The Things Nobody Tells You
Everybody, to some extent, understands that life just isn’t always easy. We expect to come across things that will be hard, maybe even devastating: the loss of someone we love, a breakup or losing job. We expect hardship, although we expect it to come from the events in life that happen when we least expect them. We expect that these things will just happen without warning – What nobody tells you, is that often it is the things that we know are coming, the things we plan, that everybody goes through that are the hardest – and of course we aren’t expecting it.
Recently, I moved out. I am 24 – Definitely didn’t flee the nest prematurely. I let things take their natural course and chose a time that felt right. Of course my possession date came much quicker than I was ready for and before I knew it I was trying to fill wall space with the three pieces of art work I had collected over my youth.
Growing up I knew that someday I would move out. Someday, I would have a place of my own. I had fantasized about my independent life, cooking meals, decorating to my hearts content, coming home when I wanted, not having to answer to anyone, and having the greedy satisfaction of having something all to myself. I knew that this was one of those life experiences I would inevitably have and had embraced its coming with enthusiasm.
In the first week of living on my own, I woke up in my room (that didn’t feel like my room at all) and had a panic attack. Suddenly, I was coming to terms with the fact that I was all on my own. Instead of feeling the sense of overwhelming euphoria towards my new found freedom, I felt paralyzed by my solitary condition. I was on my own – independent – and that meant coming to terms with the end of my childhood and the fact that ‘I was never going home again’.
Everybody moves out. People get married, have children, raise children and retire. These are the things that people talk about in passing – That nobody has to explain or justify why we do them – we just do. We talk about these events in our lives as the inevitable progressions of life. When you say you’re going to move out, nobody says “Oh, you poor thing”.
Because everyone goes through these things we don’t expect them to be hard, but the fact is, these are the major transitions of our lives and just because everyone experiences them, doesn’t make it any more familiar to you. When we experience these things for the first time, sometimes (most times) we are faced with a reality that we weren’t expecting. If everyone goes through it, why does no body tell you?
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Test Driving My Self-Confidence
I have read that one of the reasons for the wage gap between men and women is because women rarely ask for more. Women tend to believe that they aren’t worth the extra 10,000 while men, whether they believe they’re worth it or not, are more likely to ask for it.
Recently my writing class was given the assignment to test drive a car and write about it. At first the idea was exciting. My five year plan includes trading in my current Chevy Equinox for a pick up truck – Which one I don’t know. I know nothing about them except that they are big enough and powerful enough to pull a horse trailer and most of my current goals/thoughts involve horses.
For months I have been picturing my future Silverado, or Siera, big and white (a little feminine touch) navigating the road with authority. I have secretly marveled in people’s imaginary shocked faces as they looked up into the trucks glossy window, seeing me, a young blond of 24 sporting Lulu workout gear and my infamous ‘bobble’ – No fa-mullet and cigarette stained teeth for this girl!
I started mentally preparing what I would write for my class – How the salesmen had looked at me sideways – Why would a 115 pound blond girl want to test drive a 1000 pound pick up? And more importantly how could she afford it? I’d write about society and how we judged and stereotyped and put people into categories that made it acceptable for certain types of people to drive certain types of vehicles. Maybe I’d even throw in a feminist edge and go so far as to say that society doesn’t take women seriously.
As the assignments due date rolled closer, I promised myself that tomorrow I would go… or at least tomorrow I would book the appointment. I promised myself also knowing full well that I wasn’t going to go anywhere near a dealership. I knew they’d see right through me, take one look and say ‘ya right’.
As the next weeks class came around I started to think about my failed mission. Why was I so afraid of confronting other people’s stereotypes? Or had I stereotyped myself? Maybe it wasn’t them who were looking at me sideways (even if they would have, they hadn’t yet). Maybe it was me – I was the one that thought it was ridiculous.
I am sure part of my hesitation came from the fact that currently I really can’t afford a truck. Maybe when I can confront others scrutinous looks with a cheque (preferably one that is attached to a very healthy bank account) I will be able to march in Lulu gear, bobble and all, and demand a test drive. But even then, when my facade isn’t a facade, will I believe I’m worth it?
Recently my writing class was given the assignment to test drive a car and write about it. At first the idea was exciting. My five year plan includes trading in my current Chevy Equinox for a pick up truck – Which one I don’t know. I know nothing about them except that they are big enough and powerful enough to pull a horse trailer and most of my current goals/thoughts involve horses.
For months I have been picturing my future Silverado, or Siera, big and white (a little feminine touch) navigating the road with authority. I have secretly marveled in people’s imaginary shocked faces as they looked up into the trucks glossy window, seeing me, a young blond of 24 sporting Lulu workout gear and my infamous ‘bobble’ – No fa-mullet and cigarette stained teeth for this girl!
I started mentally preparing what I would write for my class – How the salesmen had looked at me sideways – Why would a 115 pound blond girl want to test drive a 1000 pound pick up? And more importantly how could she afford it? I’d write about society and how we judged and stereotyped and put people into categories that made it acceptable for certain types of people to drive certain types of vehicles. Maybe I’d even throw in a feminist edge and go so far as to say that society doesn’t take women seriously.
