As of late, the weather has been devastatingly delightful and we've been spending every single moment outside. This means classes are outside, break times are spent in the sunshine (and kids are not being appropriately punished: so what?), lunch hours (35 minutes, let's be frank) are basked in daylight. Phew. It's been a long time coming.
Though I have a pretty substantial backyard ("garden" as the English say, though I can't really get over the expression, "we had dinner in the garden last night". IN the garden? In the dirt? It's hard to accept), it's not all that comfortable. These look far more inviting...
and the fact that I just completed Week 4 (of 13) of P90X in mind, I present to you what I just got suckered into signing up for on the last weekend of my year here in England.
My little cousin got married tonight. Sigh. I remember when she was on my grandparent's balcony, singing a song about cucumbers. I also recall the cutest little picture ever of her in a car seat, while her doting sister, posed in a charming, like only the red-headed gals can, ear-to-ear smile, protectively stood above her. I hate those "seems like only yesterday" comments, so I'll stop now. She looks happy (and beautiful!) and so does her new husband. That's what it's all about, isn't it?
My best friend, Laura, hates it when I quote the Weepies. Perhaps she doesn't know I'm quoting them when I say, "I want to live a simple life." Laura says that lives are for making an impact and being the change you want to see in the world, not for simplicity. But it's something more than that for me. After this long, involved story, you'll see that it's not an easy life I seek, but a clear, focused, and self-manifested one. It's different than easy...it's a life I've made for myself.
You see, I always had
this image, this vision, of my Future Home.It was a condo, but not a loft.It was spacious in that the large living room dominated the
main space, but it wasn’t huge.I
have a rather white-ish coloured couch with many a throw on top of it.There are doors that lead outside
behind the couch.On the hardwood,
there is an impressive Persian rug.It is red with flecks of gold.There is a soft yellow reading lamp that is illuminating what I can see
my Future Self reading: a magazine.There is jazz music playing in the background and the atmosphere is
warm-hearted, inviting, and quiet.It is a quiet life upon which I am looking.It’s the life I’ve always dreamed of living.I look very happy: I look like I belong
there.I always thought that in
order to get this home, I would need to depend on someone else to provide it
for me.I thought that a dual
life, a paired life, would allow these luxuries: warm light, magazines, and red
area rugs.Maybe I have to start
thinking about living the life I’ve always wanted to live…and just work at making
it happen.
I had an amazing weekend five days ago. After a long workout, I talked with Laura on Friday night, then got a much-needed long night's sleep. I visited the Dartford farmer's market, an actual delight, being that the produce stall folks are always so friendly to me, and tutored for a bit. I hung around, did some laundry, and did yet another heart-pounder before Frank came over with Season 4 of Parks and Recreation. It's the little things, folks. Sunday in London was awesome. The weather was great, the company I kept was great, and we squeezed in a late lunch at Kopapa at Seven Dials in Covent Garden. Bring on the spring summer, folks! I've also been writing a memoir of how I got here on the blog. I do hope you're enjoying it.
Gosh, now where do I
start this story?When I was in my
second year at university, I found it so incredibly challenging, so difficult,
that it was more often than not demoralizing.I couldn’t stand the structure of the year: way too many
students in a vast class with little TA support.I was drowning in a sea of hopeful doctors, each of us
dropping our dreams one by one as the microphages and pipetting mocked us more
and more from textbooks and labs.It was all too much.So my
dreams of being a doctor, those dreams I dreamed while hooked up to machines,
were very rapidly whisked out from under me.
Of course, there is a
rebuttal to this story: everyone went through what I did.Some of us persevered (even I got 88% on an Organic Chemistry
midterm!), while the rest of us just fell by the wayside.Some people rose to the occasion and
simply studied harder, but I, having found that failure was a very real
possibility for me, was catapulted into a state of depressed,
can’t-even-bear-to-study shock.Since
when was I just another brick in the wall?Wasn’t I the
special little bear my mother had promised I was?Wasn’t I the
smartest, wittiest, most deserving second-year university student?Turns out getting a reality check is
painful, necessary, and demobilizing. As a matter of fact, I’m only just getting over it now.
I got into the Canadian
College of Naturopathic Medicine after a gruelling application and interview
process (and by some small miracle, as we’ll see later might just be a giant
horseshoe).It meant a lot to me
at the time that I was going to be a part of Canada’s health revolution.Turns out, I wasn’t.Though my father put himself on the
line both emotionally and financially to support me, I decided at the last
minute to bow out.I couldn’t bear
the thought of people coming to me as a last-ditch effort to somehow rid them
of their systemic ailments, caused by years of neglect and abuse.How could I possibly be expected to
help anyone
who was first going to try every single solution before coming
to the one true healer?There I go
again…the special little bear, rearing her ugly head.I decided that being over $200,000 in debt with very little
to call my own save the potential debt from buying an existing naturopathic
practice was a little more than my tender 22-year old self could handle, and I
bowed out.Again.
There I was, a very
scared young woman, renting an apartment in the city I’d grown up in (but it
was in a totally great neighbourhood
[insert eye roll], which made me feel, at least temporarily, as though it was
the best place ever), working at a totally dead-end job that was handed to me from
university days, and thinking I had it all figured out (cue second eye
roll).Oh, and I was dating my
ex.How rich.
I just read this article about living abroad and thought it was an incredibly poignant piece. Take a look through and get a glimpse into why it is I find it so darn hard to come home...
