Decisions. I am not good at them. And I seem to have found myself in a position where no matter what I choose it feels wrong. Of course, this also means that no matter what I choose it feels right. I am not sure what to do with this. Unfortunately my trusty pro-con lists are failing me. They balance out, making them as unhelpful as consulting the ocean and its ever-changing tides or looking for the truth in the strange combination of seagrass and acorns.
I know I'm at Just Us too much (or, perhaps, just enough) because...
The baristas know my drink order. Including the ones who have been there less than 3 months.
I have no problem just working without buying a coffee if I bought a coffee to go earlier in the day. Similarly, I have no problem buying one coffee and then staying for several hours.
When it isn't busy, one of the baristas will bring my drink to my table rather than just call it out.
I am willing to leave all of my stuff, including my computer and camera, unattended while I run home to get something I forgot.
Oh the perils of having a fantastic coffee shop nearby...
I've never really liked spring, but for some reason, this year, I'm basking in it.
The grass is getting greener, the coffee shop garage door has been open for several days in a row, and all of us who have been hiding in our apartments and offices and houses are beginning to emerge into the sunshine.
There's something magical about the first days of spring. The sun starts to warm up, the breeze becomes gentler, and suddenly the nice is unleashed in people. Not that this is abnormal in Nova Scotia. People are just plain friendly here. More on that another day.
It's odd though. Not having slogged through a horrendous winter this year, I feel as if somehow we haven't earned all of this.
Walking was not fast enough, so we ran. Running was not fast enough, so we galloped. Galloping was not fast enough, so we sailed. Sailing was not fast enough, so we rolled merrily along on long metal tracks. Long metal tracks were not fast enough, so we drove. Driving was not fast enough, so we flew.
Flying isn't fast enough, not fast enough for us. We want to get there faster. Get where? Wherever we are not. But a human soul can only go as fast as a man can walk, they used to say. In that case, where are all the souls? Left behind. They wander here and there, slowly, dim lights flickering in the marshes at night, looking for us. But they're not nearly fast enough, not for us, we're way ahead of them, they'll never catch up. That's why we can go so fast: our souls don't weigh us down.
-- Margaret Atwood (Found courtesy of a dear friend.)
I write to Gabby about how I wish I could just take everyone I love with me wherever I go, and how it feels like my heart is scattered across the country. She writes back with words of understanding and wisdom: "I know the feelings that are torn between place and people though...if I could pile up all the ones I love and cart them away to my farm in Ontario, I'd be in Heaven on earth. The very idea of it almost hurts it would be so fantastic. But I will stay here, you will stay in Nova Scotia (for the time being, at least!), and my family will stay in Ontario, and we will continue to feel our hearts torn between places. Because that is the path that we have chosen, and one of the burdens we must bear."
I find myself missing Montreal. I find myself missing Wolfville when I'm not here. I find myself missing Alberta. I find myself missing Toronto, and Paris, and Dublin, and London. Sometimes I find myself missing places I have never been.
I constantly want to be somewhere else. Yet, I constantly want to be exactly where I am. I constantly miss people. Yet, I wouldn't want to leave the people I have here in order to be back with the people I have left.
I wonder what all this torn-ness is doing to my heart, to my soul.
Today was not a good day. I did have a lovely dinner with a friend, but aside from that there just wasn't much good going on. When life sucks and nothing seems to be going quite right, I find that searching out beauty and inspiration is one of the ways I can maintain my precarious grasp on sanity. Here are a few of the places I wander to online when I'm in need of a reminder of the good and beautiful things in life. I thought I'd share them with y'all so that you too could turn to them in moments of need.
A Cup of Jo - I visit this blog every single day, without fail. Every. Single. Day.
rockstar diaries - I'm obsessed with this blog. It is impossible for me to not be inspired by Taza's posts.
Clumsy, Creative Bliss - Gorgeous photography and a consistently positive outlook on life. This is a must-visit blog any time I'm feeling sapped.
wit + delight - Consistently reminds me why I appreciate the finer things in life, and how wonderful the simplest things can be.
Note to Self - Just a gorgeous blog. And the Monday quotations always resonate with me.
