Now.

Meg Jay “30 is not the new 20″ really resonated with me:

http://www.ted.com/talks/meg_jay_why_30_is_not_the_new_20.html

• 80% of life’s most defining moments occur before age 35
• The first 10 years of your career impacts how much money you make overall
• More than half of us are married or common law by age 30
• Personality changes more during your 20′s than any other period in life.
• Female fertility peaks at age 28.

My immediate reaction was that of panic despite that I wasn’t listening to brand new information. Like many of my peers, I have fallen victim to complacency. I’m meandering along that which is the “right path”; I’m just proceeding so slowly and sometimes I turn around and head back to the start. I talk alot (as evidenced through my blog!) but I am hesitent to act. Most of the time I don’t behave with any sense of ambition or urgency and my default option becomes “…tomorrow..” however I must acknowledge that this reponse has a finite use.

The emphasis on this TED talk is to basically gain identity capital and do lots of new things, but make sure they are meaningful and will count towards the bigger picture. I want to start thinking seriously about some of the things I’m constantly saying that I might enjoy, I just never get around to doing them

A stolen life

Last night I read “A Stolen Life” from cover to cover. I am both disturbed and heartbroken while reading what happened to Jaycee Dugard during her 18 years of captivity. I remember when I heard this story on the news a couple years back, and I came across her novel at the book store earlier in the week. She was abducted as an 11 year old girl and shut off from the world, living in Phillip and Nancy Garrido’s back yard. She was raped almost on a daily basis and gave birth to her first child when she was barely 14 years old.

She endured 18 years of this. This is very difficult for me to wrap my head around how one could survive such an ordeal. I imagine she must feel very liberated now that she is free and Phillip and Nancy are behind bars, however I also imagine that no amount of therapy could ever totally fix what happened to her and her children (whom were 15 and 11 years old by the time they were all found). I would be so angry with the world. Angry towards the people who abducted me. Angry that I did not get to choose the father of my children. Angry towards various law enforcement personnel that could have prevented this situation.

Even more recent in the news, Ariel Castro was discovered in Cleveland to have abducted three women and kept them prisoner for ten years. These are heart wrenching stories but usually people like me who only hear about them through the six o’clock news can only feel sorrow in the moment, and then it often becomes forgotten. I wonder how hard it was for her to write this story, but I think it was important to her to tell her story as a means to heal and move on.

Other memoirs I’ve read during the past year come to mind (Wild by Cheryl Strayed, Gypsy Boy by Mikey Walsh, and Something Fierce by Carmen Aguirre). As a reader, writer, and someone who constantly finds themselves struggling with my own inner demons, reading memoirs makes me feel emotional yet connected to something much larger. I feel sad about what hardships people endure, but it also leaves me hopeful that we have the ability to rise strong and we can talk about it, write about it, turn it into art, and other people want to hear our stories and some people can even relate or feel inspired.

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If or when I do start going to an analyst, I hope to God he has the foresight to let a dermatologist sit in on the consultation. A hand specialist. I have scars on my hands from touching certain people. Once, in the park, when Franny was still in the carriage, I put my hand on the downy pate of her head and left it there too long. Another time, at Loew’s Seventy-second Street, with Zooey during a spooky movie. He was about six or seven, and he went under the seat to avoid watching a scary scene. I put my hand on his head. Certain heads, certain colors and textures of human hair leave permanent marks on me. Other things, too. Charlotte once ran away from me, outside the studio, and I grabbed her dress to stop her, to keep her near me. A yellow cotton dress I loved because it was too long for her. I still have a lemon-yellow mark on the palm of my right hand. Oh, God, if I’m anything by a clinical name, I’m a kind of paranoiac in reverse, I suspect people of plotting to make me happy.

The man responsible for Plaid Shirts.

I’m hunched over my laptop wearing nothing but a towel even though I got out of the shower hours ago and my hair is now dry. I donated blood again tonight so I feel I’ve earned an excuse to be lacking in energy and unable to pursue anything productive, including using a can opener on my dinner. Every time I donate blood I always imagine getting drunk afterwards because my blood is probably so thin that a glass of wine would do the trick, but at the same time reaching for a bottle after donating blood would probably negate any good karma points. Instead I devoured an entire full-size bag of Doritos and now that my cat has finished licking my fingers clean, I’m fit to type my heart’s desire.

