even exist anymore?) if I raise a measly 700 quid rather than the "recommended" 1200.



(I shot this at the Paris Marathon in 2008)

What Now?

As of a few weeks ago, my life was like the start of a bad chick-lit novel. "She's lost her flat, her job, her boyfriend, her direction. And she's about to turn 30."

Okay, so I didn't lose my job, the contract ended, which was part of my plan because I was due back in Canada for a friend's wedding. But the rest of it is all true. All at once, the contract ended, the relationship ended, the housing situation ended (due to aforementioned relationship ending) and suddenly I felt confused about pretty much everything. Who was I, even? What was I doing with my life?

So, I made the trip from England to Canada. Attended the wedding. Went on a road trip with an old friend, driving 20 hours for 1.5 days in New Orleans and 1 day in Memphis. I had a blast, but I was in a daze. Breakups always suck, but when they coincide with the realization that you've lost a piece of yourself along the way, well, my guess is they suck a bit more.

By trade, I'm a journalist/photographer. By passion I'm a lot of things - a writer, a sports nut, a photographer, a do-gooder, a traveler... I have a lot of skills and even more passions, but I haven't been using any of them.

After the road trip, I went to Toronto and Ottawa and met some old friends from university. One in particular reminded me of all kinds of stuff I'd forgotten about myself. He said I was tough and funny and ambitious. We laughed at how I once slept in the campus bar for a week straight as part of a protest against it being closed. He said I was someone who tried as hard as she could at everything she did. I stayed up late that night, wondering when the last time was that I'd flexed those muscles.

I visited my university roommate Pam who works her Monday - Friday 9 - 5 government job. Pam said that she'd weighed up the options, and living a conventional life was what works best for her. She likes owning her condo and her car and her nice clothes. "My job is okay," she told me. "It isn't my ideal, but it gives me the life I want." After a pause she added "I don't know if you'd be happy like that. It isn't what I'd choose for you."

And then Jack Layton died. Suddenly, I felt a tiny flicker of...something. I can't define it. A well-loved politician's untimely passing shouldn't have had the effect on me that it did. (For those of you non-Canadaians or Canadians who live under rocks, Jack Layton was a Canadian politician who passed away of cancer a few weeks ago. He was pretty universally liked, even by his opposition, and the outpouring of grief and respect following his death was nothing short of spectacular. His final letter to Canadians ends with the quote "My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we’ll change the world.")

I remembered that at one point, I too thought it was possible to change the world.

I sent a facebook message to my friend Jon, telling him that I didn't understand why Mr. Layton's death had upset me so much, but I knew something needed to change in my own life. Jon responded by telling me that I should go visit him. Why not? Jon's a dude who lives his life full tilt, and I came away from the weekend more fired up than ever to figure out what it is that I'm meant to be doing, and to get doing it. Jon changes the world with his writing, and in return his writing seems to change him. I want that.

As I was leaving he said that he's excited for me, and he can't wait to see what I'll do next. Me neither.

These past couple months have been like a trip into a different universe. I started with a flat, a boyfriend, a job and a general sense of security. But I was just drifting along, not making big plans, not excited, not shaking anything up. Well, after this unexpected cross-North America tour, I head back to London (England) next week, and I'm so frigging fired up that I could levitate. I guess that means the next step is finding where to put that energy!

Here goes...


Olivia Chow, widow of Jack Layton, reading one of the thousands of cards left for him in Ottawa following his death.