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.