I ♥ Rainbows

I arrived home today a tad pooped thanks to a horrid night’s sleep and the general toll that Mondays can have on a person.  I promptly threw off my work clothes and jumped into my pjs, ready to chill out for the remainder of the evening.  When I opened my fridge to heat some leftovers for supper, I noticed that all I had available for lunch tomorrow was a solitary red pepper, some badly wilted spinach and yogurt.

Despite my ability to rationalize staying in on just about any evening, I decided that I needed more substance for my meals this week, so I grudgingly threw some street clothes on and made my way to the nearest grocery store, noticing some ominous clouds making their way towards my part of town.

Once I had completed my power shop, I exited the store to discover that rain had started to fall but the sun was still shining  brightly (one of my favorite things).  I crossed the street and turned around to see a massive rainbow arcing from downtown all the way over the buildings in front of me and down the perpendicular street.  There were people stopped up and down the roads pointing and commenting.  Above the sounds of city traffic, there was a collective murmur of awe and appreciation.  It was beautiful.

Even without all the dramatic descriptors, we all know how I feel about rainbows, so I followed my instincts and whipped out my cell phone ready to take a picture as a keepsake.  I frantically started button mashing and it jammed up, unable to function with my anxious haste.  Disappointed, I rushed home, threw all of my purchases in the fridge, grabbed my camera and then raced outside to try to get a picture of the gloriousness which had graced me just a few moments earlier.

Sadly, the rainbow had all but disappeared by the time I made it to the park across the street but the smell of the rain lingered along with the memory of the almost picture perfect end to an otherwise normal day.

Oh yeah, about that Journalism thing..

Not too long ago, I cringed when someone referred to me as a writer.  For some reason, it really bothered me.  I love to write and I’ve done it for years but it’s something I’ve never been able to identify myself as.  Perhaps it’s because I have a more limited view regarding what a writer is or what my abilities are.  I don’t think I need to write professionally to be a writer but at the same time, I don’t know how else I could transition from my persona as ‘someone who likes to write’ to a title which to me, holds more merit and esteem.

When I moved to Montreal, I did it under the premise that I was going to go to Journalism school.  I had finally found a career where I could combine my two greatest passions in life (writing and travel) and get paid for it.  I had grandiose dreams of all the places I would go, people I would meet and things I could write about…  But long before I had received my rejection letter in the mail, I had decided that Journalism was not something which suited me as well as I had originally thought.

While reading newspapers and magazines, I would see the very linear and monotone methods of reporting events and it simply didn’t appeal to me.  What I wanted to focus on were the more on editorial or column-type topics.  It was disheartening when I came to realize that not only is Journalism a dying industry but very few professionals ever make it to the level of writing which I so desperately thought I wanted to do.

I revisited the feelings which I had when I did some professional writing in the past. Although I had been told I had creative control, it was frequently pulled out from under me as there were just too many administrative items which needed to be included.  It was never anyone’s fault but it bothered me that I would pour my heart out into a really great article, which would then end up in the recycle bin and never be published.  I didn’t want to do that again.  If I was going to write, it had to be on my own accord.

As time progressed, I also realized that when I write, it’s more of a hobby rather than a career goal.  I enjoy writing in my leisure time and about topics which are relevant to me.  It’s a purely selfish pursuit which I don’t expect others to always appreciate.  I didn’t want to write on someone else’s agenda because I feel that whenever I do, the end result comes out contrived and convoluted.

My final revelation which became glaringly apparent is that I often use writing as a means of therapy.  I’ve never seen a counselor, nor do I plan to, but I believe that this is why my blogs sometimes present in a self-pitying tone.  It’s not that I’m depressed or seeking sympathy from others, it’s just that writing is often my means of venting.  Once words have been laid, they rest there and I feel cleansed.  I believe that this is the majority of the reason that since beginning my blog, my journaling has taken a rapid decline.  I now purge my thoughts for the world to see rather than keeping them in a password-protected .doc file.  It’s exposing but comforting at the same time.