As the assignments due date rolled closer, I promised myself that tomorrow I would go… or at least tomorrow I would book the appointment. I promised myself also knowing full well that I wasn’t going to go anywhere near a dealership. I knew they’d see right through me, take one look and say ‘ya right’.
As the next weeks class came around I started to think about my failed mission. Why was I so afraid of confronting other people’s stereotypes? Or had I stereotyped myself? Maybe it wasn’t them who were looking at me sideways (even if they would have, they hadn’t yet). Maybe it was me – I was the one that thought it was ridiculous.
I am sure part of my hesitation came from the fact that currently I really can’t afford a truck. Maybe when I can confront others scrutinous looks with a cheque (preferably one that is attached to a very healthy bank account) I will be able to march in Lulu gear, bobble and all, and demand a test drive. But even then, when my facade isn’t a facade, will I believe I’m worth it?
The Day I Got My Vision Back
I find it weird how you can get to a point in life and have no idea how you got there. I was an honor student in high school. I was pretty. I was athletic. I was popular. I was going places. I was that girl. Two years later I was going to University. I wanted something from life – I expected something from life, but I didn’t know what. The girl who had always been out having fun, doing things, living life effortlessly, was gone. I had lost interest in the people who I had valued so much before. They had vanished and suddenly I didn’t like where I was. I knew I was unsatisfied, but I just assumed this was my life so I trudged on.
It was my third year of University when I started experiencing physical symptoms. My vision became blurred. I was tired all the time and soon I wasn’t able to exert myself physically. I stopped working out and lost weight. I was deflating. Soon I couldn’t get through the day without sleeping. Everything was an effort. I couldn’t fake it anymore.
I went to the doctor more than ten times over a two month span and saw a number of specialists, all who couldn’t find any medical explanation for my physical symptoms. I resented them. I knew they thought it was in my head.
Eventually tired of getting no answers, I went to a naturopath who confirmed that the “balance in my body was way off” and gave me herbs for a number of problems (like low blood pressure), but couldn’t determine any overall cause. At first I thought the herbs were helping, but very quickly I fell right back to my original state. I felt hopeless and finally gave in completely to my fatigue, resigning myself to endless hours in bed. I felt lifeless. I felt dead.
I went back to the naturopath and broke down in her office. I told her that I thought she was just treating the symptoms and not the cause of the problem. She assured me that this was not the case: That I had to be the one to change this. That I had to “imagine the life I wanted and then create that life for myself”. She gave me more herbs and more advice of how I could will my body out of its state, but it was her words that did the willing instead.
I went away at first with more frustration. She didn’t understand. I couldn’t just make these symptoms go away. I went home and went back to bed, but her words stayed with me. I couldn’t ignore the idea that if I could think of a better life for myself, I could have it. I started trying to sleep less. I set an alarm and slowly cut down the time. I started asking myself: “what do I want my life to look like?” Surprisingly it didn’t take long for me to get a clear vision in my head and knowing what I wanted for my future made it very clear to me what was lacking in my present. As I became more determined to live the life I wanted for myself, the less of a hold my physical symptoms had on me.
Now, almost a year later, my life is very different then it was when I visited the naturopath. I don’t sleep through the day, I have energy to do the things I want to do, I see the people who are important to me regularly, and I am once again doing the things I am passionate about. My vision is still blurry at times, but it doesn’t consume my life the way it did because now I have a different kind of vision – a vision for life.
It was my third year of University when I started experiencing physical symptoms. My vision became blurred. I was tired all the time and soon I wasn’t able to exert myself physically. I stopped working out and lost weight. I was deflating. Soon I couldn’t get through the day without sleeping. Everything was an effort. I couldn’t fake it anymore.
I went to the doctor more than ten times over a two month span and saw a number of specialists, all who couldn’t find any medical explanation for my physical symptoms. I resented them. I knew they thought it was in my head.
Eventually tired of getting no answers, I went to a naturopath who confirmed that the “balance in my body was way off” and gave me herbs for a number of problems (like low blood pressure), but couldn’t determine any overall cause. At first I thought the herbs were helping, but very quickly I fell right back to my original state. I felt hopeless and finally gave in completely to my fatigue, resigning myself to endless hours in bed. I felt lifeless. I felt dead.
I went back to the naturopath and broke down in her office. I told her that I thought she was just treating the symptoms and not the cause of the problem. She assured me that this was not the case: That I had to be the one to change this. That I had to “imagine the life I wanted and then create that life for myself”. She gave me more herbs and more advice of how I could will my body out of its state, but it was her words that did the willing instead.
I went away at first with more frustration. She didn’t understand. I couldn’t just make these symptoms go away. I went home and went back to bed, but her words stayed with me. I couldn’t ignore the idea that if I could think of a better life for myself, I could have it. I started trying to sleep less. I set an alarm and slowly cut down the time. I started asking myself: “what do I want my life to look like?” Surprisingly it didn’t take long for me to get a clear vision in my head and knowing what I wanted for my future made it very clear to me what was lacking in my present. As I became more determined to live the life I wanted for myself, the less of a hold my physical symptoms had on me.
