I've recently become addicted to Instagram. I just joined the world of Twitter. I've been on Facebook for a few years now. I run two blogs. I have a Tumblr. I enjoy Pinterest. I am well-versed in the world of social media.
I text my friends pretty consistently. I use Skype to stay in touch with loved ones who are far away. I am almost always connected to my email in some form. My computer is on for most of the day. I am not technologically illiterate by any means.
And yet.
Sometimes I have an overwhelming urge to unplug everything, just turn it all off and walk away. I call it my "hermit urge." Sometimes I just don't want to be accessible 24-7.
I've been placed in a couple of situations lately where I was reminded of how nice it is to disconnect from time to time. I recently got back from a quick trip to Toronto, and it was kind of lovely to turn my phone and computer off for a couple of hours, to have no obligation to speak to anyone at all (aside from the precocious six-year-old who proposed to me on my flight home).
The flight from Toronto to Halifax is about 2 hours, and as soon as I landed I had 5 text messages. One was from the person picking me up at the airport. One was from a friend in Edmonton who I had been texting while I was waiting in the airport. Three were from someone trying to schedule a meeting this week. These were the ones that really got me. They were sent in quick succession. The first was a question about what times worked well for me. The second was a variation on "I need to know now." And the third was simply three question marks: ???. As soon as I read these messages I could feel stress settling itself back on my shoulders. I wanted to turn my phone back off and pretend I hadn't read them. In fact, I ignored them for a while. Eventually though, I had to respond. I sent an apologetic text explaining that I hadn't responded because I had been on a plane, all the while thinking that it was ridiculous that I had to excuse myself for taking a couple of hours to get back to someone about something.
I love that I can stay connected with people so easily and in so many ways. But sometimes it's nice to walk away from the constant stream of information, and to remove myself from the frantic race to respond to everyone whenever they decide they need me.
Of course, this works the other way around as well. I killed my phone a couple of days ago, and not having it was fun at first, but has rapidly just become frustrating.
Flying for the First Time
Elenowen
Can't put out the fire with my bare hands,
not even I need to understand how
I'm getting there.
Said a prayer with broken wings,
hoping to move toward greater things now
and face the fear.
I'm drifting
closer toward the skyline,
looking down on my life,
trying to get just one thing right.
The second I stop second-guessing,
let go like a confession,
seeing what I was born to find.
Flying for the first time.
I was the kind who played it safe,
wouldn't take a risk or leap of faith,
not before the leap.
Fear has a way of playing games,
go a little, go your separate ways,
but as for me:
I'm drifting
closer toward the skyline,
looking down on my life,
trying to get just one thing right.
The second I stop second-guessing,
let go like a confession,
seeing what I was born to find.
Flying for the first time
Ran through the open flame,
barely escaped,
now I'll never be the same.
I'm drifting
closer toward the skyline,
looking down on my life,
trying to get just one thing right.
The second I stop second-guessing,
let go like a confession,
seeing what I was born
I'm drifting
closer toward the skyline,
looking down on my life,
trying to get just one thing right.
The second I stop second-guessing,
let go like a confession,
seeing what I was born to find.
Flying for the first time
Flying for the first time.
I put out the fire with my bare hands.
I mentioned yesterday that I spent my whole day listening to the new Elenowen EP on repeat. I am seriously obsessed. I knew I needed to post a song on here, but couldn't decide which one to pick. Seriously. The album is that good. But since I'm rather obsessed with these airplane window pictures (watch for another one tomorrow) lately, I felt like the first track, Flying for the First Time, was a good choice. Plus starting at the beginning seems like a logical choice. I mean, if I am probably going to end up posting all of them, I might as well work my way through in order so I can keep track, no?
My life: brought to you by water.
Last night I killed my phone by managing to get it into a sink full of water. See, I was texting someone while walking through my apartment, I tripped on one of my shoes that was sitting by the door, launched the phone across the kitchen/entryway, and got it into the sink full of soapy dishwater. Impressive in its own way I suppose. If I had been playing basketball it would have been a great shot. Anyway. The phone is deader than dead and I am currently waiting for a rather important call. Cue panic.