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I was really impressed that BC NDP leader Adrian Dix released this April Fool’s spoof political commercial (check it out here). My interest in this years provincial election has been on the same level as the attention I give baseball, telemarketers, children, and my laundry (so basically, zip). However I have noticed that the tainted Liberal party has chosen to rely on negative ad campaigns to try to retain any voters they may have left. They say (whoever “they” is?) that negative ad campaigns are actually effective… but I disagree. I think any educated voter is more receptive to hearing each candidate’s platform and rationalization on solutions towards key issues. Personally I’m really put off by negative ads. Unfortunately not everyone is an educated voter… in which case, just vote for whichever MLA’s name you can pronounce best. I commend Dix for vowing to run a clean campaign, and so far he has done that.

Christy Clark and her Liberal party keep referring back to these scandal’s of the 90′s which the blame apparently rests on Adrian Dix. Since I wasn’t even 10 years old at that time, I had to look the history online. I’m still not clear on what the issue was but it had something to do with Dix backdating a memo intended to absolve then premier Glen Clark of any involvement in the Pilarinous casino scandal. Dix admitted his mistake, and resigned. This was 15 years ago. People have gone to jail for murder for less time, and live free in society today. We give them a second chance, how about our friend Dix?

If anything, I’m more inclined to believe and trust in Adrian Dix. This is a guy we can all relate to, he made a mistake. He has seen how a political career can come to a sudden halt and I’m betting he won’t allow the same mistake to happen twice.

Regardless of the memo scandal of the 90′s what puzzles me most about Christy Clark’s fascination with this time period is that it makes no sense. The 18 year old who can cast his or her first vote would have been in diapers when Dix was tinkering with government documents. The young voter is going to care about what is going on at present and future of this province and this person is just going to shrug in indifference during the commercials authorized by the Liberal party.  Don’t get me wrong I love a good scandal, but I prefer to debate something relevant, like Christy Clark’s scheme to entice ethnic voters or the reasons behind the resignations of several of her members of cabinet.

My mind isn’t made up yet on who I’ll be casting my vote for on May 14th but I am certain it won’t be for Christy Clark.  Since I’m apathetic I might not even vote, or maybe I’ll be really worked up on election day and I’ll spoil my ballot in a display of passive-aggressive defiance. An argument could be made in favor or in opposition of the Liberals, or any party for that matter, but it all comes down to the timing for change. The Liberals have been in power for over a decade and with power comes scrutiny. The media has done a great job of pointing the finger and planting the seeds of doubt in the public mind especially since the departure of Gordon Campbell. Us British Columbians are now united with contempt for our government and hopefully we can all work as a team towards making this province a better place for the next 5-10 years until we hate the next government.

At the end of the day…. don’t blame me, I voted for Kodos.

Dark side of the moon.

“A mind that is shaped by a new experience can never go back to it’s old dimensions” – Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr

The appropriate counter-cliche would be Ignorance is bliss.

Somewhere in my storage locker there is a box that contains different media from when I was a kid. In that box there is a diary and I remember one entry in particular. The handwriting with it’s exaggerated loops crosses and dots, barley conforms to the lines, says “I hate 1994″. (1994 was the year my family moved from smalltown Salmo to the lower mainland)

I grew up in a really small town but it was all I knew and I was a typical carefree child who didn’t want to leave my friends and school behind to move 8 hours west and start over. In those days there was no email or FaceTime and the only way to keep in touch was with a letter so moving away truly was saying goodbye.

I wonder how my life might have been different if I had never been exposed to coastal British Columbia. Even though nowadays I spend a lot of time sitting in my apartment or puttering around town, I am within such proximity of possibility. Each day’s outcome could be completely different depending on whether I drive west or east down the highway.

The funny thing is…the small town folk probably think the city folk have it all, but there are people like me who are constantly longing for more. Mountains, rivers, lakes, camping, mega shopping centers, sports, concerts, nightclubs are no longer enough now that I’ve lived here for over 15 years.

