eve of 28

I’ve been horribly amiss. Neglecting my writing here, not even pausing to note irreverent and random items or post photos. So, on the eve of my birthday, I’m not going to commit to some kind of regular schedule or try to justify why I haven’t been here. I’m simply going to write.

Looking back, when I started this blog, I NEEDED it. I needed to talk about my sense of displacement, moving from a very unhappy situation in Vancouver to where I thought being home would fix all that ailed me. And, of course, if you believe in the adage of grass isn’t always greener, it certainly wasn’t.

I stayed because I could, I only had 2 courses left which could be taken correspondence, I had a job, and a place to live. The prospect of another 6 months of sunless rain was too much too take, as much as I knew I would miss my friends there. 

Alas, my friends here were not, shall we say solid and I learned lonely, I learned boredom. I got into trouble, I had a ‘secret’ affair that blew up in my face, I threw myself into yoga and running and eating less because it was something to focus on. I almost didn’t graduate university due to an ‘easy’ music appreciation course. But most of all, I remember the longing for something I could feel myself doing, someone I could feel myself with. Of course, this is the time, when I think, unless you’re extremely well adjusted, that’s what happens. You can’t find that thing or that person, because you don’t know who you are.

My personal style at the time was all over the map and seeing pictures of myself at the time becomes a mirror into the person I was at the time: Unsure, experimental, attention-seeking. Not someone comfortable with where they’re at or who they are. The bright green suede boots or the half spiky asymmetrical pixie hair was me trying to be who I thought I should be, or who I wanted to be, a desperate attempt to find me.

I was grasping. Of course some things that girl was is still me. The difference is, now I know, exactly, which ones are me and which ones aren’t. It wasn’t over night. It took a long time to find out how uncomfortable certain things made me, or that I didn’t really want to be stared at for a ‘weird’ style, but in admiration for owning my own style and people liking it.

It was the same for relationships. I naturally became friends with those who needed me. I wanted to feel like I belonged and to me, becoming an integral part of their life, helping them with their problems, made me feel essential- something I was lacking in my life, that sense of needing to be somewhere or something to someone. Those types of relationships can’t help but be unhealthy, and left me exhausted and sad and wondering why people didn’t care about me the way I cared about them.

Learning the ropes at work was painful. Taking pictures and doing bit interviews but not knowing how anything made it to fruition was frustrating. Not always knowing what I should be doing or why I was doing it precluded any enjoyment out of my first job. But, they believe in me, perhaps more than I believed in myself. I remember an old boss of mine saying, ‘You know, I know this isn’t what you thought you’d be doing, or even maybe what you want to do, but you’re damn good at it’.

Looking back at how much inner strife and sadness I went through during this time makes me feel very grateful about getting old. This last year has been one of the best years of my life. I feel like I found me.

It’s not often I go somewhere and not feel dressed as myself. I see it as a reflection of how I feel.

My old boss was right, but the difference is; now I believe it.

The supportive group of friends I have now, both old and new, have become an essential part of my life, in a very reciprocal way. I can rely on them and they on me and we’re there for each other no matter what (It sounds very cliche but cliches are for a reason). 

So, now, on to the next step, as my sister likes to say. Everything can’t be unicorns and rainbows all the time, but at least angst is not an everyday feeling. I’m looking forward to 28.