Lately my mood has been about as steady as a tiny sail boat trying to make it’s way through very turbulent waters, in hopes of reaching the other side. There are a few days of optimism, hope, and overall contentment, followed by a few days of pessimism and grief. I can’t help but wonder if we’re ever going to reach the other side, and if so, how long is it going to take? 

In considering this question, I have finally accepted a truth about myself that perhaps is a truth for a few of you, too. I say accepted because I think I’ve known this about myself for a long time, but I have quite successful disregarded it as something everyone goes through and is entirely inevitable as a human being. 

I am constantly, without fail, working towards one final end goal.

One destination, at which point I can finally plant my feet and say, “Well, here I am, I’ve made it”. I think the most interesting aspect of this is that I can’t even verbalize what this end goal looks like. I can not at all describe in detail this final destination or resting place. All I can tell you is that where ever it is, I’m incredibly happy and fulfilled. Kind of like dreaming; you know the feeling but the details are never quite distinguishable. Maybe I haven’t allowed myself the luxury of thinking about the details in case they never happen. Because then I would have to say that I didn’t get what I wanted, and that sounds awfully regretful. Or maybe I don’t know the details because it just hasn’t happened yet, and as a product of our ever changing and increasingly dynamic lives, it’s impossible to ever whole heartedly envision your future, the way you would have it. 

My constant pursuit of a steady state, in a life that has only ever experienced mere moments of steadiness, has led me to feel as if I am falling short. There isn’t anything that goes without change. People, places, relationships, passions, love. Everything is unpredictable and forever on the verge of making something new, and inevitably something old. Expecting my life, upon meeting a certain level of happiness or success or wholeness, to remain the same and unchanging from there on out is just plain unrealistic. Regardless, I continue to fool myself into believing it’s possible. 

Allowing myself to experience the moments, the people who enter and leave my life, the success that I achieve and the failures I am forced to face, the overwhelming happiness and bitter sadness. It’s as if my life is compiled into a bunch of little chapters, a bunch of little lives that have led me here. The only constant is me. The details can only be written after the fact, and embracing change is the survival guide. 

I have come to acknowledge that change is liberating. Change gives us hope that soon the bad times will become good again. It gives us a profound humbling in that the good times truly are good, and potentially fleeting. This is both comforting and disheartening, depending on how you choose to look at it.

From where I’m standing, tomorrow things will be different. You can count on it.

Melinda 

Tonight, I was pleasantly strolling home from work, in a way that only people with no where to go or anything to do or anyone to see can stroll. It’s a true form of strolling that I have mastered and revert back to every chance I get.

There’s a bar on my way home that is constantly playing music that you can hear from the sidewalk, even at ten o’clock on Sunday morning. Tonight, at the moment that I strolled by, Nickelback was polluting the air. Nickelback jokes are always fun, and somehow manage to make even the most tone deaf feel great about themselves. Nickelback, as mediocre as they might be, can sometimes mean something a little different to me and tonight, in the middle of a busy sidewalk on Bloor, that song made me feel fourteen again.

Before I knew my parents would be getting divorced, in the time when all the tiny details are being worked out, when everything seems to be the most obvious secret, when kids are the last to be filled in, I was ‘temporarily’ living at my Grandmothers. We had been here before, and this situation wasn’t something entirely derailing because, for me, it was a precarious situation that I found familiarity in, a certain familiarity that made it stable. And besides, I thoroughly enjoyed extended stays at Grandmas. The room I stayed in had a CD player, and I had managed to find a Nickelback CD somewhere around the house that is filled with vinyl.  At home I had all of my CD’s and my CD player, in my basement. But at fourteen and at Grandma’s, Nickelback was good enough. A lot of things were ‘good enough’.
So I listened to Nickelback. I listened in the morning before going to school, and I listened at night before going to bed. It was me and the sweet sounds of Nickelback.
When our stay extended, and the precarious situation finally held true meaning, Nickelback was still there. When I ran from my parent’s home back to my Grandma’s because I was so angry I wanted to make them worry, Nickelback was there. When I learned my house was going to be sold, Nickelback was there for hours. And when realization finally settled, Nickelback was waiting.

I don’t remember when I finally made the bold step to bring my CD collection to my Grandmother’s house. I don’t remember the last CD I listened to in my parent’s house. I don’t even remember the last moment I stood in my childhood home. I do remember listening to one particular Nickelback CD for an embarrassing amount of time. I remember exactly how I felt during that time, and I remember the moment I decided to not feel like that anymore. Nickelback is my reminder.

From where I’m standing, I am wholly grateful for the decisions my parent’s have made. Spending my teenage years with my Grandmother has been the greatest gift they could have given me. All I had to do was listen to a lifetime of Nickelback. My ears will burn forever (That was a Nickelback joke, now you can all laugh). 

Melinda 

I wrote this and it seems to be forever ago because the person who wrote this is inevitably different from the person who just read it, 5 months later. Although I no longer feel quite the same as when I decided to write this, the sentiment is still there….  