Nancy Straughan - The sheer volume of visual and artistic inspiration I find on this blog is astonishing.
thxthxthx - Because I find this concept absolutely delightful and Leah's view of the world is so wonderful.
Ring Them Bells - Witty. Funny. Touching. Slightly bizarre. Elizabeth is a delightful writer.
The Storialist - Ekphrastic poetry that is incisive and touching and challenging all at the same time. Hannah's discipline astonishes me.
Live Creating Yourself - Always something beautiful to be found on here.
from "Fontanelles"
Anne Michaels
The chemistry of looking;
to look until the river
swallows us, until the redness
of the stone fills our veins.
To look until we're
seen. But this is only longing.
We leave our heat shadows
in moss shocked with frost.
Even your camera
sees more; the detail you crave.
We strain to see even
what the camera sees,
what the eye can't; and this is as good
as a philosophy. An embrace
of failure, as if
just once, impossibly,
we'll catch the visible reflection
of what's invisible.
Our white breath in the dark.
How to photograph this,
the dark when one has said
too much. The dark of
sudden feeling. Love's
darkness.
Here's where the new blog name comes from. It's no secret that I seriously love Anne Michaels' work. She's one of the authors I am dealing with in my thesis. If I take a PhD, she will be one of the authors I deal with in my dissertation. So, it seems appropriate to select a phrase from one of her poems to define this blog. The ache, the longing, contained in this passage are the perfect description of how I feel about photography.
...when the only thing that will make things better is looking at cute pictures.
This week has been exhausting and it is only Tuesday. I'm only making it through because I have plans to meet up with friends every single day this week. It helps.
So, in case your life is shaping up to look anything like mine, here are some cute pictures to (hopefully) help you make it through. Exhibit A: A hawaiian rubber duck that was the wedding favour at one of the weddings I went to this summer. Exhibit B: An old post with some adorable dogs. Exhibit C: A picture of of a teeny tiny kitten. (I can't look at this without making odd squeaking sounds.)
Tonight I sat in one of the local pubs with a lovely person who is rapidly becoming one of my dearest friends out here. There was live music and good wine and delightful, meandering conversation. At some point our conversation turned to the future, to leaving Wolfville, and to the discomfort we both feel with that idea. This town is wonderful in so many ways. Of course it has it's problems. It's a small town. You run into people you would rather not see. Everybody knows everybody else's business. There's a lot of chatter, some of which is simply gossip. But it's also beautiful here. We talked about how this is the first point in our lives where when something goes horribly wrong our first instinct isn't to long to be back with our parents. There are places here that feel like home. I can go out. I can meet up with a friend. Basically, the things that would have made me feel like my world was ending only a year ago are now painful, but somehow more manageable. Thinking about leaving is unpleasant. This is a strange town though. Almost everyone here is in transition. None of this is permanent. Yes, there are people who actually live here, but for the most part people's time here comes with an expiry date. In some ways this impermanence is what allows for such a wonderful atmosphere here. Consequences are diminished somehow. But if the loveliness of living here is predicated on this transitory nature, then one can also outstay one's welcome. So staying sometimes seems impractical. How will the experience of the town change once all of my friends have left? We didn't really come to any conclusion, other than my feeble suggestion that perhaps we have reached a point in our lives where every decision we make means passing on something potentially wonderful. When I was trying to decide where to take my master's a very wise friend told me about her experience and said that no matter what decision I made I was always going to be missing out on something, but if I made a good decision then while I might wonder what would have happened if I'd chosen differently, I wouldn't be able to picture it any other way. I feel like this has become the case for every decision in my life. I just hope that I can continue to choose wisely, because right now I couldn't picture my life any other way.
It's late, but for the first time in many days I am not up because I can't sleep. Or rather, I am up because I can't sleep, but I can't sleep because I'm immersed in something creative, not because I'm having a panic attack about my future. I've been trying to assemble some submissions for a particular arts publication, so I've been editing up some poems and trying to select and title some photos. It's fun work. I've noticed something as I've been doing this though: the quality of light in my photos has changed since I've moved. Partly this is just normal seasonal shifts, but I think it also has to do with place. The light is different here in some fundamental way. I like it a lot.