Coincidentally, my favorite band when I was a kid was Pink Floyd. 2013 is the 40th year anniversary of the album Dark Side of the Moon. The album cover photo is basically the same as my graphic above and the collection of tracks share a common theme of inner conflict, mundanity, aging, and mental instability.

make a note for the lump that sits inside your throat

My iPod selections were leaving me musically unfulfilled so I resolved to download a collection of random artists based on what was on the charts on CFOX.

I am in love with this band. Atlas Genius. The group’s debut album is called When it Was Now.

There’s something special to be found within this music.  These songs evoke feelings of my past, present, and future. Each track reminds me of somewhere I have been or maybe somewhere I am going. My inner egoist stars in the music videos I create in my head as I continuously click ‘repeat’ on my music player.

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Electric

I’m standing on the balcony of a high-rise apartment in the West End. My bottom lip is resting on the rim of my wine glass and I’m pensive.  It’s a weeknight and I’ve stepped beyond the borders surrounding a predictable life with cautious optimism. My mind races with the possibilities of our next 10 years of our life but… As I defend and you deny I can’t tell what you like It’s just the thoughts or so it seemed

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Trojans

I’m pedaling my bicycle allowing the breeze and sunshine to cleanse me of sin and ahead of me is the path to infinity. I wonder how different my personal relationships would be if the conversations I imagine having with people actually happened in real life instead of my subconscious.  I’m pedaling my bicycle far from what is literally home, but my heart belongs here. I can Change it all but can’t change what we’ve been.

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All these girls

My bag is packed with important things: a good book, socks, and forgiveness. Dark sunglasses conceal any emotions my eyes might give away when you look at me when I get off the plane. How high is what I said when you asked me to jump and I’m leaping off a ledge into something unknown. World’s apart I fell right into you

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Battery drain.

The clock. The computer screen. My cell phone. My toes poking out from the other end of my  bedsheets.

My eyes gaze methodically from one distraction to the other in anticipation that they will rest upon a source of clarity. Should I go to bed. Should I write something intelligent. Should I give up looking at my phone because nothing in the world of social media has changed in the past 15 seconds. Should I stop flexing my left heel, with every motion I can feel the built-up fluids surrounding my strained achilles tendon and my brow furrows; I don’t want to end up wrinkled at such a young age.

My laptop battery has depleted 10% and I am still staring at the screen.

I’ve been exposed to a few “blast from the past” encounters recently. There’s the people who never change, as well as the people who have changed so much I feel like I never knew them. For example, there was “L”. My partner in crime when I was barely a teenager. We were each other’s bad influence. After a rough school year of meandering the wrong path I smartened up, turned course, and became an academic. On the other hand she shaved her head, pierced everything, wore black lipstick, became a lesbian, and dropped out of school. Today, “L” is happily married (to a man), has children, long hair, and there isn’t so much of a hint to her past life.

Then there’s “N” who did a stint in rehab (not overly surprised) and “J” who’s still dating the wrong girls (again, not overly surprised)

How do some people have the capacity for great change, and the rest of us are still playing the same predictable hands?

If someone asked me “are you still doing ____________ ” my answer to any possibility would probably be “yes”.

I’m not sure I have a point to make here, I just find this puzzling.

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I’ll post a link to a TED talk below, I’ve long awaited this one. Prior to the 2010 Olympics, I had no idea who Shane Koyzcan was. He’s a brilliant and talented spoken word poet; he participated in the opening ceremonies and I’ve followed his work ever since. I was glad to learn he would be presenting at TED.

The combination of language and theatrics that is spoken word poetry both fascinates me and intimidates me. I wish I could be that articulate.  I’m barely capable of stringing together one sentence in front of a group of colleges in a meeting setting and when I write in my blog or otherwise I press delete more times than I press any other key. Some of the thoughts and ideas floating around my head have the potential to be influential but I can never organize them and express them in such a way that one could ever understand. Although, I suspect we all share the same problem… just most of us don’t care.

“I will love myself despite the ease to which I lean towards the opposite”