It was while talking with my Mom one day that I finally admitted something which I had thought to be true for quite some time but had never so much as whispered to anyone:  I believe that I dreamed my dream of Journalism school as a reason to leave Edmonton.  The dream gave me a place to go and a goal to reach.   It was perhaps an excuse but one which people would understand and accept.  It was if I knew deep in the catacombs of my heart that if I said I needed to leave, just for the sake of leaving, that I would have encountered a lot more resistance from those who care about me.  I also know that for me, a very goal-oriented person, there was a need for something tangible to hold onto while I dove into the unknown.  I guess we all need our safety nets (whether perceived or real) from time to time.

Ironically, I now live a mere three blocks from the school which I once hoped to attend.  I pass by it often but only sometimes giving it a second glance.  Its relevance in my life is monumental yet hardly worth consideration.  I find it so amazing that time has a unique ability to show us how translucent our dreams can be while still leading us home.

Mr. Lobster Claws

I like nerds. I date them a lot. My two serious relationships were both with nerdy-types. I’m not sure what it is about them but it is one pattern that I follow regularly.

I have my limits though and Mr. Lobster Claws broke through them without a backwards glance.

Over a year ago, I met Mr. LC on a dating website. Through various e-communications, I was fairly certain that we wouldn’t be a match romantically but I thought he was worth a shot and I was definitely open to a friendship if nothing else.

We met up one winter’s eve and went out to a very casual resto and had a very casual conversation. We had much in common but my initial impression was correct and a friendship was all that would ever come of it.

After a couple of hours of chatting, we were both gearing up to call it a night when he brought up a movie screenplay which he had been working on… a movie about psychic lobsters with razor blade claws.

I repeat, a movie about psychic lobsters with razor blade claws.

He got so excited about it that he told me nearly every last detail over the following 45 minutes…  I think there was some stuff about lasers too but I spaced out after realizing that I wouldn’t get a word in edgewise until he was done his tale of radioactive genetic mutations.  I know there was much more to it but my mind has dropped the strange and quirky details since.

Eventually, I was able to tame down his excitement about his project and was redirect his attention to the fact that we had been wearing our jackets and ready to leave for nearly an hour.  We parted ways and that was that.

I actually had a friend who shared this story as comic relief when he was on a date that wasn’t going well.  Sadly, his date thought he made it up because in her mind, there was no way such a story could exist in real life.  It ended the date then and there.  Maybe I should have passed on Mr. LC’s number so she could see for herself.

So yes… there is nerdy and then there’s too nerdy.  Even in my world.  Needless to say, Mr. LC and I never spoke again. C’est la vie.

It’s not easy being green

I’m not good at dating. This comes as no surprise to me and likely to most people I know but it bears enough importance that I feel the need to blog about it.

In what way am I failing? I can’t commit.

I’m not sure of the reasons why I’m unable to do so but I think they can mostly be summed up by saying this: I have yet to find the right one.

I’ve found potential mates on websites, I’ve gone speed dating and I’ve dated friends as well of friends of friends but each time, it ends. Granted, things always end for different reasons but I’ve noticed that with the exception of my jaunt over to Europe, many of the almost-relationships I’ve had over the last few years come to a screeching halt when I can’t envision myself spending my life with that one individual.

I am constantly reminded of a couple of friends back home who would discuss their inability to commit and how it stems from a belief that humans are not designed for monogamy. I always found this belief scary and bordering on an excuse to run from things which hold the potential to cause pain but as I look back at my patterns, I wonder… am I not destined to spend my life with one person?

I’m not suggesting that I should live a life of promiscuity or polygamy but at the same time, long term commitments are something which I am unable to fathom right now. It’s a bizarre and threatening realization which makes me contemplative and concerned that I may be a crazy cat lady in the making (but I am allergic to cats, so I may collect plants instead).

Regardless, I’ve come to accept that I need to take a break from my random and poorly thought out attempts at finding love. I need to concentrate on my future endeavors regarding career, travel and leisure. I also need to refocus my attention onto my reasons for making my move across the country, namely to find myself and figure out what makes me tick. It’s an arduous process but one which requires completion.

In the meantime, I’ll be sharing some of my dating horror stories over the last couple of years but I will likely only share the cringe-worthy. I want to protect the innocent and be respectful because intermingled with the bad, there were also a couple of really good people who didn’t quite fit into my world. They deserve better than to have a smear campaign on my blog and believe it or not, there are some things which I prefer to keep to myself.

Be well. xo