When I decided to move out east I was frequently asked "Why would you want to move there?" (Most notably I was asked this by someone who was considering moving to Saskatchewan for a retail job...I asked him the same thing.) Well, this post is for all of you Albertan folks who couldn't fathom why I would want to come out here.
Consider today's weather in the afternoon:
Wolfville: 3C
Edmonton: -26C with -43C windchill
Friends, this may not be why I moved out here, but I sure am enjoying it.
(PS - We do now have some snow. Not a lot, but more than this photo.)
It's my birthday in 3 minutes!
Just a little somethin' somethin' for you all to enjoy. This is one of my favourite shots from a photo walk I took in early December.
Can't Go Back Now
The Weepies
Yesterday when you were young
Everything you needed done was done for you
Now you do it on your own
But you find you're all alone, what can you do?
You, and me, walk on, walk on, walk on
'Cause you can't go back now
You know there will be days
When you're so tired that you can't take another step
The night will have no stars
And you will think you've gone as far as you will ever get
You, and me, walk on, walk on, walk on
'Cause you can't go back now
Yeah, yeah
Go where you want to go
Yeah, yeah
Be what you want to be
If you ever turn around
You'll see me
I can't really say
Why everybody wishes they were somewhere else
But in the end the only steps that matter
Are the ones you take all by yourself
And you, and me, walk on, walk on, walk on
Yeah, you, and me, walk on, walk on, walk on
'Cause you can't go back now
Walk on, walk on, walk on
You can' go back now
I think if I had to pick a theme song for 2012, it would probably be this one.
I am now the only person in my program at school. It was never a big program, but the other two, for very good reasons, left over Christmas break. This was a weird realization, and to be quite honest the reality of it hasn't totally set in yet. I'm trying to make the best of it. After all, it's not like there is anything I can do. I just have to keep on trucking. But I'm also feeling a little bit exposed and insecure and just a little bit scared. I've always relied a little bit on my fellow students to keep my sane and grounded. There have always been people who could commiserate over stress levels, and that always made me feel less crazy. There have always been people to talk me down from the precipice of full-on panic attacks. So going it solo is a bit scary. It's like having the training wheels taken off before I'm really ready.
I look like a hot mess because I've been writing and editing hardcore for days now, but the thesis chapter (such as it is) is now handed in, which means it is officially Christmas break. Time to party (with lobster)!
At least for me, the writing process is a strange and prickly creature. I require a very specific set of conditions, all of which must be right, in order to be optimally productive while writing. The lighting has to be right (and this requirement changes based on location and time of day), there have to be enough people around (and this number changes based on my mood), there needs to be the right music playing (and what constitutes "right" changes based on season, mood, time of day), and there has to be some je ne sais quoi element that kicks in at exactly the right moment. Writing moods are unpredictable and almost impossible to create artificially. This, of course, is a bit of a problem for a student. Sadly my professors will not accept "There was a really loud, buzzing fluorescent light in the office" or "There was an obnoxious group of people meeting in the coffee shop" or "I couldn't find the right playlist" as reasons why my paper isn't done on time. And if you think those won't fly, just try to slip in a "For some reason I just couldn't get in a productive frame of mind." Seriously, try it. At the very least you will give your professor a very good laugh, and they need that just as much as you do at this point in the term. I seem to have found a relatively fail-safe combination for writing productivity: coffee shop (specifically Just Us, I don't think I could substitute another coffee shop in here) + excellent decaf soy lattes + a playlist heavy on the 100 Mile House. This seems to create a particular chemical reaction that trips the writing centres in my brain and allow me to crank out papers at a relatively rapid pace. The only downside to this is the fact that the coffee shop closes at 8 or 9. Then I'm cast out to try and find a new home. I have yet to discover the perfect kismet of circumstances for my post-coffee-shop writing and therefore am far less productive after I have to leave. Oh well. I'll figure it out eventually.
Sometimes you just have to focus on one thing at a time. That's what I've been doing lately and it is helping me keep my balance.