Today, on my way into the Bathurst subway station, in all my usual hustle and bustle I managed to grab one of those “flip through me mindlessly while you mindlessly ride the subway and mindlessly pretend like no one else exists” free morning papers. As I was enjoying my mindless commute, a bomb was dropped. I turned the page and fell victim to memories that I think I’ve been trying to burry. The headline “Beached Whale South of Santiago, Chile” made my heart skip a beat. Last year this heart palpitation would have been caused by the grotesque picture that accompanied the sad headline; this year my reaction was directed towards the words “Santiago, Chile”.
Prior to last summer, Santiago held no more meaning to me than a simple Spanish-sounding word. Now it encompasses a slew of potential experiences that had the potential to be life-changing, a period of time that was supposed to be so exciting, and a person that I wish could still mean as much to me. But things happen, and realization settles upon us, and plans dissolve. And everything I wanted for us didn’t end up happening. But regardless, just like that, I’m a new person. I’m someone who feels tied to a city I’ve never seen, a language I can’t comprehend, and a person I’ll probably never see again.

The train stopped. And I emerged from underground to greet my friend and the city that I call home, in a language I know so well.

From where I’m standing, I’m right where I should be. Regardless of where I thought I would be.

Melinda
Toronto
Bon Iver-I can’t make you love me 

Sometimes all it takes is the freshness of crisp air. The freshness that stems from the beginning of a new day, a new week, a new month. At times all it takes is the sunshine that slaps you in the face when you step outside. The sunshine that sneaks past the clouds, or out from around the towering buildings. Other times all it takes is a long slow walk. The kind of walk that happens when you don’t have someone waiting for you or a deadline to meet. Occasionally all it takes is an unfamiliar neighbourhood. The unfamiliar neighbourhood that forces fresh eyes and makes you notice all the little things. Often all it takes is finding a new place. A new place to just be. 

Usually it just takes a reason to wake up early enough. Today that reason was school, and for the first time in months, I’m glad. Because sometimes all it takes is a few moments to make a day just great.

From where I’m standing, that was refreshing.

Melinda
Location: Dark Horse, TO
Music: Birdy-Young Blood cover  

Welcome to 2012 everyone! I find that as a new year is trying to make a beginning for itself, I’m usually found still pondering the year that has past with all its triumphs and disappointments, and happiness and heartbreak. It takes me a few days to adjust my focus to the year that is upon us, but I always find my way to the present eventually. This year I took 10 days to find 2012. It should come without surprise that new years day I read my twenty eleven post in which, being true to my character, I took a stroll through my high school years, and openly admitted to not doing anything noteworthy for the past 3 years as a university person. Along with a few pretty average resolution (all of which were unsuccessfully resolved, and so naturally I thought of all the same average resolutions for this year), last year I decided the most important thing to do was to make 2011 memorable. To leave no stone unturned, and nothing left to “what-if”, and to never feel mediocre so that I could confidently say with a smile or a frown or a tear in my eye, “I did that in 2011”. Twelve months later, I think I can say I made 2011 exactly what I hoped it would be, memorable.

• I finished a short story that I started a year prior and abandoned for no good reason. Having it complete, with a title and my name on it, means everything to me if to no one else.
• I completed and received my Bachelor of Science from McMaster University. It now hangs on my wall as a reminder of exactly what I was doing during those three years that I so wrongly deemed unmentionable a year ago. It was three years that I got to spend with some of my very best friends, in a place that I’ve never felt so out of place, but in the only place that would so entirely help me find my place. It was three years that were completely life changing.
• I was accepted to Ryerson University’s Nursing program, and it was the first time I cried because I was happy and overwhelmed and validated. And it was in the Health Sci Library at McMaster, but that’s another (mortifying) story. 
• I moved home this summer, probably for the last time, and it really was everything summer at home is best for. 
• I loved someone, and I let someone I loved go. But the important thing is that I loved. 
• I moved to Toronto, and found my place, and I’ve never felt so sure.

So 2011 was great, and revitalizing. It filled me up with both happiness and sadness, but it filled me up nonetheless. 

With my focus to the year a head, I am excited. And that is a feeling that I keep coming back to in these first few days of endless potential. Everything will happen, and anything could be, and I think that deserves all the hopeful excitement we can muster.  I wish all of you a year that allows you to feel excited, about anything and everything. 

From where I’m standing, I’m excited for the todays of 2012.

Melinda

Ridiculous action of the day: As part of my efforts to do anything but study for finals (which are actually just midterms on steroids because all of my classes are a full year), I decided to look into post-grad programs. Being an older and far wiser version of myself compared to when I initially started out on this never-ending university journey, I realize caring about grades has to start in the very first semester. This being my second very first semester, I know all too well how much one semester of shitty marks can royally fuck your university life. This being said- Up until now, very little caring about marks has occurred. I’ve been coasting- It’s what I’ve discovered I do best.  Until today! The amazing sounding post-grad nursing program at McGill requires a GPA of at least 3.2. For those of you who don’t know GPA, all you need to know is a 3.2 does not happen while coasting- not a chance. This obscene action of fast-forwarding way into the future as an attempt to put off studying has now become the motivational kick-in-the-pants I needed. I’m upset I spent 30 minutes researching my distant future because it entirely depends on what I do in the present. How fucked up is that!

