Gypsy Spirit

     I have been a bit of a nomad as of late. I have always joked that if my chosen career path did not work out, I would choose the life of a gypsy; and I feel as if I have gotten a little taste of it now. This past year I moved over 1,000 miles from my small town home to the Big City. I found a reasonable place to live, and obtained the glamorous day job of a hostess at a restaurant not too far from my place. I slept on the floor for 3 months before I bought myself something of a mattress. It took me that long to buy a mattress because I felt hardcore, like I could write an epic biopic about the experience in years to come. Mostly I am flattering myself in my new brazen independence which is both exhilarating and terrifying, admittedly I feel a little high and mighty knowing I can fend for myself even in a world unknown (ie. the hustling and bustling of a Big City).
     My time as a Gypsy Spirit is coming to a close, however. I have one last whimsical hurrah coming at the end of this week - a whirlwind trip planned with my best gal pal to California where we are sleeping on her friends floor and planning on laying on the beach every day to soak up the golden rays- and then I am moving 1,000 miles back to my small town in the middle of nowhere. My sentimental heart is heavy for the friends and experiences that I will be leaving behind, but inside I know it is time to put an end to my wanderings and ramblings, and stay put for awhile. Hopefully I will actually pursue that chosen career path, maybe hit some of those important milestones, and then, if all else fails, resort to the life of a Gypsy once more.

A Kindred Spirit

That First Friend

            I feel like it is a universal truth that we have all had significant childhood friends. For better or for worse they not only helped to shape who we are today, but also how we interact with our friends now. They were our first big break into a social life. They may have taught you how to ride a bike, or helped you (watch your Dad) pitch a tent in your backyard for a camp out, or dressed exactly like you to make like the Olsen Twins and switch places with each other’s families (unsuccessfully).

            With the phenomena of Facebook, questions such as “I wonder whatever happened to [insert long lost friend’s name here]” actually have the very real possibility of being answered along with a handy profile picture to determine whether [insert long lost friend’s name here] was ever able to tame that nasty cowlick.

            I had such an experience regarding my childhood friend (and first crush), Declan*. The thought crossed my mind one late night, “I wonder whatever happened to…” and I facebooked him. The first Declan on the search engine – which made my life easy, and I was content to know that he looked exactly the same as he had when we were 8 years old; except taller. And that was that.

            Or so I thought.

            Several weeks later, living in a new big city a few provinces away from home, I decided to grab a coffee before work at the Starbucks across the street, and as I was waiting in line, rating the cuteness of the clerk out of 10, out walked my childhood friend. At least I think I was sure it was him. I was still four people away from the till, and too stunned to say anything. As I finally approached the counter, my first crush walked back out of sight just before I had worked up my nerve to speak. While paying for my Tall Decaf Cinnamon Dolce Latte, I was still too dumbfounded to ask the 7/10 clerk, “Excuse me, was that Declan? The boy I was a sheep with in our Sunday School Christmas Play? Who would wear plaid button up shirts and rocked a mean bowl haircut?” I was certain his answer would be yes. I just knew it had to be.

            The next morning I flew back home for Christmas. I swore to myself that as soon as I came back to the Big City, I would go and accomplish this feat of reuniting with this first friend. In my mind’s eye I saw us jovially laughing together over a coffee, or a movie, or some quintessential picnic in a charming park about the coincidence of it all; it was going to be a magical movie-esque moment.

            I came back to the Big City on January 3^rd. For 17 days I gave myself a new excuse of why I could not go buy a coffee at that Starbucks. I was “too broke” or “too late for work”, or had had “too many calories” for the day already. During this time I had also come upon the information that his family was moving from this Big City on January 20^th. I knew I had to make it to that Starbucks before that date, or never.

            On January 21^st, I went to Starbucks, and I bought myself a Tall Decaf Cinnamon Dolce Latte. Declan was not there, for obvious reasons, but I still wished he would be; by chance. I don’t know what held me back from going until I knew I wouldn’t run into him. I don’t understand because I know I actually wanted it to happen. Maybe it was the fact that if I had gone back knowing already, it would have been a staged reunion, and would have lost its magic. Or maybe deep down I was just afraid to find out that it wasn’t him at all, just some unfortunate look-a-like working at one of the countless Starbucks. I don’t know why I didn’t man up to the task, but I hope that in the future when life hands a similarly uncanny event to me, that I’ll grab it and make the most of it - whatever it may turn out to be. 

*not actual name

Back in Business

     My amazing, genius cousin mailed my computer back to me earlier this week! All is well in my world, and I will pick up the Blogging adventure where I left off.

     Here's to a virus-free future!

In the Thick of It

     For all you currently non-existent readers out there, I apologize for my absence. My laptop had the misfortune of coming down with a nasty virus and I am still awaiting it's much anticipated arrival back from my Computer Genius Cousin. Something that I keep hearing lately is that the success in writing comes when you do it constantly and consistently. Thus, I decided I should steal some internet time from a friend and be as regular as possible in this situation; although the true rhythm of my blog will not be returned to full health until my laptop is back in my loving arms.

     In the meantime, here is some background music for your day:

The Stops by Elbow

The Ocean and the Sun; A Winning Combo.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

     What is the point of optimism but to constantly and consistently enable us to be dropped back to reality in a state of disillusioned despair when we realize once again that life is not what we hoped it to be?
     And yet – I have the innate curse of being one of those people who is an eternal optimist. There is not one situation or circumstance that I have come through recently  where I have not had a thought such as, “Well, if God closes a door, He opens a window,” or “Every cloud has a silver lining,” or “There are always more fish in the sea,”. I am the type of person for which those clichéd remarks exist. If I am not repeating them within myself for my own peace of mind, I am repeating them to others with the premising statement of, “I know this sounds cliché, but...,”. This has been true when my once good friend started dating the only boy I had ever truly liked and when my dream of living a fabulous life as an international model became nothing more than a topic to dodge at social functions. Even when my best friend was diagnosed with cancer, I gulped it down with a simple, “Everything happens for a reason”.
     Is it wrong to want more angst in your life? To want to dwell on the negatives vs the positives that saturate the reality of every day? Perhaps it is that deep down, I know I prefer to believe in that illusive hope. Deep down, I do believe that there are silver linings, and reasons, and that ultimately what is meant to work out will, in fact, work out. Is that the folly of youth? Maybe; and maybe that is what is so greatly coveted of the young. Since I am just recently able to classify myself as an “adult”, I still very much feel that the world is my oyster and I can go with whichever wind’s breezes are most persuasive. There is nothing to hold me back except for my modest bank account and my over-fondness of my prairie-residing family. It is a daunting and exhilarating feeling full of no expectation except for the wish that maybe in a few years I will have found my bearings and become more grounded in who I am and where my future is headed.
     So, even though there is no great line up of “other fish” to choose from just yet for the great come back (or commencement) of my love life; and the fabulousness of any career I am currently in pursuit of is questionable at best - with all that truly defines who I am inside, I am forced to state...

...and I know this sounds cliché, but...