Hopeless Wanderer
Mumford and Sons
Hear my voice
I came out of the woods by choice
The shelter also gave us shade
And in the dark I have no name
So leave that click in my head
And I will remember the words that you said
Left a clouded mind and a heavy heart
But I am sure we will see a new start
So when your hope's on fire
But you know your desire
Don't hold a glass over the flame
Don't let your heart grow cold
I will call you by name
I will share your road
Wrestle long with my youth
We try so hard to live in the truth
But do not sell me your respite
When I lose my head I lose my spine
So leave that click in my head
And I must remember the words that you said
You brought me out from the cold
Now how I long, how I long to grow old
So when your hope's on fire
But you know your desire
Don't hold a glass over the flame
Don't let your heart grow cold
I will call you by name
I will share your road
Hold me fast
Hold me fast
'Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer
Hold me fast
Hold me fast
'Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer
And I will learn
I will learn
To love the the skies I wander
I will learn
I will learn
To love the skies I wander
The skies I wander
Thanks to Alaina over at Live Creating Yourself I have discovered that Mumford and Sons has been playing some of the new stuff off of their next album at their live shows. I am now totally obsessed with this song. I love Mumford and Sons and am super stoked for their next album to come out. This song has captivated me. I've probably listened to it a good 20 times in the last 24 hours. And that's with a full workday, time at the gym and a coffee date with a friend in there. This is everything that I love about Mumford and Sons. The instruments, the vocals (oh the vocals! I am literally temporarily paralyzed whenever they break into harmony.), the incredible lyrics. It is so so so good. Seriously. Take a listen. You won't regret it.
Phantom Limbs
Anne Michaels
"The face of the city changes more quickly, alas! than the mortal
heart."
- CHARLES BAUDELAIRE
So much of the city
is our bodies. Places in us
old light still slants through to.
Places that no longer exist but are full of feeling,
like phantom limbs.
Even the city carries ruins in its heart.
Longs to be touched in places
only it remembers.
Through the yellow hooves
of the ginkgo, parchment light;
in that apartment where I first
touched your shoulders under your sweater,
that October afternoon you left keys
in the fridge, milk on the table.
The yard - our moonlight motel -
where we slept summer's hottest nights,
on grass so cold it felt wet.
Behind us, freight trains crossed the city,
a steel banner, a noisy wall.
Now the hollow diad
floats behind glass
in office towers also haunted
by our voices.
Few buildings, few lives
are built so well
even their ruins are beautiful.
But we loved the abandoned distillery:
stone floors cracking under empty vats,
wooden floors half rotted into dirt,
stairs leading nowhere, high rooms
run through with swords of dusty light.
A place the rain still loved, its silver paint
on rusted things that had stopped moving it seemed, for us.
Closed rooms open only to weather,
pungent with soot and molasses,
scent-stung. A place
where everything too big to take apart
had been left behind.
I'm moving across the country in three weeks. This is both exciting and terrifying. I'm excited because I'm headed to a province I dearly love and find exceptionally beautiful. I'm terrified because I am moving somewhere that I know no one and am leaving behind the people who are dearest to me in the world.
It's funny how places retain the people who inhabit them. How a location can bring back a flood of memories. How going somewhere can make you remember someone who is long gone or who you haven't thought about in a long time. We leave impressions on places it seems; sometimes they are visible and sometimes they are invisible. We literally leave our mark on places with buildings and possessions, the kinds of things that archeologist uncover, but we leave a less tangible mark on a place. And a place leaves a mark on us. It's such a strange thing to ponder, but it's something I think about often, and all the more often as I wrench myself out of the place I grew up in.
I'm feeling a bit fragile right now.
I had an encounter tonight that painfully and achingly reminded me that as much as I would like to be strong and independent, something I even manage to achieve occasionally, I'm still pretty fragile. Last year took a heavy toll on me physically, mentally and emotionally. I forget that I have to be kind and gentle with myself still. The wounds are fresher than I would like to admit.
Here the Frailest Leaves of Me
Walt Whitman
Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting,
Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them,
And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.
This photo makes me think of hideaways. Cabins and forts. Places you can run to when you need to get away from the world. I'm at my parents' for the night. I just had an overwhelming need to get out of the apartment and away from campus. I guess I was kind of looking for a place to hide away from the world for a little while. This is exactly where I need to be right now. If only I didn't have to go back tomorrow...