It poured today. And I mean POURED. Which was actually okay with me. It meant that I didn't want to go outside so I stayed home, cleaned the whole apartment, did some work, had a wonderful Skype date with Audrey, and listened to Elenowen's new EP on repeat all day (currently available for a free download at Noise Trade).
The rain came to a stop for a while around dinner, so I popped outside to take some post-rain photos. Sunlight + Water = SPARKLE. It was rather lovely.
So aside from the whole phone fiasco, things are pretty good here right now.
I am in the midst of a quick jaunt to Mississauga and Toronto. The temperature has been ungodly (really, it has been hotter than Hades) and I have managed to come down with a dreadful cold which is sapping my energy, but it has been a good trip nonetheless. And tomorrow I get to go to the AGO, which can only mean good things.
P.S. I've been Instagramming bits of my trip. You can follow me @breanna_girl, or, if you don't have Instagram, check out my photos here.
An impromptu photo-taking trip to an abandoned barn with A this afternoon. I am really going to miss that girl.
heart-ache, n.
1. Pain in the heart; formerly = HEARTBURN
2. Pain or anguish of mind, esp. that arising from disappointed hope or affection.
I find the phrase "heart-achingly beautiful" rather useful at certain times of my life. When I am moved by something tremendously beautiful, I actually experience a physical sensation of heart-ache. Lately life has been heart-achingly beautiful; there is just so much joy kicking around that my heart feels a little full, and, consequently, a little achy in the best possible way.
A few days ago, Audrey sent me a text message: "What did you want to be when you grew up when you were a kid?" The question stymied me, not simply because it was out of the blue but because I actually didn't know. Not, I don't remember, but as a kid I really didn't know. So I told her this and related an assignment I distinctly remember from some point in elementary. We had to draw a picture of what we wanted to be when we grew up and do some kind of report on it. I had no idea. I think I drew myself being a teacher.
"I never knew either...I'm wondering if that contributes to my lack of career direction now."
I don't think I have ever had someone else tell me they didn't know what they wanted to be as a kid either. (Evidence that we were meant to be best friends? I think so.) And I think her connection is fair. It's hard to pick a direction when you never really had one.
We ended up talking about how odd it seems to still not know what we want to be when we grow up. In stark contrast to ourselves, we both grew up with a lot of friends who knew exactly what they wanted to do with their lives. They wanted to be teachers and doctors and nurses. And, guess what, now they are teachers and doctors and nurses, or at least in school to be these things. For Audrey, this was causing some panic and concern about her lack of direction, things that I am very familiar with. But my reaction when I consider the disparity between these people with a life plan and myself is quite a bit different now. I've come to love my plan-less state.
I wish it was easier to explain this to other people, those plan-loving people I'm related to and friends with and meet at the bar. I suppose though, that they can just be concerned and panicked and stressed for me about my apparent lack of direction. It means there is no reason for me to be.
When I posted today's reading over on She Had Always Wanted Words, I wrote about how I have been in a bit of a creative deadzone lately. It happens every so often. Life just takes over and I find myself filling my time with laundry and grocery shopping and phone calls to the government - not to mention my thesis work and some social activities - and suddenly I just don't have the energy for creativity. It's not a lack of desire. It's more like a physical paralysis. I will sit and think, "I have some time. I should do something creative. Like write. Or paint. Or play piano." But it is as if the message doesn't translate from my brain to my limbs. Or maybe it gets lost, distracted by something shiny along the way. Who knows.
Anyway, the point of this post is not the deadzone itself, but getting out of it. It's been a slow process this time around. An afternoon walking on the beach and hiking in the woods which made me wish I had my camera in hand started it off. Then listening to a lot of Vinyl Cafe podcasts while wrapped in my favourite blankets and drinking peppermint tea. And finally discovering, thanks to said podcasts, the work of Michael Flomen. Stuart tells the story of visiting Michael Flomen's farm and seeing him work. He explains that he was introduced to Michael by a mutual friend who, when recommending Stuart go visit Michael explained, "He takes pictures without a camera...of things we cannot see." And, as Stuart says, "who can pass up something like that?" I certainly couldn't, and subsequently spent a blissful hour exploring some of his astounding images while listening to Katie Melua. And that was it. That was what finally jolted my creative muscles out of their paralysis. It feels good to be back.