Every happiness-seeking person ever has always said to live in the moment, for right now. But it’s also highly encouraged to have goals and dreams. But in order to have goals and dreams that actually have a chance of making it to fruition, you have to constantly be looking to your future in order to know how to make it there; what exactly is required in the present to make those dreams a future reality. So maybe it’s finding a fine balance between the Right Now and the What May Be. All I know for sure is that nothing is found in the past but lessons learned. So look ahead, or right where you are, but not one or the other for too long. Remember to constantly adjust your view.        

Ridiculous thought of the day: I can get a 3.2 GPA. Worth a try I suppose.

From where I’m standing, today was a “From where I will be standing kind of day”.

Melinda

One day last week was a particularly hard day. For no particular reason at all. With all the things that happen in a day, that you really need to just brush off to maintain some kind of sanity, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t be okay with things that I was just not okay with.

I was scolded in class. Scolded, in my university class, for laughing at a joke that the TA made. Maybe laughing at the TA is more accurate. Apparently now we not only discourage laughing, but we put a limit on the amount of allowable laughing when it does occur. I say fuck that. There’s far too little laughing, and I will never apologize for enjoyment, inappropriate or not. 

Soon after, I met with my English prof to attempt to provide an explanation for the topic of my essay on Bridget Jones Diary. She told me I was being unclear. I was attempting the impossible trying to make her see things from my side, which was completely opposite to how she views the book. And I just wanted to scream that I don’t care about this bullshit piece of pop literature that is written in barely comprehensible diary format. But instead, I said “I’ll just do Suggested Essay Topic Number 7”. She said “Excellent”. And I hurried to the elevator because I had the overwhelming urge to cry.  Yesterday I spent a mere 8 hours on Suggested Essay Topic Number 7, and today I handed in Suggested Essay Topic Number 7.  And that’s the end of that. 

Looking back, I don’t know why certain things managed to get to me that day. Now I find it all rather funny, ironically enough.

From where I’m standing, laugh it off…. You might get scolded but its so worth it.

Melinda  

Last week, my friend finally successfully persuaded me to be proactive with my health and go to the gym with her. If you want to convince me to do anything, guilt is the way to go. Going to the gym is now a foreign thing to me, Melinda in Toronto is not a gym goer. But she got me there. Now, you should realize something about me. If you don’t already know so, I’m usually always ungracefully doing a thousand things at once, and my life is next to never forgiving. So I showed up at the gym looking to meet my friend, with my backpack on and a few extra bags hanging from my arms, and my coat unzipped, and my phone pressed to my ear while both laughing and telling a good friend about the man with tourrets in the Eaton center (inappropriate?), all while shuffle through all my shit to find my student card which was apparently at the bottom of one particular bag. Like I said, graceful.

Nevertheless, we made it to the gym. We ran around the indoor track, oh about a thousand times, me perpetually 10 strides behind my friend but still doing my best to tell her about the man with tourrets, his Boston cream donuts, and the overall jadedness of Torontonians. Then I did a million core exercises, my friend doing 2 million, all before my complaining became enough for us to decide we were healthy enough and we should go eat lunch.

We showered and sauna-ed, even though I don’t overly enjoy sitting in hot rooms with naked people. Then I got ready annoyingly slow while mindlessly talking about some bullshit and eat baby carrots. I continued to eat baby carrots (and dip) while walking to the subway and carrying my life with me in all my bags. When we finally got home, I went to look for my phone. After completely turning my room upside down and not finding it anywhere, I felt a little sick. After my friend calling it only to find that it had been turned off or the sim card taken out, I felt a lot sick. Once realizing I would have no way to contact the person I was supposed to be meeting for a kind of-almost-maybe date and I could potentially be left standing in the rain alone with no phone I felt overwhelmingly sick. So I decided to just lay in my bed, for a long time, until my friend convinced me to just go and realize that life goes on without a phone. So I accepted the loss, noted that it sucked, went to my kind of-almost-maybe date, had a bunch o’fun and stayed out way later than expected because I didn’t have a phone to remind me of the time.

I woke up the next day ready to say goodbye to the little bit of savings I’ve accumulated, only to find a message from my friend saying that the gym had my phone, it was very much alive and well, and I should go pick it up. The amount of happiness this made me feel is disgusting.

Today I went back to the gym, with my phone duck taped to my abdomen, and successful convinced myself that being healthy is fun for a solid two hours. I came home, with my phone, and had some chocolate pudding.    

From where I’m standing, there are such things as good people and good things do happen sometimes, and we have no reason to be anything but hopeful. And I need to stop being such a half-wit fuck.