Now, almost a year later, my life is very different then it was when I visited the naturopath. I don’t sleep through the day, I have energy to do the things I want to do, I see the people who are important to me regularly, and I am once again doing the things I am passionate about. My vision is still blurry at times, but it doesn’t consume my life the way it did because now I have a different kind of vision – a vision for life.
Bath Time With Harry
As I run the bath and wait until the water warms, Harry, my orange and very mischievous kitten, boldly climbs into the tub backing up as the water gets closer, until finally he has to jump out. The bath is drawn and I climb in to have my only moment of relaxation for the day. As I am settling into the warmth of the bath Harry quietly slides himself, a dark shadow, between the two pieces of bath the curtain. Slowly I start to let myself relax: the soft sound of the dripping water is beginning to calm my nerves, the warm water slowly moving over me starting to calm my spirit, a slight poke at my toe… I open my eyes to see a suspicious orange paw darting out from behind the curtain and playfully swatting my big toe before disappearing again. I try to ignore this slight distraction, closing my eyes and sinking deeper into the soapy water. The poking persists for another minute or two and then stops.
My mind starts to slip away once again to that far away place where nothing matters except the calmness of the bath. “Plunk”. I look up to see Harry sitting on the edge of the bath, his head and ears looking downward towards a bar of soap that is slowly making its way back to the surface. When it reappears he lowers himself to the water and nudges the soap along the edge of the bath until the soap has floated off to area where it is no longer safe for him to keep poking. He looks up at me. “Meow?” he says inquisitively and then turns his attention back along the ledge he is sitting on. His gaze quickly shifts to a jar of soap scrub. He walks carefully along the ledge, stopping once he reaches his target. He stares for a few seconds, considering, and then gives it a little jab with his paw. The scrub slides along the porcelain ledge and comes to a stop right before it curves downward into the bath water. Harry is still intently focused on the jar. He moves towards it again and makes a few fake attempts to poke at it, making the motion, but not actually connecting with it. Finally he connects and the jar falls over the ledge into the bath. He jerks forward peering over the edge to see what has happened. Again he lowers himself to the water and tries to poke at the jar, but this one sinks. As it hits bottom of the tub Harry gives it a few more moments of consideration before refocusing his attention on a bottle of shampoo.
I am now swimming with random objects, (or having to adjust because one of them has sunk and is now jabbing into my leg) but I try not to let this divert me from get some much needed relaxation. I drift back into my state trying to take in the aromatic smell of the bath salts and feel the warmth of the candles set out by the bath (on the far side where Harry can’t reach them). I start to drift away, dreaming of a place where nothing but calm exists. A meadow. A soft breeze gently swaying the long grass intermingled with lightly colored flowers. The sun is brilliantly shining overhead when I am confronted with a random spray in the face. I open one eye trying to remain relaxed and there he is looking perplexedly at the water occasionally poking it with a paw and then not liking the sensation of wet shaking it off violently…Bath time is over.
My mind starts to slip away once again to that far away place where nothing matters except the calmness of the bath. “Plunk”. I look up to see Harry sitting on the edge of the bath, his head and ears looking downward towards a bar of soap that is slowly making its way back to the surface. When it reappears he lowers himself to the water and nudges the soap along the edge of the bath until the soap has floated off to area where it is no longer safe for him to keep poking. He looks up at me. “Meow?” he says inquisitively and then turns his attention back along the ledge he is sitting on. His gaze quickly shifts to a jar of soap scrub. He walks carefully along the ledge, stopping once he reaches his target. He stares for a few seconds, considering, and then gives it a little jab with his paw. The scrub slides along the porcelain ledge and comes to a stop right before it curves downward into the bath water. Harry is still intently focused on the jar. He moves towards it again and makes a few fake attempts to poke at it, making the motion, but not actually connecting with it. Finally he connects and the jar falls over the ledge into the bath. He jerks forward peering over the edge to see what has happened. Again he lowers himself to the water and tries to poke at the jar, but this one sinks. As it hits bottom of the tub Harry gives it a few more moments of consideration before refocusing his attention on a bottle of shampoo.
I am now swimming with random objects, (or having to adjust because one of them has sunk and is now jabbing into my leg) but I try not to let this divert me from get some much needed relaxation. I drift back into my state trying to take in the aromatic smell of the bath salts and feel the warmth of the candles set out by the bath (on the far side where Harry can’t reach them). I start to drift away, dreaming of a place where nothing but calm exists. A meadow. A soft breeze gently swaying the long grass intermingled with lightly colored flowers. The sun is brilliantly shining overhead when I am confronted with a random spray in the face. I open one eye trying to remain relaxed and there he is looking perplexedly at the water occasionally poking it with a paw and then not liking the sensation of wet shaking it off violently…Bath time is over.
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